#implied abduction

[paingoes]

Crash Out - Sabina

hi. this one is pretty dark. heres some backstory on paris’s parents. it’s about forced marriage and offscreen/implied forced pregnancy and rape. nothing sexually explicit is depicted, just implied. heavy overtones of domestic violence as well.

(Content: abduction, lady whump, forced marriage, physical abuse, familial whump, royal whump, intimate whumper, defiant whumpee, domestic violence, starvation, referenced child endangerment, implied noncon, suicide, poisoning, death, unhappy ending)

“Oh shit,” Paris sat up in the passenger seat, pushing the sunglasses up off his eyes. “I’ve been here before.”

The city below glowed in the early morning light, pale and crystalline. The glass spires jutted out from the soft grass. It looked cold, somehow. Twinkling. Lorelai had never seen a town look so fragile. She’d have never thought to describe one that way if she had not seen it herself.

“What?” she asked. “On conquest?”

“No,” he answered huffily, as if this were an unreasonable assumption to make.

“With my mom,” he explained, looking off into the middle distance. “Her family’s from here.”

Lorelai slid out of the car, slamming the door shut behind her. He followed her out, down the smooth stones that made up the pathway into the city center. 

It was a pleasantly cool day, but the architecture made the whole scene feel wintery. She imagined that she was entering into a kingdom of ice. She remembered Thales, how cold it had been on the night of the ball. As she slipped her hand into Paris’s own — the non-dominant, the less injured one — she felt the same chill. It wasn’t all unpleasant. There was a beauty to it.

 All it had to be was a supply run. The imperial currency was standardized, good enough for all the planets in its territory. The further out they got, the more open the locals became to haggling. She leaned forward against the counter of the fruit stand. The vendors liked her. Everyone always liked her.

After a while of staring off into the hillside, Paris propped one arm against the barrel.

“You know where I can find a Selene Lucia?” he asked them.

They were nice enough to draw up a map, the pencil carving a path up into the hills. No exact address, but Paris swore he’d know it when he saw it. By her estimate, if he’d come with his mother, he hadn’t been here since he was seven years old.

The pale buildings petered out on the climb, the houses became sparser, more residential. In time, he really did abandon the map, working purely off the distant memory. 

The trees shaded the sidewalk. She traced her fingers along the black fence that divided the path from the lawns, listening to the pleasant vibration it made in her fingers. The leaf canopy cleared for a split second as they passed another gate.

“This is it,” Paris said abruptly. He stared at it dumbfounded.

“You think she still lives here?” Lorelai asked, frowning.

“Don’t see why not.”

Neither of them moved.

“Are you coming?” he asked. It seemed like he already knew the answer.

“…If you want,” she offered. He shook his head. The one and only time she had met his father, it hadn’t gone well. She didn’t want much to do with his family.

“Call me if you need help,” he said as he pushed the gate open.

“You too.” She nodded, heading back down the hill. The sun was higher in the sky now. The city reflected it straight into her eyes, nearly blinding her.

~

“Oh, god,” Selene Lucia said as soon as she opened the door.

“Hi,” Paris said, pleasantly surprised to even be recognized. 

She pulled him into the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Are you being followed?” she asked.

“Uh, no, ma’am. Don’t think so. Not now.” Paris ran one hand through his hair.

“What are you doing here?” She narrowed her eyes. Her face had creased from years of that same, skeptical motion.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “I was in the area. I just wanted to stop by.”

He needed to do laundry, too. He decided not to mention that now.

Selene sighed. There was some relief there, he could tell. Maybe she thought he’d come asking for more. 

He looked around at the house. It was smaller than he remembered, but still nice. Light filtered in through the sheer curtains.

She led him into the violet-colored kitchen, the dark sharpness of him clashing against the scene. She’d been working when he knocked — and this she resumed. He leaned back against the counter, rocking gently against it, watching the knife cut thin lines through the stalks.

“Do you need me to do anything?” he offered. She shook her head. He shrugged, looking back down at the linoleum.

“You’re wanted in five hundred different territories,” she said.

Five hundred sixty one.

“Yeah,” he said, not looking up. For some reason, he hadn’t thought that’d be her first reaction. 

“It’s your father’s fault, you know. Leaving everything in the air like that. It wouldn’t have happened if he-“

“-if he believed he could die?” Paris finished. He’d had the same thought, a million times over.

She made a soft and exasperated sound — and said nothing else.

“You didn’t…call or anything. After he died,” he said tentatively. 

“We had no contact,” Selene said.

“My phone number is public record,” Paris said, not hiding the hurt in his voice. He leaned forward, his arms crossed over his midsection. She didn’t turn to look at him.

“I don’t know why you’d expect that from me,” she said.

“I didn’t.” He shrugged. “I just…I don’t know. It would’ve been nice.”

“Would it?” She asked, turning now.

He frowned. What was he supposed to say to that? He hadn’t even realized he wanted it until he entered the house. It hadn’t occurred to him at all.

“I don’t know why you didn’t,” he said. “You didn’t call me when she died, either. You didn’t reach out at all.”

She seemed to lose her resolve then. She signed, nodding her head in the direction of the kitchen table. He sat down where indicated. The whorls of wood grain stared back up at him. Their shapes had mesmerized him when he was little.

“Is ginger tea fine?” She asked as she lit the last of the stove’s burners.

“Yes, ma’am.” He agreed, though he knew he wouldn’t drink it. He tried not to drink from any open containers — and he watched her hands carefully as she prepared it, wary of pills, wary of poison.

She placed two pale yellow teacups down on the table. Powder blue chinoiserie decorated the edges of the saucers. Steam floated delicately off the golden surface of the water.

“Do you know how your parents met, Paris?”

~

On a morning wet with dewdrops, Selene and Sabina tread happily through the underbrush. The sky was pale and overcast, but the sweaters their mother had knit for them kept them warm and comfortable. Sabina picked at the roses and the sweet briar that bloomed out of the damp earth. Twin blonde braids fell down her back. They were stained with mud at the edges when she’d bent down to touch the grass.

Selene watched the skies with a kind of dormant worry. There was something she was always waiting for, but never really expected. But it had come anyway. It had landed last month.

There was a place the land crested, the point at which the forest gave way to the clear valley. When they were little, they had dragged their sleds out to it on snowy days and laughed as they flew down the hill.

With the easy familiarity of someone who had walked this path since birth, Sabina moved to the top of the ridge. She was startled to find that in the valley below, a large ship was parked. It was more expensive than anything she’d ever laid her eyes on.

All dressed in scarlet against the verdant grass, a man stood tall and impervious. For a split second, his eyes fell on her. And that was all he needed.

~

The Emperor arrived in fine robes, in the middle of town, all his footmen swarming in droves about him. His color was pale, in a way that is supernatural. Not at all sickly. He was in good health. 

In the market, Selene crowded closer to the exit, while all Sabina seemed to want to do was stand her ground. The Emperor fixed his eyes on her, matching her boldness. His hands didn’t shake the way hers did, but the length of her was all resistance.

He liked it.

“Briar Rose,” he said, sing-song, “Was that you in the canyon the other day?”

Unbelievably, his hand moved to trace her braids. She smacked it away, teeth bared, furious.

“Go fuck yourself,” Sabina hissed. 

All she got in return was a chuckle. It was the sound birds made when the bullet missed their heart.

~

The knock came in the middle of the night, with only Selene up to answer it. She peeked through the curtain, and immediately drew far back, down onto the carpet.

“Daddy,” she cried, in a pitch she had not reached since childhood. 

He came instantly and sent her back to her room, far from the thin door that separated their house from nightfall. But her room was right by the entrance. She pressed her ear to the ground to listen.

“Would you accept a dowry?” came the low drawl of the Emperor. “For the youngest. The blonde one.”

“She is my daughter,” Father’s voice came out wrathful in return. “You can take the rest of the world - god knows you already have - but you will not touch her.”

“I would take good care of all of you,” he promised. “I don’t mean to distress her. I think it’d be best if we were all on the same page about this.”

Milky, sick. Selene cried until she couldn’t breathe, then cried more. Sabina slept in the next room, fast asleep, unknowing.

~

Roses. There were thousands of them, clogging up the yard, on each surface of the porch. Roses, roses, roses. The scent was overpowering. It was like something out of a nightmare. When she moved to open the door that morning, Sabina met a stiff resistance. That was thick the petals were stacked.

They came with a note. Father snatched it away before Selene could read, but Sabina had seen it.

She heard her sister crying down the hall. She watched it through a crack in the door.

“I don’t wanna go,” Sabina sobbed, “Mama, I don’t wanna go, please.”

She hid her face in the fabric of their mother’s dress, bent over on the floor, inconsolable. Already flinching away from any touch.

~

“You will come quietly,” the Emperor said, “Or you will come in chains. It makes no difference to me.”

Sabina swung at him as if she could knock his head straight off. It took five men to drag her off in those glistening, golden chains. She was soaked with sweat and tears, an awful slickness, a thrashing.

~

Castle Thales was dark in wintertime — and to her starved body, each room was freezing. Each door had a lock — and she had no keys.

He left her in her own bedroom the first nights. Locked up there, hands bound, until she was ready to *calm down*. He’d thought it would take days. It ended up taking months. It was only when the food stopped that she became handleable.

Sabina glared daggers at him. Her hands shook too much to hold utensils. He thought it was from fear, but it was all just fury. 

She dreamt of killing him nightly.

~

“It won’t be as bad as you think,” Constantine promised her as he lifted the veil. “It does not have to be this hard. You make it this way.”

She glared and glared and glared and flinched as his hand traced her bare arm. She was too pale now. She’d been locked away from the sun for too long. Now her skin was as white as the ripped wedding dress.

“You’re a queen now,” he said, like it comes as an assurance. She wanted nothing more than to beat him until he stopped breathing.

“You could have all you ever dreamed of,” he said. He doesn’t know her at all. Tears formed in her eyes before she could stop them. He moved to wipe them away for her. She bit into his hand as hard as she could and grinned when she drew blood. It was the first time she’d smiled in months.

~

She was slapped violently for that, which surprised her, because up to this point he had seemed so hesitant to hit her in the face. He threatened to yank all her teeth out, replace them with dentures, and take them out whenever he decided she’d lost the privilege. 

This seemed unattractive, which gave her reason to doubt the threat. But she could not call his bluff, so she stopped biting.

One of his men whipped her back until it was bloody. She hated it. She reveled in it. She was making him so mad. 

She cried as the maids worked to cover the bruises, the skin still tender even at the soft touch of the brushes. The crying wet her face. They had to keep restarting.

There was no need to cover up the whip marks. The corset did it all on its own — coarse, scratching, irritating the unhealed skin. The maids undid her long braids. Her hair reached all the way to her waist now. 

She reached out for the scissors on the vanity and cut it all off.

~

He was mad he couldn’t pull her hair anymore. He could bunch it up by her scalp, but it wasn’t the same. His was a cold anger. He probably liked to think of it as controlled. He loved to think of himself as controlled.

“It looks good on you, darling,” Nezu said over dinner, just to piss them both off. Sabina made a gagging sound in the back of her throat. She reached for the unused knife by her right napkin and wields it menacingly. As menacingly as she could manage, which turned out to be a lot.

Nezu looked excited at the prospect of getting stabbed by her. In disgust, she put the knife back down.

“Picked a good one,” he said approvingly, just as soon as the Emperor rejoined them.

~

“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” Sabina held the saber in both hands. It was decorative, plucked straight off the wall, but it still held an edge. It could still kill. She meant to. She really meant to.

“You are unwell,” Constantine said. “You don’t know what’s good for you. You don’t know when to quit.”

She lunged at him. He gasped and darted away. She’d only missed him by an inch. She howled in frustration.

If they’d trained her, she’d have been a brilliant fighter. But they hadn’t. And she wasn’t. She left all of herself exposed for the next lunge — and he downed her.

“I’ll kill you,” she swore, with his hands wrapped tight around her throat. “If it’s the last thing I do, I swear, I’ll kill you”

“Sabina,” he cooed sadly. “Rose. All I want is for you to be happy.”

“I want you to fucking die,” she sobbed. 

It was a final hurrah, one last gift to herself. When the sobbing died down, there was nothing else left.

~

The baby came a year later. He’d stopped hitting her while she was pregnant. She did not know if this was temperance, or if it was merely because she’d stopped fighting. They’d both been reluctant to resume the old routine. The baby changed things. It was soft, pliant. So easy to break. Sabina cried when she held it for the first time, cried every day after that. It had kneaded at her chest, half-blind, sleepy. It didn’t know anything.

“Constantine?” She said softly as he swapped out the bandages. The Emperor up in surprise. She so rarely used his name. 

But when he did look, she didn’t know what else to say. The terror must have shown through her. She felt all her body was wretched, torn apart, aching. She couldn’t take anymore.

He seemed to recognize this. He never hit her again.

~

Years passed before she saw her family again. When her son is five years old, she brought him back to that porcelain city, back to her parent’s old house. Both of them dead now, the million wars ravaging even when she cannot see them. She didn’t get to go to the funeral.

She’s stopped crying so much at this point. There’s a dignity to her, one she’s managed to scrape up off the floor of the palace. She was the tough one. She always had been.

She sat up in her sister’s kitchen, drinking ginger tea, manicured nails tapping softly at the porcelain cup. Selene sat across from her, pale, as if she’d seen a ghost.

~

They wrote letters after that. Constantine had agreed to it, perhaps sensing that his wife had no bone for conspiracy left within her. She was locked into it now, more than she ever had been before.

There’s a desperation to her script. God, she was so unhappy. Selene wrote back just as soon as the mail was delivered, sent it out the same day. It was all she could do. It never seemed to amount to much.

Sabina hinted at it. Selene swore she knew the end.

There’s a flower that grows in the garden of Castle Thales. It is indistinguishable from the heritage rose, but a single blossom could kill when ingested.

When they did the autopsy, they found fifteen of them in her stomach.

~

Paris stared back at her from across the table, totally frozen. The teacup sat in front of him cold and untouched.

“She died of sepsis,” he said slowly, emphasizing each word.

Selene looked at him with such pity that he thought he might be sick.

“She died of sepsis,” he repeated, “Slowly. In the hospital. She didn’t commit suicide.”

“Paris,” she said softly, “It took a week, didn’t it? Did you see her before the end?”

He propped one elbow up on the table and hid his face in his hand.

“I was at school,” he muttered. “She was already comatose when I got there. She died the next day.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. 

And of course she said it now, thirteen years later. She wasn’t there when it happened. Nobody was. There was absolutely nothing.

“You understand, surely,” Selene said, “why I was not so devastated to hear of your father’s death.”

There was still something so haunted in her look. He couldn’t bring himself to look up from the wood whorls. He didn’t even hear her standing up. He flinched at the sudden brush at his hand, gentle as it was. She tilted his face up as if to study him.

“God, you look just like her.”

The doorbell rang. Selene startled.

“I thought you said you were alone.”

“She’s my friend.” He stood up quickly. “She’s the only one.”

He opened the door. Lorelai stood cheerily on the step.

“Look what I got.” She grinned. She held up her hand at his eye level and let the necklace dangle from its chain. At its end, the rose charm shined in the dying light.

~

On an air mattress in the cleared out living room, they laid in a tangle of limbs. Lorelai’s breath was shallow, light, pleasantly exhausted. Paris traced the flesh of her breastbone, intent, almost like he was trying to find something. He had told her the whole story, in hushed tones, in the dark.

“I don’t want to get married,” he said quietly, at the end.

Lorelai laughed under her breath.

“Paris, we were never gonna get married.”

“Yeah, I know. I just…” he trailed off. “l don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

Oh, what a question. He shrugged.

“…I took you away from your family,” he said it hushed, as if it was confessional.

“Is that how you remember it?” She laughed again. “That’s not what it was. I wanted to go. I asked you first.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you,” he said, finishing the thought. What either of them thought when they first started out hardly mattered anymore. It seemed so far away now.

“Then don’t,” she said.

~

They left before the sun rose, trudging the long way, past all the grave sites.

“I guess it’s weird for me to keep this now,” Lorelai said as she studied the pendant.

“It’s just a necklace,” Paris shrugged. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

But they both knew it would always hold that weight.

The grass was frosty as if it had snowed. There was so much mist in the air. It was cool and refreshing. It was the perfect morning for it. 

They passed by another memorial site. Victims of the war that Empire was waged. An orator could list them all day and never run out of names. Paris paused to watch as Lorelai moved up the knoll and placed the pendant by the base of the stone. Not for Empire. Not for Rose. For Sabina.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @whump-queen

[artmolonara]

Snow Day - A Lumpy Where's Waldo Story

A continuation of the Uncle Waldo series I've been creating. You can read the last two chapters, Lullaby Bye and Peek-A-Boo, via the links.

Also shout out to @nami-ramen again for continuing to make awesome illustrations based on my writing. You can see their rendition of the Peek-A-Boo chapter here (I also love the idea that the Detective was awake :oD)

Ok, fair warning: this one is a doozy, and deals with some VERY HEAVY subject matter that may be uncomfortable to some (Nothing bad done by our titular Waldo tho, he a "good" boy in this)

*** Proceed with Caution, and Enjoy ***

Two years. Seemed hard to believe how the time was flying. Waldo felt it not in his own body, but saw it on those he had been watching. That being, the Detective, and their child, Junior.

Enough time had now passed since Wenda's death that grief no longer clung to the Detective like a shadow. Waldo now only saw it periodically, in the night.

And Junior, they were now walking and talking, kinda, all over the place. The pair of them had begun to take walks over stroller rides, and Waldo had enjoyed tagging along on their strolls as a distant watcher. Every now and again, Junior might spot Waldo, and he'd give a wave. The kid seemed better at finding him than the Detective was.

Truly an marvelous development.

...

The end of the year was upon the world, and with it, snow had arrived.

Waldo liked snowy days, and not just because he liked to paint the snow with stripes of red, or watch screams become visible in the cold air, but also because the world could truly be still on winter days. Never was anytime truly as quiet, calming.

Though quiet wasn't what he was seeking right now. What was bringing him more joy was the squeals of delight carrying on the breeze as Junior and the Detective slide down a snow covered hill on a toboggan for the 11th time in a row.

It was a popular spot in the park, and a bunch of other families were sledding and snowboarding there as well, all enjoying the winter break.

Waldo watched from the other side of the frozen pines, unseen by all.

It was a rather fun thing, sledding. Part of Waldo wished he could join in on the activity, but alas, he must remain unseen, as per the game. For now, he was content to just observe. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he might watch one of the sledders, other than his hunter and their ward, wipe out spectacularly.

The wish was clearly a premonition, as within the minute, a rambunctious teen lost control of their snowboard, tumbling and crashing into a tree at incredible speeds, leaving their leg twisted backwards. Waldo smirked to himself at the screams that filled the air.

The responsible adults there, the Detective included, were immediately drawn to the scene. The Detective turned to Junior, speaking and gesturing to them in a way that Waldo recognized as "stay put." They then walked over with most of the other parents, leaving a series of kids sitting on the slop.

Junior was well behaved, Waldo knew, and was very good at staying put when told to, so there was no fear of them wandering off.

...

That was when Waldo noticed the man.

He seemed to come from behind a tree, as if he had always been there. Waldo was surprised he hadn't spied such a festive sweater.

Slowly, he walked in the direction of everyone, pausing to look at the commotion. After a moment, he looked towards the hill, and all of the children there.

The hairs on Waldo's neck stood up straight in recognition. He knew a predator when he saw one.

It began to make a beeline for Junior at an even pace. Waldo's grip tightened on his walking stick.

Did it dare?

It crouched down next to Junior, saying something to them, to which the child gave no reaction. Then, with a final glace around, the dingo scooped up the baby, and began to walk briskly away.

Oh, it did.

No one else had seen, all their attention had been on the lame teen screaming their guts out. But Waldo had seen, and when he was done, he was going to make those wails sound like cries of joy in comparison.

Oh, this will be fun...

...

Waldo could move extremely fast when he wanted to. Teleportation was one mode he traveled, but he could move in the space between that as well. Were anyone to see, they might just notice a strange, slightly sparking, gust of wind moving through the park, and how the lamps it passed seemed to blink on for a second.

He tracked the creature to the parking lot, seeing just as the car began to turn out. It moved at an leisurely pace, obviously not wanting to draw attention to itself.

Waldo kept pace with it, until it came to the first stop sign right at the park exit. Then, Waldo made himself reappear, inconspicuously, right next to the sign. Feigning a smile, Waldo waved at the car, and began to cross the road, acting like a common pedestrian.

The creature in the driver's seat feigned a polite smile back, acting like a common human. Waldo got a better look at it. The person suit it wore was unremarkable, a rather convincing disguise. His gaze looked then to the passenger's seat, where Junior was sitting. The child's blank face of confusion suddenly turned up to a smile in recognition at seeing their Uncle Waldo.

Waldo felt his smile twitch into a sneer. They were sitting in a booster seat.

A damned booster seat.

It had done this before.

I'm going to take my time with this one.

Stopping directly in front of the car, Waldo leaned forward on his cane, and began to stare daggers at the driver, still keeping his smirk. The creature's grin faulted a little, and it gave a polite beep with the horn. Waldo just shook his head, and rested his foot on the bumper, smile now becoming much, much wider.

The dingo caught on now, all pretense gone. In an attempt at retaliation, the gas was floored, but the tires only spun in the slushy snow, unmoving against Waldo's heel.

Enough preamble. Waldo slammed the end of his cane into the compacted ice, and there was a sudden sparking light in and around the car. Streetlights overhead flared and exploded, the car's engine sputtered and died, and before the beast had time to react, another cane appeared from the dark of the back seat and hooked around the creature's neck, pulling it taught against the headrest with no hope of air.

Move, and you die.

It was a command said by him, but not by HIM him.

While the creature's struggling stilled, an arm, identical to Waldo's own, reached passed and hit the child lock button. Waldo nodded, walking over the the passenger's door and opening it.

Junior's eyes had been locked on Waldo, and now seeing him closer, they reached out their arms, "Wally!"

Waldo's smile softened, "Hey, kiddo. Quite an adventure you're on today, but I think it's time we go back to the Detective. Don't want them to think something," he glanced up at the tumor, "bad happened to you." His teeth bared a bit wider as the cane around it's neck tightened to the point it's eyes bulged; the gurgle was pleasant to hear.

He undid the straps and picked Junior up and out of the car. As soon as he kicked the door shut, the car came back to life.

Drive.

The vehicle took off, and Waldo took a moment to wave goodbye, Junior mimicking.

He would catch up later.

...

No less than fifteen minutes had elapsed since the start of the whole ordeal, and over the sound of the distant ambulance sirens, Waldo could hear the Detective calling out for Junior. Their voice was just starting to shift in pitch from worry to general concern, and there was at least two other voices calling out as well.

As they reached a spot nearby, still out of view, Waldo slowly lowered Junior down to their feet, kneeling beside them.

"You OK?" Waldo asked, taking a moment to look the child over to makes sure nothing was out of place.

Still in good spirits, glancing off in the direction they were being called, Junior just gave a distracted, "Uh huh."

Waldo sighed, a worry now filling his chest, which was a very strange sensation, "OK well... listen OK?" He put his hands on the their shoulders.

Bright eyes looked to his, focusing when they saw how serious he was.

"You have to be careful of people you don't know. There are adults out there that could-"

Another call for Junior. There wasn't time to go into a full stranger danger lesson, unfortunately. He hoped the Detective would do that for him soon after.

"Just try to stay close to your Uncle Waldo and the Detective, OK? And if anyone else tries to take you somewhere or do something you don't like, you bite them." He put up his hands to mimic claws, "Like a T-Rex."

Junior smiled, and made a soft "Rawr!"

Waldo chuckled, "Rawr, that's right." The worry still swirled in his chest, and acting on it, he hugged Junior to him protectively.

"Just... be careful OK? I can't always be around to protect you..."

Almost as if comforting him, Junior's tiny hand patted his arm, followed by a soft, "Oh kay."

The Detective called again, and Junior turned away as Waldo let go. He smiled, "Race you to the Detective, ready?" He faked prepping a sprint, to which the child bounded in place with new adrenaline, "ReadysetGO!"

Junior took off, leaving Waldo sitting in the snow. He took a moment, quelling the waves of anxiousness he wasn't at all used to, before standing up and watching again from a distance.

Junior was found immediately, the Detective seemingly going through the same motions and emotions Waldo just had with Junior, talking somewhat sternly before hugging with relief. The pair soon left the park in the wake of the ambulance taking the forgotten lame teen to the hospital.

...

Later that evening, Waldo visited the Detective residence. Junior had already been sent to bed, having just transitioned out of the crib. The Detective now sat alone in front of a small smoldering fireplace, staring into the embers with an exhausted expression, a half finished mug of hot cocoa on the coffee table before them.

Waldo knew what they must be thinking, as his thoughts were there too. And while Waldo could see down the current path and knew that things would turn out alright, the worry and looming fear of what could have happened or happen was as oppressive as the cold night.

When the Detective nodded into sleep, and a passing car's engine roared, Waldo let himself in. He put out the remaining fire, then found a blanket on the couch to lay across the Detective's from. Long hands rested gently on weary shoulders, giving them a soft squeeze.

"Don't worry, they'll be alright," a gentle reassuring pat, a thumb caressing the base of a neck, "They have us. And we are in this together."

Tension slowly left the sleeping form. Waldo smiled, picking up the mug and downing the rest of the lukewarm liquid, lips on the rim touching the ghost of the Detective's in an indirect kiss.

A grandfather clock began to chime twelve. Waldo smirked with his last sip.

Time to have some fun.

"I'll see you for the holidays," He promised before vanishing with a crack. The Detective stirred, blearily looking around, before getting up to check on Junior.

...

It was at the final stroke of midnight that Waldo materialized before the darkened building on the edge of town. The perfect playground where he and his selves wouldn't be interrupted.

A small concrete room awaited. Inside had been strung up with red and white lights, glinting off the various tools and blunt objects strewn about like x-mas toys. Seems his alters also couldn't wait for the holidays to begin.

They looked at him as he came in.

"Ah good, we're all here then." Five sets of eyes feel on the dangerous cancer tied to a chair in the middle of the room. It struggled against its bonds, whimpering out muffled pleas for mercy behind duct tape. All futile.

It was a shame this work was going to have to be unaccredited. He would have loved to string this monster up by it's intestines for the Detective as a present. But unfortunately, the game required him to be subtle. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't play.

The situation had already been explained to it, why this was happening, and what was going to happen. The horror in it's eyes was at it's peak. Good, now they could get the party started.

A small radio was switched on, the static of cycling through stations rung the room like a drum. After a couple channels of festive music were passed over, a station playing Queen's Don't Stop Me Now was selected.

The tune filled Waldo up with anticipation, and he began to prance about to the rhythm. He channeled it all, all the new emotions, into a feeling of righteous fury that fueled him. Oh, he would make this last. Last for a very, very long time.

And as the Waldos began to harmonize with Mercury, dancing towards the beast with canes and weapons raised, the inhuman thing screamed out in glorious terror.

...

"COLD" CASE BODY FOUND

Warning: This news story contains graphic descriptions of crimes that may disturb some readers.

A dismembered and decimated body was discovered on Friday, February 14th hidden in a snowman in a local park.

This killing, according to police statements, is connected to the body parts found in snowmen that have been found over the last few months. DNA testing has identified them as belonging to the individual, but identification of the victim has yet to be determined.

The first of the body parts, a thumb, was discovered in early January of this year, hidden inside of a snowman in a local picnic area. Several others were soon discovered in the area, including more fingers, toes, and teeth. All had minor stages of decomposition due to being encased in snow, and analysts determined that all were removed from a living victim.

More snowmen appeared over the next few weeks, including more and more body parts taken from a still living victim. Evidence of torture was found, including blunt force trauma, stab wounds, electrocution, asphyxiation, poisoning, removal of skin, insect and animal predation, and burning via gasoline.

The body recovered showed extensive abuse, according to witnesses. "It wasn't even a person anymore," one witness described, "just a torso with it's heart exposed, like one of those anatomy classroom statues, but burnt to a crisp and if the peeled muscle side was the whole thing."

The final cause of death was determined to be hypothermia, and set just hours before the body was discovered. It is possible that the victim was encased into a snowman while still alive.

The hunt for the perpetrator is still ongoing. Our reporters got the following statement from the chief of police during yesterday's briefing.

"The person who committed this heinous act will be brought to justice. The manhunt has been expanded to the neighboring counties, and we urge anyone with any information to come forward."

When asked if this is at all tied to the Waldo killings that occurred almost 3 years ago, the chief of police stated, "There is no evidence linking those cases at this time. This appears to be just a single victim over a long period, which does not match the MO of Waldo."

Identification of the body is expected to be determined next week.

...

Alert

Be on the look out for this man, Fred-----------. Last seen three months ago.

The assailant's vehicle was discovered in ---------- with evidence of child kidnapping and -------------- discovered in a hidden compartment.

If you see this man, contact authorities immediately.

...

Missing Children Found

5 children have been discovered after having been missing for months.

They are identified as ------------, ---------------, ---------------,----------------------, and ------------------------------. All were victims of kidnapping at various different times last year. According to reports, all have evidence of various types of abuse.

The children were discovered outside the local detective office, having apparently been dropped off.

The children have been reunited with their families and are expected to receive treatment for their trauma.

We reached out to the families and the officers on this case for more information.

"Well of course, we're really relieved that she's home, and she's safe now," the mother of one of the children told us in an interview. "According to ---------, she was saved from a bad man by a bunch of Santa's elves. I've never been one for praying until our baby was taken, and I think perhaps someone must have heard our prayer and returned our baby to us."

All children seem to identify that they were being held somewhere dark and abused by a man described as -------------------------, then being left alone a long time without food before being "rescued" by multiple different people. These individuals reportedly fed and cared for them for a short while before releasing them.

One child described the rescuers as looking like "Mr. Mint from Candyland".

At this time, no assailants have been identified. Investigation of this case is still ongoing.

...

It would be a couple weeks more before the Detective figured something out.

The placement of the snowmen seemed random at first, but after piecing it together in order of appearance, words began to form in red string upon the town map.

The last one, the body, was the final dot in the exclamation:

DON'T TALK TO STRANGERS!

~FIN/to be continued~

OK, a long one, I know, but god, I just needed a creep like that to suffer, and to make Waldo go full Dexter/Rorschach on them. Also if it wasn't obvious, old Freddy K was the inspiration for that guy (the remake one at that) F that guy!

I think I have just one more Junior focused Waldo fic planned, and perhaps a "X-mas special" involving the Detective and a sprig of mistletoe.

By the way, if you like my work, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi, would really help me out a lot right now.

BUY ME A KO-FI

[niconebula]

Okay, I really want Watching and Dreaming to include in it's themes a conversation about The Collector's immortality and King's self professed semi-immortality. The big elephant in the room is that King is eventually going to outlive all of his family and friends dozens of times over. He starts implying that they have this kind of connection and understanding to Eda, but we haven't seen it play out yet. This is the reason it's important to set him and the Collector up as the genuine best friends I'm sure they will start (slowly) becoming by the end of the series.

I find TOH to be a death and naturality positive show. Caleb will never actually speak from his grave to Belos, there's no communicating with the dead and any attempt at a reversal of the natural cycle, like Belos re-animating tons of Grimwalkers, is obviously framed as being bad. I could make a whole post just on this topic. It's also why I'm not completely on board with the guy from the in-between being THE titan himself.

It's been said by Dana that The Collectors are all about being unnatural, resisting change, and preserving time. They collect so that things may never fade, and the Titans were in direct opposition to this in their creating of new, different life through death. Therefore, I'd like them to tackle the theme head on with King opening up about his existential dread and uncertainties. One of my fears ever since the big reveal was that they were going to find some magical way to change King into a mortal being so that he could be with his family in a 'normal' way. This would be a bad move for a lot of reasons; primarily that it blows a hole in the legacy he carries as the last Titan and representative of his people. Though it might be comforting to him to live the life he originally expected, it would take away his unique identity. With the Collector, a lot of theories hinge upon his magic being drained in some kind of way, making him into a normal mortal child as a solution to his problems. I'll be really disappointed if this happens. I'm not against them preserving a large part of his magic somehow in an amulet to allow them to access it once they come of age and maturity (incredibly specific because this is my idea right now). But anything further would be taking away their identity as well as making King once again alone by the time the Clawthornes die (again unless they do it to him too.. it would be bad though).

Both being the only one of their species remaining from the war (though there may be more Collectors further out there), their reconciliation is an incredibly strong theme. And for King to know that he's not alone in trying to accept his history and Titan-hood, and everything that entails. I'm also just incredibly curious about the kinds of things they would get up to in the farther future including some inter-dimensional or worldly travel and for King the rebuilding of the Titan species; a lore topic for another day but I tend to think King only having a dad is quite literal in that Titans are a 'male' only species and reproduce in a kind of magical asexual way.

[ilikedetectives]

*Act 3 Minthara spoilers* So in this scene if you have Yenna in your camp and Orin abducts Minthara, we got a little more info about Minthara's past in Menzoberranzan.

"Not the first. I killed my sister in her crib to secure my inheritance."

The more I learn about her upbringing the more I'm deeper into Minthara brainrot.

[no1ryomafan]

Was showing my irls ZXA cause I had shown ZX off before and it was already a trip-my tv fucking broke but that’s a different story-since I haven’t seen the cutscenes in FOREVER but I realized a detail I don’t know how I missed even if no one mentioned it:

There are multiple capsules in Greys room laying face up and the glass is broken, and given Pandora said Grey was going through the mind control sequence, this all but fully confirms the evil mega men we see using the guardian biometals are under mind control and awoke out of these capsules before Grey.

This is information I don’t know how to fucking process.

[necros-writing-stuff]

SERIAL KILLER EDEN WHO KEEPS YOU ON A LEASH AND NAKED ALL THE TIME! For anyone else curious, this came from a discussion Necro and I were having on making Eden worse lol

Okay okay what about him trailing his hunting knife up your bare thigh while he looks over you, a dark glint in his eye. You can't pull back any further, pressed against the cold hard wall of the cabin, a heavy weight around your neck as you try not to panic. Even though this could be the moment where he finally gets rid of you. Where he gets bored of his plaything and buries you beneath his gardening plot.

It never comes, though. You're stuck being pulled around by him for months - or neatly chained up when he hunts alone. You used to flinch every time you heard a scream in the forest, knowing the hunter's axe had found a new target. You used to feel queasy eating any of the food, unsure of where the meat came from. You used to sob and beg when he'd pry your legs apart, eager to use you. Used to.

It was a numb feeling for a long while. Counting to 5 over and over again in your head, congratulating yourself for getting through the last 5 seconds and hoping you'd get through the next. A sense of routine has settled in, though. A sense of comfort and belonging that should never have existed.

The soles of your feet have become rough, no longer aching as you walk around the cabin or the rocks around the spring.

When Eden presses himself against your back, his hand worming its way between your thighs, you spread your legs further apart without thinking and grind against his fingers with a sigh.

When Eden pulls you into his lap and keeps your face against his chest, the tang of copper staining his clothes doesn't make you upset anymore. Instead, you snuggle in closer, feeling appreciative of the warmth he provides your nude body.

When a gunshot rings out in the forest beyond the clearing, you continue about your set tasks while paying them no regard beyond wandering if Eden will bring you a blood-soaked ring or necklace to wear.

The temperature falls as winter rears its ugly head. You're begging Eden to relax more as he ups his workload to prepare for the snowy months, desperate for the warmth he provides. You push too far sometimes, being put over his lap and spanked until you apologise good enough for him.

You've accepted that you'll have to grit your teeth and suffer the cold, doing as you're told and keeping your home clean. Keeping Eden happy.

Until he opens his closet one night, the old hinges creaking as he rifles through the bottom while you clean the dishes from dinner. Your teeth chatter as you work, determined to keep moving to stay warm until you can get in front of the fire and bask in the flames on your husband's lap.

The soft feeling of fabric draping over your shoulders halts your movement as your head whips around. A fur coat. Big on you, but small for Eden, you think.

"One of the first I ever made," he mumbles as he does up a button on the front. "I was much skinnier back then. Wasn't eating a lot. Hadn't learned to hunt properly. This was the first bear I'd ever brought down."

He kisses the top of your head as you thank him with a genuine smile, burrowing into the warmth. Your turn in his embrace, cupping his cheeks and pulling him down for a kiss. That sense of belonging feels heavy in your heart. Even when you tut after bringing your hand away, finding a drop of red on your fingertip.

"You missed a spot," you chide as you pick up the washcloth and wipe the blood from his neck. It's a miracle he gets by without you, honestly. It's a miracle that you don't find fear knowing where the blood came from.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

My time has come!

A writing request! Could be OCs or generic whump, whichever you're more comfortable with!

Whumpee and Caretaker got into a bad argument, and Whumpee leaves. Caretaker left them alone for a few days until they learned that Whumpee has been kidnapped and being held as bait for them. Despite the fight and the fact it was a trap, they rescued Whumpee from their kidnappers. Cue apologies and hurt/comfort ❤️

Thank you so much for the request! (Rules here)

It took me about two weeks but I managed to get 3600 words out of this prompt, and I chose to go with the Gunblade Duo (Draven and Octavian). I had a lot of fun with this, enjoy! :D

CW: swearing, blood, guns, concussion, passing out, tied up, knife wounds, implied mauling, abduction, referenced abduction, arguing, death, alcohol

A/N: This takes place during The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure and is not canon to the story. There is some reference to the events leading up to this one-shot, and implied reference to the events of The Watcher and the Thief. None of that is relevant for reading and enjoying the story :)

Tag List: @fourwingedsnake @pigeonwhumps

The trek back through Zariya was even more tense than the initial trip. Octavian must’ve sensed Draven’s displeasure. He was silent for much of the journey, only speaking to point out notable sounds and scents. Draven should’ve offered thanks. It was what a decent person would have done, considering any of the people they avoided due to Octavian’s warnings could have had ill intentions.

Draven, however, wasn’t in the mood to be a decent person.

“I apologize that the party was a bust,” Octavian finally said. They were drawing close to the safe house where the devar and Reese were staying until Draven felt it was safe for them. Octavian was, for some reason, even more paranoid than Draven about keeping the kid safe, so even if Draven decided the search for her had subsided, they might still be stuck with her for a while yet.

“You don’t sound very sorry,” Draven muttered as they rounded a corner, dodging around the pool of light illuminated by a nearby street lamp. The party had been his idea; to draw out some of the higher-profile targets the evening before a full moon. The smart ones would decline. The foolish ones would accept and try to depart early.

Unfortunately, only one of them was clever enough to avoid the party. Of the ones who attended, only one tried to leave early. And that was because she hated staying around the crowd of partygoers for too long.

“Personally, I don’t see it as a total loss.”

Draven exhaled sharply. “Really? How so?” When they’d returned to the party, he’d been pissed to discover that two of the attending targets had slipped out while they were distracted with the noblewoman. This little piece of information had turned one confirmed suspect into three.  Three more lycanthropes they had to track down. Draven was beginning to get sick of the whole thing. But money was money, and he was getting paid a lot of money.

Octavian indicated a pair of figures ahead of them on the street, and they ducked into an adjoining alley. “I spoke with a former Draigo contact. Most of the human confidants were never made public, we’re lucky I recognized him from a previous mission.”

Yeah. We. “And?”

“He all but confirmed what I already suspected. The stronghold in the south burned down before the plague claimed its first victims. It was unrelated.”

“And this is relevant because…?” They emerged from the alley. Draven quickly glanced around before turning south. Almost there.

Octavian hesitated. “I… it means that I can trust my memories from right before… you know….”

Draven rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

“Are you still annoyed that those targets got away from us?”

“Of course I’m annoyed!” Draven snapped, stopping in his tracks. “More than annoyed, I’m fucking furious! The plan was to eliminate four difficult targets from my list, not one!” He folded his arms, glaring at Octavian. “And your ‘relevant’ information was all but useless. It was a complete dead-end, and the cost is definitely coming out of my pay, and—”

Octavian hissed through his teeth sharply. “Of course it all comes down to money for you. Typical.”

Draven folded his arms, hands clenched into fists. “At least I’m not the one in denial about the greatest tragedy in the last decade!”

Octavian’s mouth snapped shut, and his expression changed from mild annoyance to barely concealed rage. If looks could kill, Draven would be six feet under and decomposing. “I can see myself to the safe house.” He finally spit out through gritted teeth, “Good night, Cozenson.”

He turned on his heel and stalked away, quickly melting into the shadows between the buildings. Draven gritted his teeth and walked in the opposite direction. He needed a drink.

- - - - -

Of course it all comes down to money for you.

Typical.

Draven knocked back the remnants of his drink. The alcohol did little to numb the shame that curled around his mind, threatening to pull him under. He slammed the shot glass on the counter, causing the other empty glasses to rattle. Since when did he care about what de Silv thought... of all people! 

A few feet away, the bartender of the random tavern Draven had stormed into eyed him with a questioning look. Draven waved him off. “I’m done for the night, I’ll settle my tab now.”

He fumbled with the strings on his coin purse with numb fingers, growing more annoyed by the second. Drinking away his frustrations had never worked in the past. Why would it this time? And now he was guaranteed a hangover in the morning. 

This was all de Silv’s fault.

The door to the tavern opened, and several pairs of feet stomped on the wooden floor. A bit late for a party. Draven finished paying for the drinks, frowning as the bartender grabbed the money with a fearful expression on his face and quickly ducked into the kitchen. As he turned to leave, he found a group of five well-armed men, all wearing identical black metal masks, standing behind him. “I was just leaving,” he said, moving to walk around them.

The group moved with him, keeping between him and the door. “Look,” Draven snapped, words slurred from the alcohol, “As much as I’d love to settle whatever score you got with me, I’m surprisingly not in the mood. So if you could just get out of my way and we could go on with our merry lives….”

No response. All five men stared at him in silence. Well, he assumed they were staring at him. He couldn’t tell, what with the masks completely obscuring their faces.

“‘Kay,” Draven muttered, reaching for his pistol, “I did warn you.”

His attackers sprang into action, surrounding him on all sides. But Draven only focused on the one directly in front of him.

Crack! Cra—!

He only got to aim one shot before he was tackled from the side. Even with unsteady hands, his aim was true, and he earned a cry of pain and a spray of blood for his efforts. The second shot went wide, the bullet embedding itself in the far wall. Draven stumbled sideways as his assailant tried to wrestle the gun away from him, the other three advancing.

Temporarily freeing his gun arm, Draven slammed the butt of the pistol against the side of his attacker’s head and pressed the business end against the bare skin of his neck. The other man stumbled back, one hand clutching his head, the other pressed against the burn caused by the hot metal.

Draven whirled around and almost fell over as the world continued to spin. He swore and drew his other pistol, blindly firing with his non-dominant hand as he stumbled backward towards the door. He didn’t notice the movement behind him until it was too late.

Thud.

Pain exploded in Draven’s head. The force of whatever had hit him sent him to the floor, his weapons falling from numb fingers and clattering out of reach. What…?

What… in the depths…?

Strong hands seized him and began to drag him away. Draven watched through half-open eyes as one of the remaining masked men picked up his pistols. Darkness bled into the edges of his vision.

They… they don’t want me dead…?

That… that’s not…

…not good…

…fuck…

…

- - - - -

Octavian dealt with his anger in the only way he knew how: sharpening his knives. He’d been doing that a lot lately, he realized, especially since he officially started working with Draven. It wasn’t just anger that prompted him to do something repetitive like knife sharpening, it was also worry, and stress. Both were also incredibly prominent in his life.

As a result, they had become incredibly sharp over the last couple of years. So sharp Octavian didn’t notice he had cut his hand until Reese pointed it out. “You’re, uh, bleeding.”

His jaw clenched as he carefully set the offending weapon aside and accepted the handkerchief she handed him. “I must’ve been more distracted than I thought,” he muttered, wiping away the pale red liquid from the cut. It wasn’t deep, thankfully, but it was long, cutting along the side of his left pointer finger.

Octavian stared at the cut, watching the blood drip down his hand in morbid fascination. At least I’m not the one in denial about the greatest tragedy in the last decade! Even if the words had come from a place of emotion, intending to hurt, he couldn’t deny the truth behind them. Call it optimism, call it hope, it was all the same.

Denial.

He pressed the cloth against the cut as Reese returned—when had she left?—with one of Draven’s spare bags. She handed Octavian the augri and bandages before sitting down next to him. She picked up the knife, still wet with his blood.

“…It’s been three days.”

Octavian hissed out through his teeth. The clear liquid was cold against his skin but searing hot like fire on the wound. Three days since the party, yes. Three days since we last parted, yes. “And?”

Reese carefully cleaned the blood off the edge of the weapon. The edges of the bandages on her forearms peeked out from underneath her sleeves. Her own wounds were healing, but they still needed to be covered. In a couple more days, she wouldn’t need the bandages. “I just… three days… is kind of a long time… to be left alone…?”

“You’re worried about Cozenson.”

She nodded.

Octavian sighed through his nose as he wrapped a thin strip of cloth around his finger. “He can handle himself.”

Her jaw tightened, and she hesitated before speaking. “You’re still angry with him.”

Octavian made a noise of indifference.

“So… so you don’t think any one of his enemies might have gotten him? You’re not worried at all?”

He opened his mouth to argue that no, he wasn’t worried, and if the hunter had gotten himself into some sort of mess he could very well get himself out of it, but the look on Reese’s face made him reconsider his words. He exhaled slowly and held out his hand. She handed over the knife, and he slid it into his sheath.

The truth? Octavian was concerned, now that Reese had brought it up, that Cozenson had left him alone for so long. Granted, Octavian hadn’t gone out to meet him at the guild over the past three days, but even so, Draven barely went a day without checking up on Reese. He pretended otherwise, but he was as interested in the girl’s safety as Octavian was.

“If it’ll make you feel better,” he began, rising to his feet, “I’ll go check up on him.”

Reese jumped up and thrust the bag at him. “Here. You might need it.”

Octavian nodded and slung it over his shoulder. “I’ll be back soon. You know the rules.”

She all but shoved him towards the door, bolting it behind him as soon as it was closed. Octavian wasted no time setting off northeast, towards the Hunter’s Guild. He would ask around there first. And if nobody knew where Cozenson was, the next step would be breaking into his apartment.

And if the apartment offered no clues? Octavian brushed the thought aside as he turned up his hood to hide the tell-tale silver of his hair. It was early morning, and few people were nearby, but he didn’t want to risk running into Reese’s abductors, who were no doubt on the lookout for him. He still received odd looks from passersby, but it was better than nothing.

He wasn’t a skilled tracker for nothing. But he’d rather not have to go that far. A trail three days cold was going to be a nightmare to follow.

Octavian had only just gotten into the northern district of Zariya when he was approached by a familiar face. Thaddeus Kaneson? Octavian had worked with him briefly back when he first joined the Hunter’s Guild. As far as he was aware, Thaddeus would have no reason to know about his and Draven’s current job. Their partnership, maybe. Why is he here?

“De Silv,” the hunter greeted softly, joining him.

“Kaneson,” Octavian replied, not slowing his pace, “I thought you were in Caenum.”

Thaddeus shrugged. “I was. Got called back.”

“That’s not why you’re here.”

“No, it’s not.” Thaddeus stopped and pulled out a sealed envelope from a hidden pocket on his duster. “This was dropped off late last night. Nobody saw who did it.” He held it out. “It’s for you. I got the short straw of trying to deliver it. Glad I found you quickly.”

Octavian hesitantly took it. His name was scrawled on the front with thick, dark letters. Thaddeus turned to leave, but Octavian touched his arm, stopping him. “Have you seen Cozenson? Within the last couple of days?”

The hunter paused, thinking. “Can’t say I have,” he said, cracking a grin. “Why, did you lose your partner?”

Octavian sighed. “I’m concerned that he might have gotten himself into a situation that I will need to rescue him from before he gets himself killed.”

Thaddeus’ grin grew wider. “Celestials, you did lose him! Well, if I find him before you do, you’ll owe me drinks at the Laughing Bear.”

“I highly doubt that will happen, Kaneson.”

Thaddeus turned away, chuckling. “We’ll see about that, de Silv.”

Octavian let him go, fiddling with the envelope until the hunter was out of sight. Shaking his head, he ducked into the shelter of a nearby alley and turned it over. He ran a finger over the wax seal. Unbroken, but he knew there were ways to open it without damaging the seal. No design was imprinted on the dark red wax, the color oddly similar to human blood. Either no signet or the person who’d sent the letter did not want to be known.

Octavian’s suspicions grew as he broke the seal and pulled out the letter. One page, same messy lettering.

We have your partner. If you do not turn over Reese Takari, we will kill him. You have one week.

The paper crinkled under the force of Octavian’s grip, but he didn’t care. It was dated the night of the last full moon, three days before, with an address scrawled below the note. No signature, but he didn’t need it to guess who had sent it.

And he’d rather be damned to the depths than give Reese’s abductors what they wanted.

- - - - -

“I think I finally figured out what your mask reminds me of.”

The guard who had been assigned to watch Draven did not obviously react, but Draven noted the way his jaw visibly tightened under the stupid metal face mask.

Draven smirked despite the pounding in his head and the aching in his joints from being tied to the chair for so long. “Your mask specifically looks like a little obedient watchdog. One who only knows how to follow the orders of someone who’s done nothing but bitch at you.”

The guard, celestials bless his patience, remained motionless, holding his handgun, as he stood about as far as he could get from his charge without leaving the small, windowless room where Draven was kept. He had originally been in the main area of the random warehouse in the merchant district, but with the front door right there, he couldn’t help but almost escape twice. Now, he was about as far away from the door as he could get, though there were plenty of windows just outside the room.

“Personally,” Draven continued, “I don’t see why your boss—whoever the depths that might be—makes you wear those stupid masks. It’s not like I couldn’t identify you by the way you stand or anything.”

The guard’s knuckles turned white as he resisted the temptation to strike Draven across the face. Or at least that’s why Draven assumed he was gripping his weapon with such strength. Any more force and the gun would probably snap in half.

“So… when did your boss say the time limit was again? Three days left, now? I have a job to get back to.”

No response.

Dammit. Worth a shot.

Draven sighed and ran his fingers along the ropes tied around his wrists for the hundredth time since he’d been bound there after the second escape. Both of the knives hidden in his sleeves had gotten confiscated, all he had left was the one in his boot. Which was currently out of reach.

Not that it would do him much good at this point. With the one guard between him and the only exit, and at least two more standing outside between the door and the nearest windows, he wasn’t getting very far. They might actually shoot him this time if only to keep him from attempting escape with a more permanent solution.

Draven opened his mouth to ask another question, but before the words left his lips, the sound of shattering glass pierced the air. The guard jumped, startled, and darted out the door. Draven cocked his head, listening as chaos reigned. Screaming, shouting, gunshots, and running footsteps as his captors tried to contain whatever had gotten inside.

The person in charge, who wore an identical black metal mask with a single gold stripe across where the forehead would be, had claimed they could handle Draven’s partner if he chose to fight his way through. “De Silv would have no choice but to accept,” he’d gloated, “I have thirty men armed to the teeth. What does a single hunter have against that?”

Besides, Octavian had no reason to risk the kid for Draven. 

Why would he, after what Draven had said to him? 

If Draven were in his position, he would have just left him and gotten himself and Reese out of Zariya days ago while her abductors waited in vain.

Just as the thought crossed Draven’s mind, a familiar face appeared in the doorway. “Cozenson,” Octavian said in greeting. He was covered in human blood, the dark red liquid dripping from his knives and smeared on his face and clothing.

“De Silv,” Draven returned slowly.

“Surprised to see me?”

He sighed. “A little bit, yeah.”

Octavian casually tossed one of his knives into the air and caught it deftly. “I couldn’t just leave you to die at the hands of these masked imbeciles. I’m not you.”

The last sentence was unspoken, but the look on Octavian’s face implied it well enough. Draven opened his mouth to argue, to deny, but he hesitated. Octavian would know it was a lie. “Look,” he said, after a moment of thought, “I’m sorry. For what I said to you. I wasn’t being fair.”

The look of pure shock on Octavian’s face was priceless. “I….”

“I know, I’m apologizing. Big shocker.” Draven jerked his head to the side, indicating the ropes binding him to the chair. “Could you let me out? My hands are getting numb.”

Octavian blinked and slowly nodded. He crossed the small room in two strides and quickly sliced through the ropes. Draven jumped to his feet and staggered, vision tunneling. “Shit,” he muttered as Octavian steadied him. “Don’t get a concussion while drunk.”

“Noted.” Octavian considered the blood on his knives, lips pressed into a thin line, before wiping the blood off and sheathing them. “I also apologize. For leaving you alone. However much I detested your company at that point, we are partners.”

Draven sighed. “Yeah, couldn’t agree more.” He slowly stepped out of the room, noting the copious amount of blood and broken glass littering the warehouse floor. The bodies of the dead lay scattered about haphazardly. Most had died by Octavian’s blades. Two appeared to have been mauled. “So… thirty men?”

“Some of them fled,” Octavian said softly. “They assumed they were dealing with an elven hunter. They were half-right.”

Draven’s eyes landed on his guns, which rested on a table across the vast room. They appeared undamaged, thank the celestials. He could always get new guns, of course, but those were his guns. They’d seen him through many a hunt and duel and scuffle. He began to pick his way over, avoiding the corpses and the worst of the blood. “You seem conflicted.”

Octavian trailed after him “I think anyone would, in my position.”

“Has everything gotta be a damned riddle with you?” Draven reached the table and picked up one of his guns. Empty. The boss must’ve unloaded it. Pretty clever for someone working with limited knowledge. He gave the room another glance. From what he could see, none of the masks on the dead guards possessed the golden stripe. “Octavian, did you happen to kill a guy with a stupid-looking gold streak across his mask? ‘Cause that guy was a particular brand of asshole. And also the one in charge.”

He glanced back to find his partner staring into space, eyes moving back and forth. “No,” Octavian finally said, refocusing his attention on Draven. “He was one of the first to flee.”

“Damned coward.”

“‘Damned coward’, indeed.”

Draven returned his guns to their rightful places on his belt and gave the warehouse one last cursory look. “Guess I’m rooming with you and the kid for a little while.”

Octavian nodded. “Her abductors are surprisingly resourceful. She must’ve been a valuable prisoner.”

“Still hasn’t told you anything?”

“No.”

Draven sighed. “I don’t know what they did with the knives I kept up my sleeve, but I’m tired, my head hurts, and I want nothing more than to go home.”

“Shall we depart then?”

“Celestials, stop being so formal. Let’s get out of here.”

Meme Summary

[whumpbump]

Cw: implied future SA, mentions of sobriety from drugs and the effects it had, stranded and abducted at gunpoint

Whumpee hadn’t even realized how low their gas was getting until they saw the next rest stop wasn’t for another 35 miles and it was too far to turn back.

“Ugh. You did it this time, Whumpee.” Grumbling under their breath, they tried to see if they had cell reception. It was a fairly traveled road, but it was late.

As time dragged on, Whumpee slowly went through all their contacts. No one was awake, or answering at least. Whumpee felt like they deserved that. They’d just gotten clean and they were attempting to start a new life away from the town they grew up in so they could stay clean. Everyone was used to Whumpee’s antics and reaching out hysterically at random hours so one rarely picked up when Whumpee called.

As hopelessness set in, a spark of hope flickered. Headlights! Whumpee waved their arms while standing a safe distance from the road near their car.

The van came to a halt a couple feet ahead, and the driver rolled the passenger window down.

“You alright?” the shadowy figure asked.

“Not really. I’m about out of gas. Would you happen to have a gas can with you? I, I could pay you! I have some cash on me!”

The figure chuckled darkly. “I can think of other forms of payment that would work.”

Whumpee’s stomach dropped. They backed away slowly. “Oh um actually I think I’ll just wait for my mom to pick me up. Thanks for stopping though.”

The voice changed from a sultry smooth to a grating harsh. “I don’t think that’s true, and you no longer have a choice. Get in the van.”

Knowing better than to argue after hearing the click of a gun, Whumpee tearfully entered the van. The tears began to roll when they saw a dirty mattress in the back. From their experiences, they knew enough to know they were in serious danger.

Upon seeing what was in store for them, their heart surged as they tried to jump back out. There was no lock to be undone on that side of the car. They were trapped.

[exotrauma-vents]

tw brainwashing, torture, humilliation, force-feeding, puking, sickness and implied abduction

was trying to remember my language and randomly realized the reason why everyone spoke to me in english in my post-funwar exomemories is that the partygoers brainwashed me into forgetting my own language so that i couldn’t tell people how they had tortured me and my friend was forced to learn english because that was the only language i barely remembered from them speakimg to me in it. i think im gonna cry

like thats genuinely so cruel. imagine spending weeks captured being brainwashed, humilliated, tortured in a million ways, and being forcefully fed only your comrades’s flesh which made you puke and get sick and when you try to tell your friends. you cant understand eachother. man 😐

.

[searenbound]

I think Midoriya would be the most likely candidate to become a yandere.

He already has obsessive tendencies and a stubborn refusal to let others go even when they actively push him away and mistreat him because he has a savior complex.

What’s stopping him from looking at his loved one and thinking he needs to protect them? What’s stopping him from going to the extreme and abducting them in a twisted since of responsibility?

[poptart-cat-78]

The visuals of “Down Bad” from The Eras Tour be like:

[csaventing]

Maybe im just crazy, maybe nothing happened to me. I have the most vile memories of being raped as early as 2 or 3 years old but im scared if i made it up, or that it was dreams, or something i saw in a movie, or something else. But it doesn't make sense, because i remember them abducting me, but maybe i made it up. But then why do i remember being in the place i was abducted, i was there 1000%. Maybe i wasn't abducted, maybe i was just taken for a innocent ride to a innocent place and that nothing happened, but then why do i have severe trauma from it? Or what if i dont have trauma from it, maybe im not traumatized? i remember being traumatized from a terrifying show that aired live on television when i was a child and if a CHILDS SHOW traumatized me then who is to say that what happened to me was traumatic, maybe i got traumatized for no reason. But it dosent make sense because why do i remember being raped, there wasn't even just one person there was multiple of them.

Omg, we relate so much to how the thoughts are going here.

[modern-day-kleavor]

Selfie with my latest work!! :333 I can't actually show my work because I'll get flagged, so you just get the legs haha

[cxldblxxded]

cad's timeline

( to get an understanding of why he is the way he is )

1996 - cad is the last egg to hatch out of his clutch of siblings. he lives as a snake for the first year of his life in an abandoned hunting shack somewhere outside mobile, alabama. it's a hungry year as he learns to hunt on his own. one of his sisters ventures outside and disappears.

1997 - he's a year old. cad starts being taught how to be a human. it's much more complicated than being a snake.

2001 - he's five, now. he discovers the local library. the librarians are concerned about the dirty little boy that rummages around their shelves, but he's not the only stray around these parts, so the only help they can offer him is in the form of books. he teaches himself to read and devours whatever he's given, soon graduating from picture books to short novels. another sister vanishes without a trace.

2007 - now he's eleven. he's walking back to his shack with his arms full of books when he's discovered by boys a little older than him. they try talking to him, making fun of him to provoke some sort of response; he can't talk back. when they discover this, they turn violent, and cad experiences the cruelty of humans for the first time. unable to scream, all he can do is take the beating until they get bored and leave him covered in mud on the side of the road.

2009 - on the morning of his thirteenth birthday, cad almost gets eaten by a hawk while sunbathing. it lifts him about 20 feet in the air before he turns back to a person and is dropped. he never emotionally recovers from this incident.

2012 - he's sixteen. puberty has turned him into a gangly little thing. he still goes to the library, but he's been cautious ever since 2007. people still jeer at him sometimes, and he's learned to run when they do. his shifting is fluid now. one of his brothers has disappeared.

2014 - he's eighteen and officially on his own. his mother barely waits for the clock to strike midnight before she's gone, and gradually, his remaining siblings leave too. he's the last to hatch, and he's the last to leave the shack in search of greener pastures.

2015 - he's nineteen. greener pastures don't seem to exist quite yet, at least not in alabama. however he does go hitchhiking and gets picked up by someone who bothers to ask his name. caduceus is officially born.

2016 - he's twenty now. he goes hitchhiking and the person driving tries to kill him, or worse. there's a fight, the guy's on top of him, cad gets a hand on his throat, and he's dead. cad never emotionally recovers from this incident either. he doesn't hitchhike anymore and develops motion sickness, which he thinks is a physiological reaction to something(?) but in reality is a ptsd response. in the same year he gets played with by a stray cat, which also traumatizes him.

2019 - cad's twenty-three and he thinks he's finally getting the hang of the whole snake/human thing. of course, this is when the shovel incident happens and cad is reminded how much people hate him for existing. he barely survives and spends the next two years living exclusively as a wild snake, too frightened to approach human settlements. no, he never emotionally recovers from this incident.

2021 - he's twenty-five now. cad misses fried food and books and every other thing that makes him human and decides to give it a shot again.

2023 - he's twenty-seven. whether it's going well for him or not remains to be determined.

[wheucto]

rewatching the oj exit interview for some reason and oj says "thrown into another competition against [my] will again." which. ??

[wanderrealms]

MyGrain - Dreamscape (melodic death metal)