#part of it is written

[dandylovesturtles]

What's your favorite detail about your AU that you don't think people have picked up on, or your just want more attention on?

uhhh you know? we're close to the end now and I'm not really sure how to answer this hahah... I feel like most things people have already picked up on

I've said we're in the climax now and technically we are, but the emotional peak of the fic really happened in chapter 13. all the lessons have been learned, all the cards have been revealed, all the pieces are in place. all that's left is to see if Leo will remember them all or not

I know this probably isn't a satisfying answer but I'm so no thoughts head empty when it comes to imbi at this point. I mean I have to write the conclusion for you guys but in my head we're already at the end and the rock has been thoroughly turned over

this is the worst response I could have given haha sorry but thank you for the ask, anon

[mynnthia]

was talking with a friend about how some of dunmeshi fаndom misunderstands kabru's initial feelings towards laios.

to sum up kabru's situation via a self-contained modernized metaphor:

kabru is like a guy who lost his entire family in a highly traumatic car accident. years later he joins a discord server and takes note of laios, another server member who seems interesting, so they start chatting. then laios reveals his special interest and favorite movie of all time is David Cronenberg's Crash (1996), and invites kabru to go watch a demolition derby with him

[ronanlynchbf]

tshirt that says NO LIVE ORGANISM CAN CONTINUE FOR LONG TO EXIST SANELY UNDER CONDITIONS OF ABSOLUTE REALITY

[chocochococoffee]

what happens when you change your web standards to be only english-speaker inclusive

[potato-lord-but-not]

Arthur n Parker (✨in color✨) and some ep 45 doodles WUGH

[dunmeshistash]

How do you feel about Milsiril? Like what do you think of her interactions between the canaries, her goals, her intentions and morality? I keep seeing people with mixed feelings about her, some saying she's just toxic or morally grey or doing bad but with good intentions or that she's just a mentally ill and literally so much more, also with the comic about Otta calling Milsiril love for her children/Kabru as just love for a pet, I always saw people take it at face value and say yes, Milsiril did love them more as pets instead of children, did she take up raising/adopting non-elf children because she felt like none of them could ridicule her like the elves did because they didn't know what an elf was supposed to be like (and also because they were children) or did she inherently view them as less? I mean the canaries and I'm pretty sure almost all of the cast in dungeon meshi have some sort perspective on different races especially because how they were taught about them, i just think it was interesting to finally see someone interpret it as Otta just misinterpreting Milsiril, I'm just really interested in her, i think shes neat, sorry for the rant!

Ooh, well to preface this, I hadn't really realized Milsiril was such a controversial character before my last post, I kinda live under a rock. She's really not a character I had given much thought besides what I wrote there before it, but I can do my best to express what I have thought since, with sources for it. I'm not sure what order to go thru so I'll just go by manga appearances and then extras, this will probably be quite a long post

This is the first time she shows up in the manga (ch55) Kabru is wondering about what future they might have if the elves take them into custody because of the ancient magic, he thinks about Milsiril as a get out of jail card, and mentions "There's a chance they would make us become permanent resident of the elven lands." with the image of Milsiril holding him. I don't think that means she would be the one to not let them leave, since this would probably be an legal issue, and the fact Milsiril lives away from other Elves. It does set up that Milsiril is quite overprotective tho, with Kabru's reaction to her teary hug. (rest is under a cut)

The next time she shows up is in ch61 right after Kabru falls down the dungeon along with Mithrun, he faints and has this flashback

She's being her overbearing self treating Kabru's small injury as if its something you need to be in bed for, hand feeding him like he's a toddler, and when he insists he wants to learn how to fight and be strong like her, she hugs him revealing to us for the first time her arm scars, she's cleary in distress too, so you wonder "what has happened to her?"

It continues in the next pages, as she tells him to stay there, where it's safe and there's cake, and describes the bad things he might encounter. Until he tells her he will go with or without her help

Honestly this is a Kabru we don't see often, this is the version of him that is usually in thought bubbles, he's blowing out in frustation over being smothered and demanding straight up what he wants, instead of trying to manipulate Milsiril, very blunt for him. Milsiril seems to flip a switch into battle mode, when she decides to train him for real.

I really thought this was funny, the visual of these cuddly toys and this Mom that was being so soft just a second ago completely flipping into something menacing is very amusing to me. She says "I'll give you an exhaustive, thorough training in how to use a sword... until you finally decide that you're ready to give up." although it sounds cruel, it seems she really trained him as best she could to make sure he would survive the dungeon. If he couldn't take the training with her there was no way he would be able to take on the dungeon, but he could, so much so that he managed to make her let him go. I can see this being seen as her trying to prevent him from going but to me it seems more like some tough love from a traumatized war veteran in this case.

The last thoughts he has is admitting his Mom was right, "Not only were there plenty of traps, monsters, and malice... but there were times when I felt so hungry and cold that I couldn't stand it."

And he concludes with "I never once thought that I wanted to go back there. That room where I could eat all the cake that I wanted..." While I can understand the interpretation that he means he would rather go thru all this than go back, perhaps cause he hated it there, I think it's rather a statement to how committed he is to defeating the dungeon, the visuals show him in rubble vs him in a soft big bed, the rough reality he fought to be able to face and the comfyness of what his life could be. Plus is mirroring exactly what Milsiril said to him. Admitting she was right about the bad things but that he won't give up for the safe easy life he had.

After that visuals of Milsiril are used while Kabru tries to sus out Mithrun but she shows up again in Mithrun's backstory.

Here she's straight up called Gloomy, which wasn't really the version of her we saw so far, gotta remember this is also how Mithrun saw her and that she was called gloomy as a way of bullying. Kabru mostly cuts off her part in the story until the end, when she's the one to find Mithrun after he was eaten by the demon

She doesn't really care much for Mithrun as we see in some extras, and she was ready to mercy kill him, but she is also the one to spare his life. This could be seen as her thinking he can still be of use, and it's how it sounds with how Kabru tells the story, but I do think this was also a merciful act, Mithrun was in rehabilitation for 20 years after being saved, by the time he was actually useful for anything Milsiril had already left the canaries and adopted Kabru.

Now for extras... About Mithrun/The Canaries, Milsiril was cleary someone that hated the people around her. This is her extra in the Adventurer's Bible

Milsiril seems to be the type that hates "popular kids" so to say, her description says she was bullied by other elves for being so introverted so I believe she holds a grudge against people like Mithrun that seem to have succeeded where she failed. But realizing he was a twisted person like her seemed to make her feel more sympathetic towards him, that's why I think she really did act with mercy when she saves Mithrun, he's now someone she sees as similar to her, she sees he also suffered like her

Her decription also mentions she left the canaries specifically because she was disgusted with how the Utaya situation was dealt with. Yet it seems like she came back to help Mithrun with his rehabilitation once she quits.

There's an interpretation to be made that she did this only to get "revenge" on the demon since she just saw the destruction of Utaya, and that she's using him. On the other hand maybe she wants to help him find a motivation to live, she's no longer a canary and she has time to actually help him now. I don't know which one is the truth but it's not obviously something self-serving if you ask me. Especially in the context that right before this scene Milsiril admits she wishes they could have talked before.

My interpretation of her relationship with the canaries and other elves is that she's someone depressed that was mistreat for her 'quirky' side, the dolls are clearly one of the ways she used to cope with anxiety/depression but it only caused her to be bullied by her own kin, she's the daughter of an important family and it's shown in other extras, including one about Mithrun, that nobles often send out the kids they don't want around to become canaries. It's an easy way to get rid of someone undesirable and I think it was the case for Milsiril. (Pattadol even assumes her parents love her less than her sisters for sending her to join the canaries).

No wonder than that now that she's finally free from the canaries she chose to seek her own happiness away from the society she felt she could never fit into, she clearly likes to take care of children too, I think it's mean to assume she only likes them because she feels superior to them when there's no indication that this is the case.

And I don't think it's a coincidence she's so overprotective of Kabru after Utaya, it's literally the tragedy that was the breaking point for her, and he's a surviving small child from that tragedy, Milsiril cares about Kabru and wanted him to have a comfortable safe life after everything he went thru...

This ended up getting way too long so I'll make second part tomorrow about the rest of the extras and Kabru, and some other things I've seen said about Milsiril, but to answer the questions...

I don't think she treats her children as pets, Otta is just salty she was called out for dating like Leo Dicaprio.

Every single dungeon meshi character can be called morally grey because they all have flaws that in our world can be considered unforgivable, but they don't live in our world. To me Milsiril is doing her best in the context she lives in.

Who even is neurotypical in dungeon meshi, Milsiril is yet another flavour of a neurodivergent traumatized character among so many.

I believe she thought of the other canaries, especially Mithrun, as the same type of people that were cruel to her, probably because some of them really were, but that she generalized it to the point she thinks of all of them as bad by default. You can only get hurt so many times before you assume everyone will hurt you.

Part 2

[zephyrchama]

(obey me!) moments where they fall in love with you all over again

---01

It’s dinner, and you’re talking about mundane things that happened during your day. You saw a cool bird, got some gum stuck on your shoe, and bought a new flavor of toothpaste to try. Everyone is listening intently. If only they would pay this much attention in class.

Lucifer knows the way his brothers look at you all too well. It’s a look full of respect, admiration, and fondness. It’s a look that’s often reflected on his own face when in your presence. At first he never really understood why you put up with his siblings, as the option to ignore them and be on your way was always there. Yet you continue to make time for them anyway. How unusual.

Moments like these where everyone is together and you don’t treat them as the Seven Rulers of Hell, you just treat them as your dear friends and family. That’s what makes Lucifer soft. He tries to imagine a long future of things staying just like this.

---02

Mammon’s hesitant to lend anybody money, even you. It takes a few minutes to butter him up and fluff his ego before he relents. At last, he hands you the crispest bill in his wallet. “Don’t spend it all in one place,” he kids, knowing full well he’d do just that if he was in your shoes.

He’s curious what you plan to buy. It never dawns on him that you have no intention of spending the cash. Half an hour later, he finds it on his desk. The exact same bill, now creased and folded neatly into an origami bird.

He picks it up to wiggle the little paper wings, entranced, then looks around frantically and catches your eye. A playful smile graces your face and tugs at his heartstrings.

---03

Leviathan is not typically one to make mistakes when it comes to anime. But even he’s not perfect.

He had it set in his mind that the new show premiered at 6:00pm, which left plenty of time to prepare the ultimate solo viewing party after school. He was humming quietly to himself when you walked over. “Isn’t your show starting soon?”

You specifically took an interest in his hobbies. You remembered that it started at 16:00 (four o’clock), not 6:00. Leviathan wondered, how could he make such a egregious mistake? You were the one who dashed back to the House of Lamentation at full speed by his side. When your human stamina started failing, he unconsciously picked you up so you’d both make it in time. You made it with two minutes to spare.

Sweaty and out of breath, still in uniform, you were able to watch the premiere together. It wasn’t until after credits rolled, you went elsewhere, and the live reactions on social media started calming down that Levi realized what a big deal this was to him. What a big deal you were to him.

---04

Satan wasn’t expecting you to be spacing out in his favorite armchair. He had plans to read in it that evening, and considered asking you politely to move. But the way the lamp light shines on your skin, the thoughtful expression on your face while pondering ideas unknown. The way your lips part ever so slightly and your eyes gaze off into nothing. It captivates him. You look like a painting. His breath gets caught in his throat, and in clearing it he manages to break your trance.

“Oh, hey. Welcome home, I didn’t realize you were there.”

You go to get out of the chair, but Satan insists you stay. It doesn’t look right without you anymore. He doesn’t feel right without you anymore.

---05

Asmodeus does not have wardrobe malfunctions often. His outfits are of the highest quality and a lot of care goes into putting them on. Still, things happen.

When his fans rush forward out of nowhere, sometimes they are successful in tearing his clothes. A fistful of shirt here, a mouthful of pants-leg there. Being in the center of a lust-fueled stampede can make even the most collected people lose their minds, but you are steadfast. You shout at the rabid demons, shaming them for their disrespect. You believe you can chase them off all on your own, not knowing that the Avatar of Lust behind you is exuding a killer aura and warning his fans to back off with a powerful glare.

As you sloppily stitch up what remains of his shirt so he can walk home without the incident repeating, Asmodeus is smiling from ear to ear. You’re so focused on genuinely helping that you don’t even notice the bedroom eyes he’s flashing. The scene of you waving your arms and trying to chase off a pack of demons as if they were stray pigeons is permanently ingrained in his memory. Just as your existence is ingrained in his soul.

---06

Beelzebub knows what he likes. He knows what will catch his interest and is pleasantly surprised when a new one crops up.

One thing he likes is you. Another is food. Both are in the cafeteria. He piles a tray high with carbs and goes looking for you at lunch time, finding you seated in the middle of a long table at the edge of the room. He calls your name.

It’s unexpected, the way you quickly swing your head up mid-bite. Your cheeks are full and noodles dangle from your mouth, sauce dripping back onto your plate. Your eyes light up as you look at him from below. It makes him stop in his tracks, causing several shorter demons to walk into him. Such a simple action, yet so profound. You hurriedly chew and offer him a seat while Beelzebub powers through his emotions. He takes a seat across from you to offer a napkin, wondering when he’ll see that face again.

---07

It’s late, far past everyone’s bedtime. Yet Belphegor forgot to tell you something during the day and decided now would be a great time. When you don’t respond to the quiet knocks at your door, he lets himself inside. Your sleeping figure looks too comforting to resist and he gets the brilliant idea to crawl into bed with you to whisper in your ear.

The problem is, as soon as he lifts the covers, you fart. It’s loud. You don’t move an inch, remaining fast asleep and ignorant of what just happened.

Belphegor freezes in his tracks to process it, but is soon doubled over on the futon laughing. The vibrations wake you. You sleepily open your eyes to see who is in hysterics and ask the obvious: “what?”

Belphegor is laughing too hard to tell you. He doesn’t want to tell you. It’s too priceless. You groggily smack him with a spare pillow and it makes him laugh harder. While he loves to look at you, that week it becomes difficult for him to meet your eyes without erupting into a fit of giggles.

[the-woman-upstairs]

Really fucked up that, when they’re young, Patrick and Art are SO tactile with each other, so comfortable sharing the same space. Art lets Patrick touch him and move him and physically overwhelm him and easily acquiesces to it, if not outright enjoys it.

Then in the present, they’ve been so far out of each other’s orbit for so long, held such animosity that when they have their moment alone in the sauna, Art physically recoils from Patrick’s close proximity! It’s so painful to watch because even as Patrick’s goading him, it’s so obvious he wants to be able to get back into Art’s space. But Art has erected all these walls around himself, he refuses to give Patrick an inch or even admit to missing how close they used to be!

AND THEN we see Art and Tashi later and he wants her to hold him, to be gentle with him, and just TOUCH him. Like, he does miss that kind of close physical contact! He either doesn’t know how to ask for it or is uncomfortable being that openly vulnerable. Worth noting that he pretty much always defers to Tashi in regard to initiating physical intimacy (with their first kiss, though he does state his desire, SHE has to be the one to make the first move). And it seems pretty obvious that Tashi herself isn’t comfortable providing that intimacy, whereas Patrick actively seeks to provide it (the hug/forehead kiss after their win together in the early years, dragging the stool closer to him).

Art has tried very hard to act like he doesn’t need physical affection and even though his discipline and devotion to Tashi has made him a stronger tennis player, it’s made him a hollow person, which, in turn, has kept him from becoming a GREAT tennis player.

All of this, of course, is why the ending hits so damn hard.

[cangrellesteponme]

wife

[that1notetaker]

An unfinished conversation exchange. Next part when.

[thechaoticrow]

for people who haven’t read the shadow and bone/ six of crows books, but have seen the show:

- inej ghafa is a survivor of childhood sex trafficking. she has ptsd and reacts in a panic attack at even walking past the menagerie

- kaz’s trauma isn’t just pekka rollins being responsible for jordie’s death, and waking up on the barge. he had to swim to shore, age nine and barely alive, using jordie’s body as a float

- the darkling has done far worse things than are shown on screen. he is not a ‘lost man’ and alina is not his ‘balance’

- alina was seventeen upon the darkling being nsfw/ romantic with her

- matthias helvar did not lead drüskelle, that was jarl brum- matthias is only just barely an adult himself

- the crows are not their own separate gang, they are part of the dregs, who per haskell leads and kaz takes over from haskell after haskell sold out his lieutenant (kaz) to pekka rollins

- zoya, genya, and alina have personalities outside of either being traumatised or hating each other

- alina never wanted any of the power and fame and idolatry, and in the end of the books is stripped of it all. she is very happy about this

- jesper is a gambling addict and somebody who watched the death of his mother

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One / Part Two (You are Here) / Part Three 

A03

Hopper had undersold Harrington's condition. 

Wayne hadn't expected anything pretty, but the face that turned to them as they walked through the door almost had him freezing in place. 

Black eye, bruised chin, split lip. 

More and more bruises, some faded and some very new, trailing down the kids neck. 

 The rest was hidden by his preppy little polo shirt, but Wayne didn't doubt that there were more.

Harrington tried to stand when they entered the room and the way he moved--entirely unbalanced, clearly in a lot of pain--made Wayne think the only thing the kid really needed was a hospital. 

Because Steve Harrington hadn't just been beaten. 

He'd been tortured--and very recently strangled. 

(Abruptly, Wayne realized that Hopper had implied the boy had been in the mall fire--just as much as he implied the mall fire was anything but. 

He also hadn't stated how Harrington had escaped the Suites trying to break into his house.) 

"Sit down." Hopper commanded, and Wayne expected Harrington to do anything but listen. 

Say something cocky, or act the part of a demanding little shit maybe, despite the condition he was in.

Instead the kid just sighed in relief and dropped like a stone, right back into the chair. 

Hopper came around his desk, talking all the while. "Steve, this is Wayne. Wayne, Steve."

"Hello Sir." Steve croaked politely. His voice was wrecked, no doubt from the necklace of finger shaped bruises around his neck.

"You're going to stay with him for a while, and you're gonna pay him for the privilege." Hopper informed him, as he began digging around his desk. "Money, chores, whatever Wayne wants." 

Wayne held his gaze as Steve turned to appraise him. 

Would Harrington pitch a fit? 

Would he look at Wayne's work clothes, streaked with dirt and sweat, with the name of the warehouse embroidered in the corner and crinkle up his nose, just like his daddy did? 

Hopper didn't lie, but a part of Wayne wanted to see just how different this Harrington was. If the respectful demeanor was an act done for Hopper. 

Or perhaps, Hopper had mentioned Steve's father for a reason, instead of his mother. Did he adopt her ice-like approach to life? 

Micro managing and long-held grudges were Stella Harrington’s game, and she excelled at it. 

Steve however, did nothing of the sort, instead settling with the situation in a way that reminded Wayne far too strongly of the men and women who'd come home from war.

"Okay." The kid said simply, after a long moment of consideration. He turned back to Hopper. "But we need to tell the rest of the Par--" 

Here he cut a look back to Wayne, correcting himself. "the kids. I don't want them showing up at my house trying to find me and freaking out." 

"They wouldn't--" Jim paused, fingers freezing from the rummaging they'd been doing. "they absolutely would, goddammit." He muttered darkly.  

"I'll tell the kids. The only thing I want you doing right now is laying low. I need to get a hold of Owens, but it's gonna take time to do that, and more time to fix this, so as of right now, Harrington? You're on vacation." He pointed sternly, as if Steve might argue.

The kid looked too tired and messed up to bother trying. 

"I mean it. You're out of the country, where is anybody's guess. No one's seen you and no one better be seeing you, got it?" His voice held firm, and Wayne had to blink because the tone here wasn't one of a police chief warning a teenager--but of a father talking to his son.

He knew, because his own voice did that now. Took on a worried tone that masqueraded as something more like annoyance and seriousness. 

"Yes, Sir." Harrington said, remaining weirdly compliant. "Consider me gone." 

A hand came up to briefly press above one eye, and Wayne wondered if the kid had been looked over, or if they had just crammed him into Hopper's office without offering so much as a tissue box. 

How many painkillers did they have back at the house? Wayne usually kept a good bottle around, but Steve was going to need more than that…

He found himself once again cataloging Steve's wounds, this time comparing them to the medicine cabinet he had at home. 

"I expect you to be a damn good house guest, you hear me?" Hopper continued, trying to cut a menacing figure. He finally found what he was looking for; pulling out a large, padded envelope. 

He handed it over to Harrington, who took it without looking, shoving it into the duffle bag he'd had sitting at his feet. 

There was a smudge of red on the handle of said bag, that matched perfectly up to a shittily done wrap on Steve's right hand. 

Wayne mentally added 'buy more bandages' to his list. 

Steve nodded at Hopper again. "Yes, Sir."

Jim’s eyes narrowed. "Quite that, you know I hate that." 

The briefest glimmer of mischief crossed Harrington's face. "Sorry, Sir. Won't happen again, Sir."

'Ahh.' Wayne thought. 'So there's a teenager in there after all.'

Jim rolled his eyes. "Get out of my office."

"Thanks Hop." Harrington said, finally dropping that odd obedience, a hint of a smile on his battered face. 

He stood, and Wayne had to stop himself from offering an arm out as Steve reached for his bag and limped towards him. 

He paused right before he left Hopper's office, hand on the doorframe.

 "You'll check up on Robin too, right?"  He asked, and for the first time his tone took on something more alive--and filled with worry. "And Dustin? Erica?" 

"Dustin and his mom are finally taking me up on my suggestion to see their family in Florida for a while, and the Sinclairs are taking a sabbatical from Hawkins. I'm working on the Buckley's." Hopper drummed his fingers on the desk. "So far, no one else besides you and El have been targeted, and we're going to keep it that way."

Steve let out a breath, and while Wayne could tell the worry hadn't left him, he could almost physically see Steve force himself to put it away.

Another act that was far beyond the kid's years. 

A different officer popped up as they walked down the hall towards the exit, waving his hand madly. "Harrington! Chief says you forgot this!" He barked.

(Or tried to anyway. Callahan wasn’t the most aggressive of officers and frankly, never would be.)

A slim sports bag was held in his hands, and Steve nearly tripped over his own feet when he tried to turn and claim it.

"I'll get it." Wayne said, knowing his tone sounded gruff.

No use for it. He could either sound gruff or sound sad, and Wayne knew better than to start off the relationship with yet another hurt young man by acting sad.

Pity wasn't gonna win him any favors here. 

He took the bag, slinging it over his shoulder, uncaring of the wince on Harrington's face until something sharp poked at his shoulder. 

Several somethings, in fact. 

"What the hell do you got in this thing?" He asked once they hit the parking lot, voice low as he escorted Steve to his truck. 

"Just a baseball bat, sir." Steve said, in the exact same tone Eddie used every time he thought he was bein’ slick. 

Considering the thing in the bag could have passed for a baseball bat if not for the sharp pokey bits, it wasn’t a bad attempt. Steve just hadn’t accounted for the fact that Wayne lived with Eddie. 

An unfair advantage, really. 

‘Least there can’t be any baby racoons in the damn bag.’ Wayne thought idly. 

Went on to gently put the bat in the backseat, watching as the kid struggled to lift himself into the truck.

"You can drop that, I take too being called Sir about as well as Hop does." He said, keeping his tone nice and calm, hoping to ease into calling Steve out on his lie. 

Fussed with a few dials on the stereo, giving Steve an excuse to take his time before starting the engine and taking the long way home.

Wayne wanted to talk a little-- without the chance of Ed’s interrupting. 

"Son,” He started off. “I was born in the morning, but not this morning. I'm hoping to make the next few weeks as easy as I can for both of us, and I can't do that if you're starting off with a lie." 

Steve blinked, turning to face him in a matter that was too fast for his injuries. He didn't bother hiding the hurt it caused him, but his voice stayed even as he spoke.

 "What do you mean Si--Wayne." 

"Nice catch.”  Wayne said. “We’ll get you there yet.” 

It was a trick he'd learned with Eddie--little tidbits of praise went a long way when it came to gaining trust.

Especially with kids who hadn't ever been given much. 

Harrington seemed smart to it, or perhaps was just hesitant to speak in general because he remained quiet, not offering up any info. No further lies, but nothing towards the truth, neither. 

Which was fine. Wayne didn’t think a little pushing would hurt.

"That bat of yours was digging into my shoulder like a bee swarm." Wayne continued, when it became clear Steve wasn't talking. "I'm more a fan of football than baseball, but last I checked they hadn't changed the design of a bat." 

"What teams?" Steve asked, perking up a touch. "Of football. Which ones are yours?"

Wayne could ignore it of course, or demand Steve give him an answer to the question he asked. 

He did neither. "I’m liking the Colts since they got moved here. You?" 

"Green Bay Packers, though I like the Colts too--that trade in 84’ was crazy." Steve said. After a second he proved that answering instead of pushing was the right move because he added; "What did Hopper tell you? About…" He trailed off, making a gesture Wayne didn't bother trying to interpret. 

"He said some things. I've guessed a few others." Wayne admitted. Cut a little look out of the corner of his eye as he came to a stop sign. "I know the feds are real interested in you after Starcourt." 

Steve took that in, hands tightening on the handle. 

"It really is a baseball bat." He said, a little fast and with the tiniest hint of that challenge Wayne had been looking for. "It just also has nails hammered into one end." 

Wayne took that in with one nice, slow blink. 

"A bat with nails in it." He said, and it made a hell of a lot of sense compared to the sensation he'd felt carrying the case. "You use it against anyone?" 

"Some of the feds." Steve admitted, and even with his eyes on the road Wayne could tell he was being stared at.

Judged.

Not in the way one expected a rich kid to judge, but in the way Eddie had, those first few months he'd lived here. The times when  he'd push, just a little, to see what Wayne's reaction would be. 

Eddie hadn't done it in a damn long time, but Wayne recognized the behavior nonetheless. 

"Anybody else?" He asked. 

"Nobody human." Steve replied. 

"Alright." Wayne said, and made a mental note to drop all questions related to that. 

He didn't need to know, definitely didn't want to know, and had a feeling if he did know he'd find himself being watched by the same spooks after Steve.

"I've got a few deck boxes that lock on my porch. Think you'd be agreeable to leaving the bat in one?" 

Steve paused, hand clenching tighter around the strap of his duffel bag. "If you gave me a key so I could get it in an emergency,  I'd be happy to." 

He tried to sound calm, even a little charming in that sort of upper-class businessman sort of way, but the fear bled through. 

The kid wasn't happy separating from the bat, and given it sounded like it might have saved his life recently, Wayne understood the hesitation. 

With an internal apology to Eddie, he promptly threw his nephew under the proverbial bus.  "I've got my nephew at home and he'd be far too interested in it, is all. Blades and weapons and such tend to attract him, and I don't need to be rushing anyone to the ER." 

All of which were very true facts (one Wayne learned the time he'd allowed Eddie to bring a sword  home, only for him to nearly cut his own nose off winging the thing around) but he figured it might make Steve more amenable to separating from it. 

Sure enough, some of the tenseness bled out of Steve's shoulders. "Yeah that's fair." 

The truck hit a few potholes as they finally turned into the trailer park, and the kid hissed, a quiet sound. 

Judging by the uncomfortable wince, and hands clenched into his jeans something painwise was giving him trouble. 

"When was the last time you took a pain pill?" Wayne asked, doing his best to weave around the other holes that dotted the gravel roads.

Steve blinked. "Uh…" 

"You take any today son?" 

Steve his head. 

"Didn't have time to grab it." He said, offering a sad look to his pack. 

Course he hadn't. 

"Let's get you inside then and get you some." Wayne said with a sigh. Thankfully Eddie's van wasn't here--Wayne was fairly certain he had band practice today but knowing him it could be a million other things.

Just meant he had to acclimate Steve as fast as he could, to try and get the poor guy settled before Ed’s came in. 

He just hoped life and lady luck would work with him, for once. 

[porcelainpot]

It takes a long time before you leave your den again, the small cave proving to be a cage, as Soap so graciously called it, for not only them but you too, even if sometimes it can be considered your little heaven too.

It's not that you don't want to leave, it has been at least three hours since Soap had gotten himself too close for comfort, riling you up enough that you almost forgot to keep distance for the both of you.

No, it's not that.

It's that you're fucking terrified and you don't want to admit it.

You have watched and analyzed them all enough to understand that he has a weird sense of flirting and is more feral than what he looks, if his stunt a few hours ago wasn't proof of that, then the way he would usually do the same with other mer, prey mer, or fishes is proof of how he gets off on doing it.

You look at yourself, your fins, your tail, beautiful oranges and whites decorating the venomous spines that serve as hunting and protective tools. Or that should be their purpose, if it wasn't for the lack of poison they had.

They do work for hunting and to protect yourself, but the thing is that they're not lethal at all, if only, the supposed venom is more of anesthetic.

Instead of causing pain, it makes the prey, and predators, lose feeling on their limbs, starting from where the location of the sting and then it spreads, just like the venom should work. You know this, which is why you never correct them about how poisonous you are, because you aren't. You just work as a type of numbing tool.

Everyone would have a field, especially Soap, so it's not like you'll ever tell them and keep your distance away. In the end it's more for your protection than theirs.

Your belly rumbles and you scrunch up your nose, you're hungry, not having really thought of eating since hours ago because you were enjoying Ghost's company and also the fact you were not hungry at all.

But now here you are, and thanks to someone called fucking Soap, you can't find it in yourself to go out and hunt, because what if he's out there? What if he tries to do the same again?

Surely not, Ghost already made him go back to their reef to go bother Gaz or Price, maybe even take a nap but that doesn't deter you.

Your fins and spikes have been flared all these hours and it's starting to hurt a bit with how tense your muscles are. It makes you want to tear out something, to sink your teeth on his shoulder, to grab his face and stab your spikes against his skin until they pierce it to watch him go limp and sink on the sand, unable to move.

You shake your head, clawing at the sand to get rid of those thoughts. He would probably like it, might even fantasize about it if you think enough, he looks like he would. More so at the glee to show he was right, that you're not dangerous as he thought and that's exactly why.

A shiver goes down your spine at his words, at the fact he thought he could break your spines, it has panic raising up your throat before you shake your head and calm down. No, no he wouldn't.

At least you try to think that. (Oh, but he would, how else would you end up with them? That way you wouldn't be able to protect yourself, but they could keep you safe and to themselves.)

Your nerves are too fried to calm down, today you probably won't go out hunting until you've calmed down, the thought of finding Ghost at night causes an uncomfortable feeling in your chest.

He stopped Soap, that's fine, good even, at least one of the two has a sense of safety even if he doesn't regard you as a predator like him (although the cause of it barely counts as a threat). Not like you need his approval, you're not friends, far from it, just acquaintances at best. That only makes your decision of hunting at night more difficult.

You sigh, curling up onto yourself. You can skip a day or two of not hunting, it's fine. You can sleep most of it away.

-

You wake up again by the sound of something swimming around your small reef, you barely catch it, with sleep clouding your mind still after sleeping all day. You swim closer to the small gaps of your small den, just to take a peek.

It's Ghost, because of course he is. The mer likes to hunt at night, but it's weird that he's outside your small cave at this hour, by now he should be far away looking for food.

"Wha?"

"Come outside." He commands, it makes you frown, why would you do that? It's late and you're tired.

"No. I'm sleeping." You mumble, unconsciously leaning a bit closer to look at him better through the small space.

Your spikes are all relaxed, finally, muscles sore from your body being alert for so long. You're in no position to speak properly, sleep heavy and worsened by the lack of food, trying to make it up for the lack of energy.

Ghost hums, something low and quiet it almost makes you think it was your mind playing tricks on you if you weren't looking at him through half lidded eyes.

"Come on. I got you something, pretty fish." His voice is low and thick, honeyed, as sweet as someone with a gruff and heavy voice could do, to make you come out.

The pet name has you a bit hooked, and the sight of the actual fish on his hand after he presents it has you fully out of your home. You swim towards him, towards the food actually, and reach for it.

You're too tired to even eat it, but you still inspect it, you have to check it's worth and duplicate it tomorrow so you two are even, even in your half-asleep state your mind knows what to do for someone who even gifts you something. You don't like owning anything to anyone.

Ghost looks at you closely, as close as he dares to be given your current situation.

You're half asleep, any word or action he does could either make you react badly and stab him with those beautiful spines you got or have you still be pliant in his presence.

You're an interesting little thing, gorgeous in looks and deadly in touch, he can understand Soap's infatuation with you but he knows how to handle mers like you, he might look disinterested but he already knows how to handle you well.

Ghost takes his opportunity to swim closer, amused when he noticed you curl up around the fish, not to eat it but because you fell asleep holding the food he got you, curled up around it.

"Pretty thing, nothing more than brash words huh?" He murmurs as he very softly cups his hand under you, eyes sharp and focused on your fins and tail, looking for a telltale of flaring spines or the flick of your ear fins.

You're quite small and pliant, colorful even in the darkness of their reef. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes. You're lucky it's me and not Soap, the twat would be pricked as soon as he got you at hands reach."

Of course, you barely make a sound at that, scrunching up your nose before relaxing again and he takes the opportunity to run his thumb on your back, brushing his fingers through your fins and skin, careful to not touch your spines.

Ghost wonders if you're even aware of what he's doing, of how powerless you are right now, but he doesn't entertain the thought much when you star to stir again.

He lets you go as soon as your tail swishes, letting you blink and rub your eyes, looking around before squinting at him, saying a quick 'thanks' before swimming to your small den.

That's dangerous, don't you know you should be attentive at all times? Not every mer is as nice as he is right now.

With one last peek, he swims away to continue with his night routine, what he needed to do is done and he won't do more, you aren't his responsibility if you're not Price's responsibility.

Yet, anyways.

For now, your naps and quiet time together are enough for him, even if he has to look out for Soap.

[rad-roche]

I tell every client the same thing because one day it might stick. Withholding information from the bull you hired is like tapping your neurosurgeon on the shoulder and handing him a sledgehammer. Sure, the job will get done. But now we've got a hot mess on our hands.

(x)

[prahacat]

when the horrors catch up and you take an evening off to batch-process

[sapphorror]

The Narrator's perspective only gets more horrifying the longer you think about it. Like, imagine being an Echo of yourself—one of many, all made to serve a very particular purpose and knowingly living on borrowed time, if 'living' is even the right word for your current state of pseudo-existence.

You've inherited the mission of a dead man—it's literally the only thing left that you can do before fading, so you sure as hell better believe in it; the alternative would be unbearable. Only you keep failing. With every loop that you don't remember, your lack of agency in this situation becomes starker—you can influence small things, sure, but it becomes increasingly clear that you have no real power, no matter how personally invested you are in the events unfolding in front of you. You are, after all, only an Echo. You've forfeited the right to meaningfully engage with the world.

Worse—every loop you're made aware of is another time you've failed, with unimaginable consequences, though you had no control over these previous iterations of yourself and can't even learn from their mistakes. Everyone around you is operating on a shared perception of reality that you are not part of, will never be part of. After a few repetitions, you are, ironically, the least informed person in the room. All you have left to go on is an evidently outdated script. At the same time, everyone else is experiencing a contiguous version of you, comprised of parts that are, in some sense, also you, while at the same time existing at a complete remove from your current perception of self. Whatever you don't know you did—that's you now. You are, after all, only an Echo. You've forfeited the right to define your own identity, never mind know what it is.

Even worse—this has trapped you within a stagnant hell of your own creation. Nothing you say or do really matters in terms of your own self (the rest of the world is a separate issue entirely). Anything you've come to believe—say, for totally hypothetical example, that you were wrong actually and your envisioned paradise is really a hell beyond any you had the capacity to envision—has about as much permanence as a drawing in the sand. 'You' will continue, exactly as you were, no matter how much you might like to change your behavior. Every possible future has already been set in stone. You are, after all, only an Echo. You've forfeited the right to say anything you haven't already said.

For some reason, no part of any of this has made you feel more comfortable and at peace with the general concept of finality.

The really, truly absolute worst part, though?

There is no one for you to blame but yourself. And that's exactly what turns your story into such a tragedy.