#past abuse cw
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whumpkink · 3 months ago
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Alphabet of Whump 2024 – Ilness
The Beauty of Suffering // Series: De-Aged Mack AU // Warnings: implied past abuse
Knowing Mack wasn't human, or fully human, Hunter didn't realize she could get actually sick. She probably should ask Jace if it had anything to do with the spell that turned her friend (?) into a teenage version of herself.
Now she had a barely 18-year-old Mackenzie in a forced bedrest. A 39,5ºC couldn't be a good thing, she didn't need to be a healer to know that. The girl was sweating, frowning and looking uncomfortable, but refusing to show she was uncomfortable. It wasn't a surprise with how she avoided reacting even when she had been stabbed multiple times.
Jace said that this really was that version of Mack, and he didn't really know what do to, considering that he met her when she was twenty and way less skittish. He said that this was her fresh-out of escaping the coven, only a few months.
It was left unsaid: her life in the coven was hell on earth, these wounds are still bleeding now. They were much worse back then.
There was an aura of otherness in her, it was a little unnerving, in her. Like something very much not human in the back of her eyes. Almost a confirmation of the fact she wasn't human. (Did she need to escape the coven to become more human again?)
Hunter didn't know, she just tried to follow Jace's instructions. A cold compress, careful as Mackenzie flinched more often than not. She had asked who Hunter was, a friend, because she wasn't going to explain that she had no idea of what their status was to this traumatized teen.
She hoped Mackenzie's fever would break before it caused any actual damage.
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lottaham · 16 days ago
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Just some passing thoughts since I’ve been playing Animal Crossing again, fair warning for allusions to past abuse
I decided since I’m on winter break now, it’d be a great time to give Animal Crossing: New Horizons a fair chance again now that 1.) I have Nintendo Switch Online, making things 10x easier and 2.) I’m no longer having an identity crisis and constantly resetting the game. But it’s kinda bittersweet to play.
I used to play Animal Crossing: New Leaf religiously when I was in elementary school. It was a used copy I didn’t think to reset, but I didn’t really care. I just liked doing menial tasks and talking to my animal friends. So, even if I was two years late to the party, it’d only be nature I get the switch game.
New Horizons is kind of weird to me. I used to play it a lot when I’d visit my dad’s house, usually as a means of distraction whenever things got really bad. I vividly remember this one incident I was trying to recreate Hercules’ toga, but needing to stop since my stepmom and stepbrother’s arguing was that bad I couldn’t keep focusing.
Well, that was two years ago. My dad’s moved out of the state and I don’t really see him or my stepfamily often anymore. Now that I’m in a safer living situation, I think it’s better late than never to try and make actual progress on the game.
In less depressing news, one of my first villagers was Biff! He used to be on my old New Leaf island all those years ago. I like to think it’s a sign of something good to come :) He basically catapulted himself onto my platonic F/O list
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baldurs-kinfessions · 3 months ago
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it was cathartic to see my wife react with anger when i finally opened up to her about some of the worse things i could remember. it felt… really good to know that anger was actually a very normal thing to feel about it all haha. despite everything between us, she was still so willing to have my back and affirm that i never once deserved any of it
—astarion, #🦇🩸🗡️
🐙
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musesofthesun · 8 months ago
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" i can't help you if you hide things from me . " // from Akechi to Yui! This could be during her post-game w her hiding the malice but ngl I also think the idea of sb, in this case akechi, investigating the disappearance of Yui's father or the abuse of her household or whatnot could be VERY fun <3 if/when i snatch muses from p4 i think exploring this would be rlly fun w them too :]
the sounds of nightmares. = accepting.
yui wasn't expecting this. the police poked at the event after she called that day, investigated a bit, then seemed to drop it entirely for a good month. now, there's a few people showing up at her house and asking questions; her mother is talking to the other authorities, so it's just yui and this guy... who is someone she vaguely recognizes as a famous person. she's seen him a few times on television from reports centered on things in the bigger cities.
he's good at pressing the situation. she has to give him that. despite the last hour of her being wily and slippery in her answers, he's been persistent and grabbing onto any fragment that he can springboard off of. yui doesn't trust him, but she has to admit: he seems more genuinely inclined to actually help than any other kind of officer that she's met. maybe it's because he's from a big city.
it's funny how his simple statement now - "i can't help you if you hide things from me." - is what causes her to falter in her persistence. her black and tan shiba-pom, kuro, walks over and sits next to her. he leans against her leg as she bites her lip, considering, considering... she draws a shaky breath.
she knows what happened to her father. she saw it firsthand, after all.
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"i... have a question, then." she's quieter, more seriously sincere... yet equally anxious in tone. "do... do you believe in spirits, mister?"
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reasonsforhope · 1 month ago
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"Colombia’s congress has voted to change a law that allowed minors to get married with parental consent.
The proposal would make the minimum age for marriage 18, and seeks to protect the rights and development opportunities for minors. It still must be signed into law by President Gustavo Petro.
Currently, the country’s civil code allows person as young as 14 years old to get married with parental consent.
The initial proposal to reform the law – presented in 2023 – used the slogan “they’re girls, not wives” and aimed to prevent young girls from being forced to marry, to be subject to different forms of violence and to miss out on education and development opportunities.
“Minors are not sexual objects, they’re girls,” congresswoman Clara López Obregón said in a statement after the proposal was greenlit.
Child marriage remains a widespread practice worldwide and affects around 12 million girls per year, according to the UN’s agency for children, UNICEF.
But there’s been a global drop in child marriages over the past few years, according to the agency’s statistics. “Ten years ago, one in four young women aged 20 to 24 was married as a child. Today that number has fallen to one in five,” UNICEF said.
In Latin America, poverty is the main factor leading to minors getting married, according to UNICEF."
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couldeatthatgirlforlunch · 4 months ago
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Yandere batfam or justice league with a reader who’s afraid of strong people/men due to a past abusive relationship? She never wants to feel that powerless and weak again so she actively avoids interacting with anyone stronger, bigger, taller any more than necessary. She doesn’t hold it against other ppl she just has a lot of trauma that she’d rather not work through and feel safe in her little bubble
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Hit me Hard and Soft
Synopsis: You get saved by Robin, but not everything is as it seems.
Pairing: Yandere!Poly!Romantic!Batboys X Gn!Reader
Tw: All characters aged up, of course; Mentions and descriptions of violence, including physical, psychological, sexual and financial abuse, and Damian fighting criminals (I'm particularly proud of the action scene I wrote); Drugging and being unconscious; Mentions of death of minor characters and suicide; Mentions of past grooming (Reader's ex) and age gap (Reader’s ex, Reader X Bruce, and the batboys age is not mentioned); Implied stalking; Mentions of kidnapping; Reader's very traumatized and weary of everyone; Reader doesn't trust the police; Mention of a panic attack and descriptions of actual panic; Guns and knifes; Mention of cigarettes; Implied needles; English isn't my 1st language.
Requested? Yes.
Extra notes: Wish I had more interactions between Reader and the batboys here, but I'm more than willing to make a part 2 with the right idea.
General masterlist | Hit me Hard and Soft - Series masterlist
He's back again. You wish you could say you didn't know why he always came back, but you did. The food wasn't that great and it wasn't that close to where he told you he worked or lived. It also didn't help that he always made sure to be served by you. And that he flirted with you.
— Evening, (N/N)! Is there something as sweet as you on today’s menu? — You gave a small and polite laugh.
— Strawberry pie… As always…
It was kinda sad, but mostly scary. If it wasn't for your ex, you would be thrilled to have gotten the attention of Dick fucking Grayson. The whole city knew he was handsome, rich, talented and charismatic. Gotham's sweetheart, Gotham's golden boy. And from your daily interactions, he lived up to the expectations. He was polite even when flirting with you and asking you out. Yet, something held you back.
— Nice! Since you get out in a few, why don't you bring in two slices? One for me and one for you, it's on me, of course. — You shook your head quickly, with an empty heart, just wanting to get away from him as fast as possible.
You were with your ex since you were 17 to 26. Almost 10 years wasted on a dirtbag. He convinced you to leave your friends, to leave your family, to leave your job. As soon as you started living together, you were completely dependent on him. Sometimes you blamed him, sometimes yourself, sometimes the people you had around you, but back then, where you came from, people weren't questioning the imbalance of powers between a 17 year old highschooler with no job and a 23 year old man with a steady job and living alone.
He convinced you that going to college and ending your relationship was the worst decision you could take. Then, that you didn't need your family, he could take care of you. One day, he decided you couldn't have friends.
He often locked you inside the house, cursed your skills and appearance, neglected your overall health, intimidated you, screamed at you, broke your things that he did and didn't pay for. He hurt you physically, even sexually. You knew both dating him and leaving him was hard, you just expected living with the scars was going to be easier.
And it was! You decided to run away from him and to Gotham when you received the news that your mom died and he didn't even want to let you go to the funeral. The grieving made you reflexive and you realized how shitty your situation was. For years you just thought that it would eventually get better, that you just needed to be strong, that he showed he loved you when he wasn't being an asshole, that you couldn't get anything better, that he made you feel special.
You couldn't even go to the police, he was a cop, you knew the chances that in any scenario you would lose. So you ran.
You knew it was dangerous, but you had nothing to lose. If he didn't kill you, you would do it yourself. You made a plan, drugged him, took some of his money, used his house keys, left everything behind for the second time in your life. You didn't waste time asking for help from the people you knew. You took the bus and went as far away as you could.
Your paranoia was so bad that for almost a year, you would settle in a city, work to save up enough, and leave again, rinse and repeat. Eventually, Gotham seemed big and far enough to go by unnoticed.
Or that's what you thought, until Dick Grayson stopped by the diner you worked to have breakfast before going to work, as a cop, and decided you caught his attention.
Since then, he came back everyday. Either breakfast, lunch, dinner, or just to hang out with some family member, usually one of his brothers, his dad appeared with him sometimes too. Your boss loved the attention Bruce and Tim attracted, the two most media active ones, since they both led Wayne Enterprises.
Eventually, even them started appearing multiple times a week. You thought you were healing, until you found yourself crying for almost four hours at home in a panic attack.
You didn't want their attention. Not only was it weird, but they were just so… Superior to you.
They were all taller, more muscular, faster, smarter, richer. It was like reliving the beginning of your relationship at 17, plus 10 times worse. Five because they were five people mirroring your ex, and more five just because of your trauma, experience, negativity and lack of naiveness.
Also, why were they ALL into you??? And they were aware of it! It was weird! Why??
Bruce Wayne was disarmingly charming in his dilf way. Dick was surprisingly accessible. Jason was soft spoken despite his resting bitch face and leather jacket. Tim was cute in a nerdy way. Damian almost made you laugh with his sarcastic humor.
Either way, you never wanted to feel as little as you felt before, so you just did your job, acted polite, but ultimately kept your distance.
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Freedom has its difficulties, one of them being that you need money, and for money, you need a job, which means sometimes you have to stay until closing time, at 11 PM, in Gotham.
You're not the only employee to stay so late, but you and your co-worker live in opposite directions, so walking alone it is. They're taking the bus, but you only live two blocks away, so you gulp down your anxiety and keep walking. One hand on your pocket, holding your taser firmly, and keeping your head up, turning to look at every sound.
It's cold, and the street is empty and dimly lit. Some places are so dark that you wonder why you're even paying taxes if the streetlamps won't work.
Two men turn the corner a few meters in front of you, one at least a foot taller, the other, two inches max. They're wearing hoodies and their hands are on their pockets, the light behind them creates a shadow that doesn't allow you to see their faces, nor where they're looking at, but they are coming in your direction.
There's a car, parked between you both. Some people might think at this point it's just paranoia, but you’ve heard stories of people walking next to cars, getting pulled inside by someone who was hiding in there, and getting kidnapped.
Your first instinct is flight, so you turn around, ready to run, even if you look weird in case those guys weren't planning to do anything with you, just to see other two guys emerging from the other corner, those two almost as tall as that first guy. Aside from the smaller one, they're all broad, even with their thick clothes covering them.
One of them has a cigarette on his mouth, which he throws on the ground when you turn your attention to him. Your fear might have caused you to hallucinate, but you're almost sure he's smirking.
You freeze for a second, your only escape is to run to the side, and pray their long legs don't get to you first. You think you hear one of them start hollering at you.
You only take a step to the side, when a loud crash startles you so hard that you have to look behind, while walking backwards to the street. You take a second to process the sight.
Robin is standing in the middle, just a few steps behind where you were standing a second ago. He's at least half a foot taller than all of them, and a lot broader. He's holding the tall one by his neck with his right hand, repeatedly hitting his head against the car’s window.
You're shell shocked, torn between staying put to watch this disaster, as interesting as a car crash, or running away. Gotham is so big that you never thought you would encounter one of its heroes, you weren't sure if you even wanted to.
When the guy seems to stop moving, Robin throws him against one of the other tall ones, the guy practically flies across 2 meters before hitting him, and when he does, they both fall to the ground. You remember all the times when your ex pushed you to the ground.
Your eyes are wide, horrified, watching the shortest guy take a pocket knife out of his pocket. Your throat locks, even if you want to scream for Robin to turn around, you only manage to stare and stay in place, however, the vigilant turns halfway around just in time to grab the guy by his wrist and his arm, just as he launched to stab him. He uses his body’s impulse to push the guy forward, the knife going to the fourth guy's shoulder, you hadn't even seen him get so close to him.
You look at the man from the car, he's still unconscious, the one who got tackled with him, however, is already standing and walking to the fight.
Everything’s happening too fast, you turn to the side to see the guy with the knife on his back on the ground, groaning and twitching in pain, while Robin is punching the shit out of the other guy, movements faster than you could ever dream of achieving. You remember being on the receiving end of someone's fists before.
With a final elbow to the cheek, the guy stumbles to the ground, you don't know what level of consciousness he’s in, by his posture before, you knew he was already compromised since the first hits he took.
Robin doesn't move, doesn't even turn to look at the guy who just fell, he's just looking forward, and when you notice this, you look at the remaining guy.
He's pointing a gun at him.
You don't think you can watch someone get shot in front of you, and you know if he gets rid of Robin, it's over for you. Logically, you knew these vigilantes somehow never die, still, it's counterintuitive to think he won't.
And he doesn't, in the blink of an eye, Robin's on the air, his right boot kicking the gun away, while still on the air, he wraps his legs around the guy's head, bends backwards, puts his hands on the ground, then launches his whole body to the front, the guy getting thrown over him. He falls to the ground, Robin stands on top of him with perfect balance. You don't even have time to process what just happened, the coolest and scariest thing you saw your whole life, when Robin punches him one last time. Now, he's definitely unconscious.
You’ve felt like a bystander this whole interaction, it felt like ages, but in reality all of this couldn't have taken more than 20 seconds, maybe even less than 15. You don't know what to do now. You're theoretically safe, but Robin’s still too big, too strong, too fast. He knocked out four guys without getting touched a single time. He broke a car's window. He threw around two guys who weighed at least 80kg. He's not even panting. And now he's looking at you.
A whimper gets stuck in your throat. You don't know if you should thank him, stay silent, or yell at him to stay away from you. When he takes a step in your direction, your instincts get the better of you and you turn around, running.
You hear him call your name, although your brain doesn't process it. You see headlights and look towards it. It's a car. You don't trust you’ll get help, but at least you're not alone. You run in it's direction, waving your arms and screaming bloody murder.
The car almost hits you, but you don’t process that until the last minute, but you get tackled to the ground just in time by the hero from before. You scream again, he's too close. Now, he's trying to hold you down. You keep screaming and trying to escape. You look to the side and the car just kept driving away, likely the driver wouldn't stay behind to be another victim to Robin's hands. You know you're not being rational right now, those guys are known for helping people, he just saved you, he's still trying to stop you from getting hurt, but you're scared. You've been scared since you were a teenager.
Your eyes burn, your arms and throat hurt, but adrenaline doesn't let you feel anything. Not even the invasion of a needle on your side.
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— Was it really necessary? — Tim deadpans Damian, who growls.
— You would have done the same, Drake.
— No, I wouldn't. You were supposed to use the psychological first aid approach and (Y/N) would've calmed down and trust us more in the future. But of course, you never use your brain. — Damian growls, stepping towards Tim, but he is stopped by Dick’s hand resting on his chest.
— Damian, calm down, Tim’s right. You knew better than to sedate them. You knew of (Y/N)’s trauma and you knew the route we wanted to take. — Damian's brows furrowed and he crossed his arms.
— I knew your feelings toward (Y/N) would make you become impulsive again. — Tim looked at Bruce, who was silent, with hands intertwined and elbows on the table, focused on your vitals on the screen and the sight of you laid on the bed on the medbay. — Will you now consider just letting you, me and Dick keep an eye on them during patrol? — Damian and Jason scoffed.
— Why you aiming at me now? It was the demon who gave that guy brain death! — Jason protested and Tim looked at him.
— Just to be sure you won't freak out like him and kill thrice as many people, on purpose this time. — Jason glared at him.
— B, you better add more security measures around (Y/N), before Timbo tries to clone them or something. — He muttered with snark.
Dick shook his head and sighed, going to stand on Bruce's side, crossing his arms and looking at you through the camera with him.
— What's the plan now, B? They're probably waking up soon. — Bruce hummed, relaxing his stance and resting his back against his chair. The silence lingered for a few seconds, everyone just looking at you, waiting for the oldest’s opinion.
Bruce turned around, looking at them.
— … Damian, Tim's right. You were impulsive today and you killed someone, even if it was an accident. I stopped expecting that from you since you were 12, you're an adult now. You not only broke our trust, but (Y/N)’s already shattered trust. They need to know they're safe with us, and drugging them, instead of puting to use more time and effort to bring the comfort to them, is not going to do that. You weren't much different than the man who hurt them tonight. — His father's words were like a punch to Damian's stomach, leaving him speechless. Dick pursed his lips, not turning around as to make it easier to not comfort his brother just yet. Bruce turned to Tim. — Tim, I understand you want to take measures seriously. But you need to give Jason a chance. That was unasked for. — The mentioned blinked, still unacostummed with the treatment he received from his dad when he followed his rules. Tim looked away. Bruce turned to Damian again. — Damian, no patrolling around (Y/N) until you prove we can trust your temper again. — He waited for a confirmation, which came with a sneered lip.
— Yes, father.
Dick looked back a Bruce.
— What about (Y/N)? — He bit his lips. Bruce hummed, turning to look at the monitor again.
— … What do you all think?
— Well… Damian said their name, they might not remember it, but they can't just wake up at home. They’d try to flee from us. We could bring them home earlier, but our ideal plan was to make them come willingly, in the period of at least two years, in the best case. We could leave them at the hospital, and just keep our plan going. — Dick listed the possible strategies they could take. Bruce hummed.
Tim piped up.
— I already altered their phone's algorithm to send the job application as my assistant at Wayne Enterprises to them. And the Wayne Foundation’s application for the internship at Gotham Uni. — Bruce nodded.
— Damian? What do you understand about that? — It was clearly the beginning of his test.
— The more secure in their independence they feel, the easier it is to heal and open themselves up to new opportunities. — Damian exclaimed with confidence. Bruce nodded.
— Jason, are you still interested in college? — Everyone looked at Jason surprised, he was also surprised, he hadn't talked to Bruce about college since before he died.
It took a few seconds to processes what it would mean.
— Uh… I think so?! — Bruce nodded.
— What about me, father? — Damian spoke inquisitively. — I also want more opportunities to get closer to (Y/N)! — Bruce narrowed his eyes at him.
— We will think about that when you're in the clear.
— But-
— That's final. You reap what you sow. — Damian huffed and nodded begrudgingly. — … Now, since Robin was the one to save them, take the batmobile and leave them in the hospital. Then come straight back home. Understood? — Damian clenched his jaw and nodded silently, leaving to get your unconscious body.
Moments later, when you were both out, on the way to the hospital, Tim fiddled with the computer, the scream showed the batmobile’s tracker, your tracker, Damian's tracker, Damian's contact lenses’s camera and the car’s camera. They all looked at him.
— … It's just to make sure…
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wouldhope · 2 years ago
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Yuuki’s relationship w physical touch is pretty complicated. On one hand, after everything he’s been through, he has a hard time getting past associating all touch with pain, and it’s very easy to set him off if he’s touched unexpectedly or too firmly (ie grabbing his wrist/shoulder). It’s something that starts to wane after Kamoshida has been in jail for a few months, and he becomes less skittish over time, but even then there’s a pretty decent chance he’ll panic. The same thing happens if someone raises their voice to him.
Once he trusts someone enough, though? Oh, he loves it. Probably because he’s never had anyone be gentle or physically affectionate with him before. It takes a lot of time to get to that level of trust with him for a variety of reasons, but once he’s there? Hugs, cuddling, running fingers though his hair, holding hands— he can’t get enough. It makes his whole day, really.
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musesofthesun · 5 months ago
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it's a few long minutes of silence before anything happens again. yui shifts to nuzzle against kotori more, then pulls back a bit. she's been doused in a feeling of comfort that is lingering like a constant embrace. a small smile graces her face in contrast to how her eyes are a bit puffy with barely restrained tears.
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"you give really nice hugs." yui softly observes. "thank you... for doing all this. you didn't get all upset when i said something... thanks."
part of her desperately wants to shift the focus onto kotori, but the other part of her wants to simply bask in the fact she is receiving attention and consoling. a twinge of guilt tugs at her heart. she ignores it. yui draws away finally, scratching at her ear with her hand akin to how a dog does with its foot. she shakes herself off, then timidly looks at her feet. she fiddles with her hands.
"...do you, um, wanna go get some bubble tea with me? i have some spare yen."
Kotori is surprised by how strong Yui is in that hug, but that doesn't matter. She rubs the younger girl's back as she holds her, hoping that it would give her some level of comfort. The mist doesn't matter. Whatever everyone else thought of Yui didn't matter. Right now, Kotori just wants to see her safe, and the closest thing to happy that she can get her to.
Whatever that girl's mother had done to her, however she'd made her feel, she can only hope it doesn't matter for now.
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"There's nothing to be sorry for," Kotori replies, her voice quiet and even-toned, to a point that she hopes that it's soothing. "Just take your time, we can stay here as long as you'd like." She doesn't have anywhere else to go, and even if she did it didn't matter. She'll stay as long as Yui wants her to be here.
And maybe things wouldn't be perfect afterward, maybe Yui wouldn't take anything that she'd said to heart. But it's about baby steps. It's about Yui starting to care for herself more, little by little, until she hopefully realizes that there are people out there who truly love her.
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whump-in-the-closet · 5 months ago
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royal whump scenario where a servant witnesses the heir to the throne makes a mistake in their training—they flinch away during sparring. They dare to raise a hand to protect their face.
The heir, without waiting for their trainer to speak, drops to their knees and pulls their shirt off over their head. Their bottom lip trembles. They don’t beg they don’t speak they merely bow their head with the full crushing knowledge that mistakes cannot be made. Their back is already scarred with winding lines that crisscross their skin. And their trainer lifts a short-handled whip, “I really thought you would have learned courage by now.”
The servant presses back into the corner, a hand clasped over their mouth, horror burning like a newborn flame. They make brief eye contact with the heir and see fear— raw and pleading. The heir‘s gaze darts away almost instantly, faster than a moth in flight, as the whip cracks down
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moonstruckme · 7 months ago
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James Potter or tasm!peter parker fluff or comfort?? I dont mind whatever you write ill love 🙏🙏
Thanks for requesting :)
cw: implied past abuse
tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words
Peter’s having a rough week. These things always seem to happen to him. He’s got a big presentation at work on Friday, by which time the project he’s been underfunded and understaffed for has to be finished. His Aunt May has been busy with work, too, so either you or Peter is at her place most nights trying to help out, except she seems to think when it’s Peter it’s familial responsibility but when it’s you it's an unfair burden, so it’s mostly been Peter. There’s also an impressively organized cell of criminals he’s been trying to investigate before they blow up a bank or something. So of course, he’s sleep deprived to boot. 
And while you know the rough edge of frustration in his voice isn’t meant for you, hearing it makes your skin tighten nonetheless. 
“How does a person run out of salt?” Peter stalks through the front door and straight into the kitchen. “Or maybe the better question is, why does it take going to three bodegas to find one with salt in stock?”  
He’s soaked from the rain, and you feel guilty for being all cozied up on the couch while he’s been running around the city. Maybe it’s irrational, but you feel sort of like you should have been stressed out and cold all night, too. In solidarity. 
“May didn’t have salt?” you guess as Peter opens the fridge, stooping low to peer inside. 
“You should see her pantry, babe. It’s like everything either expired at the turn of the century or got bugs in it. Hey, did you make anything for dinner?” 
“No.” You hesitate. “You told me you wanted to eat at May’s, so I had the leftovers from last night.” 
“Shit.” He closes the fridge, resting his forehead on the door. “You’re right. I totally forgot, I only made enough for her.” 
“I’ll make something now.” You stand. Peter gives you a look that conveys both apology and gratitude as you join him in your small kitchen. “You feel like pasta?” 
“Thank you,” he says, kissing the top of your head lightly. 
“Course,” you murmur. Really, it feels like the least you can do. “Would you mind chopping up some basil?” 
“For my own dinner?” Peter teases. The levity in his voice is obviously forced, and the air between you heavies as he realizes you’ve heard it too. 
You almost don’t want to ask, but you do want to be a supportive girlfriend. You can lend him a compassionate ear. “How was work today?” 
He sighs, grabbing the cutting board from a cabinet near your feet and shutting the door with perhaps a tad too much force. 
“It was…ahh.” He scrubs a hand through his hair, stooping again into the white fridge light to find the basil. It casts dark shadows underneath his eyes. “You’ve gotta be sick of hearing about this.” 
“It’s okay. Unless you don’t feel like talking about it.” 
“No, it’s just, how do they expect us to stick to their tight schedule when half of my lab is being pulled away to other projects all the time?” Peter’s knife slices through the basil, hitting the cutting board with a sharp thunk. “Today, we were down one intern who caught the stomach flu, and it set us way back. One intern shouldn’t be that crucial to a big project like this!” 
You hum, ignoring the way the back of your neck prickles. The tension emanating from Peter is completely valid, your reaction a bothersome, purposeless souvenir from an old life. You find yourself staring into the pot of water and waiting for it to boil. 
“And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but all the rest of us are working extra hours to try and get this done in time.” 
Small bubbles in the bottom of the pot, rising tentatively to the surface. Peter’s knife thunks a quickening rhythm on the cutting board. 
“If they’d given us the money we asked for, we could have hired more people, been working with better equipment, but instead—” The water starts to rumble, steam warming your face. It’s thick in your throat. “—it’s like we don’t even work for a top-notch lab. Like, do they think we really believe they don’t have any resources to spare?”
Peter’s voice is rising, irritation sharpening his words. You reach to turn down the stove when big bubbles reach the surface, splattering hot onto your wrist. You ignore the sting. 
“My boss keeps talking about how important this presentation is,” Peter goes on, opening the cabinet next to your head and reaching inside, “but if it were really important, he’d have—” He slams the cabinet door. 
You both freeze. 
To anyone else, it would look like nothing—the way your expression stays perfectly still, your muscles stiffening just slightly, the invisible pause in your heartbeat. But Peter knows you. 
“Sorry.” He sounds as breathless as you feel. “I’m sorry. You okay?” 
“Mhm.” Despite your best intentions, your voice comes out pitchy. You can’t make yourself move in a way that feels natural, so you stay not moving at all. Steam wafting warm up onto your face. 
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Peter says, tone softer than you’ve heard it in days. “I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to yell.” The roiling pot has calmed to a gurgle. You can see him swallow in your peripheral vision. “Can you look at me?” 
You take in what you hope is a subtle breath, turning to your boyfriend with a wan smile. “Sorry,” you manage. “I don’t know why I did that.” 
“It’s okay,” he says, brows bunched in the middle. Brown eyes like a puppy’s. 
He shifts his arms, a question, and you step into them. You do it more for him than for you, but the second Peter’s arms wrap around your back the last of the tension shudders out of you. You hug him back, rubbing between his shoulder blades reassuringly. 
“I scared you?” he asks, still in that soft voice like he’s afraid of startling you. It’s not really a question. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to get so mad.” 
“You’re allowed to be mad,” you argue weakly. There’s an embarrassing blockage in your throat. “It’s not your fault if I freak out, you should still be allowed to vent.” 
“No, but I know how you are.” Peter squeezes your shoulders. “I can vent without slamming things. It’s not nice.” 
You don’t have much of an argument for that. Still, “You really shouldn’t be the one comforting me right now,” you point out. 
A light hum. “Says who? I’m feeling a lot better already.” His hand climbs up to cup the back of your neck, his face turning down so his lips rest on your head. “Should’a just gone straight for the hug when I got home. Might have saved us both a lot of ranting.” 
You push your face into his sweatshirt, mindless of its dampness. He smells like rainwater. You don’t know how you could ever have thought, even for a second, that someone like this could be capable of hurting you. 
“I’ll make a note of that,” you murmur. 
“Yeah, please do,” Peter teases, pressing a kiss to your head. He pulls away and sets two still-chilled hands on your face. “Are you really okay?” he asks sincerely. “I know how scared you get, sweetheart. I’m so sorry I did that to you.” 
“You didn’t mean to,” you tell him, “and it wouldn’t be your fault anyways. I’m really okay.” 
Your boyfriend nods, but he still looks troubled. “Another hug for good measure?” 
“For you or for me?” 
A corner of his mouth kicks up. “Does it matter?” 
It doesn’t really.
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whumpkink · 3 months ago
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Alphabet of Whump 2024 – (Magical) X-Ray
The Beauty of Suffering // Series:Mack and the Terrible, No Good, Bad Day(s) // Warnings: implied past torture & abuse
Mack, of course, understood the need for checkup spells, these stupid magical equivalents to x-rays. She never liked when Robin would use them. They were useful, she knew, and she did learn them during her healing lessons. Sure, MAc knew only the basics of healing, but it was something, that was much better than knowing nothing. She couldn't cast a ful, deep diagnostic spell like Jace was doing to her.
There was a questionaire, or an attempt at analyzing how traumatized she was. Discover if she was too damaged to be a eligible temporary agent. She lied like there was no tomorrow., both in the written and the in person-to-person versions of the test. It had been convincing enough, seeing she was in the medical test part of the process. At least she could keep all of her clothes on, or most of them. She was required to take off her jacket, roll up her sleeves all the way up to her elbows, and take off the boots and socks. This specific spell needed runes drawn on the top part of her feet and on the back of her hands, the magic-infused ink was a little itch. It wasn't comfortable, but wasn't half as bad as when the healers said they'd need her blood for the rune spells.
Doctor Highsmith was professional, she could tell he has been working with this his whole life. He has been a healer for longer than she has been alive, probably. At least he looked a bit more trustworthy than the other healers in the ward. He jotted down note after note, a frown in his face. Mack could almost see new white hairs growing in his head with how he was radiating concern. It was a little weird, she didn't like the way it reminded her of Robin. She was fine on her own without risking getting attached to anyone. 
Mack knew these spells could list injuries as old as a decade. This one didn't look too complex, so probably only a few years. Her escape just completed three years, she didn't need anyone to know about what kind of injuries she had back them. He already saw the scars carved across her wrists and forearms, so maybe he should have expected how bad it was.
She hoped he didn't think she was too damaged.
(She was damaged, she knew that.
With the nightmares and flashbacks, moments in which she felt like she was back there. 
At least she could handle torture methods, she had been trained to let someone do whatever they want to her and survive like nothing happened.)
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estrogenism · 10 months ago
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Pride flag for people who want to or have cut Crowfeather open and left him to die of infection! Hope you enjoy <3
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shameofice · 1 month ago
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by this point in their relationship (if one could call it that), tithonus has become incredibly aware that sunday doesn't appreciate having someone hover around him all the time. most people don't like that, but at the very least the halovian hasn't physically lashed out at the avgin and seems to be content with the occasional glares and snipped words.
they do converse sometimes, though. tithonus likes these moments.
"i will be punished if i try to leave this arrangement earlier than instructed-" the young man hugs one of his legs against his chest, perched on a window seat nearby as sunday sips his tea "-but if i remain, you will continue to have someone watching over you when you yourself do not want such a thing to occur." tithonus' words are quiet, and he leans his cheek against the glass of the window, multicolored eyes reflecting the neon lights below.
there is a moment of silence, and then tithonus says: "while you do not enjoy my presence as a bodyguard, you have been cordial towards me. many in the past have not, and i am truly grateful for that."
he half expects sunday to physically lash out at him now--to throw his teacup or even strike him with his hands like some of his past assignments have. however, tithonus doesn't make to brace himself, his single hand tracing a pattern on the window.
───※ ·❆· ※─── i'm damned if i do , i'm damned if i don't: tith - @shameofice
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at  least  he  was  fully  aware.
sunday  remained  silent  as  he  took  a  sip  from  his  tea,  eyes  closed  as  he  indulged  himself  within  his  inner  peace  for  a  brief  moment,  but  it  was  enough  to  help  ease  the  boiling  sensation  deep  within.  he  wasn’t  entirely  sure  why  he  had  been  bothered  to  begin  with  —  perhaps  something  to  do  with  his  lack  of  sleep  the  night  prior  —  but  he  wasn’t  in  the  best  of  moods  to  be  dealing  with  others  too  much.  
the  sad  part  was  that  he  couldn’t  get  rid  of  this  .  .  .  bodyguard  either,  which  served  as  a  detrimental  thorn  on  his  side.
  “    knowing  this,  that  the  trying  of  your  faith  worketh  patience.  but  let  patience  have  her  perfect  work,  that  ye  may  be  perfect  &  entire,  wanting  nothing.    ”
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the  whisper  muttered  once  his  lips  found  separation  from  the  edge  of  the  cup,  letting  out  a  sigh  as  sunday  reached  out  for  another  spoonful  of  sugar  for  him  to  mix  in  with  his  tea  —  a  minor  but  evident  hint  of  his  growing  anxiety.  
  “    &  what  makes  you  say  that,  tithonus  .ᐣ.ᐣ    ”
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gabessquishytum · 8 months ago
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Dream has only had shitty boyfriends, so getting together with Hob is a bit of a revelation, although if he’s honest he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop and for Hob to realize how Dream really “deserves” to be treated. Hob knows Dream is a bit anxious sometimes but otherwise is in the dark as far as his expectations.
Then one night while they’re out and Hob is getting them some drinks, one of Dream’s exes spots him and corners him, getting into Dream’s space and saying cruel things about him. Dream just stands there and takes it, just like he always has, but then suddenly shitty ex is being yanked away as Hob physically throws him out on his ass, only just barely restrained himself from beating him to a pulp.
Dream has never had someone stand up for him like that, and it definitely makes him cry a little. Hob takes him home and cuddles him while Dream explains his past relationships. Hob was already a doting boyfriend before, but now he’s determined to spoil Dream absolutely rotten and show him exactly how he *really* deserves to be treated.
This is so incredibly sweet. I love Hob’s utter determination to show Dream his worth <3
Hob really is the epitome of stubbornness. He's not perfect, that's for sure, but he's so absolutely focused on being good to Dream. There are little acts of service that he insists on performing: getting Dream a fancy coffee every day. Flowers every other week. He always has an idea for their next date. He always wants to hold Dream’s hand in public. Dream doesn't know what to do with all the attention. He's still waiting for Hob to turn around and laugh in his face, to tell him that it was all a joke.
But. Every time Hob does something unnecessarily nice for him. Dream’s fear shrinks a little bit. And he gradually starts to believe that each gesture really does come from Hob’s heart.
And no, Hob doesn't always get it right, but he did listen when Dream told him about his exes. So when they get in fights, as all couples do, Hob is careful not to raise his voice. He always takes his anger away from wherever Dream is. He doesn't ice Dream out or punish him with silence, but he does take time to cool off. The very first time, Dream thinks that Hob is never coming back. But he does. Of course he does. He comes back with Dream’s favourite chocolate and an apology, and although Dream bursts into tears... its because he actually feels safe. Its a good feeling.
And the best thing that Hob does is just... being there. Always. With cuddles and kisses and touches and that thing where he nuzzles his face into Dream’s neck and sniffs him... always showing his love, one way or another. One day soon, Dream really will have no choice but to believe him <3
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ashestoashes7 · 4 months ago
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8. “Who did this to you?” with neil and aaron? 💜
who did this to you? - ao3 version
Aaron had a hand-shaped bruise wrapped around his wrist. Neil shouldn't be the one asking hard questions.
cw: implied/referenced child abuse
Aaron Minyard was no stranger to bruises. Being a backliner on a Class 1 Exy team known for their willingness to fight opponents and each other meant an errant elbow was never a surprise, but this particular circumstance hadn’t happened in a while.
The purple wrapping around his wrist wasn’t the result of a particularly unruly stick check or a pair of handcuffs, but he wished it was. If either was the case, the probability of Andrew seeking an early morning murder charge would be lower. Probably.
Aaron tilted his arm to catch the bright area of the broken streetlight and made out the shape of the warped handprint encircling his wrist. Familiar, he thought. And then, Andrew can never know.
It wasn’t that big of a deal. The other student-athletes at Palmetto had never been their biggest fans and this wasn’t the first time Aaron had a less-than-pleasant interaction with one of them. This was just the first time they got physical. First didn’t mean last, but Aaron could hope.
The knuckles on his other hand were swollen from his retaliation, but that wouldn’t be enough for Andrew. Whatever ‘some number of strikes and you’re out’ policy PSU was operating on wouldn’t be good forever. Aaron had yet to get ahold of the most recently revised version, but he doubted Andrew’s response would be by the book.
Andrew didn’t take kindly to hands being laid on Aaron and had never been known for his subtlety. His warnings were broken bones or a blade spilling rivulets of red onto his adversary’s shirt. While effective, the source of the wounds could easily be pointed out and punished which was the very circumstance Aaron was trying to avoid. Andrew didn’t do subtle things and Aaron wasn’t willing to lose him over something like this. Not again.
Besides, he had it handled. Matt had been more than willing to show him a few self-defense moves when he expressed interest, and Aaron was a quick study. Darius’s broken nose would be evidence of Matt’s successful stint as a teacher once he gathered up the courage and the excuses to get it checked out.
Though upon first glance the mark was similar, the imprint wrapped around the skin of his wrist was nothing like his mother’s. Her hand was smaller.
He pressed down lightly and winced at the dull ache that arose. It wouldn’t be enjoyable to deal with, but no one would ever have to know. Despite what most of the Foxes would say if asked, Aaron was a good secret keeper when he wanted to be. Aaron had cared about Katelyn too much to do her the disservice of pushing her aside harshly enough that there was no chance Andrew would know of her. But Andrew found out and eventually their deal snapped like the broken ends of a pencil Andrew tossed at his head while studying.
Sometimes, he wondered if in a world where Aaron had not broken it first Andrew's shadow would have been the final piece to shatter their deal. After a longer than usual period of watching the natural light of Betsy’s room rather than catch physical proof of his twin’s ephemeral dissatisfaction, he had almost asked Andrew that very question—Aaron or Neil—but he didn’t want to know the answer.
Andrew might not hate Josten the way his tone around such words would imply, but Aaron could do it for him. Mutual loathing was their preferred and silently agreed upon situation which was why when Josten trailed out in full running gear Aaron didn’t spare him more than a glance.
What a shame Josten couldn’t say the same.
Josten didn’t speak at first, but his worn-in shoes came to a halt only a few feet from the piece of pavement Aaron was directing his gaze at. The cracks and scuff marks could only hold his attention for so long before Josten’s lack of movement edged him even closer to intolerable than usual.
“Go away,” Aaron said, too exhausted to come up with something more poignant.
A shadow fell over his sitting form. When Aaron moved to place his hands behind his back to force himself up, Josten caught his wrist gently. His thumb traced over the marks distinctly shaped like fingers and something dangerous lay beneath his tone. “Who did this to you?”
“Wrong twin,” Aaron critiqued, pulling his arm free with more force than necessary.
“Aaron,” Josten stated, unimpressed. “What happened?”
Aaron stood up and met Josten’s emotionless blue eyes with an entirely warranted mound of surprise. “Like you care.”
“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t.” Josten tapped his foot on the ground as if he had the right to be impatient. By all means Josten could continue ahead and never speak to him again. Aaron would be immensely grateful, had even suggested the option many times to his face and whatever messenger pigeon came bearing Josten’s words. Aaron wasn’t blocking his path or magically removing his ability to run but upon hearing that Josten just frowned. “Give me a name.”
Aaron rolled his eyes and laughed humorlessly. “What? So you can kill him?”
“Him,” Josten repeated, eyes still locked in a one-sided staring battle with Aaron’s wrist.
A Palmetto Fox midnight conversation was never predictable, but Aaron had somehow managed to forget that when dealing with Neil ‘son of a mobster’ Josten murder was very firmly not off the table. “You can’t just kill people!”
Josten looked at him like he was stupid and asked, with genuine intrigue, “What does it matter if I don’t get caught?”
Aaron considered him for a long moment, a thousand words shuffling across his tongue, but couldn’t find anything to appropriately convey his incredulity. It was almost sweet in a morbid sort of way. The presence of such a despicable thought told Aaron the past week spent surviving off almost only energy drinks and whatever protein-filled monstrosity Kevin shoved in his hands once his taste buds had fucked off was truly screwing with him. He could deal with that later. Josten was a much more present and bloodthirsty issue.
“I have it handled,” Aaron said. To his immense dissatisfaction, Josten still didn’t leave. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell Andrew you pretended to care if he ever finds out. I’m sure your lies will be appreciated elsewhere. Very far from here. You’ll need some practice if you think that’s fooling anyone.”
Josten’s eyebrows scrunched up making him look almost confused. “You think I’m pretending to care out of some sort of supposed obligation?”
“I can play Exy with a few bruises, no need to have a little freakout. I’m fine—see, that’s what those words actually mean. Andrew currently tolerates you for reasons beyond my comprehension, but he isn’t about to buy you a cheap plastic ring for feigned concern. I’m calling it as I see it, and I don’t want to look at your face any more than I already have to. Fuck off!”
“I’m not pretending.” Josten tilted his head slightly, not rising to Aaron’s attempts at driving him off. “If you let me take care of it, it won’t happen again.”
“What do you mean by again? And cut the movie villain shit it just sounds weird. Wait I thought you were stalking Kevin and he hasn’t bothered—”
“So I’m right.” Josten snapped his fingers and nodded to himself. “Darius Smith. Baseball—” Josten’s face contorted like he had encountered a bad smell “—pitcher. Six feet even. Brown hair. Green eyes.”
“That’s creepy,” Aaron said, but he didn’t deny it.
Josten started walking off, calculations swirling behind his eyes when Aaron realized the gravity of what Josten was planning out. What he had just inadvertently sent Josten out to do. Could he be charged for conspiracy to commit murder over this? Was this coercion? Josten would probably find some way to talk at least one of them out of chains for the sake of Exy, but would it be Aaron?
This was the moment when he was supposed to call Wymack or campus security or someone who would be inclined and able to stop Andrew’s menace from committing what at the very least would be a minor felony. But Josten already knew who it was and Aaron didn’t really feel like chasing after him.
If Aaron got Josten in containment—knowing the FBI they’d pull some shit like that—Kevin would be a mess and Andrew would be insufferable. Again.
Aaron was the first person Darius had taken a swing at, there was no guarantee he would be the last. He watched Josten walk away and felt the weight of his silence like handcuffs covering up the remains of blood spatter he would never really be able to regret. Next could be Nicky or Andrew or, as the man had threatened before Aaron broke his nose, Katelyn. Josten might just prove himself useful after all.
“No killing!” Aaron called out before the man steadily vanishing into darkness could go out of hearing range.
“Maiming?” Josten shot back, voice loud enough Aaron winced. He couldn’t tell because of a conglomeration of factors that could be summed up to lighting and distance, but the fucker was probably smiling.
“What? Are you planning to give him a stern talking to?” Aaron wasn’t sure which option would be preferable.
Whenever he was given cause for anger—a strange thing to think of in Aaron's favor rather than wielded against him—Josten was vicious. Removing his filter created a different beast entirely. Josten always went for the throat, words or a borrowed blade would strive for the same typically disastrous outcome.
Aaron should be horrified; he didn't know what to think about all the ways in which he wasn't. Violence wasn't endearing, it was a fact.
Josten shrugged emphatically enough that Aaron could see it. Then, he held up his hand in the air. It took a few moments for Aaron to realize his fingers were crossed. “No promises!”
“Asshole,” Aaron murmured under his breath.
He was thankful there was no one around to make the egregious and mistaken claim that he sounded almost fond. Aaron said Josten’s name again, drenched it in as much loathing as he could muster, and then let it vanish into the night air.
It wouldn’t be the first time Josten proved himself a liar.
The next morning, Darius Smith was not in his Hal seat or mingling around about the edges of the room. He wasn’t in the hallway or lurking within a doorway. Darius Smith was abruptly gone, and Aaron knew why.
It seemed the most prolific of liars could dabble in honesty once in a while for unpredictability’s sake. That was the only reason Aaron dared to consider.
When the professor landed on ‘Darius Smith’ in the attendance record Aaron didn’t say a word. The clock ticked on closer to the start time, and no familiar flower awaited him through the small windowpane placed in the entrance. His suspicions were confirmed when moments before the bell the empty seat in his physical chemistry class was filled by a redhead who had vehemently sworn off any iteration of the subject.
Neil met Aaron’s eyes immediately and with an intensity that wouldn’t be out of place speckled in blood. He drew a finger across his neck slowly and took enjoyment in Aaron’s brief hesitancy to return his enthusiasm
Andrew didn’t have taste by any means, but perhaps Neil wasn’t the worst person he could have chosen. Second worst, perhaps.
No, that was too generous. Definitely the worst. Andrew would probably agree with that, and might have even said it in their weird pseudo-flirting that sounded more like threats than foreplay. In Aaron’s voice. Oh f—
Aaron was not going to head down that particular train of thought. That momentary lapse in judgment would never leave the secrecy of his head.
“I hate you,” Aaron reminded them both.
Neil’s eyes lit up like it was the greatest compliment Aaron could have ever offered him. “We should do this more often.”
“No. If I wanted a terminal annoyance, I’d ask Nicky about how Erik finds all of his games. Or Kevin about the Greco-Roman wars.”
“I did that once,” Neil said, mouth downturned in remembrance.
“I know.”
Neil peered at him curiously. “You know, you’re not so bad.”
“Wrong twin,” Aaron reminded him.
Neil’s face turned into a mockup of a glare and he pushed out of his seat sharply, interrupting the lecturer’s chalk etchings with a high-pitched squeal. “Numbers shouldn’t work like that.”
Aaron stuck his foot out so Neil tripped as he moved to shuffle by him. Neil caught himself on the edge of Aaron’s desk and not-so-incidentally tipped over his pencil case.
Neil flipped him off once he reached the doorway in plain view of the rest of the class. Aaron stared pointedly forward until Neil gave up and the wave of whispers commenced.
Aaron would rather jump out of a moving car than call them anything close to friends.
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vaxyl · 3 months ago
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Vex calls THIS scrawny???
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Either that armour beefed our boy up or a certain elf needs his ass kicked for giving his children body image issues.
(Does feed into my headcanon that Syldor withheld food as a punishment though- Fucking Syldor!)
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