#mentions of suicide /

[spaciebabie]

maybe its just the cptsd talking (its always talking, Help Me) but i cannot help but continuously think about anya mouthwashing and that fucking scene between her and curly in the cockpit. i cant think of anything more devastating for an abuse survivor ta go thru. to know that people care so little for you and how you feel and the ways that you have been hurt that they will allow someone who abused you to stay on board a ship when you tell them that you want them gone. if i had been in anyas shoes i would have been pissed. and you know what!! i am pissed!! because the same fucking thing happened to me!! anya was driven to the point of fearing for her life because curly couldnt grow a fucking spine and tell an abuser ta beat it. thats what happened dude. and its so. ohhhh its such good story telling. and it rings so true as someone who has survived exactly this situation. and the way anya talks in this scene...."i know you're not going to protect me, so i might as well protect myself" (paraphrasing here) said thru gritted teeth. said thru tears that threaten to spill from her eyes. spat with venom, anger, hatred, even. and the abuse did continue. and she was right. but nobody will ever listen because anya will let anyone and everyone walk all over her because its what she feels she deserves. deep down. and she realizes that the only one who really has her back 100% is her. because everyone else who claims to care is fucking lying. and it was proven to her when curly said that he would "talk to jimmy" its rage enducing. i cant imagine what she was thinking nursing curly that whole time. the rage. the fact that his life was at her fingertips. it must have felt good. to have all that. to be able to decide if someone like him lived, died, suffered, the same way he did to her. there is absolutely no shot that she thought about killing him. she thought about it, and was probably so fucking angry and pissed, but then. as she always did as she learned to do redirected the hurt and anger at herself and took her own life. and makes me feel seen in a way that i have never felt seen before.

[m3vl0vesu]

SPIDEY STUFF

TW: Bullying, mentions of suicide, it's just kind of sad

A/N:don't know if I'm going anywhere with this or if it's been done before. Probably has but🤷‍♀️

Do you know how angsty a Spider fic can get?? Most Spideys are teenagers, and of course their canon events, sprinkle in some bullying and feeling outcasted by society and there you have it! A real Spider-person. They've got faster healing, an abnormal amount of strength and can deflect most attacks due to their spidey sense. But they're not immortal, if they die, they die. And they know that, you know that, we all do. But do other people?

The cities' civilians don't know anything about their local hero. The people they work with? They don't know if the kid can't die-i mean the reckless shit they do? They might as well be immortal if they keep on risking their life like that. Or they just count it as 'stupid teen doing stupid stuff' if they do know. And it hurts, the lack of empathy people have but they used to it by now. .

.

. 'Adrenaline' thats what you say. When people ask 'why do you swing so low sometimes' especially when your coming off a tall building. Should you tell them the truth?

Yeah.

Would you?

Hell no.

In reality you were testing yourself, it started slowly. Seeing how low you could get without being scared. Scared to hit the ground, you were just making sure that you weren't going to change your mind. And not once would you. You awaited the day the impact will finally kill you. You could make it look like an accident as well.

Maybe you forgot to make your web fluid that day, maybe you just idiotically went too low. People would maybe pick up on it, how sometimes your body would almost touch the pavement before you swung away. You were always quiet when doing it, not cracking a few obnoxious jokes. But you were just focusing, that's all. Nothing to worry about.

But just how long would they have their Spidey? And how long had their happy one been gone?

[sweetteaanddragons]

So I was rereading the part of the Silmarillion where Haleth appears for fic-writing reasons, and it reminded me of several things I had forgotten/formed misconceptions about:

The Haladin do not have a village prior to the orc-raid! They have independent homesteads. When the orcs come, they retreat to a defensible position and build a defensive wall, which is probably where my vision of them living in a walled village came from, but these are still two very different things.

Haldad is not their chief! He is the guy who takes charge; he is the guy who appears to be leading the defensive and offensive efforts; he is very much their leader in this situation, but this is not some kind of pre-established, formal position.

Haldar dies trying to keep his dad's corpse from being mutilated by the orcs which is not a detail I'd formed a misconception about, just forgotten entirely.

Speaking of heartbreaking details I had forgotten about, some of the Haladin lost hope during the siege and drowned themselves in the river.

. . . I should probably do a full Silmarillion reread sometime soon to see what else I've forgotten/gotten mixed up about.

[ailithnight]

A few notes:

I originally planned to have this one have a couple of povs like the first, but then u got carried away writing feral Danny so, just Tim today.

I hope to get the next one out sometime this weekend cause it's harder to write when I have work.

Also, everyone thank @cursedzucchini for writing the comment that gave me the executive function to take these words out of my brain and put them in my phone. Reading that there was someone out there checking the tag for updates every day really motivated me.

Now, without further ado

Chapter 1

A King in Arkham

Chapter 2

Tim sighs, rubbing his temples and attempting to will away the sleep deprivation headache currently pounding on the inside of his skull. Pushing 80 hours awake, the last 38 of which have been spent combing backwards through any and all Arkham documents pertaining to one Daniel James Fenton.

He moved his hands away from his head, placing them on the fresh cup of coffee that had materialized while he was massaging, giving a cursory "Thanks" the retreating body. Normally, Alfred would have cut Tim off from caffeine yesterday. But it seems even the old butler was keen on something being found to justify pulling the kid out of Arkham.

Or maybe that was Jason fueling Tim's addiction. Man had been hovering since Batman called him back at the last break out. At least Dick had been able to reason better with the most volatile of the Wayne siblings.

"Picking him up and running won't do either of you any favors, Little Wing. It'll just put him and Hood on wanted posters. If you want him to have any shot at a life out here, you gotta let Bruce take it through the proper channels."

That had at least prevented Jason from snapping on anyone immediately, though he had seen fit to warn everyone that of they didn't have something by the next break out, he'd be doing it his way.

Which is why Tim had spent the last day and a half poring over every medical record, therapy session, schedule, action report, and discipline slip Arkham had on file that even mentioned Patient 26B.

Meanwhile, Oracle had her hands full trying to find any background information on the young ward. A task which itself was proving challenging because the place the kid came from seemed to have no digital presence at all. None. Not a Facebook or Twitter or MySpace pinging from the area. Not an email address or YouTube account. Not a single god damned website. Not even a .gov! Hell, the only reason they knew the city's name is because it was listed in the CPS paperwork from Chicago.

In other places, small towns and communities in the middle of nowhere, this wouldn't really raise any red flags. But Amity Park was not actually a nowhere town. It certainly wasn't a Gotham or Metropolis. But it was big enough to have formed a conurbation with the nearby city of Elmerton. Which had a perfectly normal digital presence. So Amity Park's lack of digital presence screamed Communications Blackout. A frighteningly strong one to still be giving Oracle the run around almost 2 days later.

Once Tim was finished reviewing Arkham reports, then the 3 weeks of documents from Daniel's stay in Chicago, he'd probably offer to help her. Though she might tell him to go the fuck to sleep instead.

For now. Tim was nearing the beginning of the kid's Arkham stay and; on top of not yet finding any clues as to why the kid was in Arkham, nor anything that could possibly exonerate him; the kid just made no damn sense!

His therapy sessions were all the same dead end.

The therapist would ask he he was feeling. The kid would apparently shrug, or sometimes mumble something the therapists could never quite catch.

They'd ask the standard suicide questions. "Any thoughts of wishing you could go to sleep and not wake up?"

A shrug.

"Any thoughts of wanting to take your own life or wishing someone would take it for you?"

Vehenement refusal bordering on a panic attack.

Move on to the hurting people questions.

"Any thoughts of wanting to harm other people?"

"No." According to the doctors, his tone here is immediate, calm, confident. Truthful. If the Arkham psyches are to be believed.

"Any thoughts of wanting to harm yourself?"

"No." Slower, quieter, meeker. Noted as a clear lie, citing the injuries as evidence.

"Then why do you, Danny?"

"I don't."

"Then where did your injuries come from."

"The ghosts," said with a sigh

At this point, it seems Daniel shuts down. He says nothing else for the rest of the session. Shows no outward response as the therapist tries to convince him there are no ghosts and Daniel must be giving himself those injuries.

2 and a half months. Daily therapy sessions. And every single one is the exact same script. The only differences are some minor notes as Daniel is passed around between therapists as they all inevitably get frustrated talking to the emotionless block of ice.

Outside of the therapy sessions and medical reports documenting the frankly horrifying amount of injuries Danny accumulates, there's not much in his file. He follows all instructions to the letter; never causes trouble for guards or other inmates; and every single locks malfunction, he has afterward been found lying on his bed in his cell staring at the ceiling. If he was somewhere else when the malfunction happened, security footage catches him walking there himself. If he was already in his cell, footage keeps him there the whole time.

Tim sighs again, clicking out of the medical report detailing the nasty bruise that had appeared on the kid's lower left back, then opens up the next file up without reading the name fully expecting it to be another tedious therapy session report.

Instead, he finds a discipline slip with the relevant security clip embedded at the top. The first frame is of the cafeteria. Daniel is sitting alone at a table in the top right. Tim's breath catches in his throat as he recognizes the demented clown in the center of the frame. Hastily, he plays the clip.

There is no sound but Joker appears to say something to the room. Daniel is suddenly standing, whipped around to face the clown. The Joker turns towards him. Daniel tenses. The Joker tenses.

In the next second, Daniel is on the Joker. He's kicking, scratching, biting. Absolutely feral as he just reigns fury upon the most feared and hated rogue in all of Gotham. Surrounding inmates are fleeing to the sides of the room as the Joker seemingly tries to get away from the kid, only succeeding in moving the "fight" around the room. It's hardly a fight. More like a vicious, brutal assault. Inmates cheer as blood appears on the floor. Guards move in, pulling the feral 15 year old off of the Joker; who stays down, potentially unconscious. 2 guards go to help the one currently attempting to restrain Daniel. 6 more converge on the Joker, blocking him from view. As soon as he can no longer see the Joker, Daniel seems to go limp in the guards hands. Then he tenses again, though not struggling. Tim just catches the beginning stages of what seems to be a panic attack before the clip ends.

Tim stares dumbfounded at the screen for several moments. When he snaps out of it enough to actually read the incident report, it is a basic transcription of what Tim just witnessed with confirmation that Daniel had a panic attack immediately after. The report also notes that other than the panic attack, Daniel seemed to sustain no harm. He was disciplined with 3 days without cafeteria privileges, so his meals were brought to his cell, and 3 days without Crafts room privileges.

A note at the bottom of the report reads "To prevent further incidents, Patient 26B and the Joker are no longer permitted to be in the same room or yard."

This makes Tim click out of the discipline slip -without closing it, just moving it to a different section of the batcomputer's massive screen- and scan the rest of the files. There are 2 more. One from a week prior and one from Daniel's first dat at Arkham. He opens both, placing them at points on the screen so that all 3 are visible.

The one from the week prior shows the Crafts Room. Danny is again in an upper corner. Time plays it. The door opens. Joker walks in. Seems to look at Daniel, then rushes him. Daniel looks up before the Joker makes it half way across the room, then in the next second meets him there. Another feral fight only broken up by the guards when the Joker stops moving. Again, Danny goes limp as soon as the Joker is out of sight. The rest of the report confirming a panic attack but no injuries. 2 days lost privileges.

The report from Daniel's first day again shows the cafeteria. This time, Daniel is center frame. Joker comes up behind him. Daniel tenses but doesn't turn yet. Joker seems to be saying g something, then laughs. Daniel hunches in on himself, seeming to mumble a response. Whatever he said makes the Joker laugh harder. Then he leans down over Daniel's shoulder, talking. Daniel seems frozen for not even half a second before he suddenly pushes himself out of his seat, straight in to the Joker, twisting as he goes to begin the attack. Since it's obviously the first time, the rest of the cafeteria freezes. No one reacts for a solid 6 seconds. Then guards are moving in, hauling the teenager away. The Joker stands unsteadily then takes a knee. He has to be led limping out of the room. Guards struggle to restrain Daniel until the Joker is gone, whereafter Daniel goes boneless, then begins panicking. Report confirms panic attack and no injuries. 1 day lost privileges.

Tim stares at the batcomputer for several minutes, trying very hard to process what he has just learned. His brain feels like soup. He rubs his eyes, looks at his coffee, grabs a comm to put in his ear. His voice is strained as he speaks.

Anyone nearby who can come to the cave for a minute?

Jason responds instantly.

Upstairs. Find something?

I don't... know. I just. Someone come confirm I didn't just hallucinate what I just watched and read.

Red Robin? What did you find?

Not saying until someone else can confirm it.

Red Robin

On my way down.

.

"What the actual fuck?"

[the-starlight-mistress]

Gravity Falls Final Test Au

Ok, so I’ve finally given in and made a gravity falls AU.

In this AU bill is nearing the end at his time at the Theraprism. Or at least, he should be. If he wants to actually get out of here he needs to pass one final test.

He gets to have a human body, go to the last place he was before admitted to the facility, and try to live a life showing he has changed.

If he doesn’t show any progress he’s sent back to Theraprism and has to continue his indefinite stay, anyone he’s made contact with get’s their mind wiped of his recent interaction, and any trouble he’s cause is reversed.

Will bill be able to handle it if he’s forgotten by another person?

It won’t come to that, he’ll just find the most normal person in gravity falls and follow their lead, then the whole stupid Pine family, and the stupid Axolotl will see that he’s not as obsessive as they all like to think he is.

Now then, the most normal person in gravity falls… what about this Tad Stange?

I’ll be keeping my log of “episodes” under the cut

All spoilers are in the tags

Episodes:

Prologue

Episode 1 "The Final Test"

Episode 2 "Tad Strange: he sure is"

[jewish-vents]

I'm in a lot of fandom...however I feel more and more excluded because a majority of them openly support Hamas and glorify awful things like Aaron Bushnell's suicide (which has been endorsed by Hamas itself, but of course, people choose to ignore this). You can't say "I support the people in Israel" without getting attacked.

Everytime I see a Palestine flag in someone's bio or see them reblogging things like blood libels or "Israelis are settler-colonialists", I can't help but feel a jolt of fear...and wonder if they genuinely want Jews like me and my family dead.

.

[creativename87]

orv spoilers!!!

ok guys. guys. why aren't we spending every single fucking moment of our lives talking about the oldest dream & kim dokja scene?? like hello??? i'm not even talking about when kdj tries to stab himself no no i'm talking about the few, small moment leading up to that, when it's just them, staring at each other.

it's such an gut wrenching powerful scene in my opinion. like like like oh my god. so much has happened. and yet, and yet to them it's still about the same webnovel. kim dokja has aged thirteen years since he was this kid, but as he steps forward they still are both just kim dokja.

They both remember the cold rush of air when they leapt from their school balcony. They both remember the breathless laugh before they did it. They probably both remember the way it reminded them of when they were five, getting thrown into the air by their mother, her face not yet wrinkled with regret. They remember the way it burned as they hit the cold pavement and as blood seeped into the concrete. the way that whole thing was nothing more than a reminder that this time there was no one left to catch them.

They remember the flashes of cameras and they both remember typing three tiny words into the hospital computer.

They are both kim dokja: One is just the past and the other is the future.

They stare at each other when by all definitions they shouldn't be allowed to exist close to other. Kim Dokja hates him, he hates himself and he hates his past. and the oldest dream wishes he were him he wishes he could be someone stronger ,someone better, and that's why our kim dokja exists. They are trapped in this circle of resentment and remorse.

His companions stare, registering the scene in front of them. what this means. and it's this heartbreaking sort of realization that the god they came here to fight is not just a child, but the past of their leader. this world that has bruised them and hurt them and killed those they loved, was caused by one of the ones they loved.

And then the oldest dream( he's just a fifteen-year-old kid. he doesn't even have a drivers license yet. he doesn't know anything in this world except for pain and the rush of joy that comes with another chapter) opens his mouth. He stares at his future. A future he has created for himself. and he whispers, in a slow voice, his face twisting

"M-monster…"

[serenefreakgeekao3]

Apricity

[Table of Contents]

CHAPTER NINE, Bated Breath

Days ??

NEWT’S POV

The paper crumpled in his hand, having been crushed into a ball and smoothed back out so often that it followed the same pattern easily for him. He doesn't go so far as to crush it into a ball, but he tightens his grip on the fragile paper enough so he doesn't see the words he's reread over and over again.

Except, it still doesn't make any sense. None of it makes sense. And maybe you had been right, perhaps he should've waited for you to wake up to answer his questions- but he had so many questions and he was feeling impatient for the first time in his life and the explanation was right there!

He loosens his grip, smoothing the paper out gently across his knee. His eyes scanned the words blearily without really reading them, then they glanced upward without any conscious thought. They land on you, breathing lightly and lying peacefully in bed. Everyone says it's a good sign; that if you were going to have the freak-out that followed a Griever sting then it would've happened by now. 

It didn't quite help his worry.

His eyes fall downward, toward the paper on his knee, the paper holding your handwriting. Not just your handwriting, but your own thoughts. He felt a sense of yearning for you, making him want to preserve the letter forever, like it's a piece of you; but he also felt a whole mix of other feelings, including anger and guilt at how you thought you had to do this alone.

Shaking his head, resting his chin on his hand, he lifts the paper just enough to reread it once again… 

If you're reading this, then I'm dead. If I'm not then you better just close this back up, I could tell you all of this in person, there's no reason to learn this stuff through a sheet of paper when I can answer all your questions. This is going to sound crazy enough by itself, the least you could do is let me explain. Or, I am dead, and this is your only explanation. I expect to be, honestly. I've never been the most fit, I'm certainly not in perfect shape and I'm so scared of the maze. I know what's out there, and how many ways I could die, but I can't stay here pretending I don't know how to get out. How to get all of you out. 

I want to reassure you, I don't work for the creators. For WCKD. Or maybe I did, and I just don't remember? Maybe the memories and flashes I keep seeing are just implanted into my mind, but it felt so real. My life before here was different than anyone else seems to experience and I'm not even sure I'm supposed to be here. But I want to make my point absolutely clear- even if I may have worked for WCKD at some point, I no longer do. I am not against you. There is so much to explain and not enough paper for this, or time since I can see the sunset and have to leave as the doors close. 

I know the way out. It's the Grievers, they're not there in the daytime right? But they are at night. They come in somehow, which means they have to leave somehow too. Their entrance and exit is our way. I'm going into the maze tonight to kill one of them. Hopefully I've succeeded, otherwise… well, that'll be your first step. 

Once you have a dead Griever, you need to pull its stinger off, carefully. It'll have a number that corresponds to a section of the maze. I know you know what I'm talking about, and if you don't just tell Minho or Newt or Thomas, they'll figure it out. If it isn't one of you reading anyway.

Bring the stinger. A wall will open, and if you get to this part then Be Ready. Wicked will know, they'll try to stop you. They'll send other Grievers. You have to get close, be scanned. An alarm will sound because you're not a Griever, and you'll have to input a code. Quickly. It's the maze, the sections that open and close per day. Maybe memorize it before you head out? Might help. Open the door, go through, follow the endless hallways to the exit. You'll see dead bodies, and then they'll tell you what happened to the world. Their explanation is the truth, for the world and why they did this to you. Doesn't make it right, but it's true. The lie is the rebels attacking the scientists that kept you. The scientists are still alive, and the rebels that come in to 'save' you are still them, still WCKD. 

Play along, but know better. It'll give you an advantage. 

And if Gally shows up, protect Chuck. Don't wait for Gally to pull the trigger because he will. Take him down. 

Remember this, above all. Don't trust Ava Paige. Don't trust Janson. And Thomas is the cure. 

THOMAS’ POV

His leg refused to stop bouncing. Honestly, he was always moving in some sort of way, however this time was definitely different. He wasn’t moving because it felt good to move or to push out all of the excess energy that is constantly flooding through his veins. However, it could be considered more of the latter, as he’s full of anxious energy he’s only ever felt in small bursts before. This energy refuses to leave, though, and continues to grow the longer you rest in the cot. 

It’s only been a day, sure. But Thomas was given leave of his duties for the time being, until he’s able to focus again and Minho can be sure he won’t lose himself in the maze by worrying too much about you and forgetting his place. Minho had told Thomas, “I’m not volunteering to babysit you in the maze,” But he’s pretty sure Minho just knew how much this meant to him. He could barely even sleep last night to begin with, worrying over you for too long before eventually passing out. 

Newt had spent the whole night with you, looking exhausted by morning when Thomas had finally awoken and came to check on you. He’d brought two plates of food with him and spent the morning eating with Newt next to your cot, quietly conversing. The update consisted mainly of, “They haven’t woken at all, still just lightly breathing all night, no signs of a freak-out,” And then they moved on to other, safer topics. Newt had been crunching up and smoothing out the paper, the letter, over and over while they spoke and his hands hadn’t been busy with food. Thomas had read the letter already, sure, but he also was worried that Newt might ruin it if he kept it up. When Newt stood to finally go get some sleep, Thomas gently reached over and pried the paper from his hand, smoothing it out just to fold it into a neat square and place it on the nightstand next to your cot. 

They exchanged quiet good nights, then Newt glanced at you again for a moment before finally pulling himself away and out of the door. Thomas was sure the daylight had blinded him immediately, but he hadn’t been watching out the door to see. He was staring at your face, now that there weren’t other people in the room to make the action awkward. He briefly flicks his eyes to the square of paper on the table and begins to wonder about it again.

He’d managed to keep the majority of the words out of his mind, but the last line kept repeating through his head. ‘Thomas is the cure.’ What does that even mean? When Newt had finished reading the letter aloud to everyone- Alby, Minho, Clint, Jeff, Hannah, and himself- everyone had turned to look at Thomas with varying shades of confusion and pity. He’d hated the attention suddenly, shuffling on his feet and trying his best to subtly shift behind Newt to get their eyes off of him. Those words, though- they meant nothing and everything, and Thomas wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He wished you’d wake up so he could ask. He wished he could ask why you lied.

And that was another thing he’s been trying to keep his mind off of. You had lied to him. It was sometime a week or two after you’d been there, and it had been a day off together. Thomas could tell you knew more than everyone else, but he figured you were like him. Worked for WCKD, remembered those computer screens and that woman’s face and that feeling of ‘This can’t go on…’ He’d asked you. You said yes. You had told Thomas you worked for WCKD, then wrote in the letter how you didn’t and never would. Thomas agreed, sure, that what WCKD did was not right, and that you being so adamant in the fact that you hadn’t worked for them should technically work in your favor. But you’d said yes.

Were you just trying to throw him off your trail? Were you actually just an infiltrator forgetting their lies? Did you… not care enough about Thomas, to tell the truth?

He finds himself staring into your face once again, hunching over himself. Your chest rose and fell slowly, unmoving on your cot still. When would you wake up?

“Thomas?”

He jumps practically a foot in the air at the sound, turning first toward the empty doorway of the hut. When he hears the mumble again, he turns in the other direction to find the source of the noise. Chuck is sitting up in bed, rubbing an eye with a fist, scrunching up his face in the way he does when he’s woken from a long night. Thomas jumps out of his chair next to your bed, practically vaulting his way over to Chuck’s bed, stumbling and catching himself on the side of it before hoisting himself up to sit next to Chuck’s feet.

“Chuck! Chuck, hey, hey, how are you?” Thomas reaches out, patting the boy’s leg as he ducks his head, trying to catch Chuck’s eyes. Once he’s finished rubbing the sleep from them, Chuck meets his gaze finally, then takes a look around the room. His expression falls when he sees you lying there in the cot, a look of remembrance crossing his face.

“Are they…?”

“They’re okay,” Thomas whispers- he had meant to say it louder, but something got caught in his throat and that was the only way he could manage it. Chuck turned his head back, looking at Thomas with pity, and he was really starting to get tired of that look. But, it’s okay. Chuck doesn’t know… Does he? 

“What happened?” Chuck’s question catches him off guard, and he can’t help it, Thomas just laughs. He watches as Chuck can’t handle but put on a small, albeit confused, smile in response. It’s not long before Thomas has a handle on himself, and pats Chuck’s leg once again.

“I should be the one asking you that question. Why were you even in the maze to begin with? What happened in there?” Thomas leans forward, feeling his expression become more serious and furrowed as he asks these questions, his mind burning with the need for answers. He realizes he should be fetching Clint, or Jeff, or even Newt so he can hear these answers too. But he didn’t want to leave Chuck behind when he just woke up, and he needed answers more than anything. Chuck’s face falls, his eyes downcast as he chews on his thoughts. Eventually, when he speaks, his voice is quiet and has a hint of guilt to it.

“When I saw what was happening, when Newt screamed their name- I-” He swallows roughly, clearing his throat, “I was too far away. I was at the complete opposite side of the shucking Glade! But,” He glances up at Thomas quickly, then away again. “But I was next to the eastern gate. And it was open. And I saw everyone running to them, but I could tell they wouldn’t make it, and [Y/N] was already inside the maze and I didn’t know what else to do, I didn’t want them to just run in there by themself and- and-” He began talking faster and faster, his breaths coming in pants now, and Thomas worries he’s about to have a panic attack. Thomas leans forward, rubbing the boy's arm and shushing him, calming him down.

“So you went into the maze through the other entrance?”

“Yeah,” Chuck breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth, then nods. “I’d only realized what I’d done once the doors were closed. But I was in there, so the only thing I had left to do was the whole reason I went in there in the first place. But I could hear so many Grievers, Thomas,” Suddenly, scared, child-like eyes are turned on him. “I could hear them everywhere, down every turn, it was terrifying. But the only time I actually saw one, came across one, they saved me.” His eyes are wide, pleading, but Thomas doesn’t understand what he’s saying. 

“What do you mean? Saved you? From a Griever?” 

“Yeah,” Chuck nods quickly, leaning forward to minimize the distance since Thomas had already leaned back in confusion. “I turned the corner and saw a Griever, and I screamed- I had to. It’s terrifying, Thomas, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen one but that thing should not exist in real life, let me tell you. So I screamed, and I guess [Y/N] heard me ‘cause the next thing I know, they’re popping up from behind the shucking thing, screaming and waving their arms like crazy! I thought the Griever was just gonna’ ignore them and come straight for me like it had been, but out of nowhere it just turned around and started charging right back at them!” 

Thomas furrows his brow, imagining the sight. He could see it, in all honesty. If you had known Chuck was in trouble, he could see you throwing yourself into danger just to save him. You did throw yourself into the maze just to save all of the Gladers, so honestly, par for the course. “But- okay, then how did you get stung?” Chuck blinks a few times, as if remembering suddenly, then looks down and begins to pull up the plain white shirt that he’s wearing, after the Medjacks had changed him out of his bloody and torn-up clothes. Hannah had mentioned washing and mending them, though Thomas wasn’t exactly worried about the state of the clothes more than the man himself.

“Oh,” Chuck mumbles, his fingers running over a small, scarred puncture wound on the front of his stomach. “How did it heal so fast?” 

“I don’t know,” Thomas mumbles, shrugging. “None of us do. None of us even realized how bad your wound had been, honestly. You have a matching scar on your back, apparently it had pierced all the way through you.” He watches as Chuck tries to take in this information, pushing lightly on the scar as if testing its sensitivity. “Clint’s theory is the blue serum.” Chuck looks up, his brow furrowing.

“Blue serum?”

“[Y/N] had an empty injector in their bag, and there was a puncture mark on your thigh. We assume they gave you the blue serum to help with the stinger, so we used the same stuff on them once we found out they were stung too. It kept them from having a freak-out, which is good, but it’s the only thing that can explain your rapid healing.” Thomas shrugs, glancing over toward you and wondering if he should check to see if your puncture mark has healed. He wondered if your ankle had healed as well from the stuff, staring down at it and wishing you were just awake to tell him.

“They had… They had the blue serum with them?” Chuck was staring into space when Thomas turned his attention back to him, his own eyebrows furrowed as if something was troubling him. “Did they say where they-” He clears his throat, shaking his head, “When they…” When Chuck wouldn’t say anything else, Thomas shrugged.

“They haven’t been awake at all since the doors opened. They were carrying you back to the Glade and passed out on the way, we managed to go in and recover the both of you.” Chuck finally comes back to himself, turning his attention over to your sleeping body, as many have done so far. Thomas studies his worried face, his clenching fist on the bedsheets. “But,” Thomas begins slowly, turning his attention away nonchalantly. “I don’t think it really matters where, or when, or how they got their hand on that blue serum. It’s not like we were even using it for anything, the creators sent it up here and it just got stored indefinitely since no one understood what it did.” He finally raises his gaze, shooting a soft smile at Chuck, who is now staring at him with wide eyes. “Besides, if they hadn’t had that serum, I don’t wanna think about what would’ve happened then.”

“Well, colour me surprised to find you here-” Minho’s voice bursts through the hut’s doors as he bursts inside, spilling the sunlight in a rectangle across the ground, causing both Thomas and Chuck to raise their hands up to block the incoming light from blinding them. Minho’s voice stops abruptly, as do his feet, once his eyes land upon Chuck’s upright form. There’s a tense pause between the three of them as Thomas and Chuck glance at each other guiltily- it seems as though Chuck knew Thomas should’ve gone to fetch someone as well- before they both turn to look to Minho to see what he’ll do next. 

Yell. That’s what he’d do apparently. “Hey, shanks! Chuck’s awake!” He tosses that over his shoulder before leaving the door open and rushing inside to Chuck’s side, pushing Thomas over and off of the bed. Thomas was grumpled about it for only a moment before the Medjacks all began to rush inside, pushing themselves into the few spaces left next to Chuck’s cot. Thomas is only pushed further and further away from the boy, but he supposes that’s his own fault in the end. He takes another few steps back, watching everyone fuss over Chuck and ask too many questions to answer.

A shadow crosses the doorway suddenly, a latecomer appearing into view. It takes a moment for Thomas’ eyes to adjust, but he eventually sees Newt, eyes wide and staring at [Y/N]’s form on their cot. Thomas feels his chest tighten at the sight as Newt’s eyes slowly pull from your form over to Chuck’s cot, and the busyness surrounding him. He makes his way over, reaching a hand out to lightly touch Newt’s elbow in a show of support. Newt doesn’t look at Thomas at all, but he does relax under the feeling of Thomas’ touch, which is enough for him.

“Chuck woke up,” Thomas whispered, trying not to interrupt the Medjack’s work.

“Yeah,” Newt’s voice cracks, causing him to clear his throat before he continues. “Yeah, I just-” He blinks a few times, turning his head so his eyes look at Thomas, though he seems to be more looking through him than at him. “I just saw everyone rushing inside the hut from across the Glade, I just thought-”

“I’ll get you when they wake up,” Thomas whispers, leaning in closer. His hand reaches out slowly, tangling their fingers together as Thomas takes a small step to minimize the distance between them. “You just gotta trust me, Newt. I’ll get you when they wake up.” Newt blinks a few times, startling at the word ‘trust’ when Thomas says it. He shakes his head slowly, as if in disbelief, then leans in closer.

“Of course I trust you, Tommy. Always.” Thomas can’t help the small smile that stretches across his lips, tilting his head as he stares into Newt’s sparkling honey-coloured eyes. He pulls lightly on Newt’s hand, tangling them together more firmly even through what he’s about to say.

“Then maybe you should go back over there and get some sleep, hm?” Newt groans at this, raising his other hand to rub at one of his eyes. There are lines under his eyes, just a touch of purple right underneath that show he’s too exhausted to be trying to stay up any later.

“I just can’t do it,” Newt groans out, dropping his hand from his face in defeat. “I’ve tried, I laid there the whole day and I just keep feeling like I need to be up and doing something, or in here waiting for-” He huffs, eyeing your form in the cot once again. Thomas sighs, pulling Newt by the hand until the man leans over into Thomas’ chest, using him as support to stand. “It’s way too bright out there, anyway. I’ve never slept during the day before.” 

Thomas blinks a few times at this, turning to look out of the hut’s door into the bright light outside. Now that he mentions it, Thomas remembers flinching every time the door opened because of how bright the light is out there, and wonders exactly how they made it so dark in the Medjack hut. Then he realizes it’s probably because there are no windows in this building. He takes a look around the room before an idea finally pops into his head.

“Well,” Thomas whispers, eyeing the Medjacks before looking back to Newt with a goofy smile. “I’m sure Clint ‘n them will be fine with you taking up one of the cots in here. They know you were up all night, shuck, everyone knows that you’re supposed to be sleeping right now. Alby practically ordered it loud enough for the whole Glade to hear.” Newt groans again, dropping his head.

“Don’t remind me,” He grumbles out, but glances around the room with interest anyway. “It is pretty dark in here…”

“And it’ll be easier for me to wake you when they get up too,” Thomas continues quietly, watching as Newt nods to the thought as if he’d already been thinking it. Part of the reason he was likely having trouble sleeping was the worry and guilt that Thomas also felt last night, right before his practically two or three hours of sleep likely. If anything, Thomas will take the cot Newt sleeps in once he’s finished with it. Or they can share it. Sharing also works- friends share beds all the time! 

“I’ll ask when they’re done, then,” Newt mumbles, nodding his head toward Clint. Thomas nods as well, feeling the conversation come to a conclusion. He didn’t really like that, since it would mean he probably should step back from Newt now, no longer using their conversation as an excuse to get as close as possible to the man. Thomas stares at the ground, biting his lip as he tries to reason up an excuse to stay where he is and not have to move away. He only realizes that coming up with an excuse was taking longer than it probably should’ve when he hears Newt’s voice speak up, and glances up to notice the Medjacks leaving.

“Clint,” Newt catches him on the way out, the man waving on the other two before taking a step closer toward Newt. “I was just wondering-” Clint raises a hand, interrupting him with a small, albeit pitiful, smile. (At least Thomas wasn’t the only one getting the pitying looks, although he felt worse for Newt than he did when anyone directed it at him.)

“You don’t have to finish that, I should’ve offered to begin with. Take a cot, please.” He moves to take a step out, then laughs as he throws over his shoulder, “With how you’re looking anyway, I would’ve forced you down onto that cot for some rest any other day as well.” As Clint steps out, closing the door behind him, Thomas has to blink a few times before his eyes readjust to the darkness. He feels Newt give one last squeeze between their hands before letting go, standing on both feet once again and moving to the cot on the other side of you.

“I’m in here too, guys!” Newt glances idly up with a smirk as he pulls the blanket back on the cot, fluffing the pillow he’s about to use.

“Oh, yeah. I thought I’d seen someone mixed in that great big pile of klunk.” Newt tilts his head, leaning a hip against his cot as he stares over across your body at Chuck. Thomas feels a warmth spread through his chest at the sight of Newt’s smile, moving slowly across the room toward the foot of your bed, unsure what his place in all of this should be. He’s already spoken to Chuck, and Newt just looks too tired to stay awake a moment longer- proving his point, he watches Newt yawn behind a hand. “I’m sure I recognize you from somewhere- your name was,” He drags out the word for emphasis, tapping his chin, “Buck, right?” He taps his chin again as Chuck scoffs, interrupting the boy from speaking by tossing out, “Puck?”

“Oh slim it, Newt. Go to bed!” 

“Good that,” Newt mumbles, throwing the blanket over once again and climbing inside. Thomas stares at him for probably a moment or two too long before he finally turns toward Chuck, hesitating at the look on his face. Like a mix between something humorous and something annoying. Ignoring that, since it seems to be happening more and more lately whenever he hangs out with Newt, he continues with his original thought and approaches Chuck warily.

“Hey, so you need anything? I don’t know what all the Medjacks did but-”

“They asked a lot of useless questions is what they did. Asked if I hurt anywhere, how I was injured and if I remembered bleeding? I don’t know, but I do know one thing!” Chuck holds a finger up, then proceeds to point it at Thomas, who raises his hands in mock-surrender as a reflex. “I am hungry as heck. Would you mind bringing me some dinner?” Chucks presses his palms together, doing his best impression of a puppy with the way he looks over at Thomas. Sighing, Thomas just chuckles at his expression, patting his foot condescendingly.

“Well, if that’s all,” Thomas mumbles, glancing quickly at Newt to see him with his eyes closed, wiggling around as if trying to get comfy. “Although, I’m pretty sure it’s closer to lunch than dinner.”

“Then lunch!” Chuck exclaims, widening his eyes as if this was obvious. It was obvious, though, and Thomas just scoffs at him not believing that Thomas would know that too.

“Obviously, I’m still going to get you food!” Thomas grumbles, backing up toward the door. “I was just tempering your expectations!”

“Then consider my expectations tempered!” He hears Chuck yell as he pushes his way out, blinking and raising a hand to block the light from his eyes. He hears the mumbles of the medjacks around the corner, and he wonders about it, moving closer to the corner around where they were sitting and talking. He peeks, then pulls his head back from the corner as he hears his name get mumbled, taking a step closer to the wall and very obviously listening out where he can’t be seen by them. 

“-Thomas. I mean, he’s been sitting in there this long and he’s likely gonna’ stay in there all day!” That was definitely Hannah’s voice of the three of them, and it was quiet for a moment before Jeff spoke quietly. 

“Yeah, but don’t feel bad for them. Either of them, honestly. It’s a rough time but [Y/N] will be alright. Something would’ve happened by now if that wasn’t the case.” Hannah huffs out a sigh, then Clint speaks up soon after.

“Thomas and Newt don’t need your pity.” He huffs out a sigh, sounding like a man who was wise beyond his years. “They literally need anything else besides your pity. If you want to help them like you say, then just keep doing your job. Check on [Y/N], make sure Chuck is comfortable during his stay, and everything will turn out alright. That’s the best, and only, thing that you can do.” It’s quiet for a moment as Thomas begs inwardly for them to heed his advice- the pitying looks already grating on his nerves. He’s considering peaking his head around the corner once again before he finally hears a soft sigh come from Hannah before she speaks.

“Yeah, you’re right. I took this job because I wanted to help people. I guess I’m just upset I don’t have a magic potion to wake them up right this instant.” Another loud huff of breath, likely coming from Clint, Thomas would think, before the very same man speaks up again.

“They aren’t upset that [Y/N] is asleep, Hannah. They’re upset that they would go through that whole ordeal in the first place. They’re upset because they think that [Y/N] believes themself to be alone, even when surrounded by the both of them- and all of us. They’re upset because the very idea of running into the maze equates a suicide.” 

It’s silent after that. Or perhaps it wasn’t, Thomas isn’t quite sure honestly because all he could hear was his ears ringing. He involuntarily takes a few steps backwards, raising a hand up to his head for a reason he couldn’t quite comprehend. He rubs the back of his head for something to do with it, turning and looking toward the kitchen. The shutters were closed, but that didn’t mean Fry wouldn’t plate something up for Chuck. 

They’re upset because the very idea of running into the maze equates a suicide.

They’re upset because they think they’re alone.

They’re not alone, though. Thomas is on autopilot, walking slowly toward the kitchen as he runs through a conversation with himself in his head. They’re not alone, and they know that! … Right?

NEWT’S POV

He wakes up slowly, growing more and more confused the more his brain turns back on. It was dark outside still? Not like dawn-dark, but like a complete absence of light? Blinking his eyes open, he realizes a few things very quickly along with a jolt of panic to his chest. Firstly, there wasn’t a complete absence of light, as there was a candle burning on a small nightstand a cot over from him. Secondly, he notices he’s not just inside a building instead of under the overhang of the sleeping area, but he’s inside the Medjack hut. Which is where the spike of panic had shot through him, now slowly diminishing as he realizes he isn’t bedridden anymore. His leg is fine, if twinging a bit with an ache, but he no longer has to lay there and listen to the multitude of reasons on why he shouldn’t have jumped.

The panic doesn’t fade away entirely, of course. Because on one side of that lit candle was Chuck’s resting body, and the other side was your own. Newt lifts the blanket off of himself and swings his feet over the side of his cot, lifting himself up to a sitting position to see better. That’s when he notices Thomas- arms crossed and acting as a pillow for his head, resting on the edge of your bed as if he’d been sitting there for so long that he ended up passing out. Knowing Thomas, he likely hadn’t even tried to sleep, just fell over and eventually made himself comfortable while asleep. 

It didn’t look that comfortable, though, being hunched over like that with his head practically falling into the middle of his arms. Newt gets up slowly, light on his feet, and hisses at the cold floorboards under his feet as he moves to Thomas’ side. He shakes him gently awake, and Thomas wakes slowly before bursting upright, rubbing his eyes quickly.

“I’m awake, I’m-” He looks to you first, then up to who shook him. Newt smiles down at him, nodding his head toward the cot he just vacated.

“Yes, yes, and you shouldn’t be. I’m up now, you can take a rest.” Thomas blinks a few times, confused, then shakes his head as he looks between your sleeping form and Newt standing at his side. 

“No, no it’s okay, I’ll just-”

“Tommy,”

“No, you just woke me up, so I’ll be good for another-”

“Tommy,” Newt interrupts again, this time reaching and grasping one of Thomas’ hands. This shuts the man up, whose eyes immediately lock in on the joining of their hands together. “I’m sure neither of us knows how long you’ve been asleep for. At least try to get some better, more comfortable sleep?” When it doesn’t look like Thomas is going to move or respond, Newt tries, “Please?” With a long sigh, Thomas pushes himself to a stand and Newt takes his hand back, looking around the room. By the time Thomas has meandered his way to the vacant cot, Newt is mumbling to himself, “Where the bloody hell are my shoes?”

“Oh, they’re right here,” Thomas says, turning and pointing to the bottom of the nightstand next to the cot. Newt raises his eyebrows, moving over closer to see where he’s pointing. They’re sitting on a small shelf on the bottom of the nightstand, put together neat and proper in juxtaposition of how ratty and torn up they are. Newt glances between his shoes and Thomas, not bothering to ask why as he approaches, taking a seat on the cot next to Thomas only to bend down to grab them and put them on. “Sorry,” Thomas mumbles, causing Newt to glance at him from the corner of his eye. “I just saw that you had your shoes on when you were sleeping and I know you always hate doing that. So I took them off for you. I know that’s probably a breach of privacy-”

“No,” Newt interrupts, straightening himself up now that his shoes are tied. He smiles at Thomas, leaning over to nudge his arm with Newt’s own. “It’s fine. It’s more than fine, actually. Thank you.” It’s hard to see in the low light, but Newt could swear he could see colour lighting up Thomas’ cheeks from the gratification. Thomas is quiet, his eyes flicking back and forth between Newt’s own eyes, and Newt can’t help but stare right back. It’s like their gazes are locked together magnetically- sure, he could pull away, but he really doesn’t want to.

“Thank you for being here, too, by the way,” Thomas mumbles, catching Newt off guard. “I know you like them too and all,” Thomas drops his gaze finally, glancing briefly over at the two bodies on the cot, gesturing in that direction without really defining whether he was pointing at just you, or perhaps both you and Chuck. “But it’s just nice not having to go through this alone.” Newt nods slowly, turning his own gaze away as Thomas’ becomes so earnest.

“Yeah, no, I get what you mean.” 

Newt finally lifts his gaze, staring at your body lying there on the cot. Your chest still lifts and falls gently with breath, eyes closed peacefully and hands idle. He hates that he has to wait for you to wake up like this. At a sudden, though gentle, touch from Thomas, Newt turns his attention away from you finally to look down at the back of Thomas’ fingers gently rubbing Newt’s wrist. Newt raises his gaze, feeling the fingers slowly crest over his wrist to encircle it loosely as he looks into Thomas’ earnest yet longing gaze.

“It’s hard for me too,” Newt whispers, finally breaking the silence. “I was never in this position before. No one has been seriously injured since-” Newt cuts himself off, turning his attention away in shame before he clears his throat to continue. “Not since before you joined us, anyway. And even then, I wasn’t in this position, with someone so important to me laying in that cot.” He feels Thomas’ hand slide down slowly, away from his wrist and more to his hand. Once their fingers touch, Newt takes the initiative and tangles their hands together, clasping him firmly. Thomas matches the grip once Newt initiates it, and Newt leans into him for support. “Are we insane?”

“For caring about someone?” Thomas mumbles, and from the corner of his eye Newt can see Thomas not looking away from him at all, staring down at the side of Newt’s face with the exact intensity that Newt fell in love with all those years ago. 

“For feeling this deeply about someone we’ve only known for a month?” Newt finally glances up, meeting that intensity head-on. A fluttering appears in his stomach and warmth in his chest, feeling that gaze focused on him. The hand in his hand doesn’t quite help the feeling, but they’re just giving each other comfort in a trying time. (Newt ignores the fact that they almost always find excuses to hold hands, this means nothing obviously.) Thomas takes a moment, as if really thinking this through, then finally whispers his thoughts.

“I don’t find it any more insane than the life we live right now.”

Newt nods slowly, understanding what he means. The walls surrounding them, the creators, the Grievers… Newt doesn’t remember, or know, anything else. But he has a feeling that it isn’t supposed to be like this at all. A very strong feeling- one that is exacerbated by the letter that you had left in your pocket for them to find. They take a moment of rest, of comfort in each other before Newt finally takes in a deep breath and breaks their connection, pushing himself to a stand. 

“Alright, well, I think it’s time for bed.”

“I’m not really tired anymore,” Thomas murmurs, shrugging his shoulders. He looks up at Newt with such a look of puppy-dog eyes that Newt almost caves. What he really wants to do is push Thomas down and sleep right alongside him, but one of them needs to be awake in case you wake up. It should be soon, right? It didn’t take that long for Chuck to wake up, so Newt figured you should be soon too. Hopefully. 

“Well, at least try? I already begged you once, don’t make me say it again.” Newt waits for the defeated nod, then turns and begins to make his way to the other side of your cot, where the chair Thomas had vacated was standing. Newt reaches for a book on the nightstand next to the burning candle, glancing up toward Thomas once he starts speaking.

“Oh, and feel free to squeeze in on the cot if you’re getting tired too. I don’t mind sharing my bed with friends.” Thomas shrugs as if this was nothing, sweeping the blanket out a few times before it lands down properly on his legs, which were now swung up onto the bed with him. Newt can’t help the smirk that crosses his face, a picture coming to mind.

“Oh, yeah? You’d share a bed with Minho?” Thomas freezes mid-movement, obviously deep in thought before shaking his head and resuming what he was doing. He bursts out a laugh, pointing toward Newt.

“Most friends.”

The rest of the night is quiet- or, rather, Newt hoped he would be able to say that. However, it seemed as though Thomas hadn’t been just lying to stay awake- he really wasn’t tired anymore. He was tossing and turning in the cot as if trying to get comfortable every few minutes, and the tossing and turning and grumbling were starting to lightly annoy Newt. Not in an angry way, just in a sort of way that made Newt smile and shake his head and huff out a sigh that he’s being distracted from his book. His definitely very interesting medical book that Clint had left him yesterday to read since there was literally nothing else to do.

A groaning can be heard- first a quiet and short one, then a longer one that grows louder. Newt sighs, lifting his gaze from his book to look over at Thomas. “I get that you don’t wanna sleep, but you don’t have to make all that racket, Tommy.” Thomas lifts so suddenly that Newt automatically sits up straighter, as if ready to move with him if the situation calls for it. Thomas’ expression was serious, but also lightly surprised as he locks eyes with Newt.

“That wasn’t me.” Both gazes shoot to the cot next to them, only to hear you groan aloud once again. Your hand raises- you moved!- to your eyes, rubbing them with your fingers before finally pushing yourself up with your other arm, resting on your elbow. You slowly blink your eyes open, and Newt doesn’t quite know, nor care, the expression on his face- but after you look quickly between both him and Thomas, something there must’ve caused a bolt of guilt to shoot through you, as you wince suddenly and drop your gaze from the boys.

“Sorry…”

[gehennagone]

“Unbidden child… Made anew and left to languish… Rot. Stain. In the tannin rich waters. But I made it out with half my mind.”

Some embraces are messier than others. Elias' took place in a swamp following their suicide attempt. They woke up afterwards caked in mud and blood. Washed up version and some babbling under the cut...

It's wild to me that I've only been drawing digitally since this spring, and now I prefer it over traditional. I'm definitely still learning, but it's actually been a pretty rewarding slog. Most of my studies and stuff have involved vtm and dnd so that makes the struggle significantly more fun.

I'm currently looking for a real life reference I can use for Elias to really nail their features down and keep them consistent. I'm thinking maybe a young Patti Smith.

[chaotic-orphan]

Could you do a story where a guard of a Supermax prison befriends a supervillain, because he treats him like a genuine human being instead of an animal; and later, all the power-dampeners suddenly fail; and all these villains just revolt against the guards; but supervillain makes sure he’s safe since he was always kind to him?

I apologize if you don’t take asks, I wasn’t sure!!

I absolutely take asks! It’s confusing because I made Orphan a secondary blog by accident, and I don’t think the ask shows up but please don’t be afraid to send them!

This looks fun thank you very much!

*~*~*~*~*

When Superhero brought Supervillain to the Supermax prison, Jack and Rufus were on duty to bring Supervillain to his specially made holding cell. Fabricator had been in the Daedalian all week, making sure that Supervillain’s cell would hold him for his entire sentence.

Rufus was impatient after getting word from Superhero that Supervillain was apprehended and on route to secure him in the Daedalian.

The prison was called the Daeds colloquially, or at least that’s what Jack and everyone around him had always called it. The Daeds, not a very terrifying name but its idea was that the prison was like the labyrinth that Daedalus made in Greek mythology, keeping the minotaur at bay. Or in this case: keeping the Villains away from the rest of society and keeping the rest of society away from the Villains.

“Do I look okay?” Rufus asked for the seventh time since Superhero’s warning. He was sitting at the reception desk while Jack stood behind the reception desk, arms folded leaning against the wall, eyes focused on the doors.

“You look fine,” said Jack without looking at him.

“We’re going to meet Superhero; I want to make a good impression.”

“I’m sure Superhero will have other things on his mind than to notice you,” said Jack, voice dry and mocking. Rufus turned in his seat to throw a glare Jack’s way.

“I know you’re new here, Rookie,” said Rufus, knowing Jack hated the name, “So let me give you some advice if you don’t want to be a Rookie for the rest of your life. Superhero sees talent and professionalism as commodities and if you get on his good side then you get promoted.”

“Oh yeah?” Jack asked, raising his brows, taking his eyes off the door and looking at Rufus.

“Yeah,” Rufus said, a superior smile gracing his ugly, rat-like face.

“How’s that working out for ya?”

Jack suppressed a smile when the insult landed on Rufus’s ears. He opened to his mouth to argue back but stopped at the noise. Jack’s eyes went to the doors as they heard the familiar buzz of the prison doors, followed by commotion.

Rufus’s retort was lost on his lips as he straightened, standing up to greet their guests. Even Jack fixed his uniform before the double doors opened in front of them.

Sidekick came in first, tall, skinny, face hidden behind a mask that covered his mouth. Jack couldn’t remember his power but could tell from the way they held himself that Sidekick wasn’t one to be messed with.

Maybe the superiority came with the job description as Superhero’s assistant.

“Hello, Superhero will bring Supervillain in in a moment. They told me to warn you again, not to look Supervillain in the eyes.”

“Of course, Sidekick,” Rufus said, bowing his head solemnly.

Jack tilted his head. “Doesn’t Supervillain have power dampeners on?”

Sidekick looked back at Jack, eyes narrowing slightly at being questioned.

“Always good to be cautious,” said Sidekick coldly.

“Of course, Sidekick. You are absolutely right. You will have to excuse Rookie here, they are new.”

“Right. This is the way things are, Rookie,” said Sidekick with a roll of his eyes.

“My name’s Jack,” said Jack flatly. “Maybe with you heroes this is the way things are, yeah. However, in the Daeds your job is done, respectfully, Sidekick. We’ll handle things our way.”

“Jack!” Rufus chided, and at this point Jack didn’t care anymore. If Sidekick was going to be rude, then Jack could be too.

Sidekick narrowed his eyes further at Jack’s comment but couldn’t speak further on the matter when the doors opened again, and Superhero walked in.

A hush fell over the room. Superhero had a hand on Supervillain’s elbow as they escorted him in. They both looked like shit, but Supervillain was definitely the worse off of the pair. Jack noticed the Sentinels from the permitter of the prison follow behind.

Two stayed on the other side of the door, two more followed Supervillain and Superhero inside, standing like statues with guns ready to fire at any point. Their faces covered by visors, and Jack wasn’t entirely sure they were human, but they gave them the creeps, nonetheless.

Jack noticed Rufus bow his head and make a point of not looking directly at Supervillain, but Jack stared at his ruffed-up face as they entered. Supervillain’s face was covered in bruises, some an old, fading green like the one on his jaw, and the newer ones angrier looking, a mix of purple, blues and reds.

Blood was crusted on Supervillain’s upper lip and chin from what Jack could only imagined came when Superhero broke Supervillain’s nose. The broken nose and busted lip and blood trails only added to Supervillain’s already roguish appearance. A devil-may-care smile made its way onto his lips when he saw Rufus bow his head on Superhero’s command.

His grey eyes widened slightly when he met Jack’s, and he tilted his head slightly, smile growing more bemused than smug.

“Hello Rufus, good to see you. Have all the arrangements been made for the security of Supervillain like I asked?”

“Yes, Superhero. Uh good to see you too! All requirements for, um, the prisoner’s cell have been fulfilled.”

“Marvellous,” Superhero sighed, then nodded at Rufus. “If you will show me the way I can escort him.”

“Of course, Superhero,” said Rufus, grabbing the keycard from behind the desk and nodding. “Right away, Superhero.”

“Actually— “said Jack without thinking, and then instantly regretted it when all eyes turned on them. Two pairs unfriendly, one set tired, and one set of eyes curious, surprised even. “The protocol is you sign in the prisoner here and we take it from there.”

Supervillain suppressed a laugh, lips curling in on themselves as he turned his head away with a slight breathy huff.

Superhero cocked an eyebrow, glancing from Jack to Rufus for an explanation. Rufus was instantly at Jack’s side, slapping him on the arm.

“Forgive them, Superhero… they— “

“They’re new,” informed Sidekick curtly.

Superhero blinked. “I— okay? Nice to meet you, we can discuss this further after I have made sure that Supervillain is secured.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you beyond this point,” said Jack, standing his ground. “No member of the public— “

“I am not just a member of the public,” Superhero interjected, more confused than angry. Although Jack noted, Sidekick’s stare had enough hatred in his gaze for them both. “I am— “

“Not just a member of the public,” said Jack coolly, cutting them off, “but a member of the public no less. Unless you are officially authorised— “

“Of course, they are officially authorised,” Rufus said through gritted teeth.

Jack shrugged. “Sorry, I just didn’t see any papers. I have no problem letting you through if you have the authorisation, Superhero.”

Supervillain let out a squeak before he swallowed the rest of his chuckle.

It was Sidekick who answered: “call the Mayor, she’ll give the authorisation.”

“Not political authorisation. Legal authorisation.”

Superhero was starting to grow more tired by the minute. “Listen, kid— “

“Officer,” Jack supplied helpfully.

Superhero grit his teeth at being cut off again. “Officer, I always bring in Villains. I understand there is a need to prove yourself, however— “

“However, section 38 of the regulatory arrests by Heroes act says that in regard to the apprehension of Villains, and or, Supervillains, by a Hero, and or Superhero, a Hero will be permitted to bring a Villain into the custody of [Supermax prison].”

“So let them in,” said Sidekick, but Jack just smiled at them.

“You are permitted only to bring a Villain into the custody of the Daeds. However, I realise you want to bring Supervillain into the cell and make sure he is secured. In that case, I assume that you have an order pursuant to section 38, paragraph 3A.”

Superhero blinked at Jack, while Sidekick stepped forward threateningly. “Do you know how long of a day we’ve had? Just forego the fucking Heroes Arrest Act and let us through.”

Jack’s eyes were cool when they found Sidekick’s blue ones that were blazing with hellfire. Jack stepped forward, matching Sidekick’s stance, and thankfully he was roughly the same height as Sidekick otherwise it would have been awkward.

“I’m afraid this is a prison, Sidekick. Laws apply here. I can’t just disregard statute, and unlawfully allow you to enter to satisfy your tantrum. Unless you want me to authorise everyone to be allowed entry to the most secure prison in the country?” Sidekick’s jaw set hard, but they were the first to look away and step back slightly. Jack turned his attention back to Superhero who was far more amiable.

“I am assuming by Sidekick’s anger that you don’t have the proper authorisation to bring Supervillain further. I will take Supervillain off your hands and make sure they are secured and properly handled under our care. You have my word. Rufus, here, will take care of the proper paperwork you have to sign,” Jack said, taking a bit of joy in Sidekick’s furious helplessness.

Superhero, who looked like shit too, just nodded, rubbing their temple at the many, many words Jack was spouting. To be honest, they didn’t want to sign paperwork. They just wanted to get home and have a long hot shower. Order a takeaway. Relax.

“Okay,” said Superhero with a nod. “We’ll do that. Stand down, Sidekick.”

“But— “

“We can talk to the mayor, tomorrow,” said Superhero, staring at Jack with a measured gaze and a neutral expression.

“Give the Mayor my best,” said Supervillain casually as Superhero handed Supervillain over to Jack.

“He’s your problem now,” said Superhero. “Good luck.”

Jack nodded at Superhero, then turned and brought Supervillain through to processing. Only after the doors closed with a loud beep did Jack let out a breath, he didn’t know he was holding.

“Very bold of you to stand up to Superhero,” Supervillain mused, voice teasing. “What was your name again, Officer?”

“I didn’t give it,” Jack said with a shrug.

Supervillain hummed. “Of course, what is your name then Officer?”

“Officer will do just fine,” Jack replied curtly, heart hammering against his chest.

“Of course, Officer. And is your background in law, or do you just like to know your rights?”

“I’d prefer if we didn’t talk about me if it’s all the same to you.”

Supervillain went quiet for a moment. Then said, “alright. You’re a smart one, never give anything for free.”

“It’s just not professional,” Jack said after a hesitant pause. Why did he feel he needed to explain his behaviour to Supervillain of all people?

“Of course, I understand Officer. I’m guessing I never killed anyone belonging to you since you’re very calm and collected in my handling. Unlike Sidekick.”

Jack clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I’d prefer if you stopped trying to get me to talk to you, Supervillain.”

Supervillain went very tense under Jack’s hand and Jack was sure that Supervillain was going to strangle him there and then. Then, Supervillain relaxed and nodded.

“I can respect that, Officer.”

That was it.

Supervillain didn’t speak again, didn’t put up a fuss or plead or try and persuade Jack to free him. He didn’t make another offer or attempt to start a conversation. He followed all the procedures up to, and including, taking his cuffs off when he was in the cell.

“This place…” Supervillain said, a shiver running down his spine. “It’s strange. Unnatural. With the power dampeners you can still feel your power underneath them, trying to escape but here— I just feel empty.”

Supervillain looked at Jack through the bars, grey eyes apologetic as he spoke. “I’m sorry. I just— I talk a lot. It’s strange.”

“I’ll bring by dinner and get the Doctor to fix you up in a while.”

“Thank you, Officer.”

Jack didn’t say anything to that as he left. He didn’t know how to respond and even if he did what would he say?

I’m sorry you’re uncomfortable?

This is what you get for the blood on your hands?

Neither of them seemed satisfactory to Jack so he left the room in silence. Leaving Supervillain’s words of gratitude lingering on the air.

                                        *~*~*~*~*

Rufus didn’t talk to Jack for a few days after “embarrassing” them in front of Superhero and Sidekick. Jack honestly wished he knew how to get Rufus to shut up sooner, or he would’ve done it weeks ago.

Alastair laughed when Jack told him the story in the locker room two days later. Alastair was pulling on his steel toed boots, sitting on the bench in the middle of the locker room while Jack buttoned up the shirt of his uniform.

“Damn, kid,” he said in his rough, northern accent. “I don’t know if I would have done that.”

Jack furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”

Alastair shrugged and said: “Superhero is a powerful enemy to have.”

“Superhero didn’t really have the problem; it was more Sidekick.”

“Same difference.”

“How?” Jack asked. “The law is the law. I can’t bend the rules for the superhero who seeks to enforce them.”

“I’m not saying you should. I’m just saying you’re braver than I am.”

Jack smiled at that, as he pulled his tie from his locker and wrapped it around his neck.

“Well, that makes sense. Your bones old and weary now.”

“I can still beat you in a fight ya wee shit,” Alastair said without hesitation. Jack let out a loud, bold laughter at that, and Alastair joined in soon after.

*~*~*~*~*

Alastair got off the phone later that same day and let out a sigh. Jack was just coming back from his lunch, and when Alastair’s eyes landed on him, he beamed with a devilish glint in his eyes.

“Chef doesn’t want to give Supervillain his food,” said Alastair.

Jack wrinkled his nose at that. “Why?”

“Afraid he might hex them or something. Said he can’t afford to be fired if he tries to stab one of us later.”

“Just tell him that his powers don’t— “

Alastair waved Jack away. “Ya can’t explain all that high spec shit to the superstitious small-town folk, Jack. The only reason there’s a small town here is because the Daeds makes jobs, and jobs mean people and people mean towns and schools and — “

“So, what, did Supervillain not even get breakfast?” Jack asked, incredulous. Alastair shook his head with a resigned “Nope.”

“Fuck. Well…”

“That’s what I said too, Jack,” Alastair said with a mischievous grin. “I told Chef it’s fine. Jack is immune to Supervillain’s powers and that you’ll bring him his meals every day.”

“Everyday? I don’t work seven days, Alastair.”

“I guess he’ll starve then when you’re out, won’t he?”

Jack glared at Alastair. Then shook his head and sighed. “I’ll arrange something with Chef for when I’m not working. Maybe double up on meals or something.”

“God damn, kid,” Alastair grinned, beaming his handsome smile at Jack. “You just solve all my problems.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack said, waving him off as they headed for the Supermax ward of the Daedalian. “You just sit here and rest, wouldn’t want you breaking something if you had to actually work.”

“Come back and say that to my face,” Alastair threatened as Jack swiped his card to the iron bolt doors.

“Get hearing aids, old man.”

Alastair quipped something back, but the door had closed in that time leaving Jack alone in the hallway that connected the reception desk to the Supermax ward.

The closest ward to the Guard’s hut, and consequently, the Sentinels. Jack had to pass them at every corner once they got into Maximum Security. The cold, unfeeling things, always staring vacantly through his visors down at Jack.

Maybe they would bring Supervillain his food on Jack’s days off.

The thought of speaking to one of the sentinels scared Jack more than Supervillain starving to death on his watch. So, Jack would have to figure out something else.

*~*~*~*~*

Supervillain’s cell was locked behind locked door on locked door, on a locked ward from a locked corridor and buried under 50 feet of concrete. If there was any signal going awry in the prison, Fabrikator would know and would be alerted with her strange power that there was a fault and come fix it.

The best repair woman to have around, but her eyes were always a little to the left of you in a conversation, like she was seeing things that normal people didn’t.

When the final doors opened up to get into Supervillain’s cell, Jack took a breath then walked in. The door closed and locked behind Jack and couldn’t be opened from this side anyway. He had to wait for the person at the desk to buzz them out.

Supervillain was sitting on his bed at the back of the cell. His grey eyes found Jack’s and they smiled. His colour was better, his face a little less bruised. Now just more swollen than sore looking.

“I thought you were going to starve me,” said Supervillain, voice dry and crackling from disuse.

“Oh, we are,” said Jack, and Supervillain froze. “This is my lunch. I just thought I’d torture you with it.”

Supervillain raised his eyebrows, questioning how stupid they look at moving to stand from the bed. “I— “

“I’m just joking,” Jack said, smiling and walking over to the bars of the cell. “Sorry. The chef is superstitious. Afraid you’re going to control his mind and make them do awful things.”

“Who can blame them, really,” said Supervillain. His tone was self-deprecating, but behind it, Jack detected something sad. He pushed the tray through the hole in the bars, and Supervillain took it. “Thank you, Jack. Your kind to bring me this.”

Jack stepped back and nodded. “It’s a basic human right, Supervillain.”

“Some people say I’m not human,” Supervillain said, bringing the tray to the table and sitting down at it. Plastic knife and fork and spoon.

“I think with all the shitty things you’ve done, Supervillain, you could only be human. You scare people because you’re powerful, yes, but I don’t think that’s the extent of the fear you get.”

“No?”

“No,” said Jack, “I think people fear you more because you’re a reminder of who we all have the capacity to be.”

“Hmm,” was all Supervillain replied as he cut into his roast chicken dinner. Jack stood there for a while, more because Chef said that he has to collect the tray and the dishes.

Supervillain didn’t leave him waiting long. It must have only been five minutes when Supervillain sat back with a big sigh and a satisfied smile. Those grey eyes found Jack’s and his smile almost softened. Or maybe Jack was just imagining it.

“Please give my compliments to the chef, Officer.”

Jack let out a little awkward laugh. “I would, but they’d probably think it was a spell that you were using to control them.”

Supervillain laughed a little at that too. He picked up the tray and brought it to the bars, sliding it through for Jack to take.

“Officer, if you don’t mind, can I request a favour?”

“I can’t— “

“Just some bottles of water,” Supervillain asked, voice low and kind and a little pleading. “I can go without food, it’s just— “

Jack softened and nodded, taking the tray from Supervillain’s hands. “I’ll bring some more back to you at Dinnertime?”

“Thank you, Officer,” he said, his smile genuine.

Jack waved at the camera and the room filled with the sound of buzzing, the door opening slowly for Jack to leave through. He waited until it was closed, a voice in his mind locking down his nerves and muscles and rooting him in place. Just to make sure the door closed properly, and sealed.

The light of the lock flashed from green to red, and Jack could move again. He was fine. Supervillain was secure. He made his way back to the kitchens to talk to chef and make sure Supervillain doesn’t go without food.

To get to the kitchens, Jack had to pass by the moderate security prison for powered individuals. They were far rowdier and more boisterous than Supervillain.

“What’s this? Jack, you get demoted to kitchen duty?” Other Villain jeered. Jack ignored them and kept walking.

*~*~*~*~*

Jack was off for two days after that, and all they could think about was Supervillain. If he was fed, if he was starving, if someone remembered to top up his bottles of water.

It was driving them crazy. He should be relaxing but no, here they were, forgetting his grocery list as they stared at the multipack bottles of water in the supermarket and all they could think about was fucking Supervillain.

He needed to figure out a better way to make sure Supervillain had his basic needs attended to before he could actually relax on a day off.

Jack shook his head and went back to his shopping list and tried to push thoughts of Supervillain from his mind.

*~*~*~*~*

“Was Supervillain fed?”

It was the first question Jack asked when they walked out of the locker room. Rufus was on with them today and didn’t move or do anything to acknowledge Jack’s question.

“Rufus.”

Silence.

Jack rolled his eyes and walked up to the reception desk, slamming his hands down on it. Rufus looked up, a horribly smug smile on his face that made them look like a goblin.

“Oh, hi Jack. How were your days off?”

“Great. Was supervillain fed?”

“Hmm, Supervillain… Supervillain… nope,” Rufus said, popping the P. “Doesn’t ring a bell Rooks. Are they a new admission?”

“You’re such a dick, Rufus,” Jack all but growled, walking behind the desk and scanning his key card to maximum security. The door buzzed and Jack slammed it open, half jogging to the kitchens to talk to Chef.

“Hi Chef,” Jack said a bit breathless. He must have looked a sight.

Chef turned and smiled a wide smile at Jack. “Ah! Jack. Thank God. I have the voodoo man’s breakfast prepared for you.”

Jack followed Chef’s hand to the tray set aside away from the rest. Jack walked over and picked it up, thanking Chef.

“Did Supervillain get food when I wasn’t in, Chef?” Jack asked, turning back to face them.

Chef nodded proudly. “Yes Jack. I recruited Rufus and Alastair to feed him when you are gone.”

Jack blinked. “And they did?”

“Yes Jack. Or they ate the tray and returned it. Either way, I am happy.”

Jack’s hands tightened on the tray creaking the flimsy plastic slightly. Jack nodded and said nothing, he didn’t trust his voice to speak so he left with Chef’s comment hanging in the air.

A seed of worry planted itself into Jack’s stomach lining and ricocheted out into a ball of anxiety at what he might find at Supervillain’s cell. If he’d be alive or not. Two days without water, Supervillain could survive that right?

The anxiety didn’t leave Jack, in fact it got worse the closer they got closer to Supervillain’s cell up to the very point that he was buzzed through and opened the door to Supervillain’s cell.

He barely registered the door locking with a buzz as he half jogged over to the bars of Supervillain’s cell. Jack’s eyes went to the lump in the bed under covers and rapped on the bars with the tray.

“Hey, Supervillain. It’s breakfast,” Jack announced, his mind reeling with the same mantra: please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.

“Supervillain?!” Jack asked, voice rising in pitch. The lump stirred in bed and Jack felt the anxiety flood out of him, his shoulders sagging in relief.

He was still alive.

“Off— “Supervillain said with a dry throat, cutting himself off with a raspy cough.

“I have water,” Jack said quickly. Too quickly, too eager, why did Jack even care? Because someone had to so Supervillain doesn’t sue them, a pragmatic voice told Jack and he nodded.

It had to be that.

 Totally.

Supervillain moved slow, languid. Each movement an effort. Jack frowned. Surely, he wasn’t that famished from hunger?

It was when Supervillain turned to face Jack that drew his expression into a horrified one and stepped back. Supervillain was bloody and bruised, but these weren’t the old bruises. They were fresh, new. The bandage that Doctor used to set the swelling on Supervillain’s nose was covered in blood, re-broken. The stitches from the cut through Supervillain’s eyebrow was reopened, dark blood crusting over it and his lips were bruised and darkened by blood.

“What— “Jack began but shook his head. “Who did this?!”

Supervillain managed a smile, cracking some of the dried blood from his lips and stood from the bed. The moment he placed weight on his leg Supervillain collapsed, coughing and sputtering dryly, barely catching himself before his head hit the hard floor of the cell.

Jack put the tray on the ground and opened the doors to the cell before sense told him otherwise and ran to Supervillain’s side with a bottle of water. He put a useless hand on Supervillain’s back and Supervillain flinched.

The scariest, biggest, baddest Villain of all time flinched from Jack’s touch.

Jack took his hands off Supervillain as if it burned and sat back, giving Supervillain some space. Jack looked on helpless, worrying his bottom lip and said: “I have water. I need you to sit up, if you can. I won’t touch you, but you need to help me here.”

Jack needed Supervillain to work with him so they could see the extent of the damage. Supervillain composed themselves, sucking in a sharp breath with an arm wrapped protectively around his ribs they sat up, pressing his back against his bed frame.

Up close everything looked worse; his bruises looked angrier, his blood looked black, and his face was far too pale to be okay.

Jack opened the lid of the water bottle and handed it over to Supervillain who took it with a wince of a smile and drank greedily from it. They were drinking so fast that some of the water ran down the corners of his mouth and Supervillain yanked the bottle away with a sharp hiss as the water hit some of the cuts on his mouth.

Jack leaned forward but Supervillain’s eyes shot to him, wild, wounded and angry and Jack stopped, pausing uselessly.

“Sorry— “Supervillain offered; his voice had a little more volume to it now. He sounded like an off-brand Supervillain instead of the real, terrifying one. Jack shook his head and got to his feet.

“It’s okay. I have food for you too.”

Jack felt Supervillain’s grey eyes follow his every movement and when he turned back to face him, Supervillain had a wry smile at the open door to his cell.

“No fear of me escaping like this, is there?” he asked with a dark chuckle.

Jack placed the tray down beside Supervillain and back up a few steps, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the wall.

“Who did this to you? Was it Rufus?”

Supervillain shrugged weakly and winced again. “How do you know it was a Rufus?”

“They’re the only ones with keys to your cell,” Jack spat. Supervillain hummed, picking at the food on his tray and then pushing it away.

“Maybe I did it to myself,” Supervillain mused taking another sip of water, being careful to drink slower this time.

Jack rolled his eyes and said, “if you want me to believe you just got up and beat yourself bl— “

Supervillain’s eyes cut Jack off. “I didn’t say anything about beating myself up, Officer. Just that maybe as a result of my actions this is what karma has in store for me.”

Jack’s frown deepened at Supervillain’s reply, brows furrowing.

“You— you can’t seriously think that!”

“And if I do?” Supervillain asked, voice more like velvet again. He tilted his head at Jack’s expression, grey eyes smiling smug. “Just because I am a villain, Officer, does not mean I don’t understand consequence. In fact, as a villain, I think I understand it more than the average civilian.”

“You’re not in a prison to be beaten by the people who are meant to ensure you serve your sentence, Supervillain.”

Supervillain pursed his busted lips. “Maybe not. Or maybe, I’m in a prison to serve my time and repent my sins. I’m in here for justice’s sake. Perhaps justice means different things to different people.”

“Maybe,” Jack replied hotly, stepping forward and dropping to a crouch, looking Supervillain in the eye, hands bawled into fists at his sides, “but standards of practice don’t, so tell me who did this to you so I can bring them to justice. Please?”

Supervillain smirked and sat back against the bed frame staring up at Jack with smiling eyes and replied: “Officer, I did it to myself.”

Jack shook his head with a huff and stood, walking towards the cell door again and locking it. Looking back through the bars, Jack said: “Try and eat some more, I’ll get the doctor to come and check you out. Hopefully clean the cuts at the very least.”

“Thank you, Officer,” Supervillain said politely, and it felt like a punch to the gut.

*~*~*~*~*

After the Doctor saw Supervillain, Jack returned to reception, fury winding every nerve tight and hot. They moved faster, anger spurring him on more than energy. Once he swiped his card to reception, he threw the door open and stalked out, eyes zeroing in on Rufus’s back and strutting towards Rufus, looming over him.

Jack grabbed the back of the chair and swung it around.

“Oi!” Rufus exclaimed in surprise, but his mouth shut when he saw the look on Jack's face and an ugly smile spread across Rufus's face. “Jack! You've been gone so long, tell me, how is Supervillain doing?”

Jack didn't think.

He reached forward and grabbed Rufus by the collar of his shirt with both hands and dragged him from the chair. The wide-eyed surprise was enough of a gift, but it didn't satisfy Jack's anger. He didn't want Rufus to be surprised; he wanted him to be scared.

Jack pivoted on his foot and brought Rufus with him, slamming the weasel back against the support beam of the door. Rufus let out a harsh oomph and gasped when Jack twisted his wrists, turning his knuckles in on Rufus's collarbone and pressing down hard.

“You want to fucking ask me that again you piece of shit?”

“Who are you to do this to me!” Rufus screeched, indignant. Jack just yanked Rufus back and threw him back against the wall with ease. Rufus gasped out again and wrapped his hands around Jack's wrists trying to remove them but failing. “I AM YOUR SUPERIOR!”

“You're a fucking idiot, Rufus. You attacked Supervillain in his cell. Admit it.”

“I only admit to doing what any rational person would do to a scumbag like him.”

“You are fucking psychopath! He isn't a threat in here! You abused your position of power by assaulting him.”

Rufus's eyes turned murderous. “And he didn't abuse his power when he was terrorising people in the streets, did he? When he was attacking businesses, people's livelihood? How many people died because he could abuse his power?”

“You should know better.”

“No, Jack. You should know better. Do you really think the rules apply to him? If he's willing to break them, he should be willing to have rules broken for him.”

Jack pinched his lips together at that, the logic was there, and Rufus was angry and Jack should just drop it. He sighed, grip loosening but not letting go completely. “You're not the law.”

“Either are you, hotshot. You glib know-it-all bastard. You just think you're so smart, don't ya? Well,” Rufus said, screwing his nose up in disgust and pressing forward against Jack's knuckles harder. Jack breath came out faster, heart beating harder, lips curled back. “I know you're just another bastard kid from the Daeds whose father probably abandoned him when he saw you in the crib after he left you and your whore mo-”

Rufus didn't get to finish because Jack had shot a swift uppercut to his nose.

“YOU FUCKING BRAT!” Rufus wailed, stumbling to the side and holding his nose as blood gushed from it. “YOU BROKE MY NOSE!”

“What's all the--” Alastair said, coming out from the break room along with the sentinels who had drawn his guns at the pair. Alastair's eyes went wide, taking in the scene within a second and was already moving towards them, telling the sentinels to “stand down. I got this.”

The sentinels obeyed with a heavy shuffle, returning to his eased position guns no longer pointing at Jack and Rufus. He left his sandwich on the counter and Rufus saw him and cried, “Alastair thank god! Jack's out of control! The little bastard-”

Jack didn't think. They just moved. His fist was caught before it could make contact and they almost growled his displeasure.

“Call me a bastard again you fucking coward!” Jack yelled as Alastair bent Jack's wrist behind his back and slammed his front against the wall. Jack struggled, head butting back trying to get Alastair off them, but Alastair was twice as big and twice as strong as Jack. He just placed a hand on the back of Jack's neck and held them still. “Get off me!”

Instead, Alastair turned to Rufus and said: “go get cleaned up. I'll deal with him.”

“Be careful,” Rufus sneered, “Jack's gone feral.”

Jack struggled more in Alastair's grip until his wrist was pushed further up his back and Jack hissed in pain through gritted teeth.

“Go to Doctor,” Alastair ordered, “and don't say another word or I'll let Jack break something else.”

Jack struggled futilely in Alastair's hold, trying with all his might to push back but Alastair had him effectively restrained so he had to wait for Alastair's orders.

“Ssh, kid,” Alastair said, voice gentle as he rubbed a thumb over the back of Jack's neck. Jack's struggles ceased, a warm wave of calm overcoming him. “Deep breaths, come on now. It's okay.”

Jack took deep breaths, in slowly, feeling his ribcage expanding against the cool wall and exhaling again. “You're okay. Relax, that's it.”

It took another three long deep breaths before Alastair said, “okay. I'm gonna let you go now, and you're going to tell me what happened okay?”

Jack nodded, even though it was hard to do with his cheek smashed against the wall but still somehow, he managed. Alastair released him then. The moment his contact ended Jack felt that warm calm that overtook them rinse away like cold rain and they turned wearily, rubbing his wrist which was already bruising and looked up hesitant at Alastair.

Alastair turned and walked to the countertop, grabbing his half-eaten sandwich and nodded for Jack to sit in the chair. Half fearing Alastair wrestling him into the chair, Jack sat obligingly and stared past Alastair like a bold child about to be scolded.

“What happened?”

“I went to see Supervillain today and he was beaten within an inch of his life.”

Alastair blinked and took a bite of his sandwich. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Jack asked, incredulous. “I just told you that a prisoner was beaten up under our watch.”

“And you assumed it was Rufus?”

“Who else would it be?” Jack hissed.

“Me,” said Alastair flatly and Jack sat back in his seat, shock forming an uncomfortable lump in his throat. “Doctor. Chef. Nurse. Fuck, one of the many cleaners?”

“They don't have keys to his cell.”

“Okay. So maybe one of them came to Rufus and asked for them. Maybe it was innocent, maybe it was nefarious, and Rufus knew what they planned, but that doesn't make Rufus responsible.”

“It's his responsibility to-”

“To step in the way of people's vengeance?”

“That's not-”

“Fair?” Alastair asked, raising his brows into arches. “Listen kid, I'm gonna tell you some truths about your new best friend, Supervillain, okay?”

“He's not-”

“Shut up, don't speak and just listen,” Alastair ordered and Jack's lips closed at the command. “Your pal that got ruffed up in his cell has murdered people, Jack. That's something you should remind your righteous moral compass when you're exercising judgement on his behalf. He has killed many, many people. Doctor's husband and daughter was two of them when he collapsed the train lines on seventh.”

That fact hit Jack like a stab in the gut. “She...” Jack said and then swallowed. “Doctor never told me.”

“Why would she?”

“But Doctor's fixed-” Jack began, but the fire burning in Alastair's eyes shut them up again.

“Yeah. Doctor does her job. Chef still cooks him dinner even though his brother and nephew were killed in the central bridge crash because of fucking Supervillain. George, the cleaner for us, his sick mother was in Westfront hospital when Supervillain gave Superhero that impossible ultimatum between the elementary school and the hospital, so don't come in here, acting like a righteous prick and being Supervillain's number one fan when you have no skin in the game.”

Jack was uncharacteristically quiet. The silence was deafening. Jack swallowed, eyes down and the guilt started weighing heavy on his chest.

After a few minutes of a terse silence, Jack looked up to apologise and noticed the bruises on Alastair's knuckles. His eyes stopped and stared. It felt like his stomach ran right off a cliff and was in freefall to the choppy, unknown waters below because Alastair would never…

It did not go unnoticed.

Alastair looked down with a fond kind of smile as he ran a thumb over the broken and bloodied skin that was fresh, only just scabbing over.

“My sister-in-law was in Westfront hospital in labour, about to give birth to my nephew. I was about to be an uncle. My brother was about to be a father. He lost everything in the incident. It ruined him, he blamed himself. She told him to go home and get a shower and sleep, and then she was dead. A week later he took his own life.”

A tear ran down Alastair's cheek and trailed down his strong jaw like a gentle trickle. It looked so foreign on his face, his usually happy-go-lucky charming face and smile.

“So don't you blame Rufus and go guns blazing giving him credit for my work again, Jack. Ya understand me?”

Jack felt the threat in his words.

Jack swallowed and nodded and said, “yeah. I understand.”

“Good. Then we won’t have any more problems here will we?”

Jack let his displeasure show through his petulant gaze, cocking an eyebrow at Alastair. “Depends. Will you beat up Supervillain in his cell again?”

“If the mood takes me, yeah.”

Jack sucked in a breath and set his jaw, looking to the doors of the Maximum security murderously. A strong hand reached forward and grabbed the head rest of the chair and turned it until Jack was facing Alastair again. Except it wasn’t the same Alastair that he knew. This one was strange, something uncanny and off glinting in the corner of his expression.

“I’m sorry it’s not the answer you want, kid, but it’s the truth. I’m not gonna lie to you, I’m still very fond of you and your integrity. I’m just trying to paint the picture for ya,” Alastair said leaning down, forcing Jack to sit back into the seat until his back was flush with the cushion and head rest. He was trapped under Alastair’s arm and body, and all he could do was glower up at Alastair’s charming smiling face that had an edge to it. “If you stand by Supervillain in here, you stand on your own.”

Jack pursed his lips swallowing a witty retort.

“Understand?”

“Understood.”

*~*~*~*~*

@annablogsposts sorry this took so long, I had to split it up into parts to get it out this week, I hope you enjoy!

[atoneofconscious]

I’m rewatching The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals and there’s something that we aren’t talking about after Not Your Seed.

Paul throws the gun and faces fully towards Bill, trying to talk him back.

The aliens go to pick up the gun.

Bill is facing all three of them.

I really think Bill could see them pick the shotgun up. He knows that what used to be his daughter is aiming the gun directly at him.

He let her shoot him.

Because there was no way Paul could have talked him down. There was no way he could walk away from his life after that.

Bill got what he wanted in the end.

He couldn’t go on. He probably thought he deserved it. To die by Alice’s hand because he wasn’t there to hold her’s as she died.

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Amy Pond canon-compliant character study (I will rip your heart out just like I did mine)

You are Amy Pond and your best friend is a man who tumbled into your life when you were a child and turned you into the town’s Cassandra, doomed to never be believed, doomed to believe without salvation, and yet your faith in has never wavered, because what would you be without him? You don't remember existing in a world without your god.

You are Amy Pond and you are kind and you have faith until that faith is forcefully broken to save your life. You become Lucy Pevensie, cast out of your kingdom by the only god you have ever believed in, so you choose to build your own kingdom, to make a life out of the wreckage that he left behind.

But that is not enough. It will never be enough. You are not allowed to leave this story. You are not allowed to grow up in a way that matters, because every time you try to choose, every time that you try to build a life of your own, you are dragged back into this story.

You are Amy Pond and this is a horror story, a tragedy, because you were never allowed to make a choice unless that choice is to die. You are not allowed to choose unless it is to kill yourself. You die on Appalappachia. You die in Manhattan. Any time you get to make a decision, death is there, hand outstretched, ready to walk you off the stage.

You are Amy Pond and you are a ghost haunting other people's stories.

You are Amy Pond and you died before you were born.

You are Amy Pond and you are kind even though the world was never kind to you and maybe, just maybe, this would have been a kinder story if you hadn't believed. If you hadn't held faith. If you had let the memory of your imaginary friend slide away.

The world might have ended earlier. The universe might have been worse off. But would you have? Would you have been happier?

The answer doesn't matter in the end. It never did.

Because there's nothing you can do. No other way this story ends.

You are Amy Pond and you do not get to leave. You do not get to change your story. 

You are Amy Pond and you are Amelia Williams and you are Amelia Pond and your story ends as it began: with a girl sitting in a garden, waiting for a man to pick you up and take you to your death.

(Amy Pond and being trapped within the narrative: aka, the question of narrative framing and the consequences of faith.)

Full version of the poem(? Character study?) here:

@twelvesbian @tenmartha @variousqueerthings @spoofymcgee

(Tagging people whose analysises inspired this)

[irondadfics]

Hello, I was wondering if you can find a fic where Tony and Pepper rented a cabin for Christmas I think. They bring Harley and Peter with them and it end it up haunted. It started to affect Peter like he was getting bruises or scratches out of nowhere. Somebody hung themselves in the attic a long time ago but they didn’t know until they researched about it. Sorry if it isn’t specific enough! Always love your guys work!! Thank you

could this be the one?

no one dared disturb the sound of silence by ironmanisalive

The Stark family is on vacation in Vermont when Peter starts getting mysterious bruises and seeing things throughout the house. Will they get out in time? This is a standalone fic in this AU, you don't need to read the rest of the series. But you should anyway!

[ask-oliver-the-demonom]

Hey can everyone please tag really dark or posts with mentions of suicide in them and stuff ? It's really hard to avoid it with some of the rp blog stuff. I don't mind that people role play that stuff I just can't always handle seeing it without a warning or anything /ooc /Gen /nm

[esthara]

Remember in the Greek saga God of War games where Kratos tried to kill himself? Jumped off a cliff and stabbed himself but still survived both.

Now let's look at GoW 4 and Ragnarok, where he is prophesied to die. Prepares his son to survive when he's no longer with him. Says: "Death can have me when it earns me." Then, at the doors of Ragnarok, proceeds to tell Atreus a story about a man who thought he was ready for death but turns out he wasn't.

The fact that Kratos found a new reason to keep living in his son. To protect him and the friends he made rather than seek out vengace after he lost everything.

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

This Choice Is His

Summary: Augusnippets 2024 Day 30. Set in a Modern AU, Sci-fi AU. Mind Full AU. With Astrid safe, Hiccup decides that enough is enough.

Warnings: Suicide Attempt

Rating: Mature

Dead Dove: Yes

Words: 462

Prompts: Self-harm, Overdose

Fandom: How to train Your Dragon

Characters: Hiccup

Pairing: /

Author's Notes: Hiccup finally decides that enough is enough.

Enjoy!

-XOXOX-

Toothless, Meatlug, Hookfang, Stormfly, Barf and Belch they’ve all been confined to their individual dens, the containment chambers they were in, in the very beginning. They are being punished, though not as severely as Hiccup, who finds himself in a cell down in the basement.

He hasn’t eaten, his mother refuses to see him, the Wingmaidens try to ignore him. He betrayed them all by helping Astrid escape, who couldn’t provide them anything useful so long as she was that injured. He’s left completely alone. Whatever power those implants in his brain gives them, his skull-splitting migraines have grown to the point of total numbness and no one has come to help him.

And unlike that incident when he tried to take care of it himself, stitches far from healed, skull not mended, he can’t dig them out himself this time.

But not all is lost as the door handle moves downwards, it opens and Sharpshot appears.

“Hey lil’ Bud,” Hiccup looks at him, trembling, sweating, curled up on the mattress-less metal cot. Sharpshot chirps at him and easily walks through the bars with a box in his mouth.

Hiccup sits up and almost blacks out. The world spins, for a second he does fall limp. Sharpshot watches him quietly, he can feel the pain on his end of the connection. All his dragons can feel it.

That’s why he brought him the box. They’re painkillers that he snuck out, Hiccup asked for them.

Holding onto the cot with all his might to avoid falling, he accepts them and with effortful smile that looks awkward pets the Terrible Terror on the head. He opens it up, a tired frown on his face. It’s a full, previously unopened box. Luckily, he has a bottle of water on the floor next to him, can’t let your million bucks worth of a science experiment die of thirst, after all.

But he didn’t necessarily want it to treat his migraine.

He can’t ever fight her, not when Valka can literally make it so he doesn’t breathe. Who knows what other bodily function she can just stop. There’s nowhere he can go that the microchip in his back can’t lead her straight to. He’s trapped and he’s tired. Of his mother, of missing his father, of the unending pain, of not belonging to himself, of bearing this weight of a righteous mission he never got to agree to.

He’s so tired and he wants it all to end. He and Toothless murdered a man and that was the final straw. All he needed was to make sure Astrid got out and she did. She and Minden haven’t shown back up here or the dragons would’ve told him.

So he can rest easy now, knowing no one will ever be hurt by him again. He pushes the first of many pills out.