#tw: power abuse

[thewomanwholaughed]

It all went wrong when Batman left Gotham. Everyone knew, it wasn't exactly a secret when you saw the Big Heroes fighting off some major threat on the tube.

And thus the mice came out to play...

You were thinking about the Rogues, weren't you? Those nasty villains, those vile criminals, crooks and scum, the lot of them!

But you're wrong... It wasn't them. Most of them were locked in Arkham during this period. Like Batman knew what was going to happen. He cleaned house.

If not them, then who?

Officials.

And while good and evil are subjective when the Rogues are involved; these people were horrible.

All Joker could do was watch. Watch as Riddler was dragged from his cage to receive a beating in the middle of the hallway. What did he do to be treated as such? Said one too many riddles in the presence of one of the new guards.

And let's not even talk about what they did to poor Hatter... That mask looked more painful than uncomfortable.

And there went Croc. Dragged across the floors after being injected with enough medicine to kill a rhinoceros.

They didn't complain at first. Just your usual Arkham behavior. But it was worse, and it was getting worse by the day. The more news of Batman still being away came in, the worse the inmates were treated.

Rights were taken away by the minute. No more walks in the gardens, no more yard time, no more hobbies. Materials and enrichment taken away. Ivy was thrown in a cell that didn't let in any light and barely any air.

And the quietly observing Joker had her arm broken for grabbing her cane, and was thrown in solitary without medical treatment.

Inmates who spoke up were put down harshly. Those who fought back weren't seen for days and came back in states worse than Batman left them in.

So, it wasn't surprising when a Riot broke out. That was also a common occurrence in Arkham. But usually it starts with someone, who may or may not let out their fellow inmates for some payback. But this time, no one knew who started it.

Someone had gotten a key card. Who made a mad dash to let out someone else, who then fought the guards and took another key card and opened another cell. And so forth and so on. And within the span of one hour all the inmates were running loose.

And they weren't looking to escape. Oh no!

They wanted payback. And it definitely started with payback.

Those who still could put up a fight absolutely did. Many people got killed. But in the end, no one was in a fit enough state for prolonged engagements and thus in a move that surprised everyone; and without active co-ordination: The inmates banded together.

They ripped the steel panels off walls, broke apart furniture, gathered everything they could find on their side of the Asylum and barricaded themselves in. Destroying cameras, gathering anything worthy of being named as supplies, and created what they would later refer to as their HQ.

They made their demands clear: they wanted a seat at the table and discuss their treatment. This was supposed to be an institute of healing. And while there was a lot to be said about Arkham and its inmates; there were some who were making progress.

But even those had been significantly set back by the severe abuse they faced.

Their demands were answered with threats and nothing but.

From here on out, all Rogues began licking their wounds. Sending out groups with different goals each time.

To take back ground. To steal supplies. And to free any inmates that were caught during raids.

These criminals had never worked together so flawlessly. Without arguing with one another, without complaining about who should be the leader. Everyone had a place in HQ.

And to make their point clear, to anyone who would see reason, they changed their usual actions. Guns were destroyed after being taken from Guards and Police. Explosives were neutralizing rather than lethal. Those caught in their traps were knocked unconscious and left to be found rather than outright killed.

This stalemate lasted for over two months. With the Asylum staff trying various things to get the inmates to surrender. From cutting off access to water and electricity, to ensuring that supplies would never go too far into the facility, and so much more.

While hired help by the various inmates, started smuggling in goods and helping fortify their side of the Asylum through numerous alternative entrances made by HQ.

The Rogues and their HQ persisted. Till Batman returned.

And when Batman spoke up for the Rogues, the door to the HQ was opened and a group of inmates stepped forth as designated spokespersons for the others.

It was the most terrifying cooperative act Gotham criminals had ever done. And it only further fueled those of the Asylum to put them down; hard. But thanks to Batman and the group of inmates, made up of the most knowledgeable of HQ when it came to law and rights, the case was pushed. And severe punishments were dealt out to the Arkham staff and Warden, who allowed this all to get this far.

The inmates were returned to their cells, and properly treated by new staff; staff that would not cross any lines. It was over...

There would be another Riot, and another. And eventually the Rogues would find their ways back on the streets. But the workers would not be hurt as often or as extremely as it used to be. And more often than not, break-outs were entirely without violence of any sort.

But the Rogues didn't forget those two months. And neither did Gotham.

Because If they wanted to; not even Batman could stop them...

[weekendviking]

Ouch. This is brutal reading. I couldn't get through the transcripts, as I'm a bit fragile this past year, and some of the material is too close to things I've been part of in the past (from either end of the power dynamic, but never anything this bad personally).

Once again, there is no background, ideology, religion, social position, hobby, club, profession, etc, that prevents you from being someone who can be, or become, someone who hurts and abuses people.

Everyone waiting for members of the SF/F community to weigh in about Neil Gaiman, please remember that a lot of people in light of recent revelations are having to recontextualize relationships and events going back decades.

Not just fans. Peers, friends, and family need space and time to process.

You may know someone your entire adult life, who has treated you with kindness, patience, affection, and support who is also capable of doing others harm. Cognitive dissonance is human. Grieving relationships that may have only existed as equal in your own mind is still grieving.

I genuinely hope that everyone who has been harmed finds healing, comfort, and peace, and that reparations are made and lives can go on without further suffering.

Believe the abused when they come forward. Hold abusers accountable for their actions regardless of intent.

Mourn, and go on.

But most of all take whatever steps you can to prevent further harm, and send a clear message to your community that deliberately doing others harm will not be tolerated, and those who choose to prey on others shall be held accountable.

[allurilove]

Yandere Professor x you

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

Includes: sweet talking, breath play, age gap, fucking in his classroom, pretty gender neutral, manipulation, abuse of power, obsessed professor.

*Everyone is of age, and older than eighteen. He is referred to as “your professor” his only existence is to be obsessed with the reader, and without you, he ceases to exist. This is purely fictional writing!*

Synopsis: He’s your strict professor, and you’re trying to get a better grade. You’ve never seen him be swayed by a student before, perhaps you would be the first.

Your grade has tanked by a lot. You had an unreasonable professor, the man was picky, and on your last test it was covered in corrections by that damn red pen of his.

You began to wonder what it would take for him to give you an A.

You wouldn’t consider yourself to be a bad student. In fact, this is the first time you have been close to failing. It was honestly your fault, you’ve read the reviews on this teacher and still chose to take the class anyways. You just wanted to challenge yourself.

You gawk at the paper he hands back to you. Your eye twitched at the big fat zero out of a hundred, and that might’ve been impressive just in itself. Not even one question right. You narrow your eyes at the professor who was still handing out the quiz back to the students.

When class ended, you slowly packed up your things, and you kept tabs on how many students were still left in the classroom. When the last student left, you got up from your seat, and stormed your way over to the professor.

Any sliver of dignity you had was gone. Your cheeks still flushed when he announced the lowest score to the whole class. You pushed that memory aside, and you crossed your arms as you stood in front of his desk.

“I don’t have time for this.” Your professor sighed, and his brows furrowed as he loosened up his tie.

He knew why you were coming over to talk to him. This was the worst grade you have gotten in his class. And really, he’s not surprised. In his opinion you have been slacking off. Your body bristles at his words, his eyes are cold and unforgiving.

Maybe if you weren’t a rash individual, you would’ve seen that his comments on your test was totally fake. Every circle and outline with a tiny scribble on the side? That was his way of professing his love for you, and about fifty “I love you’s.” were on the paper, but he knew you wouldn’t read them.

He did know that the grade would haunt you. He did know that it would make you desperate enough to come to him during office hours.

Your professor watched you with amusement as you crawled onto his lap, and you guiding his hands onto your body. He could already feel his dick stirring in his pants.

“This is hardly appropriate.” He said in a disapproving tone, though his hands do cup at your chest.

His thumb circles around your nipple, and the rest of his fingers gently squeeze at opportunity you have given to him. His other arm wrapped around your waist, holding you firmly in his lap.

It felt like you were trying to chip away at his resolve, his face was stern, and he listens to you rant on about the grade he gave you. Though, him letting you sit on his lap, let you subtly grind on his growing erection. With every whine and pout, you tried to play with his heart strings.

Your professor sighed, shook his head, and tried to pretend that there was no way you could make up for it. His hand slowly, and quietly, opening his drawer to grab for a condom.

It didn’t take long for him to agree when you took off his glasses, your lips capturing his in a searing kiss. He followed your lead, letting you feel like you were in control.

His hands groping at your ass and he puts you onto his desk, his body moving his way in between your legs. You wore something easy to slip off, your shorts and underwear now down to your ankles. He caressed your inner thighs, his lips now trailing down to your neck.

Your professor licked and sucked at your skin, his teeth gently nibbling at you, and he made sure to leave marks.

“You can be quite cute like this…” The older man mumbles, “…so pretty, so perfect.” he took a deep inhale as his nose was buried into your neck.

“Oh shit.” Your professor growled, his belt falling to the floor and his pants were pulled down roughly.

Before you knew it, he ripped open the condom wrapper and he slid it on his cock. He spit on his hand for lube, and gave his member a few pumps. He aligned his tip against your warmth.

His hands wrapped around your throat, squeezing the side of it, as his hips began to rock itself. His dick hit the deepest part of you, he went slow, and he was determined to find your sweet spot.

“Don’t be upset…” He cooed, and he kissed you in between his words. “I had to give you a zero.”

“You weren’t understanding my hints.”

He needed you. He wanted to be with you the moment you stepped inside his room, or maybe it was when he found out you signed up for his class. Your name was interesting to him, your looks, and the way you carried yourself got him hooked.

He took a couple points off on your first test, just to see what you would do. You certainly didn’t deserve it, and he thought you would’ve challenged him on it, or come talk to him. Or even offer your body to him sooner.

He did it over and over again, until you were on the verge of receiving an F. He was getting frustrated, and you were a damn tease.

He was never like this before, and if you exposed him, he could lose his job. But maybe then he could be with you in public? He let out a deep groan, his eyes rolling back as he was fucking you for his release.

Your professor didn’t realize that your face was turning pink, your nails scratching at his hands that were on your throat, and you were on the verge of cumming. You gasp as he finally let you breathe, his hands now on the desk behind you.

The room was filled with his vocalizations, his whimpers, his mumbles of how good you feel, and how much he needed this.

He even called you his baby, his good student, love, and when you finally came— his eyes were glued to the white substance dripping out of you.

That was when he knew you were going to be his. He was going to be the only one that could make you feel this way.

That day, you received the A you have been wanting. But you also indulged the man that’s been pining after you, and he never stopped.

Allure: Idk why, but i’ve been really active lately omg.

[leotanaka]

THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE RINGS OF POWER (2022 - ) Charles Edwards as Celebrimbor & Charlie Vickers as Sauron 2.07 - Doomed to Die

You must know it pains me, treating you like… Like you've treated countless others? Like Morgoth treated me. Do you know what it is to be tortured at the hands of a god? I cannot imagine. I see the end, Celebrimbor. So clearly. I have seen it from the moment I awoke. But his end, it was different from mine. For what he wished to destroy, I wished… to perfect. Sometimes, the pain almost became a reward. Became a game. A contest, to see whose will was the mightier.

[anetherealpoetess]

Neil Gaiman, let’s be realistic. A 21-year-old working in the home of a man four decades her senior cannot truly give meaningful consent to any type of sexual encounter, let alone within mere hours of meeting him. Even though you are denying it was not consensual, the fact you have conceded the sexual encounter did happen at all is a full confession. You are, by your own admission, a predator.

[cubbihue]

Hi! this is kinda an art request if u dont mind. And it's angst related, can you draw like where wanda and cosmo obvs have seen for a while how (human) timmy has been treated by his real parents. I just want to see like the "last straw" which lead Cosmo and Wanda wanting them to make Timmy as their own. (IM HAPPY THAT TIMMY HAS A FAMILY THAT LOVES AND CARES FOR HIM)

The "Last Straw"?

Cosmo and Wanda have seen humans at their best. They've seen humans at their worst. They've seen anything and everything that they've gone numb and used to what humans get up to.

But nothing's shaken them quite like Timmy's case did. Nothing has ever made a Fairy feel such strong human emotions than what Timmy made them feel, on that one particular night.

The thing that broke Cosmo and Wanda was Timmy himself.

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[michellemouse]

Brat being an amazing aunt /sarcasm

@lune-redd

[voltaical-art]

urghh im just gonna post this… some Bishop lore…

[rey-jake-therapist]

I was sent an ask related to the armor that Sauron *apparently* gifted Galadriel with, in Numenor. Apparently, some people believe that this gift was Sauron love bombing Galadriel. We all have our analyses, I just think this one's wrong.

Proof 1 : we didn't see Sauron give her the armor. We don't even know if it's him who gave her that. I don't know why it suddenly became "canon" that he did. Because Charlie nodded after a producer said the armor was a gift ? That's not how it works, sorry. I like to believe that the armor was a gift from Saurbrand, but what's show!canon is what we see in the show. Nothing more, nothing less.

So why is it a proof ? Because the writers would have wanted us to see him gift her with the armor, and see it as manipulation after the Sauron's reveal. Heck, maybe that's why this scene didn't made the final cut at the end, because they knew that this would be misinterpreted ?

And seriously, I can't see Sauron believe that Galadriel would become codependant of him because he forged her an armor lol This is giving Haladriel a dynamics it doesn't have.

Proof 2: I know what love bombing is, for I had my share of it and the odious behavior that inevitably follows love bombing. Sauron never love bombed Galadriel. He never flattered her, never gave her gifts (except, perhaps, this armor), never promised her anything, never had any "we will do this or that, you'll see it will be fantastic" bs talk. He compared her to a HORSE for god's sake. Galadriel of the Noldor, a horse ! lmao We as the audience saw he couldn't keep his eyes off her, but he never told her she was beautiful (except when he proposes to her, indirectly, when he told her she was "fair as the sea and the sun"). if he ever did love bomb her, it was during his proposal. Before that ? Never.

It's an entire different tactic that Saurbrand uses with Galadriel: "chase me and I flee". From the beginning he shows her he doesn't give a shit about what she wants ("I have other plans, Elf"), and keeps asking her to leave him alone, not very nicely. He also gently lectures her about how she should behave in public ("kneel", "try not to make new enemies"), criticizes her methods and gives her advice... Something that constantly unsettles her because she's not used to that. She's a Elf princess, a commander ! And here goes this little man, this mortal ! who forces her to calm down and listen to something else than her own voice, for once.

THIS is not love bombing by any means. I can tell you who he loved bombed though : Celebrimbor. This relationship was abuse 101 : love bombing, isolating the person from their friends, antagonizing him then saying "I'm sorrryyyyy", another love bombing, gaslighting, emotional violence followed in the end with physical violence... Except for the violence part that I have never been subjected to, I recognized all the patterns. It was quite unsettling, let me tell you, to witness this abuse unfold and think each time, "wow, I've been through that too, but I didn't realize until I got out of it".

Personally, I feel like he made that armor out of a possessive desire to see her wearing something that HE made, so that he can feel validated, but as a manipulation tactic to guilt her into staying by his side? Idk...

I don't think that as arrogant as he is, Sauron believed he could make Galadriel dependant of him just because he offered her an armor 😂 If he did forge this armor, I think he made it as a reconciliation gift of sort. The last scene they shared on screen before the departure to Numenor, they didn't leave on good terms... This gift could be his way to tell her, "Okay, let's do it, let's lead this army together". Of course it wasn't a wedding dress... Strange idea, people think that ?

She obviously lied to Adar about what Sauron promised her. The only thing that Sauron promised Galadriel was to make her a QUEEN, which involves much more than an army. Of course she wouldn't say that to Adar, while she didn't even tell Elrond, her best friend... She is the one who promised Sauron an army, and she indeed, gave him one. I mean at some point people can twist the narrative as much as they want to make it look like she was entirely manipulated by Sauron into giving him an army, it will still be wrong lol Not to mention that it takes away Galadriel's agency.

Did he provoke her, by reminding her constantly that she was "short of an army"? Yep. Did he learn her a few tricks for her to use against Miriel, knowing he would profit from it eventually ? That too. Is he the one who convinced her to recruit an army so they could fight their mutual enemy together? NOPE. She did that on her own.

And the funniest, it's that Galadriel convinced herself that Halbrand was the one who convinced Miriel to send an army in the Southlands. No wonder why she's in such denial in season 2. She's not much different from Sauron in that they both refuse any responsability in their wrongdoing: "He deceived me !" "You chose it, not I !" "I was played like a harp !".

I don't think I ever saw this parallel pointed out...

Source

See these two liars being called out by the people who know better...

It's about time we stop treating Galadriel as an innocent victim who was targeted by the evil villain who played 4D chess with her. She's just not that. Celebrimbor was Sauron's victim, because he had little to no control over what was happening. Sauron did everything to blindsight him, and used all the tactics of the abuser book to get what he wanted from him. And when Celebrimbor resisted, he threatened him, tortured him and murdered him.

He didn't do any of that with Galadriel, who wanted an army to hunt Sauron wayyyyyy before she found him on the raft, or do we forget that too ?

[melithril]

[Adar] - Safe With Me

♫ - Sanctuary - Welshly Arms

TW: abuse (non-intentional choking), mention of trauma and nightmares (Adar) . If this triggers you, skip this one and take care of yourselves!

A/N: A request from AO3, please enjoy! <3

Sleep was a blessing. It was not often that Adar managed to get a good nights sleep wherein he could rest at a decent time and sleep all the way through until dawn. Sometimes, it was stress that kept him awake, other times it could be slight bouts of insomnia. On the rarer occasion, it was his nightmares.

Adar didn't have them often, he had learned to push those bad thoughts of his past away. He was not always successful, and sometimes they crept in. He had quickly learned to deal with them, but the more violent ones were hard on his own. He would wake, sweating and panting, feeling lost and empty and unable to sleep the rest of the night. 

However, once he had met you, Adar found his nightmares became few and far between, that you had become a safe beacon for him in those times of need. Each time he woke with fear, you shushed him back to sleep, and he let himself rest knowing you were there.

Only one time had it been significantly worse than the rest.

You had awoken with the movement of Adar beside you, who was tossing and turning, tiny little groans coming from his throat as he did so. Sweat laced his forehead, and hie had a tight grip on the cover where his knuckles turned almost white. Adar's soft features were curled into a grimace, and he looked very pained at what was happening in his mind. 

Concern had washed over you although you had been here many times before. You were not annoyed at being woken up, far from it, you knew it was a time in which Adar would need you the most and somewhere you had sworn to him you would always be.

"Adar?" you whispered, leaning down and laying your hand onto his shoulder, shaking him very gently. "Hey, come on, wake up."

Adar was notoriously hard to pull from his dreams, especially bad ones. That's why you handled him with care, squeezing his shoulder and laying your free hand on his face, the pad of your thumb rubbing his cheek. He tended to take comfort in your touch on his skin.

"Adar, my darling.." Your voice was louder this time and he had jumped bolt upright in bed. A little startled, you had jumped back, not too far as you kept yourself in his reach.

It must have been a terrible one, as Adar's eyes were glazed over as though he wasn't even there. In a fraction of a second, Adar's hand shot up and found home around your throat, though there was little to no pressure. Inside, you panicked, but on the outside, you knew you had to remain calm. Whatever his dream was must have gotten to him badly, as he would never have laid a hand on you any other time. 

Not knowing what else to do, you did the one thing you thought may ground him again. So, you used your voice and talked to him.

"Adar.." your voice meekly trailed off, and Adar's hand had not moved a muscle. 

Those eyes you had grown so accustom to staring at you with love were a haze, and he narrowed them as he looked at you in what was left of the moonlight. Merely moments had gone by, but it felt like a lifetime. Worry evident in your tone, you carried on in hopes you could get through to the uruk.

"My star, I know you are there. It's me, my love. Please come back to me."

Your voice broke at the last words, and Adar began to blink rapidly. Perhaps less than thirty seconds had gone by in the whole exchange, and his hand dropped as a look of shock found its way onto his face.

"Oh, starlight," Adar spoke, barely above a whisper. "I - I am sorry."

He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing a hand on his temple. You sat before him, letting him process what had happened before making any move. Opening his eyes once more, the look of sorrow on his face broke your heart. 

"I did not mean that, please forgive me. I was not aware of who you were... for a second, I thought.. I thought you were.."

"Shh, Adar. You need not relive it. If you wish to talk about your dream I am here, but do not worry, there is nothing to forgive for your actions. You acted out of turn, you did not know."

A sob left your lover, a very rare occurrence to hear out loud. If he did cry, it was mostly silent. You knew he was in a bad way right now. Leaning forward, you crawled to his side and took his hand in your own. Adar could not bear to look at you, feeling horrible for how he had treated you.

"My light," he began, eyes pointing down to his lap. "I promised to never lay a finger on you, and I am ashamed that I would allow myself to do that. If you no longer feel safe with me, I would understand."

Your eyes widened,saddened by the implication you would want to go anywhere else. "Do you think one small instance in which you have a natural trauma response would make me leave you?"

Your question was rhetorical, he knew he didn't have to answer. You tilted Adar's chin so his eyes looked into yours, and you wiped his tears as you always had done. 

"Now, you listen to me, Adar," you began, cupping his face to keep his attention on you. "I know these nights will happen, they have before and I know your past is what causes them. Your dreams are of that, and that is not something easy to deal with for you. It would not be for anyone. But, your trauma is not something worth leaving you for, do you understand? I am here to help you. I know there was no malice in your action, and therefore nothing to be ashamed of. I am still here, I will hold you and kiss you until every bad thought is gone tonight. You are not alone, and you never will be."

Adar could see the sincerity in your face. The fear in him that you would leave after he had placed his hands on you in such a manner had dissipated, but still the remainder of his nightmare lingered. Your arms reached around him, pulling him into your side. One hand ran through his soft locks, your other hand entwined with his own. 

Silence fell on the room as you sat together, Adar in your arms as you held him close. Your lips pressed kisses to the side of his head as he lay it on your shoulder, keeping himself nuzzled into your side as best he could. The sun had started to rise, and its rays crept in through the crack of the curtain. Still, you paid it no mind. In a way, it felt fitting. The darkest was done, and the calm after the storm washed over you both as you enjoyed each others company. 

Adar stirred from his place, propping himself up on his arm as he leaned facing you.His hand came to your face to brush through your hair, and you had not flinched. You knew he was harmless, and you knew that he would never hurt you with intention. With Adar, there was nothing to fear.

"Thank you for staying with me." Adar spoke softly now, and you smiled down at the handsome uruk. In the pale glow of the sunrise, his features lit up in a beautiful way. You took a second just to admire him before responding.

"There is nowhere I would rather be, my beloved. I have never felt safer with anybody, you have kept me protected enough times for me to know I will come to no harm with you. Your burden is mine to bear, too. I will be here for you, always."

He leaned up to kiss you, lips touching yours softly. You returned it, just as gentle. As he pulled back, Adar spoke against your lips. It sounded more like a promise to himself, but you took his words in as the last thing you heard before the two of you drifted off into an early morning slumber.

"You are safe with me, my darling. I promise. This is our sanctuary, and I will always keep you protected."

Thank you for reading! <3

[radio-writes]

Your Place in the Eyes of a God

Synopsis: You thought yourself oh so lucky that the demon who owned your soul was charming and kind.

Most people just had monsters ordering them about, at least your owner Alastor saw you as a lovely companion.

Warnings: Implied abusive relationship, power imbalance

Tags: Relationship can be read in any way; Alastor x Reader; gn!reader

MDNI

Being under contract, you weren't exactly overjoyed at the fact that you didn't own your own soul, but at least your contractor wasn't a monster, right? At least he was sweet, and funny, and charming.

And oh was he charming.

That is how your soul ended up chained to his after all.

He was always so kind to you. He treated you as if you were a friend—a person.

He had taken you out for meals; showed you off from time to time. He had adored every single gift you ever gave him. He had always asked you to smile because he just found you oh so

"Lovely," He said.

And it filled your head with clouds every single time. His soft compliments never failed to make you forget where you actually stood. 

So, you never really expected things to change so quickly. So drastically.

You desperately slapped your hands over your mouth, clasped tight against your lips to silence even the smallest whimpers that threatened to slip out. You pressed against the wall, hiding, maybe if even hoping that it would open up and swallow you whole. Take you some place else—anywhere else—but here.

You watched with wide, teary eyes, unable to look away.

It was hard for you to connect the charming man you fell for with the nightmare of a creature you saw looming over Husk. 

That thing that threatened to rip the poor man's soul apart couldn't possibly be your Alastor, right? There was no way that was your sweet, funny, charming Alastor. 

But those hands that yanked at the chain were unmistakably the same ones that gently combed through you hair at night. 

That smile he held while he threatened the man was unmistakably the same one you woke up sweetly to almost every morning.

That voice, albeit distorted more than usual by static, promising wicked acts, was unmistakably the same voice that softly greeted you good morning, asking if you had a good rest.

There was no mistake. There was no denying it. 

"Understood," You barely hear Husk's frightened response.

"Lovely," Alastor praised before he left Husk shaking on the ground by his feet.

You felt your heart sink immediately. 

Lovely. The word echoed in your head, your blood now ran cold.

Lovely. The mockery, the disdain, the obvious threat to obey him or else. You didn't think such a simple word could hold so much malice. 

"I can't wait to wear that new necklace you got for me!"

"I got you this tie because it just seemed like it was your style!"

"Of course, I'm smiling! I'm with you, aren't I?"

You didn't notice when your knees finally gave away under you. You didn't notice when you started crying. Your body simply crumpled to the floor as you continued to press your hands against your mouth, silencing the sobs that ripped through you. 

Alastor had already left. You didn't need to hide around the corner anymore. You were safe now. 

No. Have you ever truly been safe?

Because what was his response? What did he say every time you followed his requests? Every time you excitedly handed him whatever trinket you thought he'd like? Every time you smiled for him?

Lovely. The word rang in your ears.

Lovely.

It wasn't a compliment, you realized.

It was never a compliment. It was a praise. A praise for being such a good, obedient pet.

[leotanaka]

the celebrimbor/annatar moment immediately after mirdania sees sauron's true form was such a good scene while also being really uncomfortable and unsettling, as most of their scenes in this episode were given the nature of what was happening but this one...

it felt so explicit in what it was saying: that this is an abuser, using weaponised incompetence to lure their victim back into their grasp after they've escaped them and the look on celebrimbor's face said it all.

this moment makes both you, the viewer and celebrimbor question what was really going on in that moment. like, obviously it was deliberate but the thing with manipulators and abusers is that you can never really be sure. even if you are 100% certain, there's always that tiny moment of doubt that makes you question if you're actually right. that makes you question if you can fully trust your own perception of the truth or reality or if you're simply thinking the worst of them when you shouldn't be and that's what this moment kind of does and it does it in quite a scary accurate way.

because it leaves you questioning if sauron deliberately endangered the mirdain in that moment, if he really doesn't know the right or most appropriate way to make the rings or if he knew what could happen if they added more mithril or if he simply made a mistake etc. etc.

and as i said, celebrimbor's face really does say it all...

whether this was intentional or accidental, sauron's got exactly what he wanted. celebrimbor realised in this moment that he has to be involved, one way or another, he has to be involved and contribute in making the nine despite being completely against it because who knows what might happen if he isn't.

[qin-qin16]

[Toxic relationship, abuse of power, sans ship, Kross]

We all know that Dust can balance Killer's freakness (if he doesn't increase it, actually), and with Color, Killer learns about boundaries and morals.

But what about Cross?

He is so naive, so easily influenced, so instinctual. Killer knows that if he asks Cross to follow him anywhere, he will do so without question.

He might even lick Killer's shoes if given a firm command to do so, soiling his shoes with saliva while looking up, waiting to be praised for his actions.

And those eyes, those beautiful two-toned gems, always filled with anticipation; waiting for some order from his superior — after all, just below Nightmare comes Killer, always ready to use his authority to amuse himself at the expense of the other minions of the guardian of negativity.

Cross is also incredibly easy to please; a simple compliment about his good work is enough to have him eating out of the palm of your hand, like a well-rewarded puppy eager for more.

And Killer takes pleasure in neglecting Cross’s need for attention — in dodging his affections, his promises to escape together, knowing that no matter how much Cross whines, calling him back, he will remain his shadow; always trailing behind Killer.

Cross is just a new toy Killer received, and after playing with it extensively — until it’s completely worn out — he will toss it aside and seek out another distraction.

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XXIX)

The difference between Abuse and Power

Read part one // Master-post // Continued from here

Sorry it took so long!!! But I made this chapter extra long to make up for it guys!!! I hope you enjoy💛

Merry Christmas and Happy New year!!! I hope you all have a great time and mind yourselves. Thank you all for your words of encouragement during the rough time and making me smile and laugh while I was stuck in the dreaded prison of writer's block, but we are back babyyyyyy.... enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*

Kit heard Ambrose walking behind him. He tried his best to ignore him, but it didn’t really work because Ambrose’s stupid socked feet padded close behind as Kit walked the length of the first floor, away from Nathan and Jude. Away from the stairs Jude threw him down. Away from the abomination of healing and power that Nathan possessed.

“Kit,” Ambrose said eventually. Kit continued walking. He went through the next door on his left which opened up into a nice cozy looking library or study, or something, and walked over to the soft, navy plush couch in the far corner. He dropped into it, deflating like a balloon or a marionette with its strings cut. That’s all he was really, wasn’t it? A puppet.

Black eyes appeared in front of him, pleading, dark brows falling over them like a pitiful, sad puppy. “Kit, listen to me, everything I said and did before… I—”

“Don’t want to hear it?” Kit suggested, his shoulders bunched up around his ears. He felt his eyes water as he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth to stop it from quivering like a child. He raised his blue, bloodshot eyes to meet Ambrose’s stupid fucking demonic black ones.

“I don’t—” Kit said, scoffed, shrugged and ran his hands through his hair until his fingers tightened on the strands and started tugging on them just to show the kind of storm that was roaring in his mind outwardly. Not that Ambrose had to see a physical representation of his desperation. His blue eyes burned and red flashed across them like the glint of moonlight off a blade. Ambrose shrunk away from his crouch. His eyes widened slightly. “I don’t want to fucking hear it! Any of it. Your apologies, your guilt, your fucking excuses!”

Ambrose sat back onto his heels, even his stupid chocolate curls bounced perfectly, and Kit scoffed exasperated, ran a hand down his face, and wiped furiously at his tears with his thumb and index finger.

“I don’t give a fuck if you feel some kind of fucked up bond to me or whatever, Oskar!” Ambrose flinched. Good, Kit thought bitterly. He wanted it to hurt. He wanted to fucking affect this bastard somehow. “I don’t care if you feel bad now, because trust me, we both know you didn’t give two shits when you thought I was just some random hero to terrorise!”

“Kit—” Kit lurched forward, getting his face close to Ambrose’s, his nose curled up in disgust.

“What happened to puppet, huh? What happened to a dog that only exists to obey? I would rather you looked at me like… like I was some fucking plaything for you to break and discard, instead of whatever fucking way you’re looking at me now. You’re—” Kit sucked in a breath, struggling not to hyperventilate. “You’re fucking sick, Rosey. You disgust me. And now I’m on house arrest from your crazy ex-boyfriend, who you seem to hate, but let’s face it, Rosey…”

Kit said. He licked his lips as if he had to prepare them for what he was about to say as he leaned in ever so slightly closer, lowering his voice to a whisper as he got close to Ambrose’s curls covered ear. “What kind of sane person would love you anyways?”

The door to the room swung open. Kit slunk back from Ambrose, his eyes dead and lifeless, expecting to be hurt for daring to insult Nathan’s precious toy but he didn’t care. It was worth it to see Ambrose flinch… to see him crestfallen for once.

But then why didn’t it feel good?

Why did he feel worse than before?!

Why has he become this cruel, hard thing? Was he always this way? Did Ambrose just hold up a mirror and reveal that to—

A flash of hands. Kit didn’t flinch, but his gaze snapped up to cold, furious silver eyes and eyes as cool as a lump of coal. “No,” Ambrose said, his voice soft.

“But—”

“No.” Kit’s eyes flickered back to Ambrose because that wasn’t sad, pathetic guilt-ridden Oskar speaking, that was Omen; commanding, controlled, even. A smirk slid its way onto Ambrose’s face, his black eyes turned even darker, glinting like light off a shard of onyx or jet, filled with humour and sardonic knowing and cruelty. A shiver ran down Kit’s spine as Ambrose used his leverage on Nathan’s hand to raise himself to his feet.

He didn’t break eye contact with Kit as he stood to his full height, which Kit only remembered was a good head taller than him, and then there were two sadistic giants looming over him. Kit fought the urge to shrink back and swallow. He wasn’t going to show them he was afraid. What would they do? Kill him? That would give him his first peaceful night’s sleep in weeks. Months?

“Oskar…” Omen tightened his fingers around Nathan’s wrist and brought his hand to his lips. Nathan stilled as Ambrose wrapped a second hand around Nathan’s long fingers, curling them as he lifted and pressed a kiss to Nathan’s knuckles.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, darling,” Ambrose said, his voice roiling like smooth velvet. Black eyes slunk towards Kit’s. “Especially not with the likes of washed-up heroes before their prime.”

Nathan stepped closer to Ambrose, his back to Kit. “I could kill him for you. Make you a scarf out of his entrails.”

Omen chuckled. Kit’s blood ran cold at the sound. He forgot how silently terrifying Omen could be; how terrifying Ambrose could be.

“You’re sweet,” is all Ambrose replied. He leaned up on his toes to kiss Nathan. Soft, sweet, short, before he pulled away. “But no. He’s used up already. I thought he would be fun to play with, but you can see as well as I can…”

Kit swallowed audibly, his fingers tightened into fists on his thighs as he looked away from the statue staring him down, making him feel two inches tall. “He’s got nothing inside worth taking anymore. He’s given up. He’s not worth the effort.”

Kit stared furiously at the bookshelf to his left, eyes skimming colourful titles trying to ignore the stabbing pain of betrayal in his chest. Isn’t that what he wanted? For Ambrose to stop pretending? Isn’t that why he poked and prodded him until—

“Kit,” Kit’s eyes widened as he felt Omen’s ability ghost through his mind like brain freeze. He shot up off the couch, and grabbed Ambrose’s arm, tightened, pleading.

“Rosey, don’t, pl—”

Ambrose grabbed Kit’s cheeks in one hand and squeezed tightly until Kit’s lips were forced to form a small ring. Kit’s hand shot up and grabbed Ambrose’s wrist, about to beg and plead again. Weren’t they past this? Was this all his fault? Was Ambrose really—

“I think you need a nice, long nap, Kit, don’t you?”

“No!” Kit protested.

“Mmmm, your eyes are feeling so heavy though, aren’t they? And your limbs are exhausted, and you need a really good rest to recover and fight again when you wake don’t you?”

Kit let out a small whine in the back of his throat… because yes, he was feeling tired, and a blissful sleep sounded so fucking good right now. At least then he could turn off the blaring voice in his head screaming danger, danger, danger at him.

“What danger, Kit?” Ambrose asked, his voice so soft and so, so far… away, as if it was a distant melody floating through the air in the other side of the house. Kit swayed on his feet and fell into Ambrose’s open arms. What danger was right, what was he thinking about? His thoughts were liquifying quickly in his mind and sliding slowly away from consciousness. “There we go,” Ambrose cooed, putting his fingers through Kit’s hair. “That’s it, just relax. You want to sleep, don’t you, Kit?”

“Yeah,” Kit mumbled. He went boneless against the villain as Ambrose sat the two of them on the couch again. Ambrose sat down where Kit was before and dragged Kit down with him who was too tired to resist. Kit curled up on the couch as Ambrose gently put Kit’s head on his lap which was as comfortable as a luxurious pillow. Maybe shutting his eyes for a few minutes would be okay, wouldn’t it? He needed his strength after all and… he yawned as Ambrose brushed a hand through his wild, uncut hair.

“That’s right, just a few minutes sleep, and you’ll feel amazing when you wake up.” Ambrose said. Kit didn’t really hear him, but he hummed in reply as his eyes shuttered closed, blissfully unaware of the scorching silver eyes glaring down at him.

***

Ambrose continued to stroke Kit’s hair as the hero’s breath evened out. Ambrose felt his weight droop heavier against him, drifting deeper into sleep in a matter of moments. He could feel Nate’s eyes on him, but he didn’t bother to look up at him, keeping his eyes fixed on the boy’s sleeping head and soft breaths. It was easier to ignore the questions in Nathan’s head and eyes and just focus on the sleeping Hero on him.

God, if only Kit would stay this way forever.

Not that Ambrose would want that, but it would be easier. Why did he have to fight him on everything? Even things that were good for him! It was… exhausting. If this is what having children felt like, Ambrose was almost certain he didn’t want any of the vile things… especially not if Kit remained in his life after all this was over.

He was enough of a handful as it was.

“Why Oskar?” Nate asked, his voice suddenly, terribly vulnerable.

Ambrose didn’t look at him. “I don’t know, Nate. I guess… I told you already. I took too much from him already.”

“That’s a cop out. We both know it.”

Ambrose shrugged. “Think what you want.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Ambrose knew it the moment it left his lips in a tired, defeated sigh. He could feel Nathan’s demeanour shift from confused to defensive in a second, his stance tensing, the air changing around them, becoming thick in Ambrose’s throat.

“Well, if you won’t give me any straight answers, how about I wake him, and ask—” Ambrose’s head snapped up, black eyes catching silver in their void stare.

“You’ll do no such thing.”

Nathan scoffed and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You’re impossible when you’re protective. This is like the Catherine situation all over again.”

Ambrose stiffened. “Don’t talk about her.”

Nathan smirked. He crossed his long arms over his torso, silver eyes gleaming. “It’s true,” he said with a shrug of a shoulder. An attempt to be casual that was anything but. “You always liked to collect strays, Oskar, it’s like a passion project of yours.”

Nathan’s eyes went to Kit in Ambrose’s lap, his fingers wound through the boy’s hair. “Though,” he continued, his voice dipping as his eyes caught Ambrose’s again. “This one you and your father have to share.”

Ambrose’s nostrils flared. “You’re just being cruel for the sake of it now, Nate.”

“So, what if I am?”

“Well, what about you, then?”

Nathan blinked.

“You and all your posturing and grandstanding, how you can absorb so many people’s abilities— mine, Jude’s, my father’s, Kit’s…” Ambrose listed, shrewdness possessing his weighted gaze as he tilted his head at his ex. “How you pretend it doesn’t bother you to hold all that power inside and maintain it there.”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

It was Ambrose’s turn to scoff. The edge of his lips quipped up. “You say that, but I saw how weak you were after healing his wounds. You went pale after, dearest. If you think I wouldn’t notice that then you don’t know me at all.”

Nathan stared down his nose at Ambrose and the sleeping Hero. His eyes softened. “No… maybe I don’t anymore.”

Ambrose swallowed as Nate unfolded his arms. He walked a step closer and leaned down. Ambrose barely suppressed the flinch, but it didn’t matter because Nate could feel Ambrose’s stiffness when he pressed a kiss to his forehead. He smiled against the skin and pulled back.

“I’ll leave you to it.” He said, one hand still lingering on Ambrose’s cheek. He froze midway, and his touch turned bruising as he tilted Ambrose’s head to the side and forced him to look into his swirling, silver eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid, darling. You know how much I hate bruises on your pretty face.”

Ambrose stared as Nathan released him, watching as his psychotic ex walked away, grabbed the door and slammed it shut on the way out. Ambrose couldn’t suppress the flinch that time as he stared down at Kit. He didn’t stir. Still sound asleep. Unaware of Ambrose’s tremors of fear at Nathan’s farewell threat.

Oh, he knew how much Nathan hated bruises on his face alright… he knew all too well just how cruel he could truly be.

***

Six years ago…

Oskar and Max stumbled out of the University pub and down the streets back to their apartment in Old Town. God, what a night. What a glorious night, and how long had it been since Oskar could just let loose with Max like that? Get absolutely hammered. He laughed as he threw an arm around Max’s shoulder.

“I love you, Max.”

“That’s really gay,” Max replied, and the pair burst into snorting laughter. Oskar craned his neck down and pressed a wet kiss to Max’s hair as they walked towards Fagan’s lot. They didn’t notice the group of four guys approaching them until one of them shoulder checked Max.

“Woah!” Max said and Oskar turned, about to tell the dicks to watch it when one of them muttered something that chilled him to the core and froze him in place.

“Fucking fags.”

Max grabbed at Oskar’s arm, sensing the shift in his posture. “Oskar come on. They’re small minded—”

“Excuse me,” Oskar hissed. The men stopped and turned. Oskar shrugged Max’s hand off.

“Oskar, just leave it.” Max said.

“No, I won’t just leave it. What did these pricks mutter but not have any fucking balls to say to our faces, huh?”

Oskar went towards the tallest, broadest guy and shoved him back. “Huh? What the fuck did you say?”

“Oskar!”

“You better back off, lamppost and listen to your boyfriend or you’re gonna get hurt.” The tall— well, tallest of the group — broad man stank of beer and had a truly hideous beard. Both of which Oskar personally took offence to.

Oskar straightened to his full height, a good head and shoulders taller than this piece of shit and grinned sadistically down at him.

“You tell him Mitch.” One of the others said.

“Yeah,” another chimed in, “run back to your boyfriend, faggot.”

Oskar’s head snapped to the offender. He was the shortest of the group, blond – obviously he was fucking blond – with tiny pubic hairs tweezed onto his chin in the mock shadow of stubble. He was stick thin and looked like a fucking weasel with a sharp pointed nose and tiny squinting eyes.

“Number one,” Oskar said, holding a bony finger up. “Ew. I wouldn’t date this man if he was the last man on earth,” Oskar said.

Max blinked behind him. “Uh, ouch?!”

Oskar glanced back over his shoulder. “Hush. You know I love you.”

“Fucking queers, I swear to—”

Oskar turned back to glare at the men again. “Two, it’s fucking homophobic to use the words faggot and queer in a derogatory manner towards my friend and I, and I think you should fucking apologise. Right now.”

“Or what?” Mitch challenged stepping forward.

Oskar’s eyes darkened. “Or else. You only get one chance to do the decent thing.” He said, holding his index finger up, his dark eyes searched Mitch’s face, trying to convey how serious he was. “One.”

“Show this fucking princess what real men do.”

Oskar sighed, his head dipped, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I did warn you.”

Mitch went to throw a punch and Oskar stepped back. He caught Mitch’s arm and punched him in the face before shoving him back and kicking him away. Oskar brushed away the curls that fell into his eyes before throwing his arms up in defence of his face from another of the dick’s punches.

“For,” Max began, punctuating his sentence with punches, “fuck’s” punch and the guy went down, “sake, Oskar.”

Oskar grinned. “They’re little bitches, Max, what do—”

Oskar’s head whipped to the side suddenly. He didn’t see his attacker come upon him until he was already hit, fire raging in his cheekbone and someone was cursing as a fist drew back. Another blow came from below, knuckles cracking against his jaw. Oskar stumbled back. His head turned skyward as his bottom teeth snapped against his top and ricocheted through his skull.

He didn’t see the third blow come for his solar plexus. The fist landed and Oskar shot forward as he wheezed a startled sound. A hand caught his cheek and slammed a palm against his nose. Oskar cried out as blood gushed down his face, gasping as he stumbled back again, the world dizzy with tears as his eyes watered reflexively.

Then.

Heat in front of him.

Oranges and yellows licked against the air, standing between Oskar and the homophobes. Warm blood turned cold as it poured from Oskar’s nose and trickled down through his fingers and onto his clothes.

“Yeah, who’s the little bitch now?”

Max scoffed. “Fuck off, asshole.”

“Should’ve known you were freaks too,” one of them said. Oskar’s eyes narrowed, tears spilling over his eyelids as he straightened. He could feel his eyes go the same red as his blood and he put a hand on Max’s shoulder, stepping past him.

“Oskar,” Max said. Caution coloured his voice as Oskar stepped around the human fire ball. “Don’t.”

“Fuck it, why not?”

“Oskar! You can’t—”

“Mitch,” Oskar said. The words sounded as sweet as a melody. Irresistible, and why would you want to resist? He knew the moment it hit Mitch’s ears because he paused as the honeyed words swam into his ears. “Kiss the best looking of your friends.”

Mitch obeyed without question.

He chose the second strongest of the four, grabbed his cheeks and slammed his lips against them. The other two, including the little weasel looked a little annoyed more than angered by the fact that Mitch didn’t find them attractive.

Oskar tilted his head to the side and grinned horribly at them. “Aww, feeling left out, uglies? It’s okay. The two of you kiss too.”

“Itch… off…” the good-looking one said, trying to shove Mitch off of him.

“Oskar! Stop it!”

“Why should I?” Oskar demanded, his little finger twitching as rage consumed him. “Maybe I should make them fuck each other in the street like dogs. Maybe then they’ll learn some fucking manners.”

Heat singed the edges of Oskar’s ear, burning away the stray baby curls. Oskar gasped, jumping to the left and cupping his ear with his hand. He looked over his shoulder to see Max glaring up at him.

“What the fuck?” He hissed.

“What the fuck yourself! Tell them to stop! Tell them to forget!”

Oskar straightened. His pride getting the better of him. “Why should I?”

“You know right well why Mr Law major! You know how unethical this is?! I’m serious. Tell them to stop right now, or else.”

Oskar kept Max’s burning stare for a moment longer before the rage dissipated like smoke in the darkness. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Fine,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he turned back to the group of dickheads.

He walked over to the group and told them, “okay loverboys. Enough.”

The group pulled away from each other disgusted. The good looking one, the one that had gotten the punches in on Oskar’s face wiped furiously at his mouth. “What the fuck, Mitchell? Why did you do that? What about Diane?”

Mitch stared at his hands, his face a putrid shade of red. “I- I… I don’t know why I did it… I-” He looked up then at Oskar who stood smugly, hands in his tailored trouser pockets, reeking of expensive cologne and tangible satisfaction. All a farce, a fake, a falsehood, the Oskar that Oskar created after his departure from his legacy role as a hero. “You…” Mitch said, raising a shaking hand. “It was you! You told me… and I- I couldn’t…”

Oskar tilted his head to the side, his smirk widening, exposing his teeth in a wolfish grin. “Couldn’t resist? Maybe you just really fancied him.”

A sharp slap to Oskar’s arm and he yelped as Max stepped up beside him, smog rising from his ears and Oskar felt his blood run cold. “Ow!”

“Tell them to forget. Now.”

“Forget?” The weasel one asked, looking just as terror struck as Mitch and the others. “Make us forget?!”

“You’re a monster!” The other one said.

Oskar bent low and said: “boo.”

The weasel actually flinched. Oskar would have laughed if Max wasn’t about to roast him over the grills of hell, so Oskar clapped his hands together. “Okay, idiots, listen up. You will forget you ever met me or Max tonight. You will forget our faces. You will forget you called us faggots. And…” Oskar glanced at Max sideways and grinned. “Whenever you think of calling someone queer or gay, or faggots, you will remember kissing your friends today. And you will also donate your life savings to a charity for LG–”

Oskar flinched when he felt a lick of heat against his face. “Okay. Not your life savings, but you will donate a small donation fee to any LGBT charity in the city and be general allies to the queer community from now on, capiche?”

The four men nodded dumbly. Oskar straightened with a clap. “Good. Wonderful. Later losers.”

Oskar walked off down Fagan’s lot whistling a happy tune. “Happy with yourself, are you?” Max asked behind him.

Oskar laughed. “Yup. Pretty damn satisfied.”

“That was fucked up, Oskar.” Oskar paused, his smile dimming. Max walked around to his front. “You know that was wrong.”

Oskar let out a huff of breath. “They were fucked up, Max! I’m sick of walking around like I don’t have this power! Something I can use to–”

“To ruin people’s lives?”

“You’re being dramatic.” Oskar said, waving away Max’s dramatics.

“No!” Max protested, gathering Oskar’s attention. “I’m not! Did you hear that guy? Mitch had a wife, or a girlfriend, what if he had kids?”

“Poor kids.” Oskar replied coldly.

Max grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him back against the wall. Oskar’s black eyes widened with surprise at Max’s force. “Don’t you see how fucked up that could be? Telling him to donate his life savings to a charity? What about his wife? His bills? His kids?”

“Maybe being a shitty person means you deserve to have your life fall apart!”

“Is that why yours did?” Max demanded, eyes ablaze. Oskar stiffened under Max’s knuckles. Max may as well have slapped him for the reaction his words caused. Max’s grip loosened. “Oskar…” he said softly.

“No,” Oskar replied. He ran a hand through his hair that had fallen over his eyes, casting them in shadow. God, he really needed a haircut. “No, you’re right. I… I was reckless and I was irresponsible and… you’re right. I’m sorry.”

A silence fell between them. After a minute, Max let go of Oskar’s shirt and let him stand up properly. A grin cracked Max’s handsome face then. “But… it was satisfying to see how horrified they were after kissing each other.”

Oskar grinned and let out a little laugh. “Right?” And just like that they were back to normal and walking down to their apartment block, laughing up the stairs and into the dingy apartment, Max struggling to open the door, having to kick it once, twice, three times, but it stayed stubbornly closed.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Max cursed, and shouldered the door open. The door slammed in and Max stumbled and nearly hit the floor if it wasn’t for Oskar grabbing his arm at the last second, laughing as Max cursed.

“Fucking door!”

“About time you got home.”

The two boys straightened at the voice. Oskar helped to steady Max before he went looking for his boyfriend in the apartment. “Nate? What’re you doing here?” Oskar asked with a big smile on his face. When Nate turned his expression immediately darkened and he was in front of Oskar in a second, hands cupping his cheeks and tilting his head up.

“What the fuck happened to your face?”

Oskar waved him away and went into give Nate a kiss, he missed him he realised. It had only been a few days since they had seen each other, but still. Oskar was drunk and his boyfriend was here, and he was happy.

Nate’s strong hands stopped Oskar from kissing him and Oskar let out a small whine. “What’re you–”

“What. The fuck. Happened to your face?” Nathan asked again and Oskar shrunk under the tightness in his tone. His fingers dug uncomfortably into Oskar’s cheeks and Oskar grabbed Nathan’s wrists and tried to pull them off, but he didn’t budge.

“Nate… Nate,” Oskar said, gasping, eyes pained and pleading. “Nathan, you’re hurting me!”

“What happened to your face?”

“Get off me, Nathan!”

Max appeared between the two and Nathan released Oskar. Oskar took a heavy step back; betrayal pinched his features tight on his face. Oskar shrunk under Nathan’s glare, horribly aware that he had done something wrong and now Nathan was mad, and he hated when Nate got mad.

“Just some douchebags, Nate,” Max said, cutting through the thick tension in the room. “It’s fine. We gave as good as we got.”

“Whoever laid a hand on you…” Nathan said, his voice small, but holding back the ferocity of a storm on the sea. His eyes bright with a cold fury. “Whoever dare hurt you…” he said, his expression softening as he stepped forward and cupped Oskar’s face in his hand again. Oskar flinched when Nathan put his hands on him and wanted to curl up at the look of hurt that passed across his boyfriend’s face. “Your poor face…”

“I’ll live,” Oskar whispered and stepped out of Nathan’s hold.

Max looked between the two. He threw his hands up. “Yeah. I’m also fine, Nate, thanks for asking.”

“Oh shush,” Nathan purred, waving Max away. “You’re like a cockroach, you’ll never die.”

“You could still show some concern. It wouldn’t hurt.”

Oskar excused him as he walked down the hall to the bathroom, his hands shaking violently as he slammed the door shut and locked it. He put his back against the door and gasped when he saw himself in the mirror above the sink. Fuck… fuck… fuck…

Fuck, tears welled up in his black eyes and Oskar felt sick suddenly. A warm feeling climbed his stomach, and he lurched towards the toilet and threw up into the bowl. Not a second later a knock at the door and Oskar froze.

“Osk? Babe, you okay?” Oskar had to tighten his fingers on the toilet to stop his hands from shaking.

It’s fine, he told himself. It’s just a crash from the adrenaline of the fight. It’s fine. He’s fine.

“Oskar?” A rattle of the doorknob and Oskar flinched hard again.

Yeah… the fight, totally what he was afraid of…

The next day when Oskar was walking back to the University, he passed a bloody crime scene that made his skin prickle and crawl, and his blood run cold. “Do we have an ID of the bodies?”

“Good thing we had their IDs, or they’d all be John Doe’s.” One of the investigators said. “I don’t know what did this, but it looks too violent for an animal, too… vicious. Calculated.”

Oskar stopped walking. “Mitchell… Dawkins…” One of the lead detectives said and Oskar turned back, and half ran home and up the stairs to his apartment. He had to throw up again as he stumbled into his apartment, sick to his stomach as nausea climbed thick up his oesophagus. All he could think of was Nathan’s hands on his face, the fury in his eyes… the… oh god… no… there… Nathan couldn’t have done something like that… but somewhere, somewhere deep down, Oskar knew he was lying to himself and that thought made him hurl more than the crime.

***

Ambrose stared down at the sleeping Hero in his lap, his bony fingers gently running through his matted hair, combing out the knots of dirt and blood. “Don’t worry, Kit,” Ambrose whispered. “I won’t let him do that to you. I promise. We’ll get out of here. Together. I promise. Just give me time.”

*~*~*~*~*

Tag-list [lmk if you wanna be added/removed}: @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @blood-enthusiast t t @tippytappytyping @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump @acer-whumpstuff @fa1rie @jesterrinobutter @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @dutifullykrispyland @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @ehobep

[backpackingspace]

Okay but consider post Canon over protective Athena who is sick to death of her most devout being raped.

Athena sticking close to the whole family and promising penelope that she'll keep a close eye on odysseus the first time he has to go into the market and penelope can't go with him. (She was going to go anyway. She's never actually going to let any of them out of her sight ever again. And it's an easy promise to her dearest weaver who seems so distressed to have odysseus leaving her side.)

Athena fully manifesting in the market when someone grabs odysseus with godly flashes of snakes and owls and the drums of war to scream /release him/ (odysseus is feeling indulgent for both his patron and his wife it's so cute that they're this worried it's not like he couldn't defend himself just fine. Especially from whatever poor fuck just grabbed him who definitely doesn't deserve a goddess screaming in his face. Hes trying so hard not to laugh if he did athena would send him flying.)

Athena telling all the other gods that yes she knows odysseus is the favorite barbie doll she choose him well after all and to back the fuck off if any of them bother him again they will have made an enemy of her.

Athena disguising odysseus only as an old beggar from here on out instead of an irresistibly tall and handsome man. Because she saw how uncomfortable nausicaa's attention made him.

[worst-mother-throwdown]

BRACKET 1

Semifinals

TW: child abuse, manipulation, torture, murder, mass murder, child abandonment

Shadow Weaver propaganda

Titania propaganda