#tw: canon mention of child abuse

[giuliafc]

Honour Thy Father (and Mother)

Ao3 || FFN || Wattpad

Eta to remove the cut because the episode has been out a while @miraculousfanworks

What-if, set after Félix and Kagami leave Paris after showing the truth to Marinette in S5 ep 24: Répresentation. Unwilling to return to her cell hotel room, Kagami chooses to spend some time with Félix and comfort him while they wait for the rain to stop. S5 EP 24: REPRESENTATION SPOILERS! PLEASE WATCH THE EPISODE BEFORE READING!

[intothedysphoria]

Going from a social outcast to seemingly universally desired was a change that Billy found himself sorely lacking the capacity to deal with.

It felt like barely a year ago he was just the fat kid with the asshole dad. The kid who was more comfortable speaking Irish than English. The weird kid who couldn’t sit still in class and had “outbursts” that would leave a classroom completely overturned.

Now he’d lost weight (not by choice), had to speak English if he didn’t want to be uprooted for a third time and was supposedly taking his adderall post ADHD diagnosis. Neil was still an asshole but that would never change.

He was desirable now. A hot commodity. Had the approval of everyone apart from his own fucking dad.

In short, Billy was absolutely miserable.

He missed California a lot. He missed Belfast even more. He missed being fat. He missed his mam and grandad. He missed everything.

Showing any signs of weakness was how it started though. So Billy did what he always did. He adapted.

Harrington was weird. Taking the crown from him was almost too easy. For all the talk he’d been fed about King Steve, what Billy got was a teenager who couldn’t make eye contact, spent an hour reading two pages of a textbook and walked like a penguin when nobody was watching.

Good thing Billy didn’t mind weird.

The usual taunts didn’t really work. All it really achieved was getting Harrington flat on his back on the gym floor and that got Billy thinking about sex which wasn’t helpful.

Harrington just stared up at him with these big startled eyes. Like a damn deer. The pointed star he wore around his neck swayed as Billy let him up. Jewish maybe. Billy felt his hand unconsciously drift down towards his own pendant, the one his granny had given him.

The one that would help him find his way back home.

They fought within a week. Arsehole had Max holed up in a strangers house. It made Billy’s skin crawl just thinking about it. Especially after having to flirt with Karen Wheeler just to get any answers, All he could remember was that he was winning then the world started going black.

When he woke up there was a dead something in the fridge. He probably hadn’t woken up at all then. His body took that hint as a sign to collapse again.

He woke up again. A small woman with mousy brown hair and a nervous tic was cooking. Billy could hear The Clash drifting from another room. Christmas lights were scattered across the wall. It was the first place in Hawkins that had actually felt like home.

The woman’s name was Joyce. The house he’d found Harrington and Max and the nightmare in had been her house. She was dressed practically and smelled like paint and reminded him so much of his own mam that his heart hurt.

She was a good cook. The soup wasn’t like anything he’d ate before, probably Polish but it was fantastic. She asked if he wanted to stay the night. He said no.

Neil would be waiting. He always was.

Neil had burned the damn book. The one Billy had wrote when he was seven, colouring all the words in orange and white and green. It hurt more than any punch every could have.

He was under house arrest again. Only let out when Max needed a fucking taxi to a Christmas dance. Harrington was a couple of cars away, fussing over a boy of about thirteen who could have been his younger brother.

They weren’t biologically brothers. But Henderson was his cousin. So they were in spirit. Those were some of the things Billy learned from a few strained sentences of conversation.

He apologised in a way so Billy reluctantly returned one. Apparently he hadn’t realised how fucking dodgy he’d looked with Max.

Billy was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Neil kicked him out of the house on Christmas Day for hanging an Irish flag on his door. Billy went to the Byers. Joyce’s family didn’t exactly celebrate Christmas but she still gave him a present.

She gave him gorgeous Polish cakes which were fucking delicious and some of Jonathan’s old vinyls which he didn’t listen to anymore.

That day Billy discovered The Specials and tucked the vinyl under his weed stash in the Camaro boot. Somewhere Neil would never think to look.

Harrington was tolerable after Christmas break. Tolerable in an infuriating way because Billy still wanted to fuck him. The queerness wasn’t something he’d told anyone about though apart from Patrick McKinney so he kept those thoughts to himself.

He spent more time at the Byers, learned what Shabbat was, came out to Joyce in a flood of tears, kissed Harrington, wrote a letter back to Ireland for the first time in two years and made a plan to get the hell out of Hawkins Indiana.

Harrington managed to pass high school with a lot of bribery and tutoring and kissing at his place. Jesus but Harringtons house was a bloody mansion. Billy had spent his first eight years in a terraced shared accommodation where his entire extended family had lived. Harrington had five bathrooms and his own television. Not even in black and white.

Billy got his predicted mix of A’s and B’s so he was happy and spent most of the weekend post graduation floating on his back in the Harrington pool, beer in hand. He couldn’t afford to slack off completely though. So he got a summer job.

Working at the community pool was fine. As long as Billy didn’t think about the middle aged women staring at him like a piece of meat. Fucking perverts. Heather was fun though. Funny. The only lesbian he’d met in Hawkins apart from Buckley.

Neil had started acting even weirder than usual after a night Billy had slept over at his boyfriends. He’d taken to ice baths and Billy swore he’d seen the man drinking bleach. Ugh.

Max was pretty obviously freaked out though so Billy slowly phased her into spending most nights at the Byers or the Sinclairs or Steve’s. Susan wouldn’t budge. Something in Billy’s chest felt a bit sick about that.

The Fourth of July they were in the mall, the one Steve worked at. Something even more hellish than the thing in the fridge stood above them. And Neil just stood by with blank, hateful eyes and let it happen.

He died. Billy killed him. Stabbed him in the chest then the monster went away.

Steve was gripping his shoulders as he stood there, Neil’s blood on his jacket and he cried.

Susan left.

Social services took Max. Billy cried a lot that day. She was living with some family in Michigan. They promised to keep in touch.

Billy went to therapy twice a week. A guy from County Mayo who Billy trusted immediately.

There was no point really in Joyce adopting him as he was over eighteen. Besides she didn’t need to. Billy knew who his family were.

A letter came back from Belfast. Inviting both him and Steve back to his grandparents house. Steve had never left the US, had never really left the Midwest actually. Billy wanted to show him everything.

The years went by and Billy regained weight. He stopped speaking English as much and was determined to teach Steve Irish. He still sometimes forgot to take his adderall and had awful nightmares but Steve was there to make it better.

He was alive. And life was pretty ok.

[awesomesquirrelstuff]

Dimitrescu Sisters HC

I don’t think the girls would understand parents being cruel to their children. Now hear me out, they can be sadistic yes but I don’t think they’re ever sadistic to each other. And their mother has never been sadistic to them. And I think they understand cruelty, they’re cruel to their victims. But being cruel to family? That’s something I don’t think they could wrap their head around.

[good-beanswrites]

A little alternate scene to @kyanako5972 's Amane request. I like the other drabble a bit better regarding how things would actually play out, but I couldn't resist trying something that included Fuuta. He's Amane's closest friend. He's the other person to openly say he'll go after a child and not give them special treatment. He literally looks like the orange cat she saved. I couldn't cover it all but there's just so much going on with them. Warning for references to Amane's cult/abuse mindset.

“Jeez, you scared the crap outta me…” 

Fuuta looked up to find Amane standing over his bed, staring intently as he woke. Amane knew he was doing his best to appear upset with her for the intrusion, but his grimace could be mistaken for pain in his condition. 

She knew she didn’t look much better, an eyepatch tucked under her short hair and bandages circling her body. It had taken all her strength to rise and make her way to his cell. She was used to walking off a bit of pain, but this was a different level altogether. 

She opened her mouth. She had come in here with a mission. She had her speech prepared. She didn’t write it out like her father was known to do, but she did rehearse it a few times quietly to herself, as she’d seen from him. 

Fuuta had listened to her when no one else would; there was a chance her passionate words could convince him to reject that doctor’s evil work and find the light. They could shed these bandages together, becoming pure and following their intended paths. She’d already tried removing her eyepatch several times, but there was always someone there to put it back on. It had been hard to fend off so many overbearing adults, the way her body screamed at her each time she tried. She despised them. She was suffocated by them.

But with Fuuta by her side, she could do it. There was power in numbers. Her mother, Es, Kotoko – all of them thought she was wicked. They weren’t important. They were only human. She could still be a good girl, in the ways that mattered. They could be good together. 

“Kajiyama Fuuta.”

“What?”

But the words caught in her throat. 

His voice was so weak. It was nothing like the way he spoke to her before. His eyes dulled with exhaustion, half-hidden under ginger hair. She couldn’t keep her gaze from the makeshift sling Shidou had put together with one of the bedsheets. It didn’t look much different than her own handiwork. The thought brought with it a surge of pride, which immediately made her tremble with shame. 

He had changed so much. This wasn’t the same person she had found camaraderie in before. If only she could help him. If only she could save him.

No. There was a right way and a wrong way to help him, and she mustn't be led astray. She had come here to help in the right way. Thoughts spun rapidly through her mind. Her trembling worsened. Her chest ached, and she couldn’t tell if it was from the emotions or the broken ribs. She just had to follow through. She had to be good. She had to –

“Stop being creepy,” he wheezed. “Just spit it out.”

“I – I have to go.”

She spun around. She could save Fuuta another day.

“Oi, Amane.”

“I said I have to go.”

“I'm sorry.”

She paused in the doorway to the cell. She glanced back at him, curious.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I’m just... Sorry that happened to you. It was a fucked up thing to do.”

Amane shook her head. She held her chin high. “It was meant to be, and thus, I can bear it. You must, too.”

Fuuta's laugh turned into a cough. “You’re a weird kid. But tougher than I gave you credit for.”

Amane couldn’t meet his eyes. “Thank you.”

[the-axolotl-skellie]

The man who played God.

Rewritten backstory! TDLR is Lune and Sol were supposed to be Vessels for these two gods to possess and save monsters. But Lune didn't come out right. Uhh TW for implied CSA, and child abandonment!

I purposefully also based Gasters skull off Papyrus, to more so show why Lune is afraid of Papyri. They... let's say Lune say Gaster without his mask alot.

The year was 20XX, underground, and a man named WD Gaster had a dream. To honour the God's that created monster kind, with a vessel worthy of their immortality. To hope they would come as ANGELs and save monster kind.

The man created two SOULS. One he created after painting of the Goddess in her mortal form, the Axolotl—That symbolized her healing and MERCY.

The other, after the warrior of the God, the Phoenix. Symbolizing strength and DETERMINATION.

As the two souls were created—One came out so... Perfect. The perfect vessel for the God that gifted the sun. The perfect skeleton that took resemblance of Gaster himself, he dubbed that one, Sol.

The other, which would've been named Lune, came out weak and unfinished. The thing wasn't a perfect vessel, a perfect sacrifice, it was a mistake. He wouldn't even talk to it.

So while Sol was shown off, pranced around, and treated as highly as the crown by monsters, beloved.

He never did say a word about Lune. No, no that one, would remain in a small cell in his laboratory, on the lowest level. He would use it to relieve his stresses, he had no wife after all and it was useless otherwise.

And eventually. The God did come, though not thr Goddess. But one was more than enough to free monster kind, breaking thr barrier.

Leaving Lune alone in the lab.

[dorkofclanlavellan]

Turning Point

Note 1: I got the idea for this chapter late last night and resisted the urge to work on it then because I was still fleshing it out. Also, I will be ignoring some "canon" information like the Killer Croc file, etc because I didn't care for the canon version. Faceclaim: Ethan Cutkosky as Jason Todd Pairing: Bruce Wayne x GN!Reader (Sweetie) Warnings: Violence, descriptive child abuse, alcohol abuse, drug abuse, vague reference of disturbing images on a bad guy's laptop. Sweetie as an alternative to Y/N (for those new to the series)

Jason pocketed the key the baker had given him the night before. He'd been scared out of his mind when Batman had shown up. It had been difficult to eat with Batman staring him down, expression entirely unreadable. But the baker had practically dragged the dubbed Demon of Gotham out of the kitchen.

Jason had a talent for moving without being detected. It was a skill he'd been forced to develop early on. So, quietly moving to the doorway the pair had ducked out, Jason began to listen in. They were whispering, clearly not wanting him to hear their conversation. Too late for that.

"He's a kid. I sincerely doubt he's going to kill me if I give him a place to hide out whenever he needs it." The baker had scoffed.

"You can't guarantee that, Sweetie. You don't know anything about him. He broke in. With a crowbar clearly he planned on using it on something." Batman's response made Jason cringe. He never planned on hurting anyone but he hadn't done himself any favors bringing something that could be considered a weapon.

"Pfft, yeah, on my display case! Bruce, I get that you're worried about me. And that's sweet and all. But this kid needs help!" It was at that moment that Jason realized why the baker had looked so familiar. He kicked himself for not remembering sooner. This was Bruce Wayne's newfound love.

But now he knew Bruce Wayne's secret. He took learning Batman's secret identity as his cue to slink back to his seat before his eavesdropping could be discovered. The adults had returned, seemingly unaware of the fact that Jason had overheard crucial information.

After he'd finished eating, the baker, whom he'd later learned to call Sweetie, had handed Jason a pair of keys. They'd explained the copper-colored one was to the bakery and the silver one was to their loft upstairs. They'd told him if he ever got hungry again or just needed a place to hang out for a while, he could let himself in, in a less destructive way, whenever he wanted.

Jason had been confused as to why this complete stranger was so interested in helping him. He'd expected to get hit when he'd been discovered in the bakery. And instead, they'd fed him, given him access to the bakery and their own loft, and had stood up for him to Batman.

He had just slipped out of the bakery for the second time after having been fed yet again by Sweetie and hanging around for what he assumed was long enough for his stepmother and her boyfriend to be passed out before he got home.

Boy was he wrong. As Jason slipped into the run-down apartment and began to silently make his way to his bedroom, his stepmother's boyfriend, Clay, stepped out of the kitchen, right in front of him, with a beer can in hand. Jason froze, hoping Clay wouldn't notice him. Again his hopes were dashed.

Confusion and surprise briefly flashed over Clay's face, followed immediately by anger.

"Where the fuck have you been, you little shit?!" At the man's yelling, Jason took a defensive stance, preparing for Clay's fist to come flying.

Then his stepmother, Sheila, came staggering out of the living room. "S'going on, baby?" She muttered, glazed-over eyes barely registering Jason's presence.

"Your shithead kid finally dragged his ass in! He has no respect for you or me, waiting so long before he finally shows up!" Clay snarled, stepping close enough to Jason to make the boy grimace at his foul breath.

"The fuck have you been?" Sheila demanded, glaring at Jason.

"Nowhere. I-" Jason's attempt at an excuse was interrupted by Clay's fist making contact with his browline, knocking him down to the floor. The blow made it impossible for Jason to register what Clay was yelling at him now. But he could take a guess.

Steeling himself, Jason kicked out at Clay's shin. Knocking the drunken man's leg out from under him. He attempted to scramble backward up the stairs but Clay was on top of him at a surprising speed.

Another punch, this time to his nose, and Jason silently wished it wouldn't be broken later. Followed by Clay's meaty hands wrapping around Jason's neck. Jason lashed out with both his hands and his feet, making contact on numerous occasions. But it was futile. Clay was too amped up on whatever drugs he'd taken to notice any pain now.

Jason could faintly hear Sheila screaming at Clay to let him go, not out of concern for Jason but out of worry that Clay would go to prison for killing him. Jason's vision was getting spotty and he was certain he was either going to die or at least black out and be left on the floor overnight like last time.

Then suddenly Clay's weight and hands were off of him. It became easier to breathe so Jason moved onto his hands and knees and began taking deep gasping breaths. They were a bit painful but Jason didn't care. He could barely make out the sounds of a scuffle behind him but the blood pumping in his ears drowned out most of the commotion.

Finally, once it became less of a chore to breathe and his heart rate, vision, and hearing returned to normal, Jason realized that someone had saved him. He had an inkling of who it was and the sight of his stepmother and her unconscious boyfriend bound a few feet away confirmed it. He heard the sound of laptop keys clacking in the other room. He followed the sound to the living room, where Clay kept his laptop hidden in the locked coffee table drawer.

There was Batman, typing away. Obviously looking for something to gain Clay further charges.

"How did you..." He started, wincing at the scratching in his throat. He rubbed his neck, hoping the swelling would lessen.

"Did you really think I wouldn't keep an eye on you after your little break-in last night?" Batman responded, not even bothering to look at Jason.

Jason watched him for a second, thinking how odd it was that he had the richest man in Gotham sitting on his ratty couch, using his stepmom's asshole boyfriend's laptop. The richest man in Gotham had just saved him. The richest man in Gotham had no idea that Jason knew he was Batman.

For yet another time that night, Jason was proven wrong.

"You seem to like spying on people, Jason." Batman suddenly said, again not looking away from his work on the laptop.

"Not really spying since you're in a common area of my home." If he didn't know any better, Jason could have sworn Batman chuckled at Jason's snark.

"True. But listening in on my conversation with Sweetie last night..." Bruce trailed off and Jason noted that his tone held no anger or hostility, merely amusement. Which just confused the boy even more.

Before Jason could ask or say anything else, Batman suddenly slammed the laptop closed. A sickened look on his face. Clearly, he'd seen something disturbing on Clay's laptop. Which didn't really surprise Jason. Clay would do anything for a quick buck.

Outrage soon washed over Batman's face and Jason remained rooted in place as he watched Batman storm over to Clay. Jason's eyes grew wide as Batman whipped out a red hot ring in the shape of his bat symbol and he couldn't tear his eyes away as the side of Clay's face was branded.

He only looked away when he saw blue and red lights flashing outside the window, growing closer by the second, accompanied by a chorus of sirens. When he turned back around Batman was gone.

But somehow Jason knew it wouldn't be his last encounter with Gotham's guardian.

[twcfaces]

@mad-hunts from x

"I've been wanting to beat you to a withering, stinking pulp since James Gordon told me exactly what you were. We don't need an excuse, but you were kind enough to provide one."

As though Harvey Dent hadn't been taking a beating all his life.

He felt pain, but it was easy to rage through it - anything short of another round of acid to the face wasn't enough to make him stop once he got invested. He felt pain enough. He'd been shot, strangled, beaten, tortured, and martyred - pain defined every moment of Two-Face's existence, and the more pain he felt, the easier it was for his personality to dominate Harvey's.

"He should have capped you too when he had the chance and saved the rest of us the fucked-up future you'd go on to create for you and everyone around you."

When Two-Face was in charge, all six-foot-two and two hundred pounds of Harvey Dent was all his to orchestrate havoc.

Barton could jab and kick and elbow all he wanted. Two-Face made it a point to keep him in close quarters, where he was at his most punishing, and simply beating down.

"You think I'm a thug? Good. My rap sheet is about to have your name on it."

[bluestrawberrybunny]

To start this post off: I know this seems like a weird crossover fic; HOWEVER, warning before people begin reading: this fic contains major character death, mentions of su*c*de, SA, s*x and s*x work, murder, blood, abandonment, child neglect, child ab*se, and emotional ab*se. If any of these make you uncomfortable, I would suggest finding another fic to read.

While this crossover seems really weird to some readers at a glance, this is a very serious fic that covers the topics mentioned above.

Ok… I am having some issues with the Apprenticeship AU (specifically dealing with writer’s block), but this is an AU and crossover fic I have not been able to stop thinking about. There are planned to be 15 chapters in total. First chapter is out now. It’s something that I really like, and I can’t wait to work on this story moving forward while I figure out how to tell the story I am wanting to with the SMG4 Apprenticeship AU.

So in the meantime, I’m going to be updating this one a lot more frequently during my recovery time from eye surgery, so… yeah.

No, I have no abandoned the Apprenticeship AU (and I am also planning on posting both fics on AO3 eventually, but I was writing them originally on WattPad so… yeah. Give me time to put those on AO3 for those who don’t have WattPad).

Basic rundown of this Space Pirates AU:

Crossover between SMG4, TMNT 2012, BABQFTIM (only Quest!Cuphead and Quest!Mugman are in this fic tho and no I do not support the original AU’s creator), Cry of Fear, Borderlands, and my OCs in a scenario inspired by the show Firefly.

This takes place during TMNT 2012 Season 4, when the group is in space (duh). This AU deals with very difficult topics, especially when regarding how I feel about a certain character from the 2012 series *cough* April *cough* and how she was handled, especially with her relationship to other characters, especially when one of the characters canonically died on screen from her hand.

Basically, this is a “What-If” scenario with a lot of angst, but also a fun found family story surrounding our lovely pirate crew, as well as a fun twist that is revealed at the end of the first chapter and will be explained more throughout the fic.

Again, I know this seems like it would be a crack fic, but it is taken seriously and I am actually taking this story seriously. To be honest, if this story wasn’t so rooted in the story of TMNT 2012 season 4, I would likely take this and make it its own thing. However, I do hope people do give this fic a shot (unless any of the topics I mentioned at the very top of this post make you uncomfortable, in which case I am perfectly fine with you skipping this one for your own mental health).

So… yeah. This is not a crack fic. It’s just me telling a story with a bunch of different characters from different continuities as if they’re all from the same one.

[avephelis]

(SPOILRERS ON RITPIDE EPISODE 100 if u havent seen it)

hey saw ur post on jayson ferin and thinking abt how young he was when he became a parent n if he actually loved may or not .. like he did fuck off (to go visit may) in episode 100 when jay told him may was dying so he cares for her somewhat. is it love? is it just looking out for the mother of his children ? dk

IT'S SO INTERESTING TO ME I NEED CONDI TO DROP MORE FERIN BACKSTORY MANN. personally i think at least at some point he loved may and probably still does but like. did something sour there? was he just always this way? is his idea of love just inherently flawed?

idk jayson ferin is a fascinating character to me (terrible father, fascinating person)... i kind of wonder if having kids at a young age could also be related to the ferin legacy thing? because if faye ferin is still active in the navy i'd assume she'd be pretty young for a grandmother, too. lot of thoughts about her relationship with jayson and drey.

and i think about jayson shaming jay for leaving her mother alone, back in the block arc. because he did the exact same thing, even whilst may was ill, and i wonder if he was just being manipulative or if he was projecting or if he was genuinely unaware. shaking condi and grizzly DROP THE INTERGENERATIONAL TRAUMA LORE. DROP IT.

[icantthinkofagoodnameoranything]

if I see another “good parents (insert character)” or a “good friend (insert character) or even a GOD FORBID “Worried (insert character)” on the DT17 ao3 tag I WILL GO NUTS!!!!

[pain-suffering-even]

headcanons: Tanaka Kenzo

content warning for sexual assault/rape (of a minor) and cage fights/fight club

Quick headcanons -

Name: Tanaka Kenzo

Age: 22

Gender: Male

DOB/Place: December 19th, 2038 in Kobe*, Japan

Rank/Type: S Rank Tank

Guild/Occupation: - Draw Sword Guild

Past Occupation(s): Cashier

Skills:

Weapons: Lefty and Righty (his fists)

Family: Hamasaki Rin (mom) (unknown)

Tanaka Masao (dad) (unknown)

Tanaka Nozomi (younger sister) (unknown)

Tanaka Shigeru (younger brother) (unknown)

^ biological ^

Kutsuki Manabu (adoptive dad) (deceased)

^ fun fact: kutsuki means decayed/rotting tree and manabu means learn ^

Aikawa Makoto (adopted brother) (alive)

^ white skinny nerdy brunette with the glasses ^

Ebina Susumu (adopted brother) (alive)

^ large pacific islander gamer with adhd ^

Chiba Nanami (adopted brother) (alive)

^ tall black artist missing 3 fingers on his right hand ^

Fueki Takuya (adopted brother) (alive)

^ quiet hoodie kid paralyzed from the waist down ^

sorry he has so much family - i promise it makes more sense when you read the short story about his past, but i admit it looks like a mess seeing all the names together :') i hope the characterizations help a little

Core headcanons -

Hidden talent: Good with fixing watches (and other small appliances) 

Favorite food: Fried octopus 

What motivates them: The desire to prove himself wrong, that he was strong back then in his fighting days and he is strong now too, and that becoming an S ranker didn’t just make him strong, he earned his spot 

Treasured possession: His dad’s red scarf 

Deepest secret: His scars are from when he dealt with underground fights, thus he makes up a story each time 

Best/Worst thing to happen to them: Moving out with his brothers and his friends/

Random memories: Getting a crush on his manager at the corner store he worked at after he moved out, during fight season him and his friends would crowd into one bed despite there being so many of them, playing Minecraft for the first time and being so terrified of the creepers that his brothers have to help him play, everyone crowding into the bathroom to take care of the kids that came back from fighting, him and his friends getting drunk for the first time and absolutely trashing their apartment, going on a road trip to the beach with Atsushi and having the best time of his life digging a hole in the sand,

Best friend/Worst enemy: Atsushi Kumamoto/His adoptive father

Good/Bad traits: Strong, reliable, caring, observant /Insecure, avoids conflict, 

Things they’ve done/like to do: Start the day with a coffee and gossip with Atsushi, chose a lucky pocket watch for each day, wrestle Akari whenever she gets too bossy during a raid, suddenly pick up his friends to scare the shit out of them, mixing energy drinks and coffee in the morning because he likes the “tingling feeling behind his eyes for the rest of the day,” 

Personality type: “Entertainer” ESFP-A (86% extraverted, 14% introverted; 13% intuitive, 87% observant; 32% thinking, 68% feeling; 28% judging, 72% prospecting; 56% assertive, 44% turbulent)

Nervous habit: Rubbing the back of his neck/his face, resorting to a boxer stance 

Things they’re afraid of: Bugs especially flying ones, underground areas, thunder and lightning, 

Things they want to accomplish: Figure out how to restore antiques, find his biological dads old antique shop and see if its still open, try and find his biological siblings just to check up on them, 

Additional headcanons -

Unlike the others, he doesn't mind that he never gets to see Goto Ryuji around the guild because he's very intimidated by the man

He looks tough as shit but the moment you get hurt he's like "Are you ok? You want me to carry you? Here's some water, lemme go get dad," aka Sugimoto Reiji

Him and Akari banter so fucking much it gives everyone a headache. He banters with no one else, usually because he only gets snarky once provoked

Not really an outdoorsy person, hates the heat and the bugs and the dirt. Somehow the team found themselves camping after being convinced by Akari, and Kenzo is unsurprisingly the one who whined the most

He really likes restoring antiques, especially old clocks. Has a small collection of pocket watches he’s restored but unwilling to sell

Spends a lot of time with Atsushi because he feels like Atsushi will never judge him for anything, which leads to him being rather soft around him, something he would sooner die than do around Akari or Tatsumi

Their Timeline -

Age 10: gets adopted

3 years pass

Age 13: first fight

Age 14: the sexual assault first happens

4 years pass

Age 18: Runs away from foster home (Tokyo's Red Gate Incident happens) 

Age 19: realizes he's an S rank + joins the Draw Sword Guild 

3 years pass

Age 22: now 

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Honor in Crisis

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam, NTT, Titans, JLI, Arrowfam, Flashfam, GL Corps, Infinity Inc

Summary: Every chapter will focus on one character specifically and then I'll update their statuses in order.

This is a no powers au/fix-it fic for Heroes in Crisis. I wanted to focus on the characters and their healing. I decided that'd be easier to put some of these characters in a fic like this and work on it more from a real-world perspective. I DO want to say that I do not believe healing is linear so don't plan on a clear-cut happy ending. I'd say (and idk for sure) we're gonna eventually get a bittersweet ending for certain characters but nothing tragic.

Chapters: 8/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Kole Weathers, Lilith Clay, Eddie Bloomberg, Michael Carter, Michelle Carter, Rani Carter, Grant Emerson, Roy Harper, Grant Wilson, Joseph Wilson, Thaddeus Thawne, Bart Allen, Helen Claiborne, President Thawne, Todd Rice, Alan Scott (DCU), Damon Matthews

Relationship(s): Damon Matthews/Todd Rice

Additional Tags: No Powers AU, Canon Divergent AU, Fix-It Fic, Angst, TW // Suicide Attempt , TW // Domestic Violence Mention (Siblings) , TW // Referenced Child Abuse , TW // Kidnapping , TW // Child Abduction

Chapter Eight: Emesis (Thad Thawne)

Thad lay on his side, staring at the wall while a nurse checked his vital signs. The wall had a peculiar pattern, speckles so close they made designs and spots in some areas. Thad honed in on a collection of spots that looked like a face. "Hi, my name's Nurse Aya. Can you tell me what your name is?" Nurse Aya asked. Thad met eyes with her and took a shaky breath.

"Thad," he answered, "I feel sick." The nurse grabbed an emesis bag and helped him hold it to his mouth while he threw up. Thad had only been in the hospital for fifteen minutes. The EMTs injected him with something that slowed him down, but it made him so sick to his stomach that he thought he'd come down with the flu. The nurse threw the emesis bag in a medical waste trash can, and she checked his temperature. He apologized to her and tried to explain that he didn't have a weak stomach.

"They had to give it to you to get you to calm down," Nurse Aya whispered. Thad looked around.

"Is my brother okay?" Thad questioned.

Nurse Aya regained eye contact and waited for him to calm down. "Your brother is fine. Your brother is fine," she repeated, "Right now, what's important is that you get some rest while you wait for the doctor."

Thad nodded. "My twin's okay?" Thad whispered. Nurse Aya nodded.

"He's alright," Nurse Aya reassured. Thad recalled a fight that happened less than thirty minutes before his hospitalization. He couldn't remember what it was about, but he knew he'd hurt Bart. It was a bloody mess, and he convinced himself that everyone hated him for it. That's why no one came to visit him. He was sure of it.

A man entered the hospital room and waved. "Thaddeus?" the doctor questioned. Nurse Aya excused herself, and Thad nodded. "I'm Dr. Xochipepe. So I feel compelled to ask you if you prefer Thaddeus or some short and sweet form of Thaddeus."

"Thad or Theo's fine," Thad whispered.

"Okay, well, you can call me Dr. Xochi. Zo-chee," he sounded the name out for Thad.

Thad nodded, waiting for the doctor to run tests, but he didn't. "Your brother insisted on telling me you were manic," Dr. Xochi stated, "Would you describe the events preceding your hospitalization as part of a manic episode?"

Thad understood the question, but thinking took so much effort. All he wanted to do was sleep. "I've fought my brother tons of times... But this time, I almost—." Thad looked down at his shirt and rolled onto his back. "His blood's all over me... Does he need anything?"

"He's going home with your uncle tomorrow afternoon... And your cousin said she needed to pick up something for you to wear. You care for each other. I can tell... Thad, have you ever been in residential treatment?" Dr. Xochi questioned.

Thad was hospitalized once before, but he was younger then. A lot younger. Thad nodded and shut his eyes at the thought of it. Then Helen came to get him. And she was safe and warm and everything he'd never had. "I hurt myself when I was a kid because I wanted to get away from my grandpa," Thad answered. Familial kidnapping. The hospital was cold and impersonal. He swore he'd never end up in a place like that again.

And hurting himself was an understatement. Thad jumped out of a car on the freeway, shattering his elbow and hitting his head. When he woke up, he was too frightened to explain why, so he lied. "How long ago was that?" Dr. Xochi asked.

"I was thirteen. That doesn't have anything to do with this. I didn't hurt Bart because I was scared. I don't remember why I hurt him, but I wasn't scared of him," Thad explained. He shut his eyes in the hopes that Dr. Xochi would go away. "I'm not going home tonight, am I?"

"I'm afraid not," Dr. Xochi replied. He asked a handful of common sense questions before asking the difficult questions. "Do you feel like you might want to harm anyone still?"

Thad thought about his question for a long time. "I don't want to... But I think the damage is done. I've never done anything this terrible before. I don't know how any of them could ever forgive me," Thad mumbled, "I wouldn't forgive myself if I were them." Thad lay down again and tried to find the face in the wall. When he couldn't, he shut his eyes again. Thad didn't want to talk anymore. He wanted it all to fade away. Thad hadn't slept in days. He hadn't wanted to. Now, all he wanted was sleep.

"Thad?" Dr. Xochi asked. Thad pressed his face into the pillow.

Thad started crying softly into his pillow. "I don't want to talk anymore. I need some time," Thad mumbled. Dr. Xochi made a soft noise and distanced himself.

Thad curled into a ball and thought about Bart's head cracking against the pavement. It permeated his dreams. Pursued him in nightmares. He didn't sleep long as they woke him and transferred him to the inpatient facility.

It was pitch black outside, but this facility seemed different from the rest. Thad started signing paperwork, and after they checked him in, they offered him a change of clothes. He showered and changed before climbing into bed in the room they assigned him. His roommate lay staring at the ceiling, but he never turned to acknowledge Thad. That was fine. He didn't want to be noticed.

Thad's guilt would've kept him awake if it weren't for the sleeping pill the nurse gave him. His body ached, and his head hurt. Eventually, the pain became an afterthought as his body gave way to fatigue. He ran a bruised hand through his hair and enjoyed a dreamless slumber until he awakened with a jolt to his screaming roommate. Thad turned to the other boy and watched as the nurses did nothing. After nearly a minute of uninterrupted screaming, his roommate laid down and went back to sleep as if it were nothing.

Thad hugged his knees, visibly shaken up by what he'd witnessed. He couldn't go back to sleep after that, so he sat in place until it was time to get out of bed.

[allfearstofallto]

You are Made to Greet them When they Return Home

Yandere! Forced marriage x fem! Reader head canons

Ft: Childe and Scaramouche

Synopsis: Your yanderes require the domestic pleasure of being greeted by their wife when they return home.

Word Cound: 1k

TW: yandere, obsessive themes, forced marriage, NSFW themes, mentions of previous abuse/punishment

Childe

“Master Childe has arrived home,” a maid said after knocking gently on your bedroom door. A notice to anyone else, but a warning for you. A warning telling you to be your most joyful and happy self, to be ready for your husband that had a temper that could change like the flick of a light switch.

Your nicest dress hugged your body, a satin slip in his favorite shade of blue. It barely went past your plush thighs, something too cold for the typical Snezhnaya air, but perfect for the inside of the estate, which he kept warm for you.

Scurrying down the stairs, your heels clicked against the floor. No matter how many times you'd done this, your heart wouldn't cease beating like a drum. The fear and the worry all sat deep inside your chest and made you tremble, but you tried to not show it on your face.

Arriving at the door to the home, you stood there obediently, as you'd been told to do time and time before. You and a few of the house maids. And almost right on cue, it opened.

For the briefest moment while the door was open, you could hear the sound of the wind howling outside, like screams of the night. A little snow blew through the door, and tickled your toes, but it melted as quickly as it showed up. All that stood there now was him.

Snow covered his coat and frosted the tips of his orange hair, but he still had a beaming smile on his face, overjoyed to see you. “My angel,” he said sweetly at the sight of you.

You were pulled into an embrace, his gloved hands still wet from the elements. He kissed your cheek, his cold red nose tickling you, and you tried not to notice the blood splatter near his neck that he didn't clean off. No matter how domestic he tried to make your life together seem, he could never truly hide what he did for work.

When he pulled away from the hug, you began to take off his cape. No maid was allowed to do this, as he said that undressing him was a job for his wife and his wife alone. It was a heavy, white piece of clothing, with black fur on the nape. He'd always smile at you as you undid the clasp, his height dwarfing over you to the point where you had to reach up to touch his neck.

“Was work okay today…” you gulped down saliva nervously as the cape fell into your hands, the weight of it making your arms sag just a bit. He had a questioning look on his face, raising his eyebrows while his smile began to falter ever so slightly. He wanted you to say the rest. “Was work okay today, m-my love?” you barely managed to force yourself to say those words. You could already feel the bile rising up from your stomach, but the content look on his face told you that he was happy regardless of how strained you sounded.

His large cape was handed to a maid to be cleaned and she ran off without word of orders. You weren't the only one scared of Childe in this house, you were just the one who had his attention.

You didn't even get the chance to completely turn and face him again before he was wrapping his arms around you and resting his body against you in a dramatic display of his fatigue.

“Work was tiresome!” He groaned while placing many unwanted kisses on your cheek and neck, “But my beautiful wife will make it all better, won't you?”

Scaramouche

Such a beautiful, vibrantly colored kimono was nice for special occasions, but it only weighed you down in these instances. The multiple layers piled on top of each other were a pure sight for eyes, but absolute hell to wear. Especially for someone who wasn't native to Inazuma.

You struggled to drop to your knees in front of the door. It felt like all of these layers were swallowing you whole, and with one wrong move, you wouldn’t be able to get up. Not without assistance at least.

The lighting outside illuminated his silhouette through the translucent white, paper of the sliding door and you hurried to make sure you were in position.

The second you heard it click and slide open, you bowed your head down before him. Your palms against the floor, thumbs in the shape of a triangle, and your forehead pressed against the ground. You'd practiced this position a million times before, with him studying your figure to make sure you got it right each and every time.

“We welcome you home, my lord, Scaramouche,” you said with your head still angled towards the floor. He merely hummed at your greeting. A hum was good, it meant that you hadn't displeased him yet.

You were to stay in this position until he told you to rise. Some days he did it immediately, so that he could begin to kiss and undress you like an animal in heat. Other days, he would leave you there to see how long he could keep you on your knees before him. Those days were hell, the weight of the kimono made it feel as if you were suffocating, drenching yourself in sweat. But you knew better than to move an inch. Being crushed by heavy fabric was better than any punishment he'd given you before.

You could hear the sound of him shuffling, taking off his shoes and putting away his jacket, then finally, you heard the familiar jingles of him lifting his ornate hat off of his head, and handing it off to a maid who also stood beside you.

“You may look upon me,” he ordered.

You rose up, but still stayed on your knees in front of him, finally meeting his gaze for the first time today, “Greetings, my lord. Did the day treat you alright?”

“My day was the same as usual,” he muttered while stepping past you and up the stairs, “Meet me in the bedroom, and bring tea as well.”

When you heard the familiar click of the bedroom door closing, you breathed a sigh of relief. You'd made it through another moment with him, but still rose to your feet with hesitance. Making it through the greeting was the first part, now you'd have to manage in the bedroom.

[good-beanswrites]

LCSYS ask again(undercover asker here hiiiiiaufhghghgn)thank you for responding!!!! ilovfe seeing your ideas theyre such good fuel in between trials❤️❤️

i was wondering how th prisoners would react to es’ usage of violence, like some of the younger prisoners complaining about it while the older are concerned because Hello Where did that stem from???? you cant tell me es’ “phew, i feel so much better” after hitting shidou didn’t send his mind racing a million miles per minute

ALSO curious about YONAH………… similar to how red’s violence towards es was scripted, was kotoko’s monologue about es being imperfect Also scripted, or was it on her own? yonah is probably my favourite voice drama of all time and I’m curious about how it would be interpreted in this au 🫶

Ah hello again! Thank you so much for reaching out -- every time I think I've covered everything you guys hit me with a new insane detail that makes my brain go brrrrr >:3

Because OMG I spent so much time thinking of the faked violence, I don't know why I never put as much attention on the flipside! I love the idea of Jackalope assuring them, "there will be no physical punishments. We'll talk about restraints but that's all fake. We'll make up injuries between trials but that's all fake. You don't have to worry about any real pain." And then this 15yo strolls up, interrogation one, ready to smack someone😅😅😅

Seriously though, I think it would come as a pretty big surprise to the group. They knew it was a possibility, but didn't think Es was that likely to attack, since they've made a few comments about being against violent punishments. Haruka comes back to mention the slap, and Yuno follows their instructions and says she also suffered violence, and the group is Shocked. I think it would just kill Fuuta that he wasn't allowed to hit back and avenge the others. He probably has the most complaints about the situation (and is insanely relieved that he get by in his own interrogation.) In a feeble attempt to get back at Es and make them feel bad, he encourages Muu to cry and make a big show about being afraid of them. Muu is frightened enough that it doesn't take much persuasion... I think Kotoko and unfortunately Amane wouldn't mind the threat, they both have lives in which authority showing power isn't out of place (and maybe Haruka?). Mahiru, too, thinks it's just the way a prison guard can run their prison if they want, though she's determined her charm will keep things running pleasantly.

Kazui reaches out asap* to question the legality of the experiment, since they're allowing children to get hit, even if by other children. There's a tangle of signatures and consent from everyone involved so it's okay, but the whole thing still rubs him the wrong way. He knew the experiment was a bit shady, but he(Though, this does make his first vd kind of funny -- instead of actually talking through his theories on the prison, now it feels like he's just egging Es on to see if they'll actually hit him...)

And I really like that idea that Shidou's dad instincts kick in (or maybe it's doctor instincts)! He'd understand if it was a child trying to play the role of an intimidating adult, but the way Es is doing things, the things they're saying, it all points to something deeper going on in Es' head. I can see him sitting down with the others and Jackalope to discuss. Of course Milgram gives him very little to work with, but this still kickstarts everyone's efforts to make sure Es is also taken care of post-Milgram.

*I just realized I'm still a bit fuzzy on communication during the trials. Jackalope can definitely get information to the prisoners (most commonly the 'voices' they're supposed to be hearing based on Es' notes, but also in case of emergency changes or things). I was picturing the prisoners unable to communicate outward until the trial ends, as it builds up the feeling of isolation and imprisonment. The issue is, I feel like Jackalope would want to keep that line open in case the prisoners had questions/issues with the experiment that affected their acting. So idk if the prisoners voice these concerns about Es mid-trial or they're forced to wait. I'll get back to you on that, hm

And Yonah!!

I wasn't avoiding spoilers, I actively looked for snippets here and there, but it was this ask that finally motivated me to sit down and watch it through -- and I'm SO GLAD I DID 👀 It's really well-written and wonderfully acted!! I'm floored with the whole thing omg

I really like the idea that the Milgram team instructed Kotoko to mention Es' imperfection to rattle them a bit, but left the specifics to her. Jackalope thought she'd just make some quick comment, and does a double take when he listens in on the interrogation and realizes she has a lot to say on Es and the way Milgram is run.

Jacklope told her to be harsh with Es, and she thought that was no problem at all. She felt those opinions strongly and wasn't going to go easy on the criticism just because they were a kid. She goes into the interrogation ready to stay completely put-together... and then surprises everyone and herself when Es' distress moves her to pull them into a tight hug and tell them everything's going to be alright ;---;

[liveshauntedmoved]

Finney & his relationship with his family

Terrance, Father: his relationship with his father is extremely strained, It hadn’t always been that way, before his mother passed away, while his father was strict he wasn’t abusive until her death. Due to his father’s behaviour, Finney has never been able to stand up to his father, always subcoming to listening to his father’s orders, even if it ended up getting Gwen hurt, which he hates. Even though his father apologises, Finney never fully forgives his father, he can’t. He becomes civil with his father, but that is it, and when he is able too, he avoids as much contact with his father as humanly possible.

Rebecca, Mother: Finney loved his mother, even with her quirks and her death had hit him hard, but did his best to not let it show. He still misses her to this day.

Gwem, Younger Sister: He is close to his sister, and he loves her dearly. He can and would die protecting her. There is a part of him that does blame himself for not being able to step between the blows their father would give her, but he would always do his best to make it up to her by being there for her afterwards, and comfort her. They tease each other a lot at times, but he would never hurt her in anyway, or cross a line with her, and will always support her.

Gwen is also someone that knows some of his biggest secrets, because she is the only person he trusts that deeply. 

[plasticfangtastic]

Dairy Girl

A Homelander X F! Reader fanfic

A/N: I am still working on my other projects but I just wanted to write something fun and light to get me back into writing. I hope y'all enjoy this short little piece, btw i aint got no kids so i have very little idea how milk banks work, this will be a 2 or 3 part story.

Synopsis: In order to provide a constant supply of fresh breastmilk for Vought’s number one hero, Vought has had to get quite nifty in order to prevent this secret desire out the press and the public– you have unfortunately discovered the truth.

Tags: Stockholm Syndrome, abusive dynamic, Homelander being Homelander, dub-con, dark, mild smut, breastfeeding kink, kidnapping, child-death mention tw, cheating tw, set in s4 but canon nothing, slow burn.

Word Count: 3K

Part 1– Heifer

Such a small box, smaller than a shoe box, just big enough to fit its contents with enough space for his ghost to move. You stared at the small box as its buried in the family plot… you never thought of visiting this place to ever bury the last shred of happiness you had left, his body was born weak, so small you wonder if you’d given birth to a child or a chick, 2 months ago you had come home to find your now ex in bed with his ex, he had turned this betrayal on its head and blamed you for it, something about your lack of desire lately, about how your pregnancy had given him amounts of pressures he'd never agreed with, talking endlessly about his needs and how much you’d ignored him.

Whoever this man was, you didn’t recognize him.

Time blurred into nothing but disconnected colors and shapes, all you know was that the stress and anguish lead to this.

A box under soil.

Days passed and in your empty apartment, surrounded by all the stuff you bought you stood in front of the sink, throwing a bottle of fresh milk down the drain feeling tremendous guilt, the doctor said you would dry out soon enough but your breast had swollen so much your bras no longer fit– even the spare ones you bought just in case they’ve grown a size too big from what you expected, you booked an appointment with your doctor hoping they could give you whatever cocktail of drugs to dry you out and save you from the pressure and pain in your chest, it had been nothing but a passing message from a worried neighbor who had stop by to give you some mail that had been sent to them by accident when she mentioned her daughter-in-law had donated her excess milk after her little one refused to latch, she gave you the name of the charity and after much thinking you gave in, you lost your baby but there was some woman out there who could end up experiencing your same grief if their baby starved to death, yours simply born too small and weak to hold your finger for very long.

It felt good, you met the women running the charity and even some of the faces of the women you helped, as you delivered your frozen packs to the women’s clinic where the charity operated, it helped you heal, it gave your pain purpose, but as the months faded behind you a part of you worried about how much you keep producing, less than before but still too much, yet you keep going knowing it would end soon enough. 

Perhaps somebody in the clinic or the charity had dropped your information to these people but you'd received some mail regarding some research trials Vought International was running and how they needed some donors to drop fresh samples, in their pamphlet they offered to pay a decent amount--your divorce had been costly plus having to move to a new place and breaking your previous lease had left your bank account quite dry, this was cheap money, you had given your milk for free, you looked at the few pouches you had collected for next week's drop you saw a wonderful opportunity to make some quick cash.

You went to the Vought Clinic and saw a few other women filling up forms, reading old magazines or dilly-dallying on their phones until some nurse called their numbers, you filled the medical form, waited less than half an hour before your number was called, brought into a small bleach scented room, the nurse read your form and told you she would take a blood sample, a doctor came in, reciting whatever script he’d been given about what this project was, giving you big words you had no interest in, this was about providing better milk formulas closer to natural milk than anything currently in the market apparently, thanking you for your donation, he looked at your form smiling as he saw your inked words.

“You're still producing 4 months after…” The doctor handed you a disinfecting wipe and a freshly steamed breast pump in a silver tray– we just need two samples, please press the alarm to let us know you’d finished, then follow Nurse Potts to the front counter to sort out your payment.”

It had been an awkward experience, but there you were 300 dollars richer, you probably should’ve read those papers a bit closer before signing but money was money and you were told to come back if you could.

You did it a couple times for 2 months, much like a man donating sperm for pocket money or plasma to pay the rent.

That was the first mistake, you headed home and woke up the morning after wishing you had stayed out for an extra hour or two, perhaps caved in to your friends pressures and tried going back to dating (after all your ex was whoring himself all across the lower east side without moral qualms) or hookups so you would had gone to a different address, maybe you should had taken a taxi instead of taking the train and walking home.

Regardless you woke in some strange empty room, the only thing beside your person was a pair of pale pink hospital gowns, grippy socks, clean underwear and a pair of thick large towels, you screamed and banged on the door for an ungodly amount of time but nobody ever came, you stayed alone in that room for what could have been 12 hours or more… maybe less… who knew it was all too much, suddenly a sharp sound cut into the silence a note had been slid under the door, you rushed to the note.

It was instructions, they wanted you wearing their clean clothes, you could not leave the room unless you did so, and as much as you hated the idea, you wanted to get out so badly, you knew if you wanted to escape your only chance came in knowing your surroundings, you begrudgingly and tearfully changed, waiting until anything changed– the doors hissed opened, a woman in a sharp cream coloured suit stood there with clipboard and an armed guard, at the sight of the heavy looking gun– you froze.

Then you took the first step towards hell.

You knew the following things: You lived in some basement area– there were no windows, only elevators. You weren’t alone, there were other women here and they made sure to keep your interactions at minimum no doubt to keep all of you submissive and not getting any ideas, sometimes familiar faces will fade and you could only speculate nightmares. Lastly… your purpose, the reason you were trapped here in the first place was… to lactate.

A plucky little thing that stayed optimistic despite your shared horror called herself a ‘Heifer’ she wasn’t wrong… you lived in a small cell where everything had sat on top of each other feed to keep fat and producing milk much like a cow, whoever developed this diet knew of all the ingredients known to help production, and you knew there were putting something else in the food for your breast begun to feel uncomfortable, for a little while you thought you could fight it by starving yourself, then two men with guns came into the room and told you to eat or else.

The time you spend outside this microflat hong-kong style cell was in the milking room and the shower room, you were ordered to stay clean and quiet, at least in the milking room you had some television and could spend time with the other women, but they keep you isolated, you could do very little, sometimes music would play and a book would be dropped with your food but your happiness wasn’t priority, you had to fill a quota.

After a couple weeks of this you simply accepted defeat, too many guns… not enough spaces to run, and nothing to come home to… a man that wanted to sue you for more feeling as if the judge had been unfair, a pestering family who acted as if they had been the only ones who experience loss, an empty cot you still hadn’t gotten rid off and piles and piles of bills, in this quiet cool room you had spend endless hours thinking, you didn’t love your job, you had been distant from most of your friends and you could only imagine that they assumed you had run away or killed yourself after what happened nobody could blame you.

Existing for the sake of existing until you could figure out what to do next.

“Good Evening… I’m glad you’re eating so well” The lady you met the first day said as the door hissed open, she watched you like a hawk as you process this sudden interruption, clutching at your paper thin blanket, you looked at the floral fabric in her arms and the clipboard under her arm– I need you to sign this before you’re allowed upstairs”

“Am I being let out?” You said anxiously, no way it could be that easy you thought.

The lady let her smile waiver, looking at the unseen guard then at her wrist watch as she handed you the clipboard.

“Your performance might determine how soon you'll be release…”

“You assume I won’t go to the police…”

“That wouldn’t be wise Miss L/N but we assure you that you’ll be sufficiently compensated for the inconvenience.”

You wanted to yell, but a voice in the back of your head thought of this but nothing but pageantry, you were dead either way, but perhaps this could be your opportunity to escape, whatever they wanted to do now meant being outside of these buried walls, you signed the sheet without thinking, briefly considered stabbing the bitch in the eye but is likely they would turn you into swiss cheese before you even took a step too close, she took the paperwork from your hands and in change handed you a long sleeved dressed straight out of the mormon section in target, she closed the door and you dressed up.

The halls looked so odd when you didn’t wear your prison clothes, the other few doors housed sleeping and bored girls, your plucky friend hidden behind one of them, the new girl hidden behind one of them and the girl you seen before in the milking room once hid behind one of them.

They took you to an elevator– it was old box, if you had to guess by the button’s design maybe built in the late or mid 70s, you never left their side until the elevator closed before them, the box moved slowly, a dingy silver box with low honey coloured lights, so dim… and you were alone, as the light chime as it went up you felt your entire being sink into your stomach, your heart beating so fast you were sure you were gonna have a heart attack before the doors opened once again, swallowing dry spit, your eyes opened so wide it hurt.

Quiet… it was so quiet when the doors opened, you expected something else, something menacing… something frightening– not an old house, an old house in the middle of some evergreen forest, everything screams old, untouched, museum like, like it's meant to present this idea that somebody lives here but not really, despite it being an elevator hidden behind a bookcase, you take a few cautious steps, your naked feet bury in the plush carpet, there’s bird singing outside and the sun is so bright and warm it hurts your eyes, the cool tones gone and this feels like a bad dream, pinching yourself but you’re awake, tragically awake, a weird wiry smile creeps on your lips, an almost laugh escapes your lips before you can feel tears burning your eyes.

“Hello…?” You ask and you don’t know why.

As you venture into the living room, hands firm against the tacky dark pink wallpaper, you found old floral couches that matched the drapes and despite how old school it was it had a charm to it.

Then you saw him.

Perusing the VHS collection filled the entire bookcase on the wall, just rows and rows of VHS boxes, some plastic and some cardboard, the TV boxy and just as antiquated but who cared— he was there.

You ran before you even realized you done it, crashing into him with desperation, tears staining your cheeks and you could barely breath as you tried so hard to speak.

“Homelander please help me!! I’ve been kidnapped!! Please!!” You cried, pulling on his suit– please!!”

Those endlessly blue eyes more poison dart hide than veronica flower bush the more they stared at you calmly, his lips into a thin smile and his hand thad taken your wrist inflicting just enough force to keep you firmly in his grip… to show you how he wasn’t an ordinary man, he looked at you as your tears changed meaning as if you were the most unfortunate creature he’d ever seen, his lips parted just enough to show those sharp canines that had looked so charming in sidewalk posters, now you could sense their presence squeezing at your jugular.

“You are so much prettier in person, Y/N.” His voice is disturbingly soft and calm, intimately quiet as he takes a whiff of your neck, moving you to make it easier, his free hand creeped towards your hip– I was so glad when I saw your picture and you weren’t hideous.”

Trembling against him, a nonexistent cold draft blew against you, your whole body shivering and covered in goosebumps.

His eyes fixated in your breast, mouth agape as his tongue dared to lick his lip, watching you like a starved man at a las vegas buffet, his hand slithering upwards, you know where this is leading, you can’t stop crying but you can’t scream either, you're just there as his hand avoids your breasts and creeps towards your back and presses your bodies together.

“I’m so glad you signed that sheet, I was getting sad endlessly waiting for one of you to agree to the deal” He says quietly, you stare at him and you realize you should’ve actually read that stupid sheet– why so scared? I ain’t gonna bite.” He bites the air as a joke and you could tell that that single bite could have torn your finger off cleanly.

His eyes shift to your clinging fingers that stayed so stiff against his padded suit, you stopped squeezing at him now they rested limp against him.

“Let’s watch a movie…” 

It’s an awkward dance concluding in sitting down on a couch, its surprisingly soft and you’re sinking on the cushion while your mind dissolved in the sky, the coffee table had a humbled spread of snacks, pizza and milkshakes, not once did you notice, you stared at him clutching at your dress as he picked something out of the shelve, watching as his hand worked the VHS player, the clicks and whirling all you could focus on. He sat beside you as the speakers began to play the included trailers, he took the drink urging you to do the same with a menacing look, filling you with incomplete thoughts as you obeyed.

Malt vanilla marinated in your tongue, you had a terrible thought.

‘Milk’ 

You were there to provide milk… to whom? Why just milk? You thought they would sell your body or your organs, experiment on you but… they wanted your milk, but who was buying it? Who was drinking it? Where did it go? You stared at the pretty blond whose arm kept your shoulders still, you saw the news– you’d known he had a child and who knows with whom but his kid was old enough to not need it… was it for him? You thought… thinking of it as ridiculous until you remember how 20 minutes ago  he was staring at your tits as if he was malnourished, you looked at his lips pursing as he took a long sip of his milkshake and wonder if that was milk… from a cow… not a heifer like you.

Homelander smiled at you.

“I don’t like ‘The mothman prophecy’ , never been a Richard Gere fan” he said casually.

“He was really good in ‘Pretty Woman’ . This one is okay…” You looked at the screen your voice so stiff– what’s going on…? Mr. Homelander… I…"

“Shhh… watch the movie” He leaned against you resting his head on your shoulder– you tasted the best… every batch perfection– such delicate custardy taste… So this is what we are gonna do… I’ll keep you in this floor so you’re not so bored ."

You swear he’s purring as he rubs himself against you marking you as much as he was making himself comfortable.

“There’s cameras everywhere… The glass is bulletproof, doors won’t open without a fob and code, and there’s no phones or internet, but if you do manage to get out of here just be aware I’ll know.” He said such terrible things as if it was nothing– if you tried to off yourself there will be 3 armed guards and nurses here in less than a minute but if you behave I promise you– you’ll be allowed out, but only if you gain my trust.” He looks up at you as you focus on those thin lips of his– there’s no kitchen but your meals will be delivered… if you want anything just tell the camera over there.”

He pointed at the corner tucked in between two VHS tapes was a small camera.

“I like you Y/N you're cute… you’ll behave for me, right?”

You nodded, too afraid to disagree.

“Now… let’s finish the movie… I actually like this part”

You stared at the pizza box, you could at least tell that the pizza was from an american restaurant, which made you feel safe ‘Select Pizza and Grill” said in the box and you knew you were somewhere in Pennsylvania, far from your apartment in Clinton Hill.

You looked at your boobs feeling his piercing gaze on them, you started drawing lines connecting weird things together, back when you were donating your milk, girls joked about people buying for medicinal and fetish purposes, this spelled itself out for you.

Maybe you could get out of here… but you had to do something weird… but as you heard the birds outside and the warm light peeked into the room, you realized maybe you could leave… no you’ll leave, you’ll go back home and you would find a way to ruin this man and those bastards beneath you, you’ll get them out too, so you took one courageous breath and forced a smile on your dried lips.

“You really liked it?”

“Huh?”

“My milk…” You mumbled– you know I never tasted it myself but am glad to get a review.”

“It’s really tasty” he bites his lip.

Your hand plays with one of the buttons on the dress.

“It hurts a bit… I usually get asked to pump around this time… dunno if you know this but it's a bit painful when they get this swollen.”

The look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know and as you leaned away from him pulling on buttons with slightly trembling fingers, you watched him follow your movements like a snake chasing prey.

“Would you help me out, mister superhero?” Is not flirty but is slightly playful and you’re surprised that you can lie that well, he’s so shameless as he shakes his head enthusiastically, mouth opening for you– please don’t bite.”

He gasps as you let him see all that he’d wanted from the get go, why he put you in that box, why you ended up in this place for.

His body was lighter than you thought as he sunk against you-- eyes closed, body limp against yours, he made the softest sounds it put you at ease somehow, for a moment you saw a very small being latched on your chest, you’d only experienced it once before, and it was seared into your mind as a painful yet tender memory, so you close your eyes dreaming of a fantasy far removed from this peculiar reality, half lid eyes found a man so blissed out your lips curved, this was unbelievable, the world most famous supe keeping you hostage just so you could indulged him.

But you knew now… that this was your way out.