#but maybe he's at his best when he is malnourished and exhausted

[secret-sageent]

Harlan made Arthur malnourished and sleep-deprived because he knew he would be too powerful if he had regular food and a full night's sleep. Arthur Lester is kicking ass running off of *checks notes* a can of peaches, tomato soup, a pint of beer(?), Mr. Faust, and that handful of times he was knocked unconscious or passed out from blood loss. Imagine what he could do at full power lol

[justatalkingface]

I JUST FREAKING REALIZED SOMETHING!!!

Aizawa didn’t get into the hero course until his second year and was bullied by Sensoji for being a waste of space.

And Sensoji's actions were justified.

Now stick with me here.

Isn’t it a bit odd how Bakugou's behavior was justified? And I don't mean just in a favoritism way.

Despite how much he was willing to bash Class 1-A, Hitoshi didn't seem to acknowledge Aizawa favoring Bakugou. Not once. This is odd as he was there when Aizawa openly defended Bakugou during the Sports Festival. And you'd think Aizawa would correct Hitoshi's opinions on Class 1-A, but he doesn't.

And with how Aizawa made the battle between both hero courses focus on Hitoshi...

I'm sorry. Correct me if I'm wrong but...

Was Aizawa setting things up for Hitoshi to become like him? Was Bakugou going to be set up to be another Sensoji that Hitoshi had to face off?

Because if the war didn't happen...Hitoshi was going to be in Class 1-A way earlier.

...I don't think Eraserhead is self-aware enough to plan something like, which is saying something because even more self-awareness would tell him how stupid it is, but...

It's hard to get past the fact that, fundamentally, he's a hollow shell of a man. In all likelihood, he was a mess before Oboro, but after he died? I think something just... broke inside him.

This isn't really something I talk about, but at the core of him, Eraserhead is someone going through the motions, just existing one day at a time. He doesn't seem to have... goals. Objectives. Plans. Desires. Dreams. All he really has is his work, and he's not really doing his work well, is the thing. The first thing he does after getting life altering injuries is go back to work the next day, held together by staples and a prayer. Logically, that not only put back his healing, it might have actually worsened how much permanent damage he had.

He works day and night, and it's clear he's not managing his time well by his constant exhaustion, so most likely if he's not doing UA stuff, or being dragged around by his friends, he's off fighting crime. I mean, hell, he barely even eats.

He doesn't shave, he doesn't clean up, he doesn't get his hair cut... all of that stuff is because he probably doesn't have the energy or will to do it, and, real talk? I honestly wonder if he's so skinny because he's malnourished in some form, because those jelly packets or whatever can't actually be meeting all his nutritional needs, especially with how much energy he has to be burning every day.

I think the main reason Present Mic and Midnight got him to join UA was to save his life. Not from a major threat or anything, but from himself. With him at UA, they could dial him back, stop him from running around picking fights and parkouring across roofs 24/7, and maybe even get a real meal in him.

All of the stuff I've been talking about... 'logically', doesn't that ruin his vaulted 'efficiency'?

When Eraserhead says, 'efficiency', or 'logically', or whatever other word he uses to sound smart, he doesn't really mean, 'doing it in the best way possible', even if he's lying to himself that he is; what he's actually saying is 'doing it the most simple and straightforward way possible, right now'. If he thinks a student is too much trouble, rather than trying to fix the problem he just gets rid of them, and if they manage to pull themselves together after he does that? All the better.

The reverse, though, is as long as they aren't too much of a problem, then they're not actually worth punishing, not unless he's basiclly forced to: he doesn't let Bakugou run wild because he likes him, really, he does it because he doesn't think dealing with him is worth his time, the same way he lets Minoru be a creepy little pervert without really doing anything to make him stop, until he finally crosses the line enough that Eraserhead has to be involved, like by putting a kid in danger. The reason his only comment when he holds Bakugou back that first time is about his dry eye is that honestly, that was all he actually cared about: not that he was attacking other students, but that Bakugou was making him do extra work.

It's why the few times we see him actually deal with a student's problems (that weren't his favorite, anyways) is when he was already doing something else involving them in the first place, because if he's already there, working with them, might as well do this other shit, right?

It's only efficient.

To bring it back to your original point, though, I think part of the reason he's such a hypocrite is he doesn't really reflect on himself, or his actions. While he does think on the past, it's not anything productive, it's just him... wallowing in his grief and self loathing.

The reason Hitoshi was the main focus was because, well, Hitoshi was Eraserhead's main focus, so he wanted him to get a lot of the experience everyone else had been having as fast as possible, and beyond that I don't think he was thinking through the implications beyond that.

I've found a lot of Eraserhead's actions make sense if you ignore everything he says, and instead draw a metaphorical straight line between him and whatever it is that he wants to do. It's not deep, it's just so OOC for a normal thought process that it throws you off.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

“Yes.” | “Kneel.” | Best of Three | Correspondence | Appraisal | Collapse | Cupcake | Foggy | Cracking | Just Breathe | Urge | Trim | Stupid | Upkeep | Old Defeat | Watching | Simple Loyalty | Overreaction | Set Up for Failure | Burning | Healed Wrong | Haunted | Boxes Buried | Heavy Blow | Loneliness

Cupcake hasn’t been sleeping well lately. With anyone else, Simon would assume it was the whole being a prisoner thing. But this one is tough. He doesn’t seem to think he deserves better, even if his pride gets in the way sometimes. There are no longing glances toward the windows, no getting lost in daydreams. Cupcake just wants a beer, some TV, a place to sprawl and relax.

Last night Cupcake dozed off on the couch for a few minutes. Simon watched as bushy brows twisted, as the scarred chest hitched under the wifebeater, as rugged fingers twitched at his sides. He woke too soon and reached instantly for his bullet-riddled right leg.

The pain is keeping him up. Simon almost feels bad about that, although they’ve gotten to have less sessions, this week, with the little thrills he’s getting seeing that pain all day long.

He’s asleep now, though. Cupcake is on his back, on the floor instead of his bed - which is strange, although he probably gave up on the blankets and tried the carpet, instead, in his pained tossing and turning. Leaning in the doorway, Simon feels his attention slide off the man that he’s watching, straying to thoughts of groans and muffled screams. Maybe if Cupcake eats well enough at breakfast, he can suggest they have a session. Could be fun. The itch is there under his skin.

Into the room he pads softly. His pajama pants brush softly against his ankles, long hair warm and comforting across his shoulders. It’s a peaceful night with the cool air after last night’s rain and the crickets chirping outside. As Simon draws near, he can make out the very faint freckles across Cupcake’s cheeks. His short brown curls that make him look so much younger than the previous bleached mess. Twenty-seven, his file says. But Cupcake cannot read, can barely add numbers in his head, struggles to come up with words that are more than two syllables long.

Violent, antisocial, sadistic, restless, said the file. Cupcake’s never shown his violent side, here. Head tipping to the side to ponder as he watches the man sleep, Simon wonders if Cupcake is really violent by nature, or if he lashes out when provoked, like a malnourished dog in the back corner of a shelter. Antisocial makes sense, with Cupcake barely bothering to talk about the outside world and taking so long to try to get out. Must not have family. Sadistic - Simon can’t speak to that. There’s rage in his eyes, sometimes, but that’s normal for his position. There is no one here for him to hurt but himself.

Restless is the most fitting of all his descriptors. Simon finds himself reaching out, despite wanting Cupcake to stay asleep. There are dark smears of exhaustion under those closed eyes. He’s been healing slowly, he needs this. But traitorous fingers creep forward through the air until they find a stray lock of that soft brown hair. Why does Cupcake hate it so much? Enough to fry it into straw, and change its color, and grow it out in a frizzy mane. It feels reminiscent of how Cupcake ignores mirrors like they aren’t reflective at all, they’re just a normal stretch of dull wall.

His rumination wandered, and his fingers laid too heavily against Cupcake’s scalp. The soft bed of hair disappears suddenly, and the body that was so still and relaxed a second ago is moving sharply. Simon barely has time to widen his eyes before Cupcake jolts and slams bodily into him, sending them both tumbling across the floor.

A flurry of brown hair, round eyes, fists. Animalistic grunts punch their way out of Cupcake as he tries to beat Simon away from him. He can punch, Simon finds, winded into silence by the second blow and then struggling to escape a single hit. It’s like a brick is being driven into his ribs, his head, his upper arms.

Above him, straddling him chaotically, Cupcake bares his teeth and looks like a child trying to beat back a demon. Simon finds himself trying to contain the violent swinging arms rather than truly fight back. The panicked growls and grunts get louder as Simon manages to roll over and get Major onto his back, locking him in a bear hug.

“Nngh, nnh, nnh,” Cupcake grunts, breaths hissing out through locked teeth. He is shaking, vibrating under Simon, who is focused on setting his knees against the floor and tightening his arms to effectively snuff out the fight. “No, no, nnh…”

As close as they are, Simon can hear the tears clogging up Cupcake’s throat and suffocating the pleas out of the air. As soon as his hold is secure enough, Simon lifts his head.

Mistake. A collision with his head, pain blooming hot in his nose. Violent, antisocial, sadistic, restless. One of Simon’s arms unwind from around Cupcake’s back and twist fingers in his hair to pull his head up and slam it back down.

It didn’t feel forceful enough to knock him out, but Cupcake goes still with a shudder. Simon pulls back farther to urgently look into his face, hand sliding down from the short curls to tug on Cupcake’s face and check his eyes. But Cupcake is still awake. He tries to squeeze his eyes shut, and turn his head away, and only croaks out a soft sound of defeat when his head is yanked back and his eyelids pulled open, one at a time.

Simon’s not even sure if a concussion would appear as oddly sized pupils so soon, but they look fine for now. So he pulls back, planting firm palms on Cupcake’s shoulders to help him remember to stay down.

It seems to be dawning on the pinned man that he just fought back. That he beat Simon into the ground, if only for a minute. As soon as he can, he closes his eyes again, breathing hard through flared nostrils.

“What was that?” Asks Simon, voice soft. The blood dripping from his nose and onto Major’s bare chest doesn’t register to either of them as a pressing issue. “What was that, Cupcake?”

Cupcake is afraid. He’s always quieter, when he is. His angry is loud and energetic, his excited is stunned and hesitant. His afraid is very still, breathing hard, trying to process things and largely failing to. The rusted cogs in his head only turn so fast. Cupcake doesn’t know what to do now that he lashed out, doesn’t know what comes next.

“I won’t punish you,” Offers Simon, leaning down harder to show that he can keep the man pinned. “If you talk.”

Cupcake sniffs, and grimaces at how snotty the sound is. He never looks more silently furious than when he sounds pathetic. “Talk?”

Simon runs a thumb back and forth near Cupcake’s collarbone. He either doesn’t notice it, or doesn’t want to be caught showing he hates it. The silence that comes in the stead of an explanation from Simon doesn’t help.

“‘bout the…” Cupcake clears his throat. Opens his eyes, which instantly skitter away from Simon’s kind, curious face. “...Freak out, when I wake up, and… and there’s someone on me. Okay?” He lashed out. He could be killed for this. He knows it, it’s got his chest still lurching with shallow gasps. “‘m sorry. Didn’t know it was you.”

With a sympathetic nod, Simon adjusts his weight to be more on Cupcake’s hips and less on his stomach, to make breathing easier for him. “Who did you think I was?”

Silence. The pain of his shot let has him twitching, trying to change his position without it looking like he’s trying to throw Simon off. No answer.

“We’ve been doing this for a while, Cupcake.” Simon lifts a hand from a pinned shoulder to take hold of his jaw and force eye contact. Cupcake looks angry, but maybe not at the man above him. Or not just at him. “I let you get away with things. Have things your way. It’s better for both of us, to not be too strict.”

The reminder of his place is working, already, without the threat being spoken. Simon can see it in how Cupcake’s breaths miss a beat, how he holds still and waits for the promise of things getting worse.

“Would it be easier for you if I held the gun to your head?”

“...Don’t.” It is quiet, almost a whisper. “Make me. Too fhh-... dumb as, too - stupid. To make something up. I just… don’t make me talk.”

There is something in the vulnerability, there. Something more than pain in his voice. Simon is curious, so curious. But should he really devote energy to punishing the guy having a nightmare, or a trauma response, or whatever that was? Should he tear Cupcake open and expose his fears to the air, just because he wants to know? Maybe Cupcake has earned some grace.

“Okay.” Hand sliding off of Cupcake’s jaw, he draws back and stands. Cupcake slowly, achingly drags himself toward the bed. Climbs up onto it, eyes on the floor the whole way. He needs space, needs to be left alone. “Sure thing, Cupcake. Try to sleep.”

Cupcake is silent until Simon is all the way out the door. In the dark of the room, he mutters, just barely audible, “...Thanks.”

taglist: @morning-star-whump , @lthrboy, @apokolyps, @paperprinxe , @vampiresprite, @wollemi-whump,

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees , @whumps-and-bumps , @defire, @notactuallyluska

[annie-creates]

Just a bad memory

Pairing: Abby Anderson x reader

Genre: fluff

Words: 1800

Note: I swear I'm not doing it on puspose I'm just too invested in this story line. It's crazy how few people write actual outbreak TLOU. I hope you'll like this one. Let's celebrate Easter with this.

You stood at the edge of the harbor, looking out for any signs of a boat or a raft coming your way. It’s been a week since Abby Anderson made contact with your camp, promising to join your forces once again. It should have taken her just two days from Santa Barbra to the Catalina Island, so your team was slowly loosing hope of her arrival. You didn’t want to imagine all the things that could have happened to her on the way, convincing yourself she probably just got delayed.

You haven’t seen Abby since you were both teenagers, you being a medical student in the Salt Lake City hospital and she being your boss’ daughter. But after the tragedy of both Jerry and Marlene dying and your station disbanding, you traveled with what was left of the Fireflies from place to place and she joined other survivors with her friends. The only image of what she should look like now after years was the few photos of your former friends Leah sent you.

You arrive back at your dorm at the base, spending the evening looking through the photos of your group laughing together and reading an old book you found at one of your search missions. You didn’t have many possessions but anything of seeming unimportance you found and claimed as yours had a special little place in your heart. You didn’t have any people left to deem important so you had to cling onto things. At least loosing things didn’t hurt as much. Things can’t unexpectedly die, just get lost. They don’t suddenly stop existing.

The next morning you’re woken up by Ethan, your best student, making him the second-best doctor this place had at just seventeen years old. If you got hurt you wouldn’t hesitate to place your life in his hands. Together you make your way to breakfast, eating in the basically only communal area you had around here. The kitchen wasn’t the best, but it kept your stomach full and that’s about as much as you could have wanted in the apocalypse.

“I’ve heard there’s a big action planned for today.” He informs you munching on a makeshift burrito.

“Like what, I haven’t been told anything.” You furrow your brows, they always told you when there were bigger than usual damages expected.

“Maybe it’s just training, you know how serious they can get with it.” Ethan offers shrugging.

“Yeah, maybe.” You agree half absent, already lost in thought.

“Quick! We have arriving at the port!” one of the soldiers on duty interrupts your conversation snapping you out of thoughts.

There was already an alert blaring, so you jumped out of your seat running to the pier where you usually waited for new arrivals. Sometimes it was former Fireflies coming, sometimes new recruits joining and other times it was invaders who needed to be pacified and questioned. This time though it was just a small boat hardly showing two people in. You could tell they were exhausted and probably famished, giving the signal to bring them in so you can see them. They clearly weren’t a threat.

You looked the people over, a boy who couldn’t be older than sixteen and a young woman unnaturally skinny and littered with more wounds than you could count, who looked awfully familiar. You ordered the few soldiers to help them out and bring them to the medical wing so you can tend to them. Looking the kid over her was malnourished and sunburned but didn’t have many actual life-threatening injuries that would need to be sewn up or operated immediately.

“Get him warmed up and get some nutrition into him as best as you can.” You instructed Ethan entrusting the boy in his hands.

“I always get the least fun job.” He grumbles as a joke and gets to the case.

“Hey. Once you’re the lead doctor you can divide the work.” You nudge him and turn your attention to the girl in the next bed divided only by a thin hospital veil.

You didn’t necessarily enjoy being the most skilled medical person around here, it meant all the responsibility of keeping people alive fell on you. On the other hand, you were literally saving lives on daily basis, and that was something you wanted to do ever since before the world went to shit. It’s why you studied at St. Mary’s Hospital and it’s also why you’re here, always following the Fireflies. Ever since Mr. Anderson died you sort of lost your guidance but you always tried to follow the right path as close as possible.

As you clean the girl’s wounds, it’s hard to decide where to even start. You begin with the deep cuts scattered around her hands and a few on her stomach including a stab wound in her shoulder, as those are at the highest risk of catching infections. You make your way around them, cleaning them with warm water, disinfecting them and dressing them in a clean white gauze, sewing up the deeper ones. As she almost looks like a Halloween mummy costume you move onto her face, tending to the cuts and bruises. Some were clearly caused by a knife while others you couldn’t even specify.

“What the hell happened to you.” You mumble as you’re gently brushing her hair out of her face, and that’s when it hits you. “Oh my god!”

“What!?” Ethan runs in ready for anything that could have frightened you.

“It’s her!” Sure, she was much thinner and dirtier than when you last saw her, but her bone structure was clear as day.

“Her who?” Ethan asks with a confused look clearly not being able to follow your train of thoughts.

“Abby! Abby Anderson!” You couldn’t believe you were actually saying it. “Go tell the captain they’re here.”

As Ethan runs out to pass on your exciting discovery, already being done with his job here, you look at her in awe. You couldn’t believe you were seeing her after years of being separated. She didn’t look anything like in the grown-up pictures Leah shared with you, her hair was messily cut off short instead of the long blond braid she used to wear and her body wasn’t built like a transformer as it apparently used to be, but it was still her. Her face that lost a little if it’s round cuteness, her hands and fingers calloused from too much excessive work.

“It’s okay. You’re safe here.” You promise her in a low voice as you see her waking up.

“What… what’s going on..?” Abby slowly moves feeling every muscle in her body hurting.

“You made it to the Catalina Island. You’re at the Fireflies. I’m gonna take care of you.” You clear out pushing her gently back down. “Don’t get up, your body needs to heal.”

“But Lev…” She frantically looks around.

“The boy’s okay. He’s just next door. Malnourished but otherwise fine.” You assure her settling down her worries as you put two and two together. “I’ll get you something to eat and drink. You need to get back some strength.”

Maybe she’d protest but the exhaustion and soft bed won over her pulling her back to sleep. Meanwhile you collected water bottles and soft foods that she could eat from the kitchen bringing it in on a tray putting it down on the side table by her bed. As you sat in a chair waiting for her to wake up again but giving her the much-needed time to sleep, you browsed the old photos of your friends again. You wondered what happened to them, it wasn’t like Abby to leave her group. But then again, this wasn’t the exact same girl you used to know in Salt Lake City.

“Where did you get that?” Abby asks when she wakes up again looking at the tray stocked with food.

“The kitchen..?” you answer even when it sounds more like an uncomprehending question.

“How do you get so much food?” She specifies suspicious and sits up as well as she can.

“Well some of it we harvest, some we find and we make a few.” You shrug your shoulders fluffing up her pillow to make her more comfortable and placing the tray on her legs. “It’s usually ingredients that can’t go bad. Nothing fancy but it keeps your stomach full.”

“How’s Lev doing?” she questions with concern biting into a sadly looking sandwich.

“He’s fine. Just needs to sleep and replenish some energy. It wouldn’t hurt you either.” You smile at her.

“I’m sorry, you seem to know me and I haven’t even caught your name.” Abby questions.

“Y/n. I used to work at Saint Mary’s… with your dad.” You explain warily.

“Oh. How come I don’t remember you?” She wonders with a saddened face.

“Well, I wasn’t exactly the most popular kid back then. Plus, I looked a lot different… I’ve grown a lot.” You laugh, unlike Abby you weren’t exactly part of the elite group, just an occasional friend. “But Leah sent me some of your photos.”

“Huh? Really?” Abby asks with her mouth full of bread.

“Yeah, just a few. To know what y’all looked like grown up.” You pass her the photos you set aside earlier. “What happened to them?”

“They’re all dead.” She states with remorse in her voice looking through your photos. “Danny, Manny, Nora… Owen was the one who wanted to come here. He was having a baby with Mel, and they’re all fucking dead now.”

“How?” You ask carefully.

“That girl, the bitten one from Salt Lake City. I found the guy who saved her, the one who killed my dad. And she killed all my friends.” She angrily explains throwing the photos away. “I let her live and she killed them all.”

“I’m sorry.” You tenderly caress her shoulder and she leans her head on you. “I’m really sorry Abs. But you’re gonna be safe here. We won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“I’m just so fuckin’ tired of it. All those Jackson folks.” She complains resting her weight on you. “The Rattlers, Scars, WLF…”

“I know, I get it. We’re gonna make it alright. You just need to get your strength back now.” You gently stroke her hair. “We’ll make it just a bad memory. Everything will be okay.”

And she wanted to believe you. Abby wanted to find the hope that was long lost for her. You knew what it’s like to be left completely alone in this world, and it was a terrifying feeling. Now you could offer her care and safety, even if it doesn’t heal the empty wound gaping after her friends and family. You’re gonna be her anchor in the terrifying nightmares, the pillar under the weight of her severe hurt.

[dimensionhoppinghybrids]

Remnants & the meaning of survival (drabble)

To first start, this is after an event that happened in a private roleplay with a friend of mine on Discord.

This is Bellum doing his best to help a remnant of Valkyrai (or Valkyries) that are a species made by @thelonereni

Characters that I reference are owned by me and @omegamanrp

To give a little background of what happened; A demon had found itself through an object that belonged to the physical world found itself to the world of dreams and possibilities that the Valkyrai called home. In that object lay a demon, a demon that wasn't supposed to be there, as the object had been meant for another.

The demon though, didn't care, and laid its roots in the minds of the vulnerable and gullible Valkyrai.

Xossa, when visiting with Fenris, saw the damage that the demon had made over what could only be weeks or months in the souls of the Valkyrai, and traced its origins.

There they found the demon, and the demon, when found out, fought them. Bellum was summoned, and as he took over, he fought the demon as best he could, but those that had been too affected for far too long came back as husks of themselves. As puppets coming to defend their puppeteer.

As Bellum defeated the demon, It in a vindictive streak killed those that were far too effected, dragging its victims with it to the ether.

Of a thousand lives, only a group of 20 or so remained.

Bellum looked at the piss poor excuses of what was the last remnant of the colony that Fenris belonged to.

Out of a thousand inhabitants, only 20 or so survived. And they looked horrible.

They looked malnourished and exhausted. Like they hadn’t had any sleep. The worst part, they were all female.

The only male of the colony that survived was Fenris.

That left himself and Xossa, well himself by proxy, as the only living males.

Shit.

He had managed to find them finally, and it looked like they had tried, oh so very much tried to seclude themselves. It had taken a lot of time because of how they had managed to scatter at first, then find each other, somehow. They looked lost, afraid and angry. Angry at him.

He was in his Valkyrie form, and they had at first been happy to see him, thinking him another survivor. But then glared at him when they recognized him, at least somewhat. They only knew that he was there, fighting and protecting the lot of them.

“You were there, with Fenris.” One of them finally blurted, her angry eyes looking at Bellum with so much hate, that he could almost nearly cut his armor on her ferocity. Good, maybe there would be a chance for one of them at least.

“I was.” Bellum said, keeping it simple and to the point.

The muttering of 20 voices could be surprisingly loud, and none of it good. Bellum didn’t care.

He could hear they all blamed Fenris on what had happened.

“If only Fenris didn’t go out into the world,” he heard, “if Fenris hadn’t opened the door,” he heard more.

Again, and again he heard something similar to that. They all blamed Fenris for a lot.

Because he was a convenient target.

He was so glad he had made Fenris and Xossa stay away from this. They didn’t even know he had found this lot. Because he felt like this was a task that only he could do.

“Quiet.” Bellum ordered. His voice even, but reverberating around the poorly made clearing in a forest that was okay in its density, but piss poor in camouflage. It was alright, sure. But it nowhere near any resources the group needed to survive.

No berry bushes, no-where to drink really. Well there was a stream, but it was a good way back. It would be a long way to go for any source of water. They didn’t even know of ways to gather water safely.

How they had managed to survive for this long was by all means a miracle.

“Alright you little shits, listen up.” Bellum said as he made sure to tower over all of them, making them all see him as he got the axe he used before. The form of the axe that they could recognize. It wasn’t to attack them. An axe had a dual purpose, both in peace and in war. So, he would use it how it could be used in this case.

“You all have a choice. A choice if you don’t want Fenris, Xossa, and me by proxy to be the last remnants of your kin.” He started slowly, his voice edged with a quiet fury that made them all whimper and cower. Good. They were listening and they were scared. Good. He would use it.

“You have a choice to survive. No, you don’t have a choice actually. You now gotta survive. So shut yer yaps. It's time to buck up and adapt. Because if you don’t, you’ll be footnotes in history that very, very few will remember, if at all. Besides, all of you were dying a slow death anyway.” He growled at them all, poking at them, making fun of them.

It stoked the anger he needed, he saw most glare, a few cower.

“What happened was a tragedy, But tragedies have a way to open the eyes of the sheeple that follow orders and don't ask questions. You followed your matron blindly, and got fucked for it. You followed your codes and your way of life blindly, and you got yourselves killed for it. So chose. Live. Or die. Adapt. Or be remembered as fools that buried themselves 6 feet under."

Bellum wasn’t an orator by any means, but he had his moments at times. Because his speech got the reaction he wanted.

The group of 20 nearly all grabbed the nearest things, sticks, stones, dirt even and threw it at him. He took it all in stride, they cursed him, they cursed Fenris. They blamed it all on them.

“At least all of you are alive.” He barked at them all finally. The thrown objects were getting annoying.

“You are alive enough to feel that way, aren’t you? You are alive to speak your damned minds, to speak ill of the only one that actually cared about you all enough, right?” He barked at them, and that made the crowd wince. Even those that were trying to flee away.

He had seen them trying to slink into the background, and he stomped his leg, making a wall in front of them made out of a dark stone to show that he was watching.

They all feared him. They didn’t like him. They absolutely hated him for that. Because he spoke the truth. Spoke it in such a way that it cut deeper than any wounds they could get. Gnawed at them deeper than any hunger pang could.

It hurt, because he said what they needed to hear.

That was alright. He didn’t want them to like him. Just fear him enough to listen.

“All done? No? Too bad. Shut up and come on. You can’t survive and eat on empty words you worthless louts.” He commanded as he made them follow him.

There were a few that tried to resist, tried to make empty excuses. But he did drag them by the foot or the hair. Pulling them like children. Showing that he had no damned patience for them as he taught them how to survive.

And oh how he put them through the grinder.

He made them learn how to gather food, track food, how to grab food from humans or where they could find it in the wild and what was edible.

He drilled into them the facts and common sense of this world. What to look out for, and what to trust.

But most of all, he taught them how to hunt.

Bellum wasn’t perhaps the best when it came to survival, but he knew enough. Knew enough to teach. And teaching had a way to broaden his horizons on it too. Made him realize things that he hadn’t before.

He was.. Well, he wasn’t kind about it. He was actually rough, cruel even in many ways.

He made them all work with everything on their own. He didn’t teach them. He guided, and that was it.

The only time he helped them was him bringing a dead stag for them to butcher.

All of them had gone green and picked their corners to puke.

He made them clean that up too. All of them. And participate in skinning the buck to boot.

They all whined, complained, and made ugly noises of complaint when they had to dig out the foul, the organs and toss them where the scavengers could eat.

He made them dig latrines, make their own tools.

He only showed them how to do things. How to hide, how to make homes.

It took days, weeks to months. He always had to go for a while, and if the survivors didn’t do as he wanted, or tried to slack off? He made them carry a pack of rocks or carry stacks of logs, sticks, everything. He made them go to get water in crudely made buckets of water with rope that was poorly made and frayed. It hurt their hands, hurt their shins, even as the weight dragged them down so much they had to carry on the ground and walk bit by bit.

If they got used to it, more weight. More buckets.

He made sure they learned how to make salves, how to perform first aid.

He made them bleed on the altar of his training grounds of survival, so they wouldn’t bleed when they got tested.

Then, atop of all of that. He made them fight him. And there, he showed no mercy. They weren’t to use any moves. They were to fight him with pure physical brutality.

They all limped away, crying and cursing him the first time. And even the next time, he forced them all to participate, even when they were bruised, hungry and tired.

That was how he worked them over. They got used to it, got used to the cruel and unforgiving work.

He treated them like survivors of a post apocalyptic event, which this was in their case.

He forced them to adapt. To learn. To have the tools in hand so they could do their best.

One night, one of them got severely ill. She was bedridden, sweating and barely able to get up.

She was fading.

He made one of them that was very good at identifying herbs and medicinal fruits on the fly and to get what she needed from the wild. The Valkyrie that this one needed to save had a horrible infection that was killing her.

“If you don’t get the medicine she needs, she won’t make the night! So move!” He barked at her, and it lit a fire under her ass as she flew like she had never flown before.

Bellum sat, and waited for her to return.

He was left alone there with the victim. The poor Valkyrie looked at him with bleary eyes, pained whimpers escaping her. The infection was internal. Something she had eaten, or something that had gone wrong in her work. He wasn’t sure. He knew he could help her, but he didn’t.

Not right away. He would if the Valkyrie he had sent from the makeshift compound that he had made the survivors make in the real world wouldn’t return.

He wasn’t going to let them die.

But he had to make them believe that there would be no safety net.

Would be no hope of him stepping in to save their asses.

Only this way, would they survive.

Relying on a higher power had made them weak. Had made them compliant and meek.

Now though, there was no luxury for such things.

Either they adapted, or they died.

It took the Valkyrie he had sent out hours. She had come at the 11th hour so to speak, when Bellum thought that she wouldn’t make it, now that it was dark and the stars in the sky. The others having made a fire to cook the night's food, she had come. She came hurling down at the dry muddy ground, choking on the dust, but holding in a poorly made bag, fruits and herbs that would help to reduce the infection and inflammation, and even help with the pain.

She was gasping and gagging, her body shaking with exhaustion as she crawled her way to her friend, and to him.

He didn’t move. He only judged.

She in return, gave him a heated snarl that held defiance. Good.

He left after that, giving her the chance to make the medicine that her friend would need.

Even exhausted, and unable to stand. She had worked on the medicine on a mortar and pestle, made her friend drink it, then collapsed.

Her friend had survived.

The makeshift colony, all celebrated. Good.

They should celebrate the life they could get.

The training he had in mind for them was almost done. There was a topic that he was… Loathed to approach, but had too.

“Mates.” Bellum began finally on a winter morning that made the Valkyrie all there stand with their arms around them, in fur coats that had been better made thus far after months of them needing to make everything by hand.

But they still didn’t have it perfect just yet.

“You will all need to find mates. And no, you can’t see Fenris. And no, not Xossa either. If you do, I will beat you all enough that you will be bedridden for days.” He threatened, and one of them in the front, a harsh tone in her voice spoke out at him in defiance.

“We’ll try anyway.”

That got a good laugh out of the few that had gotten better at fighting him. They couldn’t defeat him yet, but they were getting good enough. He wasn’t perfect, nor a damned master. But what he had was raw strength and street cruelty with a few tricks. Even that was enough for now. But they were getting better.

“Then I welcome your ass whooping.” Bellum growled. His tone disapproving, but his eyes glimmering with silent approval. If they had the balls to challenge him openly, he had hope for them yet.

“But back to the topic. Mates. You need to find mates. And not just because you can’t go to Xossa or Fenris. But because it will kill you.” He said seriously, and that made them all listen intently.

“And I won’t kill you. But in the future, your choices will. I will admit, I don’t know jack or shit about your biology. But I know inbreeding will kill you. Maybe it won’t kill you right away, but it will kill you all eventually. Your kids will be malformed, perhaps have flaws that will prevent your survival. Even stillborns will be a regular thing.” He said, and that made all of them gasp and clutch at their stomachs.

“Mhm.” Bellum agreed, his tone serious.

“So, a new rule for your own survival. Diversify.” Bellum stated bluntly. “If you can breed, you can survive. Pokemon are a plenty. Even humans may be willing to give you the time of day, but I don’t have to tell you that you all have to be cautious there.” He told them firmly. He had gone over how humans were more a threat than a boon in many ways for Pokemon. Especially for them since they resembled a group of Darkrai, and they were rare as shit out there.

“I have taught you how to defend yourselves, even if you didn’t want to. I have taught you to survive the harshest things I could think of, and you came out okay.” Bellum said, giving another grunt.

“What I can’t help you with, is this. I can’t give you what you want either way if you want it or not and I refuse to to boot.” He grunted, and that got them at least laughing a little.

“So, fuck who you can. But don’t be dicks about it. Find someone you like, or you can stomach at least, and maybe try it. To some in the wild, love need not apply. But that is the exception. Not the rule.

So, be careful you idiots.” He said, finding himself rising to the air, the dogtags around his neck jangling with the movement.

It was clear to them all that Bellum had taught them everything he could. How to tan hides, how to survive on their own. Everything he could think of.

They were all glad to see him go. They didn’t like him. They hated his guts. And they had to suck it up that he was there because he was the only thing keeping them alive, if not healthy up to this point.

He had been a cruel bastard in their new life.

But he had also taught them so much. Made them better than they were. Now, they weren’t remnants of a colony. Now they were.. Well a band of survivors in a world that was cruel and would stay cruel.

But together, they would have a little bit of home.

As he left, they all watched him go. Watched his figure fade in the distance.

A few had regrets, feeling like he could’ve done more, or they could’ve gotten more out of him, if they tried.

One or two wanted him as a leader. Even if they hated him, he had been a surprising rock in their budding community.

The rest were just glad that he had bothered to teach them at all.

After a while, they stopped milling about and went back to work.

There was still so much to do, and all of them had their jobs to do.

There was no rest for the weary after all.

END.

[aith-art]

Yeehawgust 2023 - Day 18

Red Rock Canyon

Jules was out. They had been shot by the bounty hunters. 

Leroy had picked them up. He carried them across the wastes. They needed to get them to a doctor, or the next best thing. With the followers being pushed out of Vegas, and Arcade only knowing so much about medicine, he had only one idea left. They were near enough to this group that he could risk moving Jules there without fear of them dying in transit. 

Izzy had gone silent, they felt useless. He didn’t know anything about medicine and didn’t know the wastes. 

As the group made their way into the canyon, Boone stayed back. Not wanting to overstep more than Leroy’s request for help already would. The Great Kahn’s hated Boone for his involvement in the Bitter Springs Massacre, and they had harsh feelings towards Leroy for convincing them to leave then putting the NCR in power in Vegas. 

The red of the canyon seemed darker to leroy. Maybe it was his guilt over what he’d done. It didn’t matter, he just had to hope there was still someone there with the drugs they needed. 

“Hello?” Leroy’s voice bounced off the walls.

The exhaustion was beginning to kick in. His arms could have fallen off but he wouldn’t have cared. He was going to save Jules. 

As they reached the entrance of the camp, he saw the signs of a camp ready to move. No signs of the NCR, but the Brahman led caravans were filled with tents and such. Leroy found a rock to lay Jules against. Giving his arms just a moment to relax. He nodded to Izzy, silently asking for them to go find someone to help them. 

Izzy understood enough, running ahead towards the caravans. They found someone, a man with spiked hair. Izzy could tell people had been staring at them, he took one last breath running how he was going to ask this stranger for help through his head. 

“Excuse me, I’m in a rush. My friend got shot and we need medical help. Anything.” 

The stranger turned around, looking over Izzy once, then gesturing to someone nearby. “This one needs help.” He turned to Izzy, “Where’s your friend?” 

“Just back up there.” Izzy pointed. 

The stranger nodded,  Izzy ran back to the others. 

“Someone’s coming to help.” 

Jules looked bad, being held by Leroy. Arcade had tied some cloth around Jules’ shoulder. Without their Jacket they couldn’t hide their malnourishment. Two of the people Izzy had found, made their way over with Med-X and Stimpaks. 

They saw to Jules, silently. A couple others came over. Leroy was suddenly uncomfortable. He knew Jules was in good hands. Arcade helped out the Khans as best as he could. He could see the tension in the air as Papa Khan walked over, observing Leroy and the rest of them. The wasteland knew about Leroy’s apparent crime, about the death of the young doctor he was travelling with. 

Jessup had sorta liked Jules. Nothing romantic, they were just decent company about camp. Someone who knew the right amount of questions to ask. He was hurt when he realised it was Jules who’d died. But there they sat. Not quite dead, definitely not as dead as everyone thought. He watched as his fellow khans helped them back to health.

[noxexistant]

I wanna take the Delanceys and put them in a jar

I promise I probably won’t go too far

just shake em around a bit

I need ideas for a fic

Fluff or angst it don’t matter

Though I’ll never say no to the latter

-A powm by me

(Please give me ideas)

literally how could i refuse a request supplied like this. it’s like ryan kopel himself is here, in my inbox

also there is nothing i love more than shaking the delancey brothers, either in a jar or just by their shirt collars

assuming you meant delancey ideas specifically, i forever have about eight hundred rattling around in my head (like them in that jar). some quick fire ones:

one of them getting sick and the other being so goddamn worried. wiesel won’t let them have breaks or days off, and goes mad if they’re working too slow, so whoever’s sick just has to continue pushing themselves to work even harder than usual. in my own headcanons, morris is sicklier - he’s scrawnier, spent more of his very important developmental years malnourished, so he’s unhealthier - and oscar gets hit harder by illnesses because he works himself so damn hard - protecting and looking after morris, trying to take the brunt of the work, taking the lead in everything, dealing with wiesel. and the other, even though they’re healthy, is just so helpless but still so desperate to do something.

morris getting a crush, maybe on one of the newsies or maybe on someone else he interacts with during his work. potential to be very sweet OR be very angsty, particularly if he’s rejected harshly - because who the hell would want the interest of morris delancey? they see him staring and think he’s just being a creep or trying to instigate a fight, don’t understand his lack of social understanding or that his awkwardness (at best) or unkindness (at worst) is him just trying to interact with them. morris knows he’s weird, knows he’s unlovable - even ma and pa left him - but he’s heartbroken anyway. and, just the same: it’s entirely possible that oscar doesn’t approve. maybe he sees morris looking at a guy and panics, because the two of them don’t need more trouble - especially not like that.

the two of them have to pass by - or maybe actually go into - the refuge to deliver some sort of message, or maybe escort someone in or out. heck, maybe it’s crutchie when he’s released after the strike. but being in the building immediately triggers morris badly, which only oscar can recognise because morris always locks up and totally dissociates when he’s triggered - and then falls apart afterwards. it’s usually oscar’s job to try and grab him and get him somewhere safe to do so. and maybe crutchie sees this, and - already exhausted and starved and beat to hell and too worn down to be able to reach his resentment - offers for the brothers to come with him back to the newsies.

an’ hopefully those are alright for you

maybe one of ‘em’s just about good enough to be used

but just lemme know if you want any more

or something different, it ain’t no chore

i love these boys and putting ‘em through emotional torture

could go on for hours, but i kept this post shorter

[aspynnwoofs]

So, now I’m really curious. What are your head canons? (Or at least some of your favorite ones, though I’m really fine with hearing the full list if you want to share.)

{Most of the stuff in this list comes into effect after the events of Amphibia unless specifically stated otherwise}

     

Marcy uses a wheelchair or crutches to get around after Amphibia (my main and favorite headcanon, but not always active depending on the situation I want her to be in)

Marcy has circular scars on her arms and legs from the Core armor and cable things from when she was possessed (nerve ports? electrical scars? :/

Marcy is insanely traumatized and can be triggered by small things TwT

Marcy has nightmares often

Marcy gets panic attacks 

Marcy does age regression sometimes, and when she does it’s adorable and Anne but mostly Sasha takes care of her :3

Sasha and Anne (but mostly Sash because I’m just like that) call Marcy lots of sweet nicknames like Marce, Mars, Marshmallow, Marbles, Marmalade, and Mars-Bars, but not Mar-Mar because that’s what Core-Anne and Core-Sasha called her in the illusions. Plus Andrias and he betrayed and stabbed her (My favorite of the nicknames is Marbles) :3 <3

Sasha is the best at comforting Marcy slash calming her down 

Marcy still feels guilty for years and years after Amphibia TwT

Marcy has small scars on her face where the helmet cut and dug into her skin

Marcy is really small and kinda skinny

Marcy was really skinny, malnourished, weak, and exhausted after being freed from the Core helmet

The Epilogue is semi canon depending on how i feel, it’s kinda like an AU

Sasha is buff {alternate wording: Sasha has a lot of muscle} (see pic at bottom if possible)

All of the three Amphibia girls are covered in scars, with Anne having the least. I’m debating whether Marcy or Sasha has more

Sasha’s main hairdo is the one she has in the Epilogue, similar to her hair is Season 3 but shorter (like the picture below)

(Not really a headcanon but still) Marcy has soft amber brown eyes, Sasha has cerulean blue eyes, and Anne has chocolate brown eyes

Sasharcy is a thing <3 <3 :D

The period of time that Marcy is in pain and screams during the possession is a good bit longer than in canon, making Andrias pretty much torture her 

Olivia and Yunan are Marcy’s newt moms <3

Grime is Sasha’s toad dad

Anne is officially a Plantar and Sprig and Polly are her siblings 

Marcy stays unconscious for a few minutes after the helmet comes off

Sasha got super scared and concerned for Marcy when she didn’t wake up immediately after the helmet came off 

(This is a maybe) Marcy gets gray hair from the strain the Core put on her body, maybe from the shocking and pain of the initial possession (plus a whole boatload of trauma)

Anne gets white hair from her death/rebirth, not much but some

Marcy’s hair got way longer during the months in the castle after her ‘death’

Sasha got fairly close with Ivy (Sundew) after they joined forces through the resistance 

Marcy didn’t get to get clean or sleep as Darcy so she’s in pretty bad condition after

Marcy gets sick often-ish

The rejuvenation tank is referred to as ’the pickle jar’

(This is small but anyway) After Andrias stabs Marcy a trickle of blood goes down her chin from the corner of her mouth (there isn’t blood all over the place because the hot nature of the sword cauterized the stab wound…unfortunately…)

The stabbing seriously messed up Marcy’s torso area

Marcy gets kind of mentally tortured when the Core took over, after she refused the false fantasy they had offered, they used the illusions to mess with her and get at her fears

Marcy wasn’t entirely sure Sasha and Anne were the real thing when saved because the Core messed with her 

Marcy was in a lot of pain after being freed from the Core, especially her head

In the AU called ‘You look too much like me’, Marcy gets sick and wounded more and longer than in the OG

Andrias did care for Marcy, just not enough to stand up to his dad for it (come on dude!)

Sasha’s ginormous back injury is NOT ignored and instead addressed properly 

Sasha has some trouble walking after the Sasha/Darcy fight because of the GIANT FLIPPING SLASH ON HER BACK!!! Seriously canon, when that kind of thing happens you can’t just say ‘she’s fiiine…’ and leave it! That wound needs consequences! She does end up fully recovered though 

Post-canon Anne has an identity crisis cause of the clone stuff and it takes a while to talk to her parents about it 

Post-canon Marcy has a guilt complex 

Sasha does become a therapist like in the Epilogue 

Anne does become a herpetologist like in the Epilogue 

You know what, Marcy can be a webtoon artist like in the Epilogue too

Marcy has memory problems because the Core was mean and messed with them >:(

Marcy is autistic, like very autistic (I can’t believe it took me so long to put this!) flappy flappy :D

Marcy is ADHD too

Sasha thinks Marcy is adorable <3

All three Amphibia girls have lots of sweet sweet trauma

They all get flashbacks sometimes, Marcy the worst

Sasha is afraid of falling (I mean after Toad Tower… it makes sense.)

Marcy has chronic pain 

That scene in Season 3a at the store where Anne and her parents are play fighting and Anne’s mom comes up behind her and FAKE STABS her with an orange sword, Anne has a bit of a breakdown because that is EXACTLY what happened to Marcy!

Anne is a lot more torn up about seemingly losing Marcy than in canon. Like dude, your friend just got murdered in front of you! The least you can do is be a bit more… i dunno what to say, but anyway! Dude!

Marcy has a couple triggers, like touching her head where the helmet was, touching her upper back and chest (especially the scars) holding her forearms where she was restrained, stuff like that

Marcy is short. It fits much better to her character and makes her cute and offers so many more shipping *cough* Sasharcy *cough* opportunities 

Marcy has problems with wearing helmets, it reminds her of the Core helmet, triggers flashbacks 

Marcy has huge issues with hurting Sasha or Anne, but mostly Sasha, because of how she hurt them as the Core, gets super worked up about it 

Time limit is dumb and stupid and the worst and i’m tired >:/

Marcy gets a bit nervous when she sees orange stuff, way more if it glows (basically Mar no like orange) because of the Core and the fire sword that practically killed her

Marcy can get tired/exhausted easily 

Sprig and Ivy have a good relationship 

Sasha and Anne care a lot about Marcy, and get worried when she gets hurt or sick or something and it’s great

Sasha is stubborn and doesn’t like to let people know when she’s not doing well 

Sasha is very good with kids

Sasha and Marcy’s parents aren’t very good parents 

Anne’s parents see Sasha and Marcy kind of like daughters

Anne’s parents make sure all three of the girls are doing okay because the other’s parents don’t 

MARCY DOESN’T MOVE please, i need her to stay where people can take care of her (and be worried about her)

Marcy’s blood fades back to red from green quickly 

Sasha will sometimes carry Marcy when needed and sometimes when it’s not, just because 

Marcy, Sasha, and Anne are really good friends, like really good 

You know what, I’m gonna say it again. TIME LIMIT IS STUPID and the worst and I want it to stop, and I’m tired again and I just want to reeeaaad…. Let me read plz TwT 

If they were to meet, Marcy and Luz would get along really well and would become nerd friends 

Marcy and Sasha are guilt buddies- basically they both can connect and relate through their feelings of guilt for the things they’ve done, allowing them to open up to each other in ways they aren’t able to with others, even Anne

Marcy uses little text emoticons like this when texting or writing- ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ hehe :)

When Marcy sleeps, she always snores softly 

Sasha is tall

Anne is also tall but not as tall

Marcy is teeny little short and adorable <3   :3

Marcy has *panic attacks* sometimes 

Sasha’s favorite sound is Marcy’s giggle because it’s adorable <3

Yulivia is super great and very existent 

Yunan likes to watch out for Marcy and stuff

Olivia is tired of being the only adult of the group (Yunan, Marcy, Andrias, and Olivia) and wishes Andrias would act like his 1000-yo self rather than a child… she loves Marcy and Yunan anyway 

Yunan and Olivia are very protective of Marcy 

Marcy sometimes calls Yulivia ‘mom’

Although… Yunan is ‘mama’ Olivia is ’mom’ Marcy is ‘newtling’ or ‘eft’ or whatever baby newts are called

Yunan and Marcy get really close

Olivia despises Andrias for what he did to Marcy >:(

After the Calamity Trio get home, they all stay at the Boonchuy’s while they recover :)

Marcy has dyspraxia (I found the term and use for Marcy in a fic, look it up if you want to know)

Yunan has dyslexia (i found this in a fic too, and for some reason it fits)

Olivia drinks ‘juice’ but doesn’t have it too often  ;)

Marcy and Mr. Boonchuy are besties and game together 

Marcy has newt moms she considers better parents than her biological parents (i mean look at a picture down below some Darcies)

Polly would commit arson if you gave her the opportunity >:D

Marcy’s skin is often cold

Sasha is super affectionate <3

When Marcy first got back from Amphibia, she got night terrors almost nightly

Sasha can be really flirty at times

Sasha and Hunter would be best buds and friend-rivals if they met

Sasha is the best after Marcy like wow, i dont even know why but shes my favorite after marce

Sasha does not blame Marcy even one bit for the scar on her back 

Marcy loves spicy food but has zero tolerance 

Not a headcanon! Matt Braly actually said this: Marcy’s favorite flavor of ice cream is mint-chocolate chip

Marcy uses glasses sometimes and looks adorable in them <3

The girls wear suits instead of dresses occasionally 

Yulivia adopts (or has) a daughter that they name Marceline but they call her Marcy, and she’s green

Yunan wags her tail when she’s happy

Yunan is bad at flirting 

Yulivia’s daughter has autism like her namesake 

Olivia gets really flustered when Yunan does things that show her muscles hehe

Yunan and Olivia have known each other for a long time 

Yunan and Olivia tease each other a lot 

Yunan calls Olivia ‘Liv’ (that one might actually be canon i’m not entirely sure)

Got this idea from a fic: Yunan eats grubhog bacon as payback/revenge

*GASP* I said I was gonna put his but I didn’t! Well I will now. (See next)

Sasha and Marcy would totally get married if they got stuck in Amphibia together without Anne (basically she didn’t come back after dying, so no shards to go back and no Anne, just Sasharcy)

Marcy doesn’t like wearing tight clothing, partially because it’d touch her scar, partially just a preference 

*snicker* Marky Wu       B)

Both Sasha and Marcy are no good at cooking, but Sasha is better at it and less likely to set anything on fire 

Anne is amazing at cooking 

Darcy is totally autistic

Anne is a cat person

Sasha is more of a dog person (wait, she actually says this in season 3b)

Marcy just loves animals, but also birds because it reminds her of Joe

Sasha and Marcy cuddle

Marcy and Sasha are in the hospital for a bit after Amphibia, Anne comes to visit as often as possible 

The Boonchuys really care about Marcy and Sasha, even though they weren’t the best friends before, and even though they made some mistakes during their time in Amphibia. The Boonchuys recognize that the two didn’t have the greatest home life and that they went through a lot in Amphibia, neither will be the same mentally or even physically because of their actions, and they have become better people.

Sprig and Polly are ADHD. Definitely.

Anne’s favorite colors are yellow and purple 

Sasha gets a tattoo of Grime’s symbol on her bicep

Sasha is bisexual (canonically!)

Anne’s only nickname for Sasha is ‘Sash’, but Sasha lets Marcy call her ‘Sashy’ and ‘Sashimi’ and ‘Sunshine’ and all other cute nicknames its so cuuuute and Sasha doesnt let anyone else call her that

(Why the actual heck do i want to use ‘him’ for Sasha? What?) {yeah no i’m just doin it}

If (pffft if) Sasha and Marcy were in a relationship, Sasha would call Marcy all the nicknames and names you call your gf like babe/baby and honey and sweetie along with all the cute affectionate nicknames Sasha has for Marcy. Sasha would be superaffectionate in all the ways, they’d be super cute together. They’d give each other little kisses a lot, on the cheek and on the head and stuff, and Sasha would be very gentle with Marcy. They’d cuddle together at night to keep nightmares away and to make them feel safer. Can you tell I think about them a lot? If not there’s nothing I can do for you. And sometimes I wonder why a quarter of the fanart i have on my phone is Sasharcy… plus most of the art I make… if it isn’t Marcy on her own it’s Sasha with her. I love it :)

The girls get therapy 

At first Marcy covers up as much skin as possible, not wanting people to see her scars. But she eventually becomes more relaxed about it, and wears more open clothing without getting self conscious (got this idea from a piece of fanart, i’ll put it below the stab pictures)

Anne’s parents are named      ‘Bee’ (Mr. B) and ‘Oum’ (Mrs. B)

The nickname that Marcy uses for Sasha most often, more often than his actual name, is Sashy

The Calamity Trio has special nicknames for each other: Sunshine, for Sasha; Moonlight, for Marcy; and Stardust for Anne

When Sasha is feeling extra romantic (even just a tiny bit) he’ll call Marcy Moonlight

Sasha and Marcy feel more at home at the Boonchuy’s than their own houses

Marcy is a physical touch love type of person and Sasha provides that for her

Polly and King would probably take over the worlds if they met

All of the people involved with everything get nightmares about it for years afterward

Sasha sometimes has dreams about losing Marcy, and sleeping/cuddling with her helps reassure him

When the Calamity Trio go back to school they don’t really talk to many people

Anne gets super famous from being on tv

Marcy’s hair loses it’s shine/glossiness after the stuff with the Core, and it takes a bit to come back

The Calamity Trio love going to the Renaissance fair, and Anne and Sasha will show off their sword skills and spar with each other

Sometimes Anne or Marcy (but mostly Anne) will eat bugs unprompted, and other people think they’re crazy

Anne loves frogs a ton

Sometimes nightmares, guilt, and memories keep Marcy from sleeping at night

I’m torn between Marcy having a really bad sleep schedule and Sasha needing to drag her to bed or having her sleep a lot to get the rest she needs to get better/stay healthy and alive 

Maybe sleep paralysis for Marcy? maybe?

When Marcy sees Andrias again she has a panic attack, complete with flashbacks 

The Calamity Trio have tiny flecks of their gem color in their eyes

Marcy is a really good artist and draws a whole lot 

Sasha loves Marcy

Marcy loves Sasha

(oh i was supposed to put something else? sorry i got sidetracked by shipping and i’ll just get back to it-)

Sasha loves Marcy’s art and thinks she’s amazing

Marcy draws Sasha sometimes 

Sasha and Anne both think Marcy is pretty much the most adorable person ever 

Marcy and Sasha may have both had a crush on Anne before, but then they looked at each other (you know how i feel about what happened after)

I like the headcanon of Ally being Marcy’s older sister so i think i’ll use that sometimes 

if i did anything swear related Sasha would swear way more than the the other two. Anne would cuss sometimes, but avoids it most of the time. Marcy just doesn’t, unless in a super severe situation, and when she does it startles Sasha a ton (hehe)

before Amphibia, Marcy was super naive and cheerful and happy and very visibly autistic in a lovable way most of the time, and that virtually disappeared after everything that happened to her. but then, months after getting back, Marcy starts to show that side of herself again, and it makes Sasha and Anne so happy they feel like crying when they realize 

I think the Calamity Trio would have PTSD, but i don’t really know what that means so take it with a grain of salt 

Marcy thinks Sasha looks hot in his toad armor

Marcy very much does not forgive Andrias, he def does not deserve it

Felicia Sundew knows medical stuff and can treat injuries 

Marcy cannot tell when someone is being sarcastic or ungenuine, she just can’t tell the difference, so Sasha makes his jokes extra obvious and points it out to her when someone else does it so she can understand 

Sasha loves making Marcy happy, it’s his favorite thing ever to see that the things she went through didn’t break her, and that she is still happy despite everything 

Sasha and Marcy are really good at making each other feel loved 

Anne can be aro/ace so i can leave her out of the ship 

Anne ships Sasharcy

Sasha and Sprig get along sort of but won’t admit it 

Maddie and Marcy are besties 

when Maddie found out what happened to Marcy from Sasha she was devastated and swore vengeance on Andrias

Sasha is really frogging sappy

[vm-haunts]

For once in his life, Jason thinks himself lucky.

Lucky enough to not recognize batman's car, lucky enough to get caught while jacking the tires, lucky enough to be sent off to a boarding school instead of the cops.

Lucky enough to be taken in, after the boarding school turned out to be... less then legal. Lucky enough that he gets to help Batman take care of it. Lucky enough to be offered Robin.

It feels like a dream, to have that kind of luck. It doesn't feel real.

The first night in the mansion, Jason asked for a piece of candle to keep by his bed side and a few books to read.

Alfred made him promise not to leave the candle burning, then handed him a very nice candle. Scented, and in a jar. The books he is allowed to choose for himself from the friggin library, how cool is that?

So one candle, two books, a few words spoken to a friend and a flicker in return, just like always.

It's the first time in his life that he has a whole room to himself, it still feels like a surreal dream. But under that candle light, Jason dared to let himself dream.

...

Training for Robin is hard. Very hard.

He has the agility and the reflex for fights, but little of endurance or muscle mass. Because of malnourishment, Alfred reassured, nothing some supplemented meals can't fix. Still, keeping up is hard, and Jason tried his best to not see disappointment in Bruce's praise.

Then there's all the other exercises, non physical ones. Those Jason had a slightly better time keeping up.

It's a lot to learn, and his education, or lack of, isn't helping at all. But despite the effort it takes to keep up with the lesson, he cherished every moment of learning. They're worth it just for the chance to learn alone.

For the first time since ever, he has a purpose. Not just that, but the means to reach them as well.

Jason... isn't sure why his spirit responds with flickers of hesitant worry, when he tells them about his day. They're out of the streets, out of Ma Gunn's school, finally had a safe place to stay. What is there to worry about?

But that's something to think about tomorrow, he's exhausted now.

...

And then, Robin is flying under the night sky of Gotham again.

That weightlessness before a fall, it's... like magic, Jason thinks, and smiled at the indignant flicker of his spirit. Ok, they are the real magic, he gets it.

But this, this chance to be out there and help, to be making a difference in the world? It really does feel like magic.

...

Willis is dead, had been for a while.

Jason had wondered why his dad never came home, blamed him for abandoning them. Turns out he didn't, he's just... dead.

No point blaming the dead.

Two Face is... Arrested, jailed. That'd be enough payment for his dad's death. Maybe.

...

Dick is... being a dick.

Robin isn't Jason's, he knows that. Hell, Jason's pretty sure everybody in Gotham knows that- he's heard the rumors, faced the mob. But, he did work so hard for it, he did.

So why is Dick always so unhappy about him being Robin?

The first few times he gets it, an unfamiliar face in Dick's old costume can't be comforting to see. So why is Dick still arguing with Bruce about him, even all this time after Dick let he can have the title?

The spirit flickered with the usual worry and an effort at comfort, and Jason sighs. Yeah, maybe he just... have to try harder, he supposed.

If only he knows how.

...

Felipe Garzonasa fell to their death on Robin's watch.

A terrible person, fell to their death. On Jason's watch.

Jason wouldn't lie, he wants Felipe dead for what he's done. But wants and deeds are different things, no?

It doesn't seem to matter, in the end. His anger is too much for Robin, that's the final verdict.

Robin isn't Jason's, he knows, everybody knows. It's a miracle that he's allowed to have it for so long.

The spirit's worried flicker is more of a constant hum now, and that's maybe the only thing that is ever really his.

It's... fine. Jason can go find something else that is his, maybe.

...

Of course he gets caught, Bruce is Batman, why wouldn't he get caught.

Except, he didn't. Not really.

It stings, sort of, that Bruce isn't here looking for Jason. But to be honest he's equal glad that Bruce had better thing to do.

He did wondered though, a little bit, about how on earth did his dad get all these people's contact. He never asked about his dad's past, and he doubt Willis would tell him even if he could, but still.

Whatever, maybe his birth mom would know, if- when he finds her.

Little Prayers

A shrine is where gods and spirits resides, a little kid read from a book.

Thinking of that, the kid made a shrine in his corner of the apartment.

It consist of one candle and two prized books, made scared by a few candy wrappers and the prayers of a little child.

A few days later, a tiny wisp of something moved in.

...

The spirit is... weak.

Weak to the point of almost fading, when it found this tiny empty shrine and moved in.

It wasn't always this weak, maybe. Once upon a time, it might even have been strong. With a solid body, a real name.

Now it has none of that, just a wisp that held no memory nor shape.

The spirit confessed to the child, in a voice that isn't made from sound, that it isn't a god, nor can it offer protection in return. That it is sorry for taking the offering but couldn't brought anything in return.

The child doesn't know the difference though, between a god and a spirit, between then and now. Nor does he particularly cares. His little shrine worked and that's the important bit. The child told the spirit exactly that, and got a flicker in the candle light as a nod.

So the spirit stayed, in the little shrine of one candle and two books. Listening to the prayers of a child, spoken more to a friend than a god.

Maybe it can offer something back after all, the spirit thought. A presence, a friend. That'll be... not good or enough, but nice, maybe.

...

Jason is- not lucky, no.

Lucky would mean his mom is healthy, or never had gotten sick; lucky would mean his dad not getting caught, or not needing to work anything illegal at all. That would be real luck, and Jason don't have that kind of luck.

But Jason isn't absolutely unlucky either, he reasoned. His parents aren't good people by the standards of most, but they do love him, when they're able to.

That's better luck than a lot of kids in the Alley.

Jason tells that to the little god- spirit, he isn't sure he knows or cares of the difference. The wisp living in his shrine wavers, and the shadows whispers again that they're sorry they can't help him.

Jason is fine with that. The spirit staying with him in the little shrine is enough luck, maybe.

...

Then, one day, Jason's luck ran out.

Well, not really. There's a lot that can happen to a kid left alone in the Alley, and Jason had avoided the worst of those things so far. It's the same kind of not-quite-luck that he seems to had, and Jason is greatful for it. Sometimes.

Strangely, the spirit follows him still, even without the tiny shrine to hold them. So Jason shares his day and what food he could find, like he always did. He'll eat the offering too, after, like he always did. No sense wasting perfectly fine food.

The spirit flickers sometimes, speaks with him in a way that isn't really speaking, and Jason is... not content, but greatful, maybe, to be not entirely alone.

[like-rain-or-confetti]

Not A Place for Children (Scarecrow x child!reader)

Arkham Asylum was no place for children. Everyone knew that. It was barely hospitable for adults nevermind children. Had the city not been so corrupt and actually had decent standards for the Asylum, maybe it could achieve decent living standards and an acceptable quality of life. The Asylum was dark and dreary illuminated by harsh white lights that acted more like spotlights for interrogations along the corridors. Some lights blinked and flickered, revealing the aged walls. 

You had been led into a room with a coffee table and seats, paper and crayons to keep you occupied. Your father Jonathan had just been admitted to Arkham and that left a custody issue seeing he was your only parent and only family. Naturally, you'd have to be put in the system. A social worker from child protective services was sent for you. She looked more extravagant than anyone in the whole Asylum. A grey, pencil skirt and jacket to match. Pearl necklace around her neck. Her blonde hair scraped back into a tight bun, black rectangular glasses and red lips to finish her look. She expected to see a sorry sight of a child. However the door opened to reveal a well kept child. Not even a hair out of place. At least Scarecrow actually bothered to keep you well dressed and fed. There wasn't even dark circles or any inclination of disturbed sleep.The social worker had seen many children, ragged and unkempt, exhausted and malnourished. You, were exactly the opposite. At the most, you were rather shy. A common trait amongst children and no doubt you were already uneasy given the circumstances. 

The woman got down on her knees and smiled at you. "My name is Diane. My job is to help kids like you. Do you know where you are?" You shook your head, eyes staring into the crayon scribblings that resembled a child's drawings. "So this is a hospital. Your dad is here to get better. Whilst he's getting better, I'll be taking you to stay in a big house, with other kids like you. However whilst dad is getting better, you won't be able to see him, do you understand?" 

Jonathan's eyes fell on his tear stained child's face immediately. You broke free of the social workers grip and ran for him. He bent down slightly as you hugged his legs tightly, head in his stomach. "There, there...don't cry. Are you scared?" Jonathan asked as he rubbed your back as best he could against the cuffs on his wrists. You nodded.  "Don't be...this lady will make sure your safe.I wouldn't let you go if I didn't think it wasn't for the best. Everything is alright, you'll see." Throughout the visit, Diane resisted the urge to shudder. Yes, Jonathan's words were borderline comforting. However, they would have meant more if there was real feeling behind them. Firstly, his tone was off- almost condescending and mocking sometimes. Secondly, Nothing he said evoked a reaction. His face and eyes lacked any kind of emotion. In her eyes, the only reason you were comforted was because you couldn't see his face. Jonathan told you not to be afraid one last time before Diane stepped in. Time was up. Jonathan kissed the top of your head. Diane couldn't help but feel relief when it was time to get you out of the Asylum and away from your father. You were quiet and curled into yourself. Diane could hardly blame you. This place was terrifying. A few minutes had passed and you were still quiet as you followed behind her, only a step behind her. She had looked away only for a moment as the guards said something to her as they lead the way to the exit. 

Suddenly, you were tugged into the elevator, Jonathan pulled you behind him and closed the grate. The commotion made Diane turn and in horror, she noticed you were no longer with her. Just barely catching eyes with a smirking Jonathan Crane before the door shut. She gasped and that gained the attention of the GCPD and arkham staff. 

Jonathan pressed a button smiled down at you. The elevator began to move. Suddenly he pressed an alarm button and the elevator halted to a stop, mid floors. A ringing sound blared out making you crinkle your nose. Jonathan crouched down to your level and smiled. "You're going to be okay." He reassured you quietly with a smile. "Don't let them take me away, daddy." You pleaded quietly. "I want you to go along with this. Be on your best behaviour and I'll let you in on a little secret. Between you and me, hm?" You nodded and held out your pinky. He looped his pinky with yours before leaning forward and whispering in your ear. "I'll come and get you. No matter where you are. I'll always find you." "Are you really sick, daddy?" You asked quietly. He shook his head. "Now give me a big hug." He said. You did without hesitation and felt him kiss the side of your head. "Remember to behave okay? Don't you worry about a thing. We'll see each other again. I promise." He eyed the doors before pulling back. "Now, when the doors open, I need you to go with that woman and no matter what you hear or see, don't look at me. Keep looking at her and go with her." You nodded. "And I'll see you very soon." He smiled and kissed your forehead.  

Eight months had been and gone with your foster family. You still remembered your promise but had lost hope your father would ever come back. The King's- Martha and Everett, were a couple in their late thirties. Mr King was the youngest of four children, all had children but himself. An expectation that was passed from their parents. Now that retirement excitement had settles and dare anyone say bore the parents, they pressured their children to have grandchildren and continue the bloodline. Even better, be filled with pride as they were surrounded by grandchildren every second Sunday. Martha and Everett married young -thanks to pressure from Everett's parents' and his parents had expected children a few years later tops. Ten years having passed without children, it raised a lot of eyebrows among the family. However no one dared really ask why the King's didn't have children. If they had, perhaps they'd be more sympathetic. Regardless, the King's decided that fertility treatments weren't for them and that they would prefer adopting. However, never the couple to dive into anything head first, they took to fostering. Their preference was a baby, but seemingly those were common preferences. After all the older children were, the more difficult they were. At least that's what Everett's mother had said time and time again. That was until they received a call. A child, five, soon to be six, had just been put into the system. Chances of custody back to their father was next to none. Although reluctant when they recognised the last name, the King's agreed to meet the child. That led to a few more visits and before the King's knew it, they were eager to bring the child home. 

The child was quiet but well behaved and with a bit of structure and time, Everett was the first to really get the child out of their shell. The King's had since discussed adoption but were waiting for the full year mark. With every other intent and purpose, they considered the child their own and it was heartwarming for them to have a birthday party filled with cousins and friends. (Y/N) seemed to be the missing piece to the King family. 

Although this wasn't an appealing plan to Jonathan. Gotham had taken a lot from him. The world had taken even more but he'd be damned if he let the system give away his child. Barely a month after seeing you, the court decided his only child, the only family he had left, would be put into foster care. Over his dead body would he let that happen. 

He had cornered Mr King before the man could even get to his door. Strangling him with wire. Jonathan swiftly put him on the storage room, more than aware that the cameras would have caught everything. He didn't care about that. He took Mr King's key and when he opened the door, he was greeted by the call of Mrs King. Jonathan didn't reply but instead took in his surroundings. He eyed the framed photographs placed around the living room.  You were in every one. Clearly proud parents who wanted to capture every special and sentimental moment they had with you. He appreciated that. Really, he did. However you were not their child. You were his and he should be the one there for every birthday and special occasion. He had every intention of making it up to you that he had missed your birthday. He looked to his right, the kitchen where Mrs King was. To his left, the living room. Behind him was the stairs. 

The moment he saw the knife rack was in reach, he briskly walked up behind her. She moved to turn hearing his approach but didn't have enough time as her head was yanked back by her hair. Martha cried out and Jonathan shushed her. "Thank you for taking care of my baby for me." He said quietly into her ear before shoving the knife into her neck. She gurgled, eyes wide as the blood began to run down the wound. Jonathan released her almost immediately before any blood got on him. He stepped over her and moved back towards the living room where he heard a tiny gasp. He looked just in time to see you at the top of the stairs before you ran away. He waited until he was certain Martha was dead and only then did he slowly climb the stairs, listening carefully for you. He followed in the direction he saw you take off in. 

There was only one room down the hall other than the bathroom. A room that looked fitting for a child. He heard a noise and eyed the closet door. He walked towards the door. Jonathan knelt down before the closed closet door. "(Y/N)? It's daddy." He heard your muffled sobs. "(Y/N), open the door." He said as he put a hand flat on the wooden door, the other on the handle. He felt you let go from the other side and opened the door. "Look at you..." He smiled slightly. "...you've gotten taller." You fidgeted with your fingers, shrinking under his gaze. "I've missed you, dear. It's time to go home now." After a moment of looking at him uncertainly you seemed to come to a decision. You lunged forward, hugging him tightly. He returned the hug, shushing you quietly. "It's okay. I'm here now. Thank you for being so good for me."  It would have been more difficult to find you if you had been passed around time and time again. Thankfully, you know had only been moved once from social services to the King's. "Let's go home, hm?" Jonathan suggested quietly and felt your nod against his shoulder. His grip tightened as he rose to a stand, you in his arms. Jonathan caught sight of a nearby cardigan, he grabbed it and draped it over your shoulders. He walked casually, not in a hurry to flee the scene. He closed the front door and turned his gaze to the security camera. He smiled, knowing the GCPD would be looking at the very moment. He tapped your back with a finger. "See the camera up there?" He asked softly and you lifted your head and nodded. "Let's wave bye-bye." You didn't know who you were waving to exactly but waved none the less along with your father. After a brief wave and a smirk, he walked away with you in his arms, down the hall and into the elevator. 

CCTV of that street would reveal Jonathan walking hand in hand with a child and released to the public as your last known appearance along with a still frame of you and Jonathan looking up at the security camera. The best image of your face, they could have of that night. Given the incident was in the middle of the night, a clear picture of you was also released. Yet those pictures and footage kept it's description. You hadn't been seen since and even as Jonathan was arrested time and time again for his usual antics, he never told where you were. He didn't even tell if you were still alive. You were gone without a trace. The usual tactics of trying to guilt trip someone into telling, would never work on a sociopath. It was certainly one of the best kept secrets made. 

Later that night, Jonathan had called two people, asking them to meet him on a desolate road, outside of the city. Even though they had their guard up, hardly forgetting who they were dealing with. They both showed up. Alone. Just as asked. Harley and Harvey looked at each other. Questioningly. "Were you called by Crane?" Harvey asked coldly. Harley looked Two-Face up and down, warily but nodded as she approached him. "Yeah." "I wonder the secrecy." Harvey muttered. "I was told I can't tell Mister J either. Must be big." Both caught sight of headlights. "That him?" He asked. "Must be, who else is nuts enough to be out here at two in the morning?" Harley narrowed her gaze on the lights scrutinisingly. The black car pulled up on the side of the road. The cars front door opened to reveal Jonathan who briskly locked the car behind him. "Thank you for coming." "What's this about Crane?" Harv' asked gruffly. Having only asked Two-Face and Harley only raised more questions. Just what would they have in common and better yet appealing to Jonathan? "Did you find (Y/N)?" Harley asked. Jonathan nodded behind him and she took a few steps to the side to see you in the back seat, looking at the three. She wiggled her fingers with a gleeful smile and you smiled back slightly.  "I've had to be very selective on who can see them, who I can trust. When the Batman comes looking and the GCPD and they will come looking. I find I can only trust the two of you not to buckle under the pressure." Jonathan explained. "No one can find them. After tonight, they completely disappear." Batman was known to beat the answers out of people and it seemed Jonathan was certain that if anyone could keep their mouth shut no matter what- it was those two. "What do you need, huh?" Harley tilted her head. "Your silence." Jonathan ground out. "The others can know I got (Y/N) tonight but they can never know where they are after that. No one can know." "So why tell us?" Harv' gruffed out. "Because I need to trust them with someone when I can't be there. When I'm taken by the police or the Bat. Someone needs to be able to care for them until I come back." "You want us to take them if your ever arrested?" Harley asked and Jonathan nodded. Harvey sighed. "I know you'll do the right thing by my child, Harvey." Jonathan's eyes shifted to Harley. "I also know children are your soft spot Harley. If I can trust them to any one, it's you two." Harley nodded. "Okay." She said lightly, nervous but staying strong. She's sacrifice anything for Jonathan's child. Their safety above everything. Both looked to Two-Face who sighed again before nodding. "Alright. You got it." Children were innocent in his eyes. He lost faith in the justice system long ago so he couldn't trust Gotham with you. It was a simple decision. "Can we see them?" Harley asked lightly. Jonathan thought about it for a moment. "I suppose there is no harm in that." He agreed before unlocking the car doors. Harley squealed slightly in excitement as she jogged over to the back of the car and eagerly opened it. "Hi sweetie! I missed you!" She wasted no time unbuckling your belt and lifted you. "Oh you've gotten big! Thought we agreed you'd stay my little munchkin forever huh?" You giggled in response as she walked back, with you in her arms, towards the two men. "Struggling there, Harley?" Harvey tried not to laugh. "When did they get so big!? I'm not ready for them to be too old to carry around!" She feigned a sob and you giggled.   She put you down and you moved to Two-Face, hugging his waist tightly. "Hey, kid." Harv' smiled slightly. He rubbed your back. "So the others can know you got them?" Harley turned to Jonathan and he nodded. "They just can't know where I'm taking them." "Which is?" Harvey looked up from you. "You'll know if i get taken into custody. I have a place elsewhere. It's under a fake name but, they'll have their own room. If I'm caught, I'll need you to take them somewhere else with you. Hide them. No one can know where they are." Harley nodded. "We can do it. Mister J won't suspect a thing. Our lips are sealed." She nodded to Harvey who nodded in agreement. "Thank you." Jonathan replied. "Come along, (Y/N). It's late." "It is! You need lots of sleep so you can grow even more! Then I can cry because one day you'll say you're too old for cuddles!" Harley lifted you off your feet as she hugged you tightly. She planted three kisses to the side of your face before putting you down. "Come on, let's get your belt on." She pulled you along, jogging with you as you ran with her to the car. "Oh it's nice and warm in here!" Jonathan and Harvey heard Harley exclaim. Jonathan looked at Two-Face. "I'm hoping they'll sleep in the car, we've got a bit of a drive." Two-Face nodded. "The heat will do it. Are they alright?" Harvey asked. Jonathan nodded. "Yes. They were a little frightened at first but it wasn't long before they realised they were going to be alright." "Good." Harvey nodded. "And the guardians?" "They'll be found soon enough." Jonathan replied.

[come-down-that-tree]

Prologue Previous

Come down that tree! (An aftermare story)

Chapter 8: Hindi ka pangit mahal kong kaibigan!

Something was tingling his nose. Nightmare groaned before cracking open an eye-socket and falling nose to nose with his twin's face, far too close to his. He somehow looked really smug and was holding a blade of grass, he probably used that to bother his nose and that's what woke him up.

"What…"

Dream instantly shushed him, smile going wide and body almost vibrating from barely contained energy. What was happening? The dark twin tried to remember the last time he was greeted from sleep in such a strange way. His fuzzy mind summoned some distant memory about a "really cute squirrel who somehow fell asleep on his lap and that should not be awakened" and he glanced to his lap. There was resting the snoozing head of their “guest”. Gears turned slowly inside his mind and due to an inability to properly compute any information so early in the morning, Nightmare just huffed and looked back at his brother as if everything was normal.

“You think you can get us something good for breakfast ‘m kinda hungry?”

Dream just nodded and went his merry way to the village but he still saw the shine in the goldenish eyes. That little-

He will let this slide because the other guardian finally looked happy again and maybe also because he was beyond exhausted. Maybe. He didn’t even remember falling asleep last night.

Now about his lap’s situation… Should he move him?

He didn’t move him.

What would be the point? All he risked was to wake the other up. When he was probably just as tired as him. What if he somehow woke up half panicked again? Would he be able to be left unharmed this time? There was no cute animal on his lap.

A menacing ticking bomb at best.

The future exploding engine stirred a bit and Nightmare tensed.

Do not move.

May the train of panic go back to its station without his passenger.

“I GOT DONUTS!”

Nightmare silently cursed his twin and surveyed the result of the shout with a wary eye. The sleeper uncurved from his asleep posture and gazed upon the surroundings.

Geno didn’t even seem to react upon realizing his position and just sat up against the tree, all while rubbing away the tiredness of his face.

Dream sat in front of them and started to share the various pastries stored in a basket he brought back from down the hill without a care in the world.

They ate together, ignoring for a blissful moment all the turmoil from the last days. Nightmare cut half of his sugary treat to nimble on it, pondering over his feelings over the whole situation. He could see on one side his brother eating far too quickly as usual -he was going to choke anytime soon now- and on the other side Geno treated the food as if it was something incredibly precious… Was he eating enough? Spirit guardians didn’t need that much food to go on. Honestly, a sunny day was almost as filling as a big meal and they only ate sometimes as a treat.

The monsters in his books seemed to eat at least once a day, unless they were on some sort of adventure. He eyed up and down their guest. Hard to say when a skeleton was malnourished. But his bones’ dull color and… “melted” eye socket didn’t offer him the image of a healthy individual…

A part of him refused to even worry about the one who scared and endangered him so much recently. How dared he call him soulless… It hurted. A lot. It wasn’t the first time he had been accused of such a thing and he would have lashed out -or fled- if not for the sad sight he had had before him. Geno had all but crashed down, unresponsive to the outer world. Memories of weeping down in a dark alley after a literal breakdown had made him do what he’d wish someone had done to him then. Get him back to reality, maybe a bit harshly, and ensure he calmed down fully before anything. His anger had dimmed along the ordeal.

It had disappeared completely when the other went back on his words.

Still, he was still waiting for a genuine apology. But confronting the other about that didn’t sit well with him. He will wait. He was sure now. Geno was strange, not mean.

A shiver on his neck made his head turn around. He caught Dream staring at him with a frown, some donut crumbs lingering around his mouth. His brother almost instantly smiled at him brightly as if the frown had been nothing more than a hallucination upon noticing him watching. Uh? Was something worrying him? Maybe a conversation will be needed later… He didn’t like the face he saw and liked even less what it could mean.

Later.

When he’ll no longer be so exhausted from all this touchy feelings stuff. Urg.

He’ll ignore it for today, just today.

Ignorance was bliss and he sure was yearning for some…

It was not as blissful as he'd hoped. Not for him. They stayed in an awkward silence for days!!!

Dream seemed to spend an awful long time in the village. Geno kept silent and Nightmare didn't know what to say.

Awkward. Silence.

The time suddenly felt so long. He was used to silence but not that kind. A heavy one. He tried his best to distract himself with books. Why couldn't he focus properly on the stories? He already read that line three times and that was one of his favorite books he specially went to pick up at the library -he also finally apologized for the wet book, thankfully the old librarian was one of the few to not dislike too much so his precious book's supply hadn't been cut off- in the vain hope it could distract him.

But no. He kept thinking about the other resting in the grass not far.

It was the 4th time he read that sentence.

"What are you readin' ?"

Geno was all of the sudden right next to him, glancing at the words he was trying to understand. The surprise made Nightmare let go of the book that hit the grass with a flap. The monster calmly picked it up and handed it to him. The guardian took it with much more precaution than needed and secured it against his chest before even thinking about answering.

“It’s “La nuit des enfants rois” by Bernard Lenteric…”

“Oh? I don’t know that one, what’s it about?”

He turned fully towards Geno and cocked his head on the side, wondering if the other genuinely wanted to hear about the book’s plot or was just… What?

“Come on, don’t be shelf-ish! Share with the class!”

“If you insist… Wait a second.”

The realization of the attempt at a book pun made him wheeze. It was bad! Truly! But he did not expect it and now he just. Couldn’t. Stop. Laughing! They ended up talking for a while about this book, then other books, then weird scientific experiments about waffles… Geno tried to pun his way through the whole conversation, talking faster and louder with each one succeeding in making the guardian react.

It had been… fun.

He glanced at Geno who was trying to tell a story with the more fish puns possible in it. The monster was grinning brightly. He sure was prettier with a smile on.

Geno suddenly dropped the smile and looked at him with a strange shine in his eyes.

"I'm no pretty."

Oh. Oh! He said it aloud. Warmth went up his face as shame flooded his system. Whyyyy!?

His bashful act disappeared as soon as he registered how serious Geno seemed. He stared at the other for a second before saying out loud and clear:

"You're not ugly either."

"No. I am."

"Why are you being so stubborn about it? Can't accept a little compliment, can you?"

At this point, Nightmare was just irked by the discussion and stopped thinking altogether about what he was sputtering about. He would think later about how utterly silly the argument was and maybe swallow a bit in shame once alone. But now what was important was winning the argument.

"Sure, you aren't a beauty princess but going as far as calling yourself ugly is stupid. Why are you doing that?"

“Hypocrite!” was shouting his mind but he pushed the thought away. Now was not the time for that.

Geno sighed and shaked his head. Was the fool going to argue such a dumb fact?

Nightmare squeaked as he watched the monster slowly lift his shirt. Nope. Automatically his hands flew to his eye sockets. Ah! He can’t see anything now. Not good if the need to run arised…

“What are you doing?”

…

No answer, nothing. Should he try a peek?

His fingers moved slightly to allow himself to see.

His hands dropped.

In front of him, Geno was looking away, a hand holding his shirt up, revealing a sight the negative guardian wasn’t prepared to see. Ever. He tentatively itched closer, not daring to turn his eyes away.

“Does it hurt?”

A shiver runned through the most damaged ribs Nightmare has ever seen.

“No. Not anymore.”, breathed Geno.

The bones looked like something all but gnawed on it right after stabbing it all over. What was strange was the absence of cracks. Almost as if, the missing bits had not been torn away but just decided to stop existing. What could cause such “wounds”?

“How did you…?”

“I rather not talk about it.”

And with these words, the fabric flopped down, cutting short the fragile conversation. They fall back into silence.

But with the thoughts raging through his mind, Nightmare didn’t feel really “quiet”.

He didn’t know what to say so he said nothing and went to sit a bit further against a tree, cracking open his book. Not once did he cross Geno’s eyes during the process.

It was the 5th time he read this sentence.

End of chapter 8!

Go to chapter 9?

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

@dragon-tamer-1 @shinechermont @zu-is-here

Dreamtale, Dream and Nightmare belong to @/jokublog

Geno to @/loverofpiggies

[storiesforallfandoms]

inspirational ~ corpse husband

word count: 1589

request?: yes!

“Hi! I was wondering if you could do a corpse husband imagine where the reader has a feeding tube? If you can’t that’s perfectly fine, I just haven’t been able to find one yet.”

description: in which the group plays with a popular streamer that has a feeding tube and corpse tells her how much she inspires him

pairing: corpse x female!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of chronic pain and cancer, also i only know a little bit about feedings tubes, i tried to do research in order to make myself more familiar but if there’s a lot of inaccuracies or anything i am very sorry i’m gonna try my best

masterlist (one, two)

Corpse listened to his friends shouting at one another to accuse each other of being sus. As usual, there was no use in trying to get a word in. Corpse spoke so softly that no one would even hear him unless they wanted to hear what he was saying.

“(Y/N)!” Toast suddenly exclaimed. “You’re being very quiet right now.”

“Because my damn tube is mixed up in my headphone wires!” (Y/N) exclaimed, sounding like she was far away from her mic. The group chuckled and continued with their conversation about who they thought the imposter was.

(Y/N) was a known Twitch streamer and YouTuber that rose to popularity when she started a series on her YouTube channel to show her journey through cancer treatments. Long before his own sudden boom in popularity, Corpse had watched all of her videos and became invested in her Twitch streams as well. Being someone who also struggled with chronic illness and pain, Corpse felt a sense of hope watching (Y/N) go through her treatment and still seem to optimistic in life and so productive in her YouTube and Twitch channels.

When Toast messaged the Amigops group to ask if anyone wanted to join his Among Us lobby with (Y/N), Corpse jumped at the chance. He hadn’t had much time to speak with her alone, but he was hoping to be able to tell her how much watching her content lifted him up during his worst times.

The meeting ended with no one being voted and brought them back to the office of the Polus map. Since they were playing with proximity chat, the argument from the meeting immediately continued with Rae and Toast warning everyone to stay away from Sean, who they were susing at the second imposter after already voting out Charlie.

Corpse watched (Y/N)’s pink astronaut run out of the office, silent amongst the chaos. He waited a moment before deciding to follow her, hoping he could meet her somewhere alone so he could talk to her.

He ran into O2 and noticed a pink bean in the boiler room stood by the water wheels. He ran in and stood in the doorway a moment before speaking.

“Hello (Y/N).”

“Ah fuck!” (Y/N) exclaimed. “Corpse! Don’t scare me like that!”

Corpse chuckled. “Sorry, I’ll warn you next time.”

“Are you here to kill me?”

“Maybe.”

“I’m okay with that. I feel like being killed by Corpse Husband in Among Us is like a rite of passage at this point.”

Corpse slowly approached (Y/N) to which she quickly ran away from him to the other water wheel. He laughed again before assuring her, “I’m not an imposter, you can trust me.”

“I don’t think I can, but I will choose to trust,” she told him.

“I actually came looking for you because I wanted to talk to you.”

“What did you want to talk about?”

There were so many things running through Corpse’s mind. He just wanted to blurt out everything he had thought about (Y/N) and her story, to thank her for giving him hope, to tell her what an inspiration she was. But his words caught in his throat and he struggled to get anything out.

Finally, he said, “What’s it like trying to be a streamer with your...with the um...”

“The feeding tube?” (Y/N) finished for him. “You can say it, Corpse. It’s not exactly a secret.”

He sighed, glad that she had a joking tone about it. “Yeah, with the feeding tube.”

“It’s annoying,” (Y/N) admitted. “Like...I’m assuming you’ve seen my streams or my videos but for the sake of anyone watching your stream who hasn’t: I have a nasogastric feeding tube, or an NG-tube, which is a feeding tube that goes in through the nose. As cliché as it is, just picture Hazel Grace from the Fault in our Stars. Additional cliché, I have it because I had cancer and the treatments left me so malnourished that I need a feeding tube even after I’ve gone into remission. So, because it’s tubes that are connected in my nose, I keep getting my headphone wires tangled in my tube or, very rarely, my mic wires, and it’s fucking annoying. It hurts like a bitch when I go to stand up and I yank the wires  by accident or something.”

“Does...does anything else hurt? Because of the cancer or the treatment or anything?”

“Not as much as it used to. I went into remission like nearly a year ago, so I’m doing better. It’s a process, but it’s had an amazing outcome in the end so I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“I find you really inspirational,” Corpse finally blurted.

He felt his face heat up with slight embarrassment as (Y/N) giggled. “You do?”

“Yeah. I followed your series about your recovery and I’ve watched some of your livestreams every now and then. What always stood out to me was when you talked about the negative side effects of your treatment, and eventually having to put the feeding tube in and how you’ve found that effects you, too. Being someone with chronic illness and constant pain, I’ve also had those days where it feels like even getting out of bed is too much work and I don’t feel like I can stream or make a video, but then my anxiety tells me that everyone is going to forget about me if I don’t make some type of content, so it’s just an internal struggle when really I should be resting.”

“Being a content creator and having an illness is tough,” (Y/N) agreed. “It feels like you can’t take a day off. I sometimes regret making that series because on days that I felt absolutely awful, I didn’t want to film or edit anything, but I felt like I had to because so many people were watching. Ironically enough, that became the topic of one of those videos; I just sat in front of my camera looking the worst I think I’ve ever looked on camera and talked about how exhausted I felt just from being alive, but felt like I couldn’t rest because of my channel. That’s when I started taking longer breaks between videos and streaming. Your fans won’t leave you, not the true fans anyways. They’ll always be by your side even if you decide to disappear from the Internet forever.”

Corpse half smiled to himself. “I’ve thought about doing that sometimes.”

“It’ll be easy for you to do that where you’re faceless. No one would bother you even after you left the Internet cause they’d have no idea it was you unless you spoke.”

A brief pause in their conversation caused them to hear Sean yelling as he ran past the room. (Y/N) giggled and walked out of the room. Corpse followed, hoping to continue the conversation somewhere else.

“It means a lot to me that you think that about me, though,” (Y/N) continued as she ran into the storage room. “I find you pretty inspirational too.”

This took Corpse by surprise. He didn’t know how to respond. Sure, he heard that all the time from his fans, and it always meant the world to him to know that people found him to be an inspiration, but it felt different to hear that from someone he had looked up to for so long.

“I wish I could’ve been a faceless creator like you,” she said when Corpse didn’t respond. “One of my biggest regrets is probably showing my face online. Although, it wouldn’t make sense for me not to show my face when I’m making a series about cancer treatment, but people can be mean. Even when someone is struggling with illness or a disease, the Internet doesn’t care. Whatever makes them feel better over someone else feeling like shit.”

“I still get a lot of hateful messages even though I’m faceless, though.”

“You do, but you’re so unbothered by it. Publicly anyways. When I get messages about how sickly I look I get so overwhelmed with sadness and I just wanna delete my channel forever. I can’t even fake not caring because it really does effect me.”

“Stick with me, I’ll teach you my ways. My favorite is trolling the troll.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “I’d like that a lot.”

Corpse watched (Y/N)’s pink bean approach his black one. “I’m glad we had this chat, Corpse. It made me really happy, but now it also makes doing this a lot harder.”

Corpse gasped as a kill animation popped up on the screen and (Y/N)’s astronaut quickly disappeared into the nearby vent. He was stunned into silence for a long time, just watching his ghost floating above his dead body. To make matters worse, (Y/N) had closed the door to storage so no one would find his body unless they had to go in there.

Charlie’s ghost floated through the walls and came to float next to Corpse’s. “Figured out Jack wasn’t the other imposter, huh?”

“Yeah,” Corpse said, laughing. “She really had me fooled. Buttered me up with compliments then killed me.”

“I taught her well,” Charlie comments before floating away again.

Corpse couldn’t help but laugh about the situation. He wasn’t mad, more impressed than anything. And he was a little happy; he got to talk to someone that had always been an inspiration to him and he made a new friend.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S1:E3; Chapter Three, Holly, Jolly - [Pt. 3]

A Will Byers x Male!Reader Series

𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘠/𝘯, 𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦, 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭. 𝘈 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳.

|| 𝟑𝐫��� 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

Hopper pulls up to the library, thankful to get a spot up front. He steps out of the vehicle and makes his way inside, Powell behind him.

Hopper takes off his hat as he enters the building, making sure to send a big smile to the librarian.

"Hey, Marissa. How you doin'?"

The disapproving look on Marissa's face never left as she spoke.

"You have a lot of nerve showing up here."

"What?"

"You could have at least called, said, 'Marissa! Hey, it's not gonna work out. Sorry, I wasted your time. I'm a dick.'"

Powell was unsure of what to do; he looked from Marissa to Hopper, waiting.

Hopper only stares ahead for a moment, unsure of what to say. Finally, with a subtle smirk, he mutters,

"Yep."

She looks to him, shaking her head expectantly. He seemed at a loss for words again as he shook his head.

"I'm sorry. Uh... Maybe we could go out again next week?" He offers, hoping for the best. She slowly turns her head to Powell and gives him a 'is he for real?' look. In turn, Powell slowly looks over to Hopper awkwardly. Hopper, already knowing he chose his words poorly, visibly cringed, and was eager to change the subject.

"Newspapers? You guys got newspapers around here?"

Marissa had shown them over to the filing cabinet and started pulling out drawers, naming the selections.

"We have the New York Times, the Post, all the big ones. Organized by year and topic. You can find the corresponding microfiche in the reading room." She briefly gestures behind her.

"Okay, we're looking for anything on the Hawkins National Laboratory."

"Well, shouldn't you be looking for that missing kid?"

"Yeah." He states as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We are."

She nods her head, suspicious.

"Uh, so, why don't you start with the Times, and we'll check out the Post."

Marissa scoffs and looks behind her to Powell, unsure if he's serious. She turns back to Hopper and lets out a soft 'hmph!' before strutting away. Powell steps forward and lowers his voice in a questioning tone.

"The librarian?"

Hopper shrugs wildly before diving into the drawers of files.

The two men had gathered a handful of files and set to work in the other room. Each at their own microfiche, reading every column.

Hopper scanned another column that caught his attention.

'ALLEGED EXPERIMENTS, ABUSE' by T. Bridges.

"Terry Ives' legal case against embattled research scientist Dr. Martin Brenner suffered another setback today when the district attorney's office formally refused to press criminal charges against Brenner, his fellow researchers, assistants, or the project's sponsors, citing lack of evidence. Local law enforcement executed a search..."

Next column.

'MKULTRA EXPOSED' by T. Bridges

"The trust of the American people has been shaken to its core as a special inquiry into a covert CIA operation, code-named MK ULTRA, has exposed the extensive details about that which has been haunting the nation for the past decade. Six subjects have come forward..."

This particular column was accompanied by a negative of seven people. Five of which were slightly disheveled, in hospital gowns. A man in a turtleneck and blazer stood obediently in the back. A man in a fancy suit and tie, holding a clipboard stood front and center. A man with whom Hopper guessed to be Brenner.

Next slide.

'DR. MARTIN BRENNER NAMED IN LAWSUIT' by A. Ward - Staff Writer

"Senior researcher Doctor Martin Brenner and seven other staff researchers have been named in a new lawsuit filed today on behalf of former federal research study participant, Terry Ives. Dr. Brenner's attorney in conjunction with the Department of Energy has asked the circuit court to seal the details of the lawsuit until the attorney general's office can determine that no federal..."

Hopper found himself more engrossed and confused as he read.

"...her newborn daughter for scientific research. Following an investigation, the district attorney has already declined to press criminal kidnapping charges against the research facility and staff, citing lack of evidence. Dr. Brenner's attorney called Ms. Ives' allegations baseless and tragic, citing Dr. Brenner's excellent reputation, his twenty recent peer-reviewed scientific papers..."

The next slide was a short column with another accompanying photo. Although the picture was small and blurry, it wasn't hard to see the grief-stricken features on the young woman.

TERRY IVES SUING - 'They took my daughter' by Benjamin Buck

"After the district attorney's office declined to press criminal charges citing lack of evidence, local resident Terry Ives is not giving up her search for justice for herself and her daughter, and this morning filed a lawsuit against research scientist Dr. Martin Brenner and his staff.

Ms. Ives' suit seeks unspecified damages against Dr. Brenner and his facility, alleging physical abuse, sleep deprivation, malnourishment, and multiple allegations of kidnapping; both attempted and successful..."

Hopper sighed, trying his best to swallow all of this new information.

'What the hell has been happening in this damn town?'

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Three. One. Five. The numbers on the strange new bracelet read three one five.

Thankfully, El was able to find her way back outside by the large telephone pole where Mike told her to meet them. But El was still nervous. She just hoped no one had spotted her.

El couldn't find it in her ability to stay still. She couldn't stop pacing and she was subconsciously shaking out her hands, her nerves shot.

'What if someone saw her?'

She eagerly checked the bracelet, muttering aloud to herself.

"Three-one-five. Three-one-five. Three-one-five..." her voice turned soft as her confidence wavered. The only thing that was able to take her attention away from the bracelet was the familiar sound of meowing next to her.

Shocked, she looked over to see a scrawny orange cat staring at her from the other side of the fence. It began to meow again and panic and guilt crashed over her as once again another terrible memory resurfaced.

- 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 -

The white cat in the cage before Eleven let out a terrible hiss at her. Her head began to shake as she strained her ability. The combination of the cat growling and hissing and the frantic beeping of the machines was enough to push her even further.

She didn't want to. She never wanted to hurt this poor creature. But she knew that if she didn't, she would have to face the consequences. She would have to go back there. The cat gave out another deep growl and Eleven tried to the best of her ability not to cry. Not to break.

The cat began snarling, and it quickly turned to whimpers of pain. Eleven was freely crying now as she looked between the frightened cat and Papa. She gave one final look at the cat before yanking the wires off her head in defeat.

No. She couldn't.

She wouldn't.

She looked at Papa defeated. She shook her head in defiance, though her sobbing gave away her true feelings. He only stared at her in disapproval.

"No! No!" She struggled and kicked. She fought back with all her might while Papa stood at the end of the hallway. Doing nothing.

"Papa! Papa! Papa! Papa! Papa!" She screamed her throat raw as the men dragged her away, yet as always Papa only watched it happen.

"No!" Her shrieks grew more violent as she neared the room.

She couldn't go back in there.

She couldn't.

The men tossed her inside and began closing the door.

She wouldn't.

Eleven stood to her feet and before they could close the steel door, she threw it open in a fit of rage, her attention quickly shifting to one of the men doing this her. In the very next instant, his back was thrown into the ceramic just behind him. His limp body slipped to the floor, leaving a large hole in the tile.

The second man spared a second to look before turning to her to try and restrain her.

Before he could even step foot in the room, he was dead on the floor, his neck snapped. All with the flick of her head.

Overwhelmed with exhaustion, she collapsed against the wall, her nose and ears bleeding.

Papa appeared. He took one look at the cracked wall, to the collapsed man, and then at Eleven. Yet she couldn't move. She was completely drained, all she could do was stare at him. He slowly stepped towards her, staring at her.

She looked up at him in fear of what would happen next, and what did was not something she could have anticipated. He slowly reached his hands out, cupping her face. Sobs wracked her body, and he stared at her in awe.

"Incredible."

He reached down, hooking an arm under her legs, th arried her like an infant. He carried her out of the room and down the hallway, staring at her sobbing form as if he hadn't been the one to cause it.

- 𝗘𝗡𝗗 𝗢𝗙 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 -

"El!"

El turned her head to see Mike, Y/n, Lucas and Dustin. They were walking their bikes across the muddy grass in her direction.

Mike looked to her concerned as he, as well as the others, turned their bikes around.

"You okay?"

Relieved to see her friends, she nodded her head.

Mike gave the seat of his bike a few pats.

"Hop on. We only have a few hours."

Hesitantly, she walked forward. But she complied nonetheless and got on Mike's bike, and the five of them peddled off.

|| 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

The five us were walking our bikes through the woods. Dustin and Lucas were in the back, while Mike and El were just a few steps in front of me. El was looking around as she walked and suddenly I felt her eyes on me. I suddenly became very self-conscious of my cut.

I got it to stop bleeding eventually, but I don't know how I will ever explain this to Mom. She worries so easily. And, I don't think I have ever had a cut this big but I'll survive. My thoughts are cut short when I become very aware of the fact that El had fallen back next to me and was now looking at me with concern.

"Why did they hurt you?" Her voice came out very soft but was laced with concern.

"Huh?" I asked surprised.

El extended her arm out and pointed to my chin. I looked down, upset with how things went today.

"Oh, that. I uh, well... I was tripped. By this mouth breather, Troy."

Her face scrunched up in confusion.

"'Mouth breather?'"

"Yeah. You know, a dumb person,"

I suddenly grew quiet, and El noticed.

"Y/n, are you okay?"

I paused. "Yeah. Yeah, it'll be ok." I said.

I knew what she meant but I didn't think it was noteworthy to bring up how I was feeling.

"Y/n." I turn to look at her and she is giving me a knowing look. "Friends tell the truth."

I began to fight tears that were stinging my eyes, but I wouldn't let them fall.

"I just... I just miss him. Will, I mean. And the things Troy was saying..." I began feeling myself get worked up again at the mere thought of it. "They were awful. Truly awful, and I just... I'm tired. And worried. And I just want to find my friend."

There was suddenly a somber silence over the group that was quickly broken by El's soothing tone.

"Y/n," she said sternly, pulling my eyes to her. There was a soft demand behind her eyes, willing my gaurd down. "I understand."

I looked at her, a grateful smile on my features and my voice came out in a weak whisper.

"Thank you, El."

She gave me a warm smile in return. It very much resembled the one I gave her the first night we met. It was at this moment I knew. I had just found myself a very unique and powerful friendship; one that stood out from my friendship with the party.

El and I have a lot more in common than I thought.

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober 2021 - October 1 - Bound

Fandom: Nightwing, Batman - All Media Types

AO3

Warnings: Kidnapping, Panic Attacks, Isolation, mentions of IV/needles

---

It’s been hours since Dick’s woken up… here.

“Here” is hard to describe, yet incredibly easy. He can say for sure that at least within the 180 degrees ahead of him, it’s all white. White walls that, if arranged in a mirrored-image behind him, might make a hexagon. The ceiling above him is bright and unforgiving, LED lights dotting the space above him like freckles on Barbara’s cheeks and shoulders. He can’t see any sign of a door ahead of him, and the gray-speckled white tiles that make the floor aren’t particularly enjoyable to look at.

Yeah, describing what he can see about the room is the easy part. The hard part is that behind him? It’s all guess-work. For all he knew, there could be nothing behind him, or a cliff, or… or something ridiculous. There could be a whole manner of things behind him, but it’s impossible for him to get a look because his head is strapped to the cushioned chair he’s forced to sit on.

He hates this. It’s been hours. The chair, while cushioned, isn’t even that comfortable. The way his arms lay on the armrests and his feet come together near the end of the chair suggests a dentist’s chair and a therapist’s sofa had an evil love-child who was into bondage, considering how many straps were buckled in to keep him trapped down.

He’s going to lose his mind. Did he really just make a bondage joke about a chair?!

Anyway, he’s stuck here, his arms pinned down by the wrists, elbows, and under his armpits. Two heavy straps run over each shoulder and cross in the middle of his chest to connect back to the chair near his hips. And speaking of hips, there’s another strap around them too like an old Volkswagen seat belt. More straps around his thighs, knees, and ankles keep his legs locked together and down. That’s not even mentioning the binds that lock around his neck or the one around his forehead that’s fitted to the headrest that seems designed to not let him even attempt to rotate his chin to the side.

It’s horrible, and awful, and cruel, and unusual, and he’s not even that sure why he’s here. All he can tell is that he has a massive headache, his Nightwing mask is on but his suit is gone—replaced by some sort of nightgown that definitely doesn’t seem friendly, and whenever he tenses his arm he can feel a tug in his wrist.

Must be an IV of some sort? It’s strange though, from what he can see he can’t see any medical equipment hanging around him. But it has to be an IV. With his night job, he’s become familiar with the way his lips go dry and how his fingers tremble when the damn needle gets put in his arm.

But… if it is an IV, it must need changing by now, surely. It’s been hours, and those things don’t last that long.

Hours. Sitting here with the feeling of a needle in his arm, not sure where he is or what he’s doing here, nothing to look at besides those Barbara Gordon freckles on the ceiling and those gray speckles on the tile.

He tugs on the restraints for what must be the thousandth time, and growls when nothing happens, as unsurprising it is. All his attempts to slip out of or break the restraints have left him with nothing but bruising and irritated skin. However, he feels so restless and bored out of his mind that tugging on the belts seems to be the only productive thing his brain can think of to do.

He tugs again, and nothing happens. He sighs. Relaxes back. And… tries to think of how he got into this mess.

It’s just as successful as breaking the straps.

-o-o-o-o-

“Okay, I’ll bite,” he calls out to nothing. His eyes hurt, he’s exhausted, he needs to pee and that’s something he doesn’t want to deal with. “What do you want from me, eh?”

Silence. His hands bunch in angry fists and he pulls against the straps hard enough for him to feel the edge bite into his skin.

“Batman’s identity?” He tries, because it’s always about Batman’s Identity (TM). When there isn’t any answer, he continues. “Police secrets?” Nothing. “Superman’s identity?”

Nothing. He growls and glares at the empty walls ahead of him.

-o-o-o-o-

He’s using the pain in his wrists, focusing on the warmth running down the cuts the straps have finally created, instead of the pressure in his bladder.

It only lasts so long.

Great, so now he’s bored out of his mind, stuck, and the room smells horrible. Or, the room smells horrible until whatever unseen vent takes away the reek and the chair dries, leaving him being the only one who’s smelling.

He hates this. He hates this. He hates this.

He jerks against every restraint and snarls in impatience and restlessness. He can feel the cuts tear more, but he’s close to not caring, he longs to move.

If his snarling eventually fades into howls, then he’s almost positive no one is around to hear it other than himself.

-o-o-o-o-

Bruce’s cape settles around his feet as he lands, launching droplets of questionable sewage water up to his knees. Damian lands beside him, the whites of his domino mask narrowed in fierce determination.

It’s been nothing but a series of long hours since the Riddler kidnapped Dick with the clues to his whereabouts left carved into the pavement with abandoned Wing-Dings. During Bruce’s search, a few things became apparent: Dick was trapped, alone, and Bruce had until Dick died from malnourishment once the crude IV he was apparently attached to ran out. Riddler is already behind bars, has been for several hours, but interrogation wont get him to give up his games, and Bruce may be a vigilante and “above the law”, but he wont stoop so low as to torture.

At least, not until things get desperate and Damian’s not around to see. Dick would never forgive Bruce, and will probably never talk to him even in any kind of afterlife.

But it hasn’t come to that, Tim solved the riddle through emails delivered from wherever he’s located with his Young Justice friends. They’re always changing spots, and even if Tim were to come home and solve the riddles in person, it would probably be too late.

It isn’t too late, he reminds himself as Damian takes off down the sewers. They know Dick’s exact coordinates. Bruce almost kicked himself when Tim revealed them, because of course lead to Gotham’s abandoned sewage system.

The way to Dick’s location is a tough one, one riddled (as Dick would say) with traps. But they’re nothing compared to a worried father and a determined brother. They find the door nudged neatly behind a section of brick, and when Bruce opens it he’s almost blinded by the night vision in his lenses adjusting to the sudden attacks of bright lights.

Bruce sees before he hears. His eyes were always one of his favorite senses, which is probably why Damian—a boy who’s had to hear to save his life many times—ran to the chair in the middle of the hexagon-shaped room before him. White walls, white tile, white LED’s to sit in a white ceiling. The back of a padded chair in the center of the room faces him, revealing nothing of what it contains.

And then Bruce hears the screaming. Weak, clawing screaming that sounds like what sandpaper would feel on dry skin. He knows this scream, the tones to it, and within moments he’s running to the front side of the chair with Damian.

Dick’s there… writhing. Blood stains skin and cloth around almost every strap holding him down from struggling that must have been continuing for hours. As Damian tears an IV—the tube feeding him nutrients disappears within the chair; there must be some sort of mechanism keeping it working within its structure—Dick’s struggles like he doesn’t notice the change. His eyes are squeezed shut, tears drip down his cheeks, and his screams are so so hard to listen to. Does he even know they’re here?

“Dick,” Bruce says, knowing there’s no one to hear him with Riddler behind bars and his goons scattered. Dick doesn’t respond, just continues to yowl like a wounded stray cat. Already, Bruce can see the symptoms of prolonged use of an IV and of exhaustion. Has Dick slept at all since being kidnapped?

Damian begins work on one of the straps around Dick’s jerking wrists. Bruce follows suit, quickly, desperately wanting to get his eldest out of here, but he’s forced to abandon his task when the loosened strap on Damian’s side allows Dick to tug his wrist free and move to hit the boy. Bruce catches his hand before the hit can be met.

“LET ME GO!” Dick screeches.

“Dick, we’re helping you,” Bruce shouts back wearily, but Dick doesn’t listen as he begins to babble all kinds of demands similar to let me go. Bruce gives Damian a look. “He’s exhausted and most likely delusional. Our best course of action would be for me to hold him down, and you undo the rest of the straps. Maybe we can get to him without having to risk drugging him once he’s no longer restrained.”

Damian looks all parts of his age as he takes a second to give a shockingly vulnerable stare Dick’s way. The vulnerability only lasts a moment before Damian’s nodding. “Got it.”

The next several minutes are filled with events that will reveal themselves in bruises with the coming days, even through the kevlar. It’s tough work keeping a Dick Grayson down, especially when it’s a Dick Grayson who absolutely refuses to be kept down in the first place. However, eventually they release the last strap around Dick’s other wrist and soon enough, both Bruce and Damian are jumping back and Dick launches himself out of the chair, stumbling to the floor and then falling to his ass when his knees give out. Dick looks pitiful, trapped between wanting to curl up and cry or stand up and run, yet curling up seems to win out as Dick must have no energy to lift himself back up.

“Dick,” Bruce calls again when Dick’s hoarse breathing calms, and this time, hope flutters into his belly when Dick’s shoulder’s tense in response.

“… B…?” comes a horribly weak response, but a response nonetheless. Bruce rushes around the damned chair to where his eldest still sits, curled up and shaking. He reaches out unconsciously, kneeling down to scoop Dick up in an embrace, but stops when Dick violently flinches away.

“Don’t touch me,” he whimpers, “just- I don’t- I couldn’t move-” he breaks into sobs.

Bruce is almost considering returning to Arkham and breaking a few bones. Instead, he lowers his voice and speaks as calmly as he can.

“I understand. But we have to get you back home. Just your arm around my shoulder, and I’ll support you while you walk. Can you do that?”

It’s proof of just how shaken Dick is when it takes a few moments to get a hesitant nod.

Bruce does his best to ignore Dick’s flinching and twitching while, with permission, Bruce helps Dick up and wraps his arm exactly where Bruce said he would. Damian stands a few paces off, looking torn. Bruce tells him to run ahead and bring the bat-mobile closer to the sewer opening while Dick blinks owlishly and gulps like a fish… doing his best to keep down what must be a pending panic attack. Damian thankfully leaves without much argument, and Bruce is left to help his eldest, hyperactive, always moving, always smiling, always stimming in some way or another son out the blasted room and towards freedom with as much control given over to Dick as possible.

“I scared Dami,” Dick whispers through clenched teeth, halfway through the sewage tunnels.

Bruce hums and resists tightening his grip on Dick’s arm. “It’s not your fault. He will not hold it against you.”

“I scared you.”

“… I was scared for you. But right now the only thing that matters is getting you home. Then everything can return to normal”

Dick nods his head, his voice choking in what must be another sob. “Okay,” he whispers, “okay.”

And Bruce silently vows to punch Riddler a little harder the next time he sees him.

But right now, the only thing he cares about is that Dick’s alive, and Bruce is bringing him home.

[omniishambles]

        Plotted Starter !         Eleven Jane Hopper   -   @hvbris​

        *     *     *

 It was like Joyce all over again. He didn’t want to believe she was right there in front of him, right there, close enough to touch. That he was going to hear her voice. He’d convinced himself he was gonna die in that prison. That maybe, just maybe, he could make his life worth something by using it to destroy that thing, to end this curse for good. 

 The demogorgon. It was a sick joke that the last thing he’d probably see was one of those ugly bastards. But he’d resigned himself to that fate. For El. For Joyce too. He was gonna die, but he’d die fighting, finishing the job they’d all been burdened with as best he could.

 But here he was. Home. Hawkins. Exhausted, malnourished, battered, bruised, broken. Maybe not entirely. Maybe that last scrap of hope had been worth hanging onto after all. And whatever strength he’d managed to recuperate on the journey back from Alaska almost left him when he saw his daughter on the porch. 

 God, was she taller? And her hair- she was as bald as him right now. But that didn’t matter. She looked...older, so much older since he last saw her. He felt the sting of stolen time in his chest, his mind racing with all the things he’d probably missed.

   “Hey, kid.” His voice wavered, trying to joke through the overwhelming emotion, to act casual, like she hadn’t spent all this time thinking he was dead. It still felt like a dream. Any second now, any second, he’d wake up with a start, teeth chattering, pain throbbing through his whole body.

 The seconds ticked by. He was still here. His steps were still rough to take, legs ruined by his escape attempt, but there was nothing on this earth that would stop him from going to her now, his strides getting wider and faster. Like she could still vanish any moment. He had to reach her.

        *     *     *

[unlocktxt]

in the darkness of tomorrow | c.yj

choi yeonjun x female reader

series masterlist :

prologue | part one | part two

genre: royal au, fluff, angst

description: the selection is happening once more to find a wife for prince yeonjun. y/n swears to hate the royal family, but when it’s time for the prince to choose a wife, she gets tied up in the mess.

note: this is inspired from the book the selection by kiera cass, however even though i use some of the ideas there are major differences.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: mentions being whipped and starved

tag list: @binniebutter @nshitae

this was the first time you had ever felt heartbreak. your heart has been a constant reminder that daniel ended things days ago. it haunted you, even as you passed by all of the bright faces in the city.

it seemed like heartbreak wasn’t enough for you. the world had to punish you some more by the announcement made yesterday. the news spread fast around town that day, “the selection application was required for all women of a given age.” you happened to be a part of that age group.

you doubted that the prince would choose you to even be considered as one of the options, but what if’s filled your mind. you still weren’t ready to let go of daniel. right now you wished you would’ve stayed to hear what he wanted to say, but now it was impossible.

you did anything to get your mind off of his frozen blue eyes, including thinking of the prince. unlike everyone else, you thought that prince yeonjun felt a little too entitled. single, willing women weren’t enough for him so he had to make those whose hearts belonged to someone else apply. unlike all the bright faces hoping to be picked, you didn’t want to be one of his little playthings.

they say that the selection was unbiased, but most people knew that wasn’t true. many girls who were unfortunate enough to be in castes five and lower, where they could hardly or not even make ends meet, rarely ever got picked and they were the ones who needed it most. you could stay a four and bake pastries all your life if it meant the people in castes lower than you could afford food.

besides, you had seen first hand what this kingdom has done and you didn’t agree. you would be caught dead before you ever bowed to their spoiled and corrupt system.

“hey mom!” you put on a small smile to please her worried eyes when you walked into the bakery. her small streaks of grey hair added to her beauty.

“i’m so sorry sweetie. i know how much you didn’t want to apply.” her shoulders relaxed, but she continued to place out new baked goods.

you let out a sigh, “yeah well... it doesn’t matter. it’s not like i’ll get picked.” you smiled at the thought. it was all just a waste of time.

your mom stopped, placing the basket of bread on the counter. “it’s supposed to be random... we never know.”

you furrowed your brows and laughed a bit, while giving your mom a look that said “really?” she smiled, shaking her head to acknowledge that you were probably right.

“anyways... where’s dad and taehyun?” you didn’t see or hear them in the bakery.

your mom looked up at you and for a moment she looked distant before returning to her warm demeanor. you caught the change but decided not to bring it up.

“going on an errand,” she responded simply before filling the basket of bread with a few cakes.

she wasn’t going to give you the chance to ask, but you didn’t mind. you knew she’d tell you later.

“so... this arranged engagement with taehyun.” you looked to the side while preparing your face for a whistle.

“you know he’s a great boy and he’s a doctor... a three. he also helps to manage the orphanage with the eights. he’s a great boy y/n.” your mom looked disappointed when you looked back at her.

“it’s just... when does a four ever get put in an arranged marriage. plus...” you looked down at your hands where your fingers were playing with each other, “what if... i could love someone else.” your eyes glistened at the thought of daniel always waiting for you on that tree branch. you didn’t know what caste he was in... even if he was an eight you’d be willing to be homeless with him... although now he’d be a two... all because of the draft.

your mom sighed as your little sister, seoyeon walked in. “that’s enough for now y/n. take this basket to the orphanage.”

seoyeon was all muddy, indicating how she came inside after playing around in the dirt. you grabbed the basket harshly, trying to show your mom that this was not over.

“can i go with?” seoyeon asked, looking at mom. your mom slightly nodded, so you took seoyeon’s hand in yours. you resisted the urge to glare at your mom before smiling at seoyeon.

“okay... we have to get to the orphanage... what’s the best route?” you asked your sister who wore a sly grin before pulling you out of the door.

seoyeon rushed towards the river as she pulled you along. it was your little secret space that no one visited. the two of you had been running for quite a while, slowly passing by fewer and fewer people.

once the two of you made it to the river, seoyeon balanced on the thin makeshift bridge with her arms sticking out. she wobbled here and there but made it over. you followed soon after, carrying the basket in your hand and making sure to avoid any wet slippery spots on the bridge. seoyeon laughed as you made your way over to her.

“hurry slowpoke!” she called before running off into the field.

you shook your head before fastening your pace. once you got off the bridge you took off into a sprint. by the time you caught up to her she was already at the orphanage and you were panting. that was one thing about seoyeon, for small legs she could sure as hell run.

“it’s about time.” she giggled as she took in your bent-over body. “i was starting to think i should’ve carried the basket.”

you rolled your eyes, waving her off before you straightened up. seoyeon had already run off to play with the kids her age. when you walked in there were a few kids and teenagers around your age sitting towards the entrance.

“are taehyun and jihyun around?” you asked, looking around to see if you had missed them in the small orphanage. all you could see at the moment was how it needed to be remodeled, like many things in this area.

“taehyun left a long while ago, but you could probably find jihyun upstairs if you like.” one of the teenage girls, who you knew to be yui, spoke. you nodded before moving towards the kitchen area to place to basket down, with a little note not to eat more than one.

you knew how hard it was for taehyun and jihyun to keep this orphanage up and running. it was hard to get everyone here a proper meal. taehyun nearly passed out from exhaustion when he came to visit your family. he had given up plenty of food just so those who were sick could eat enough.

you made sure to get the plates and napkins out to remind them not to leave the bread lying in unsanitary areas. once you felt your job had been done, you went upstairs to their office. unlike most days the door was closed. you knew something was wrong and the sniffling coming from the room only confirmed your suspicions.

you hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door and letting yourself in. jihyun’s sorrowful eyes burned through yours, making your heart drop.

“y/n thank god you’re here.” she cried before attacking you in a hug. you rubbed circles on her back to try and get her to calm down.

“what happened?” you asked softly, scared this question might break her.

she sniffled, “o-one of the boys-” she let out a sob and you continued to try and soothe her.

“it’s okay you don’t have to say anything.” at this point you moved one of your hands to her head and rested it there.

“n-no he... he stole some meat and they’re going to whip him y/n. they’re going to whip him. he’s only seven!” she cried looking at you in your eyes. she was pleading, pleading for you to do anything. you weren’t sure you could.

“where’s taehyun?” you asked looking around, maybe he went to help. maybe that’s what he and your dad were doing.

“i don’t know.” she finally calmed a bit, hiccuping here and there. “he left before we received the news.”

you were left to wonder what the two were doing, but you didn’t have time for that.

“i promise i’ll go help the boy.” you gave jihyun a determined look. “what’s his name?” you asked halfway out the door.

“hak hyunwoo.” she barely whispered it, probably ashamed. you gave her a reassuring smile before leaving and finding seoyeon.

by the time you had arrived back home they already were gathering people around the city to witness the poor boys' punishment.

“what is your name boy?” the masked man shouted more to the crowd than to the boy. you had been struggling to get closer to the wooden post.

“hak hyunwoo.” he was crying, his tears wouldn’t stop flooding. he had nobody to watch out for him.

“and what is your crime?” the masked man yelled out once more.

hyunwoo was silent before speaking. “theft.” it was quiet.

“your punishment will be...” he waited to see if the crowd of people would react. only a few weren’t excited, it was disgusting how many people were cheering. everyone was just sitting back... watching.

“thirty strikes to the back!” there was a roar in the crowd, but the noise died out in your mind. that was way too much...

you pushed even harder, “stop!” you screamed, but no one could hear you over the crowd. you saw them grabbing the whip, only making you lunge forward, forgetting about hurting the people in the crowd. you stumbled forward after reaching the front. it didn’t matter if he was an eight, you had to help him.

“wait!” you screamed, now where the two in charge of this could hear. the guards were watching you with cautious eyes.

“miss you can’t intervene.” one man standing to the side had said.

you took a deep breath. “this boy did nothing wrong. can’t you see he’s malnourished? the kingdom failed this poor boy... they’re the ones at fault.” you had to try anything. everyone gasped as you accused the royal family of this boy's actions.

“if you must punish someone. punish me, but theft does not deserve thirty strikes to the back.” everyone's eyes were on you, making you nervous. you never really asked for attention, but here you were gaining it.

the masked man was staring at you, no doubt glaring. “fine. get up here.” he nearly threw kyunwoo off of the tiny stage.

you were surprised that worked, you were just desperate, but now you would have to face the consequences. as you walked past the little boy you told him to run home, which he did. that gave you a little comfort.

“what is your name?” the masked man was seething.

“kim y/n.” you tried to sound brave and strong, but you couldn’t help the waver in your voice.

before he could do anything else, more soldiers rushed toward the tiny wooden stage.

“you mustn’t hurt this young lady. she’s been selected and the prince would like to see her now.”

you weren’t sure which guard had said it. you were stricken with shock. tears threatened to fall and you didn’t know whether it was from the relief of not getting whipped or because you’d have to leave everyone to be a plaything for prince yeonjun.

guards had escorted you back home. you were still in a daze from the information, even as your little sister cheered for you. your mom was the only one to snap you out of the trance.

“i’m sorry sweetie... just know that we will all be waiting and ready for anything that happens. we will support you no matter what.” she rubbed your shoulder as you stared at all of the paperwork in front of you.

there had been a palace worker standing beside you stating the rules and how the caste systems worked as if you didn’t know.

ones were royalty and family of royals. twos were celebrities, soldiers, and politicians. threes were people who worked pretty stable jobs like teaching and nursing. fours were business owners. fives were musicians and entertainers. sixes were those who helped others with jobs. sevens were mainly outdoor workers. then there were eights... these people were mainly cast out of society.

staring at the paper only made you even more frustrated. you were practically signing your life away for the possibility of being a three or one if you’re “lucky.”

everyone had to be virgins, single, and if caught in a relationship could be met with death. you rolled your eyes once more thinking about how it wasn’t optional this year. you guess it was a good thing daniel never asked you out and ended things.

then the man said that it’d be ill-advised to refuse anything the prince asked. that confirmed your suspicions, you were practically being sold off to a spoiled brat. the only one who could send you home was the prince himself and no one got a say in what the prince did.

of course, everyone had to be civil and not fight, but you had to wear what the palace gave you, nothing else. one of the worst things was that you couldn’t leave the palace on your own accord. you’d be trapped and watched for the entertainment of the show.

there was one last thing about being one of the last 10. it meant you were the elite, but you doubted that would ever be you. with that... you signed your love away.

your mom was the one to give the signed paper to the man at the front door who had been waiting to take your paper to the palace. she was going to see you off because your dad still wasn’t back yet.

“wait y/n!” seoyeon ran towards you, hugging your legs tightly. “are you going to be a princess?” her eyes lit up when she asked. you couldn’t crush her.

“maybe... that’s up to the prince.” and that was the truth. you didn’t have a choice, but you’d do everything in your power to leave.

it seemed every choice was being made for you as you followed the palace worker, the guards following behind.

the ride to the palace was slow and lonely. you were forced to look longingly at the forest, regretting not saying goodbye to daniel. you thought of all the things you wanted to say to him.

i’ll wait for you because i love you.

we can get through this.

please don’t leave me.

i can’t live without you.

be safe.

at that moment all you knew was that you had to find him somehow and he’d be in the palace. maybe staying for just a little bit wouldn’t be that bad if you could find him.

when you saw the large palace nausea rested in your throat and stomach. you don’t know why he called you here this early, but it couldn’t be good. all the other girls would be arriving tomorrow morning as they had announced.

it was weird being escorted in, but your nerves were exploding within you. you weren’t ready to see royalty. you vowed to die before you bowed before them, but here you were walking straight in and scanning the area. all you managed to see were maids and soldiers around, giving you another few moments of the pride you were willing to die for.

you were passed off to three maids who had been waiting for you.

“it’s amazing to meet you lady y/n.” the title made your face crunch with distaste.

“please... just call me y/n.” your voice was quiet, not allowing yourself to be comfortable in an unknown area.

“we can’t do that miss.” the shortest of the three informed, making you close your eyes and pray to the heavens that you would be able to survive this.

“okay then... may i know your names?” the three of them looked at each other before the one who led the path spoke up.

“i’m aeri, she's isuel, and that’s minsuh” aeri pointed at each of them. you noted that the shortest one, issue, was probably the youngest. you only nodded in response as they led you further into the palace, upstairs, and down long hallways.

“this will be your room,” aeri announced, opening the door to reveal a large room with many small details on the furniture. it was a bit much, but you didn’t expect anything less from people at the top of the caste system.

“we have to get you dressed because the prince will be seeing you soon.” minsuh rushed over towards the large wardrobe, that when opened revealed many different dresses. all of them... dresses.

“i say we should put you in the pink one!” iseul shouted, excited. the other two nodded enthusiastically, but you were too defeated to protest.

it was almost as if prince yeonjun had been waiting the whole time because as soon as they zipped you up, a knock came from the door. all of the maids ran to the door, leaving your pleading eyes behind.

“your majesty.” was all you heard before a few mumbling and giggling. they rushed out immediately and prince yeonjun replaced them. his hair was dyed pink now, making you wish you protested the dress’s color. your maids were sly.

your heart was pacing, scared from the uncertainty.

“it’s a pleasure to meet you lady y/n.” there it was again. the title you wanted to get away from.

“the pleasure is all mine.” you tried to hide the sarcasm in your voice as you stood strong in front of him. don’t you dare waver.

“i heard you got into some trouble today... i’d like to discuss that.” he was calm, every word held a hidden strength behind it. this was why he called you here early.

“i’d hardly call it trouble.” you stopped to watch him step closer to you. you wanted to tell him to stay away, not get close to touching you, but you kept quiet.

“oh really? you don’t call asking to be punished for someone else’s crimes trouble?” he was standing right in front of you now, but he was relaxed and wore a soft smile. he found this humoring. it was anything but.

“i call that two innocent people paying for a kingdoms failure.” the words slipped out before you could hold them back, but you didn’t regret them. not when you saw how prince yeonjun backed away, looking to the side.

“innocent? he was a thief.” yeonjun looked back at you, determined and unwavering. two could play at that game.

you walked towards him this time. a power move. “the world is not all black and white. he was a young boy, an orphan that was placed as an eight. your rules are the reason he was starving, leaving no option but stealing.” you were glaring now, trying to ignore the fact you had to look up at him.

he didn’t seem to want to back down either. “yet if we let one person steal something what’s stopping others?” he leaned his face closer to yours, noses only inches apart.

don’t you dare give in.

“if higher castes can pay their way out of punishment, why don’t the lower castes get a chance?” at this point, you couldn’t move any closer, but you could spit on him. that was only a passing thought to entertain you.

prince yeonjun was quiet after that, staring into your eyes as if he was trying to search through every part of your life. it felt interrogating. he hadn’t responded, so you took that as his loss and back away.

“is that all you wanted to discuss?” your voice was quieter now, not accusatory.

“for now... but you might want to learn some respect.” and then he left you to be swallowed in your anger.

part 2 sneak peak:

the castle had been dark for a while. all day today you were looking around for a familiar face, one that didn’t seem to show.

the creaking of your door alerting you of a new presence. you swore you told everyone you’d like to sleep peacefully tonight, but here they were interrupting you.

“princ-”

“i heard you’ve been looking for me.” you could recognize that voice anywhere. the playfulness in his tone lit your heart on fire.