#w:3k

[percabetn]

i can’t stop thinking about how annabeth e-mailed percy the photo of her at dc but this doofus decided to print it and put it in his notebook to stare at her whenever he could. talk about dedication

[susie-dreemurr]

Btw are we not gonna talk about how Falin immediately smiles like this when Marcille calls out to her?

Her mind may be in shambles right now but I think a part of her was like: “oh… gf :]” and then got distracted by all the killable humans in the area.

[grandadtwelve]

I know that donna was like “haha yeah doctor you’ve always been kinda gay” but it’s better 2 me if the doctor actually meant “oh I say that shit out loud now” the same way he said that about verbalizing his feelings/saying “love”. bc do I think the doctor was completely unaware of any and all attraction they’ve ever had to men? nah not at all. do I think the doctor has ever seen an attractive person and immediately gone “yeah. smash.” out loud? no sir

[pippynsworld]

Undercover mission (& taking a well deserved break)

[tiffycat]

I remember seeing some fans suggest "Cardinal" as a hero name for Tim a while back, so I tried my hand at what I think Cardinal Tim Drake would look like

[tangledinink]

5K DTIYS! I cannot believe there's so many of you now!!! I am positively flattered and tickled, so I wanna give out some prizes to thank y'all! Winners will be randomly selected-- Artists and writers alike are welcome to participate and get added to the raffle pool! Further details/rules below the cut.

Not an artist? That's OK! Write something that you think could be in this magazine-- an article, an interview, a quiz, etc-- and that will count as a submission!

Deadline is Halloween, 'cause it's fun. 10/31/23. There's no deadline for participating-- that's just the deadline to be added to the raffle pool to get a Fun Prize.

I'll draw two winners ('cause Gemini, get it?) I'll draw a small comic (2-5 pages) for 'first' place, and I'll do a sketch for 'second' place! I do reserve the right to decline any requests that I'm not comfortable drawing.

Submissions don't stack. Drawing AND writing something won't get you in the raffle twice, though you're welcome to do both if you feel so inspired!

Please tag me and use #gemini5kdtiys ! Otherwise the submission may not be counted. If you tag me and it doesn't seem like I've seen it (I don't like and/or reblog it,) feel free to nudge me!

You gotta be following me to be added to the raffle pool!~

THANK YOU GUYS FOR THE SUPPORT AND FOR 5K FOLLOWERS ; w ; this is a rule.

[a11eya]

TITLE: lights will guide you home

CHAPTER: 6

PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

SUMMARY: Soul-lights aren’t as common in this day and age as they were in the past, before quirks, but they’re common enough that people do still find their soulmates.

At thirteen, you meet Bakugou Katsuki, and he lights up for you in orange and gold. You tell him he's your soulmate. He sneers and tells you that you aren't his. He makes your adolescence miserable until you part ways.

You meet again as adults, late at night, in a grocery store, over a pile of bok choy. He apologizes for how he treated you when you were children.

(In which you have a choice—to reject Bakugou's apology, reject him, or to let him show you the man he's become, to learn with him what it means to love and forgive.)

TAGS: soulmate au, trope inversion/subversion, slow burn, getting together, falling in love, fluff, aged up characters, pro-hero characters, eventual smut, mild bullying

NAVIGATION: Series Masterlist

It’s a weeknight, after dinner, when your coworker messages you.

Is this you????? They send you a link to a tweet.

The tweet reads, Dynamight dating someone? 🤔 and there are two pictures attached.

You tap the first image and zoom in. 

It is you. It’s at the pet store, you realize. This first picture is of you and Bakugou from behind. The second picture is the both of you from the side, though it’s blurry because Bakugou’s in motion, angled in a way that blocks your face from view. 

There are a few interactions with the tweet, people retweeting it with commentary. Some people are saying that it looks like you could just be some random office worker; you’re wearing office attire. You think those people seem like rational, reasonable human beings. Others are analyzing the distance between you and Bakugou standing next to each other, estimating in centimeters, and say it’s too close, that you must be romantically involved. You think those people are a little unhinged. 

There are other, meaner comments, but you skip over those and close out of Twitter.

You stare at your phone blankly. The screen goes dark, and a rock settles in your stomach. You hadn’t even thought of the repercussions of being in public with Bakugou. With Dynamight. It’s stupid. That day, you noticed people looking, but you thought they’d been looking at him. Not both of you.  

You jump a little when your phone goes off in your hand. It’s Bakugou.

Speak of the devil. You hope he’s calling to tell you he can make this go away. You don’t want this kind of attention. 

“Hello?”

“Don’t lose your shit. D’you see the dumb gossip rags?”

“What gossip rags?” you ask. There’s more? 

“Nosy assholes took pictures of us at the pet store the other day. You might’ve seen stuff on socials. A couple of the shittiest magazines are talking about it.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling like you’re listening to him from far away. “Yes, my coworker just sent me a tweet with pictures of us from that day.” 

You can feel your heart rate rising. Hearing it confirmed in Bakugou’s gruff voice makes it real in a way it wasn’t a minute ago.

“Yeah, I—” He sighs harshly, stops. “Where are you?” 

“What?” Your brain takes a second to load. “I’m at home. Why?”

“I’m coming over.”

“What?” you repeat, feeling like your thoughts are moving through molasses—slow, viscous. You shake your head, trying to clear it. It sounded like he’d said he’s coming over. 

“You heard me. What’s your address?”

“Bakugou. Don’t come over. Why do you want to come over?”

He exhales, and it crackles the line. “Look, I know you’re thinking up a bunch of shit in that squirrely head of yours—”

“Squirrely?” you say, making a face. 

“—and you needa knock it off. S’gonna be okay. I’m gonna take care of it.”

It’s what you wanted to hear, but actually hearing it makes your mind empty, the buzzing anxiety quiet. You swallow the sudden lump in your throat. 

After a moment, you say, “...Okay.” 

Your voice is softer than you’d like it to be. It embarrasses you.

You wonder if the people he saves as Dynamight feel this way. So relieved that it feels like you could float, like Uravity. 

“Good,” he says, and there’s a quiet lull. “My PR team’s gonna be in contact with you tomorrow. Call or message me if—if anything changes.” 

“Okay,” you repeat. Your heartbeat is no longer so loud. You can hear the rustle of his clothes as he shifts on the other end of the line. “Goodnight?”

“Night,” he says, and hangs up. 

In the morning, as you’re leaving your apartment for work, you get that call from his PR team. His manager introduces herself as Ikeda. 

“I’m sure Bakugou’s given you a brief, inadequate explanation of the situation,” she says dryly, and you let out a surprised laugh. She continues, “Before we go any further, do you have any questions about or have any concerns for your immediate physical safety?”

“I—no?” Alarm creeps into your voice. “Should I be concerned?”

Her tone shifts from brisk and business-like to something more sympathetic. “Your privacy has been violated, so it’s very understandable if you’re feeling unsafe. Many pro heroes’ family and friends feel this way when similar situations occur, and many pro heroes feel this way too. I’m here to tell you that we can assign security to you, effective immediately, if you feel their presence is necessary or even if it would ease your mind. It’s protocol. 

“However, none of the pictures in circulation reveal your face or any distinguishing characteristics, so my team and I aren’t too worried at this point, and we feel you shouldn’t be either. But again, if you have any questions, please ask. I would like you to make informed decisions.”

“Thank you. I’m feeling… okay,” you say, though truly, you’re overwhelmed and trying to process. You picture people in suits following you around work and grimace. “And I’ll pass on the security, if that’s okay.” 

“That’s fine.”

“And I don’t have any questions so far.”

“Alright. And if you change your mind, contact me at this number. Someone will always answer.” Ikeda pauses. “Alert us, please, if something comes up, even though you may feel compelled to alert Dynamight instead.”

You’re confused. Why wouldn’t you tell Bakugou? “Can I ask why?”

“He has a history of responding to perceived threats with… overwhelming force. Even if the threat doesn’t warrant it.” Ikeda mutters something you don’t quite catch, but it doesn’t sound complimentary. 

You imagine Bakugou showing up at your apartment, or at work, and absolutely destroying some paparazzo for taking pictures of you, or something. You wince. 

“...I’ll do that,” you tell Ikeda. “Um, I’m sorry to cut this conversation short, but I’m going to have to run soon. I need to get to work.”

“Oh! No, no, sorry to hold you up. One more thing. Actually, two. First, can you meet me and my team at the agency after work today? We need to hammer out some details to help us navigate how to proceed moving forward.”

“Sure.”

“Wonderful! Just give your name to the front desk and they’ll take care of the rest. Thanks for being flexible. The second thing is about your soulmate situation.”

You feel yourself tense up, shoulders creeping up to your ears. Bakugou had told her? Who else had he told? 

“Are you and Bakugou planning on going public about it any time soon?” she asks. “I can’t get a peep about it out of him. Hoping you’d throw me some crumbs.”

“Uh, no,” you say. Why on earth would she think you’d go public about it? Not only would you likely receive unwanted commentary on your soulmate pairing being one-sided, but you’d also be exposed to general public scrutiny. Just these pet store pictures freak you out. Maybe you and Bakugou are… friendly now, friends maybe, but it’s not worth it.

“Not planning on it,” you say firmly.

Ikeda sighs. “Right. Well, we’ll plan for it when the time comes. But that’s a conversation for another time. Thanks for your time. I’ll see you later today.”

You say goodbye, and you begin your commute to work feeling like you’d just been hit by a car. Ikeda had thrown so many things at you in one phone call that you’re struggling to wrap your head around it all. You’re also paranoid that you’ll somehow be recognized; you find yourself jumpy and self-conscious on the train, walking through the streets to your office building.

What’s worse is that despite your efforts you’re late for work, which throws your whole day off. You’re so out of it worrying about the pictures and the meeting with Ikeda later today that your boss calls you into her office to ask what’s wrong. 

By the time the end of the work day rolls around, you’re exhausted, mentally and emotionally. The last thing you want to do is meet with Bakugou’s PR people. You want to go home, crawl into bed, and sleep until you have to get up for work again tomorrow. Maybe you’d call out.

But you told Bakugou’s manager that you’d be at the agency. So you go. 

When you approach the receptionist desk, you make eye contact with one of the girls working it. You remember her from last time, and she seems to recognize you too. 

“Hi,” you say, banishing the semi-permanent frown you’d been wearing all day and summoning up a feeble smile. It’s not her fault you’re having a bad day. “I’m here to see—”

“Dynamight, right?” she says brightly. 

“Oh, uh—”

“He’s waiting for you on the third floor. Take a left out of the elevator, and it’s the first room on the right. Let me get the elevator for you. You need access to use it.”

You follow her until you’re standing in the elevator, biting your tongue, knowing the time to correct her has passed. She takes in your expression after tapping her card against the sensor in the elevator and furrows her brows. 

“Would you like me to show you the way?”

“No, I’m okay, I think I can find it,” you say hurriedly, rearranging your expression to a more neutral one. “Thanks anyway.”         

“You’re welcome! Have a good one!” she says, stepping out right before the elevator door closes. 

You stare at the floor numbers lighting up above you. Maybe she meant Bakugou’s team is waiting for you. 

You follow the receptionist’s directions—you really should get her name the next time you see her—and tentatively knock on the door. It opens almost immediately, and you look up and up to meet Kirishima’s gaze. You startle. What’s he doing here?

He smiles at you, oblivious to your confusion. This close, you can see that his teeth are sharp and his eyes are red, like and unlike Bakugou’s. They’re kind as they take you in.

“Nice to see you again!” Kirishima says, gesturing you in and closing the door behind you. “Wish it was in better circumstances, though.”

He studies your face, concern crossing his own. “Are you okay? How’re you holding up?” 

“I’m—I’m still up, I guess,” you say, smiling weakly.

Kirishima reaches up and pats you on the shoulder. “We’ll fix things, don’t worry. C’mon, take a seat anywhere.”

“Thanks,” you say, and follow him deeper into the room.

The room’s set up like a typical conference room, with a long table at its center with chairs circling it. A screen is at the far end of the room, and standing next to it is a tall woman in a sharp business suit, tapping away at a tablet. 

Bakugou is leaning against one of the walls, arms crossed. He’s in joggers and a plain shirt, just like Kirishima, and it makes you think they’d just wrapped up their workday too. His lights flare erratically; one moment, they’re dim and close to his skin, and the next they’re bright and flickering like a flame. It’s both distracting and mesmerizing. 

Bakugou glances at you briefly, a quick up and down, before looking at the woman. 

“Hey. Let’s get this shit going,” Bakugou tells her. 

The woman tears her eyes away from the tablet, mouth set in an annoyed slash, but then she sees you. Her expression smooths out. 

“Oh! You’re here. Yes, let’s get started.” She gives you a big smile. “I’m Ikeda. We spoke on the phone.” 

“Nice to meet you in person,” you tell her. “Thanks for the call. I appreciate the info you gave me.”

Kirishima sits on one side of the table, opposite where Bakugou’s standing, and closer to Ikeda. You choose a seat not quite across from Kirishima, and you have to pass by Bakugou to get to it. As you settle into your chair, you get that prickly awareness you feel whenever he’s around. But it’s comforting, having him at your back, in this room with two people you don’t know very well.

“It’ll just be the four of us today,” Ikeda says, “and the meeting should be brief. I know you’ve had a long day.” She looks at you sympathetically.

She taps at something on her tablet, and images appear on the screen behind her. 

“Here are all the images taken that day that we were able to compile. Our team has contacted all websites and individuals hosting these images and requested their removal. We’ve also taken steps to request deindexing of these images from search engines. This should slow any further spread of the images, but as you know, it’s impossible to scrub images completely once they hit the internet. And there’s the matter of the gossip magazines that’ve posted articles.”

The images on the screen switch to the articles you’ve avoided searching. Their headlines are blatant clickbait, speculating about the nature of your relationship with Bakugou and fanning the flames of jealousy generated by his fans.  

You avert your eyes. You don’t even want to know what Bakugou’s thinking. 

“As such,” Ikeda continues, “my team has determined that our best bet is to lean into the theory circulating that you’re an agency employee assisting Bakugou with a task.”

Kirishima blinks. “Will that really work? What would Bakugou have needed help with?”

“They were in a pet shop, and they were photographed carrying items for cats. We’ll release some social media posts stating that Bakugou was purchasing them for a pet.” 

“I’m not getting a cat,” Bakugou growls. 

“You don’t have to,” Ikeda says. “It’s just a cover story.”

“But how long would Bakugou have to keep up the cover?” you ask. All eyes in the room turn to you, and you grip your chair’s armrest reflexively, responding to the sudden attention. 

You clear your throat. “I mean, cats are a long-time commitment. Lots of them live for fifteen plus years, sometimes twenty… It’d look weird if you say you’ve gotten a cat but then never mention it again, right?” 

You glance at Bakugou to gauge his reaction, and he looks like he’s bitten a lemon. 

Ikeda sighs, rubbing her temples. “Maybe we can say the items were a present for a friend. We’ll have to think about this further.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, feeling bad. “I didn’t mean to shoot down your idea. I’m fostering some kittens right now and the logistics of caring for them are on the brain. Maybe your idea’ll work. I doubt anyone would care enough to check if Bakugou’s telling the truth.”

Ikeda’s eyes sharpen. “I’ve never fostered any animals, so correct me if I’m wrong, but—fostering means you take care of an animal for a specific length of time, right? But you don’t keep them?”

“Yes,” you say slowly. You make eye contact with Kirishima, trying to see if he knows where she’s going with this, but he looks as confused as you feel. 

You offer, “I’m only fostering them until they get adopted.”

“That’s great! We’ll use that, then,” Ikeda says, putting her hands on her hips. 

“Wait, I think I missed something,” Kirishima says, furrowing his brow. “What’re we doing, exactly?”

“We’ll frame things so that Bakugou’s fostering some cats. That’s why he was buying those things at the store, and he was getting assistance from an agency employee. We can acquire some cats Bakugou can take pictures and videos with for social media. Then, in a couple weeks, we can announce Bakugou’s fostering is complete and plug some cat adoption organizations while we’re at it. What do we think?”

“Shit sounds stupid,” Bakugou says, and you can almost hear the sneer in his voice. You haven’t heard that in a long time. 

“I like it!” Kirishima says. Out of the corner of your eye, to your left, you see Bakugou step forward. He plants his hands on the table, glaring at Kirishima.

“No,” Bakugou says, baring his teeth.

Kirishima frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “C’mon, Bakugou. It’d be good press for you. Boost your image! Everyone loves baby animals! And it’d be a good way to support local organizations. We can turn this situation into a positive!” 

“That’s dumb as fuck. Let’s just sue the assholes who took those pictures and wrote those articles and move on.”

Ikeda rubs her temples. “That’s not how it works, Bakugou. You were in a public space, so photography of you is valid, and the images don’t damage your reputation. Pursuing legal action isn’t an option.”

You’ve been quiet during this exchange, and you’re hoping to keep it that way. If you could become one with your chair or sink through the floor, you would. But, as if sensing your reluctance to participate in the conversation, Ikeda looks at you and asks, “What do you think? Feel free to weigh in.”

“Um, I don’t think I should… It’s a decision that’ll affect your agency’s business, isn’t it? So…”

“Fuck that,” Bakugou tells you. He’s looking at you, and you blink at him, startled. “Tell me what you think.”

Kirishima leans forward, catching your attention. “Don’t worry too much! Just be honest. You’re involved in this too, and we wanna hear if you have any opinions.” 

You worry at your bottom lip. “Okay… Well it seems like a decent idea. Better than the first suggestion, probably. I don’t mind if the story is that I’m an agency employee. And…” 

You tilt your head back to look up at Bakugou. He’s gravitated closer from where he’d been standing a couple chairs down. He’s standing nearly next to you. 

“If it’ll make things easier, we can use my foster kittens. Maybe featuring them will get them adopted faster,” you say. Tentatively, you smile, tilting your head. “Free my furniture from their evil clutches faster?”

Bakugou gazes down at you for a long moment, eyes narrowed. You look back at him, waiting. He turns away. 

“Whatever. Fine,” he says.

“Great!” Ikeda says, smoothly inserting herself back into the conversation. “I’ll take care of the details. I’ll send some paperwork along to you digitally. Then all you two need to do is take a couple pictures and videos of Bakugou with the cats. Please have them ready by the end of the week!”

[atlabeth]

congratulations on 3k!!! could I get a cute lil 🧸 hurt/comfort with nikolai where reader is grisha (maybe heartrender or inferni) and she gets jurda parem in her system and nikolai stays with her while she waits it out (like nina and matthias??) also drink water <333

by your side

pairing: nikolai lantsov x fem inferni!reader

summary: you end up as collateral in a plot against nikolai. he helps you through the aftermath.

a/n: so sorry this took so long but that’s going to be the case for all of these lol !!! oops. but i love this man and i hope you enjoy it

wc: 1.2k

warning(s): reader goes through parem withdrawal and is kinda mean to nikolai for a bit. mentions of kidnapping and drugging. hurt/comfort, nikolai is the sweetest

“Nikolai—”

“I know.”

“It hurts, Nikolai,” you breathed.

“I know, milaya.” He brushed loose strands of hair out of your eyes, matted to your forehead by sweat and blood, his heart breaking more with every passing second. “I know.”

Nikolai couldn’t stand to see you like this. You didn’t even want him to—you asked him to leave so you could go through it on your own, but he would sooner die than leave you alone. You had an iron grip on his hand, but he hardly felt it. After what had been done to you in the name of getting to him, Nikolai owed you this much.

“Everything burns,” you moaned. “My— my bones—”

You were cut off by a sharp gasp of pain and your grip on Nikolai’s hand tightened. The action made you grimace as your eyes screwed shut, but you didn’t lessen your hold.

He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to ease this pain for you. He understood little of jurda parem, if a cure even existed, but he did know that you were strong enough to weather what was meant to be an insurmountable storm.

“You can end it,” you said, your voice shaking. Bloodshot eyes met his own, wide and dilated and full of unimaginable pain. “You’ve got to still have some here.”

“You know I can’t do that, my love,” he murmured.

“Please, Nikolai,” you begged.

“It will only make it worse,” he said. “There is nothing we can do but wait. You are strong enough to get through it, milaya.”

“Then what are you good for?” you snarled, your voice rising with the sudden flash of anger. “You’re a damned king, but you can’t even stop this?”

You tried to rip your hand away but Nikolai wouldn’t let you. He laid his other hand on top of yours.

“Look at me, Nikolai,” you hissed. “You say you love me and you leave me like this.”

“It is because I love you that I cannot give anything to you,” he said. “I can’t imagine how this feels, but I will be here for you every second of the way.”

You shook your head as another pained gasp escaped you, and somehow your grip tightened even more.

“I just want it to stop,” you begged. “Please, please make it stop.”

You were drenched in sweat, the bedsheets and the undergarments you’d stripped down to soaked through, and yet you hadn’t been granted any reprieve.

You’d always found comfort in the blazes you could create—able to fight with unbelievable ferocity one moment and make a harmless, beautiful show out of it that summoned all the stars in Nikolai’s eyes the next—but now it threatened to consume you.

Nikolai couldn’t help but feel like it was his fault.

You should have never been involved in the first place. He should’ve done a better job at protecting you, should have kept your name hidden, should have never let anyone have the chance to do something like this in the first place.

It was his fault. Nikolai knew he had enemies, more than he could ever imagine after ascending to the throne. Some stupid, naive part of him hoped that you wouldn’t become a part of that, but that was all it was—naivety.

You were kidnapped to get to him. Drugged to get to him. The bastards must have hoped you would go up in flames once you were done, but they underestimated you. Your foes always did.

You didn’t deserve any of this. Those criminals knew one thing, at least, because Nikolai would have taken all your pain as his burden for the rest of his life if it meant one second of reprieve for you.

But he couldn’t. His enemies wanted him to suffer, and the best way to do that was to make you suffer.

“I know,” he whispered, and he raised your intertwined hands to press a kiss to the back of your palm. “I know.”

Your skin had all but ignited from the inside out, more intense than anything an Inferni could muster on their own. You could have plunged to the depths of the Isenvee and still burn the whole way down.

And it continued on.

You hurled every curse at him in your native Zemeni, and when you ran out you turned to what you knew in Ravkan. You tried to throw him off or get him to leave a hundred times, tried anything to make him hate you. He could never hate you.

You sobbed through your pain, begging Nikolai to make it end. You gripped his hand so tightly he thought it might break. You asked him to kiss you to distract you for even a moment.

You endured every hellish, torturous second, and Nikolai stayed by your side through it all.

“Nikolai.” The sudden whisper was so soft he had to lean closer to hear you.

“Yes, my love?”

“I’m so tired.”

“You can sleep,” he assured. “I will be right here with you.”

“Hold me.” Your voice cracked, and his heart twisted. “Please.”

“Are you sure?” Every part of you had been so sensitive, practically ablaze, and he didn’t want to worsen your already sensitive condition.

“I… I feel so empty.” You blinked a few times, but he saw the tears shimmering in your eyes. “Like— like I lost a part of myself, and I need to feel something.”

Nikolai’s throat bobbed, and he nodded. “Of course, lapushka.”

He climbed into bed next to you and laid down, gathering you up in his arms as gently as possible.

“Is this alright?” he asked softly as he pulled you close.

You nodded. He could feel each beat of your heart with your back pressed against his chest, and he’d never been more grateful for the sound. Your skin still burned, but he welcomed the blaze.

“It’s perfect.”

“Good.”

For a moment, the two of you laid there in silence. Only your heartbeat and your breathing interrupted it, yours still slightly harried.

“I’m not hurting you,” he asked, “am I?”

“…No.”

You paused before you answered, and Nikolai frowned as he said your name.

“It doesn’t matter,” you interrupted. “Everything hurts right now—I’m not going to let that keep you away from me.”

He let out a wry laugh, and he pulled you even closer. “There she is.”

He could almost feel your smile in the shift of energy, but another moment passed before you spoke.

“I’m so sorry about everything I said.” Your whisper came out as a rasp, your throat scratchy from your ordeal. “I love you, Nikolai. More than anything. You know that, right?”

“I could never forget,” he said. “Not with all the love I hold for you.”

“…Good.” He felt you swallow hard. “I’m so sorry.”

“I should be the one apologizing,” Nikolai said. “It was my fault all of this happened.”

“It was their fault,” you insisted. “You saved me, Nikolai. I owe you my life.”

“And I owe you mine,” he said. “So shall we call it even? No apologies necessary?”

You let out a soft laugh, followed by a grimace. “Even.”

Nikolai smiled and nodded. “Good.”

“…I’m tired,” you repeated, even softer this time.

“Rest, milaya,” Nikolai said. “I won’t leave your side.”

“You swear?”

“On every saint, new and old,” he said. “And every vlachka in the Lantsov coffers.”

He waited for your response, but there was nothing apart from your gentle, even breathing. He allowed a soft smile before he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

Nikolai would never let anyone hurt you again.

[mittsushi]

lab work

[kittyscabin]

shows up to give you the coffinchain challenge

Please be more careful when you cross the road You’re a perfect arrangement of rickety bones

Stray cats.

Peter had always likened the apprentices to a group of stray cats, in his mind.

At first it was out of distaste. They were a nuisance; a band of drifters slinking around the alleyways, catching their quarries unaware. The quick, sharp jab of a hypodermic needle might as well have been the efficient killing bite that a cat might deliver to the throat of its prey. They worked in the shadows, occupying all of those lonely abandoned buildings and reworking them for a new, twisted purpose. 

Then, begrudgingly, he’d found himself wrapped up in Mark Hoffman. Chasing him, hunting him, hellbent on bringing him to justice, then on killing him, then on understanding him, then…

Well, Peter didn’t know what he was doing now. 

All he knew was that sitting in his apartment, in varying states of composure, were three of Jigsaw’s disciples. 

Dr. Gordon sat on his couch, eyes trained down as his hands worked on bandaging a fresh wound on the arm of his younger accomplice. Stanheight sat quietly and allowed for the medical attention with little fight. Hoffman himself sat on the floor, back leaned against the couch close to the other two. 

Peter remained standing, trying not to buckle at the absurdity of his situation. In true stray-animal nature, he had made the mistake of allowing Hoffman into his home once, twice, thrice, and now he’d come back with friends. 

‘Don’t feed the strays’, indeed. 

Accept that he did know the other two, at this point. The polite Dr. Gordon was well-spoken and direct; Peter had found him infuriating in the beginning. He was a hard man to interrogate and an even harder man to intimidate, as level and unflinching as he was. Unlike Peter, he never seemed to let his anger get the best of him, and he seemed to know that. Dr. Gordon was a man who always seemed very aware of how much more control he had in the conversation. It was enviable. 

Then there was Adam Faulkner-Stanheight. Mouthful of a name. It was strange enough for Peter to wrap his head around the fact that the kid was alive, let alone working with Jigsaw. He was angry- had more rage in his scrawny little body than what felt possible. Stupid and impulsive, Peter had found him annoying. Just a petulant adolescent who had gotten himself into bigger trouble than he yet realized. 

They’ve come a long way since then. Both apprentices had grown on him, maybe because they reminded him of himself in their amalgamate qualities. The cold, callous bluntness of the doctor. The white-hot temper of the kid. The way he had never seen the former so gentle nor the latter so complacent until now, as they patched themselves together on his bloodied furniture. 

Peter had been reluctant to welcome them all inside. It was bad enough to shelter one serial killer, but now three? It reminded him that everything he’s been doing as of late is against what he once stood for. Fuck, it would solve a hell of a lot of his own problems if he didn't care. If he’d let them all rot, make them regret thinking that Peter would risk his own hide just because he's been friendly with them. Dr. Gordon and Stanheight had seemed to understand this too. Their expressions had been apprehensive, looking ready to flee like the animals they were. Peter wonders how long ago he would have given chase. 

Hoffman had spoken, then. 

“I didn’t-” His voice was shot and exhausted. “I didn’t know where else to go, Strahm.” 

And just like that, Peter took them in. Those words were all it took. Hoffman limped inside on a bad leg and described some sort of police-raid, premature. John Kramer and Amanda Young hadn’t even been there, so it had just been the trio, and they were forced to flee. Unable to go far on foot in their current state, Hoffman had brought his injured companions here. To Peter. 

Why did that make something strange stir within him? 

The three of them were soaked to the bone from the rain. Peter watched Hoffman sluggishly attempt to remain alert, but every so often his head would lull and come to rest against the soft thigh of Dr. Gordon. If the doctor noticed it, he didn't say a word as he continued to diligently work. He looked tired. Stanheight was putting on the best brave face he could manage, but Peter’s keen eyes caught his shoulders trembling, only eased when Gordon’s hand came to rest on one and rubbed gently. They all looked so tired. 

Unable to watch any longer, Peter finally broke the silence. 

“So why are you still doing this?” It took everything in him to not fidget idly as he spoke, brows furrowed at the three men. 

All eyes were on him quite suddenly, sharp as they regarded him. Three clever pairs of observant eyes that all screamed out ‘I know more than I’m letting on' to Peter. He held their gazes, muscled arms crossed over his chest. 

“You know what I’m talking about.” He scoffed, lip curling. “What’s the point of doing the old man's dirty work when he just lets things like this happen to you?” 

Silence.

Hoffman broke first. He laughed, eyes closing as he rested more fully against the couch. It was good-natured but ultimately dismissive. 

Dr. Gordon frowned at Peter, one brow quirked as if he had asked them something incredibly naive. Like he expected Peter to know already. 

Stanheight didn't react. Not outwardly, anyways. He only stared, something new and strange glittering in his eyes that Peter couldn't place.

“What,” Peter grit his teeth, an edge to his voice. Less of a question and more of a prompt. 

“Nothing, nothing. Apologies, Mr. Strahm.” Gordon sighed, turning his attention back to his handiwork. He appeared to nearly be done with the worst of Stanheight’s injuries now. “It’s just… not that simple.”

“Not exactly the kinda job you can put your two weeks in for.” Hoffman corroborated, a smirk tugging at his full lips. 

Peter felt his face burn hot, and he huffed in frustration. “You fucking- Don’t play dumb. Don’t act like it’s a stupid question. I’ll throw you back out onto the fucking curb.” He jabbed a finger at Hoffman in particular, who for his part did indeed shut his mouth. “You listening? Good. What I’m saying is that John Kramer is one demented old man. What is actually stopping you?” 

This time, the quiet was punctuated by Hoffman and Gordon exchanging an uncomfortable glance. After a moment, Hoffman shrugged and ran one hand through his damp, messy hair. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of, uh, checks ‘n balances.” 

Peter raised an eyebrow skeptically. Hoffman continued. 

“Information is power, etcetera. Kramer keeps basically everything on a need-to-know basis. Including, I dunno, who you’re workin’ with half the time. Hell,” He rolled his eyes, and lazily raised a hand behind his head to pat Gordon’s arm. The doctor made an annoyed noise in response, shifting away from him. “He only told me about these lovebirds when he needed help lookin’ after ‘em.” 

“I’m still mad about missing out on a trip to Mexico.” Stanheight quipped. His voice was softer than normal, but Peter supposed it was a good sign that he was speaking at all. He wasn’t used to the younger man being so quiet. 

Gordon straightened up a moment later, gently patting down the new bandages and brushing some of the hair from Stanheight’s face. “There you go.” He sighed. The warmth in his tone was so palpable that Peter had the distinct feeling it wasn’t meant for his ears. Despite being in his own apartment, he somehow felt he was intruding. “Get comfortable, alright?” 

Peter watched as Stanheight pulled himself to his feet, stopping short just a little ways away from him with an awkward shuffle. Gordon patted his thigh and spoke his next words like they took all of his energy to say. 

“Your turn.” He didn’t even bother to look at Hoffman. The detective grinned anyways, wasting no time in clamoring up into Gordon’s personal space and slinging his leg across the man’s lap. Gordon shook his head disdainfully, but carefully began rolling back Hoffman’s torn pant leg anyways. 

Peter guessed he wasn’t the only one that Hoffman lived to irritate.

“Christ, Mark.” Gordon sucked in a sharp breath, and Peter’s shoulders stiffened as he took a step forward to look. His stomach sank despite himself; from where he was standing Hoffman’s calf looked like a bloody mess. Peter’s a man who’s seen more gore in his line of work than anyone should hope to see in their lifetime, and yet here he is, staring in alarm. It was unlike him, and woefully he could only attribute his own uneasiness to the owner of the calf. 

As if he could read his mind, Hoffman looked up towards Peter. “Hey, it’s just-” He winced, hissing in pain as Gordon began to clean the wound. “It’s no big deal- no bullet inside. Just grazed me.” 

“You were shot?” Peter balked.

“Grazed,” Hoffman corrected. 

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose in a quick-rising frustration. Hoffman was impossible. 

“Don’t be an idiot.” Gordon’s voice was little more than a growl as he spoke through gritted teeth. “You took an unnecessary risk. Do you think I enjoy patching you back together? Honestly, if I didn't know any better I’d assume you were trying to get your sorry self killed.” 

Dr. Gordon’s tone left the detective bristling. “Don’t tell me how to do my job.” He scoffed. “Hell, I don’t bother you when you’re workin’ in the sickbay. Why don't you just- fuck!” 

Hoffman yelped at the unceremonious splash of disinfectant. Gordon gave him the sort of well-practiced fake smile that only a doctor could.

“My bad,” he murmured, unapologetic. 

Peter decided he’d seen enough. He turned on his heel and walked into the kitchen, telling himself that he was just stepping aside to get ice in case the doctor needed some. He knew it wasn't the truth, though; he scolded himself quietly as he leaned against the wall and ran a hand through his graying hair. 

The truth was that he couldn't keep standing there, staring at Hoffman’s leg injury. 

It’s ironic, because it feels like not too long ago that Peter would have done anything to put a bullet in Hoffman. Now the thought makes him feel… queasy. And a bit confused. 

Peter found himself comparing the apprentices to strays again.

He couldn’t get the image of roadkill splattered on the side of the highway out of his head. 

From what he knew of John Kramer and his cult, the apprentices were expendable parts. It doesn't even sound like they can trust each other half the time. One wrong move or fatal mistake would be all it took. Peter wasn't even sure how long it would take him to know something had happened. 

His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps so quiet that he knew exactly who they belonged to before turning around. Stanheight stood at the entryway of his bare-bones kitchen, watching him. He’s probably spent the least amount of time alone with him. 

“What is it?” Peter’s frown deepened.

The kid didn't answer immediately, instead coming to lean against the wall beside him. He was quiet for a moment, and then shrugged. 

“Wanted to check on you, I guess.” He answered simply. 

“Check on me? In what way do I need checking on?” Raising a brow, Peter gestured towards the living room. “Look at you three, for fuck’s sake.” 

Stanheight held his hands up defensively. “Hey, hey, I just- I get it, alright?”

Peter didn't know what that meant. He stared down at the shorter man, scowl ever-present, silently prodding him to elaborate. Stanheight’s expression was… almost sympathetic, but his eyes had that same strange look from before: the one that Peter couldn't place. 

The kid was easy to underestimate, Peter knew it from his file and from his current involvement. He wasn't about to make that mistake with him. 

“Sucks, doesn't it?” Stanheight finally said. He was muttering now, glancing once over his shoulder to ensure they were still alone. “One thing to know what they're doing and another to see them come back with blood and bits of their skin hanging off.”

Peter felt his stomach turn. “No,” he lied. “If Hoffman’s gonna be reckless and get himself killed then so be it.” 

“No matter what you or anyone else thinks, I’m not stupid.” Stanheight laughed dryly. “You don't gotta lie to me, okay? I’m on team Peter here.” 

“Are we forgetting that you’re one of ‘them’ too?” Peter steeled his gaze, unamused. 

Stanheight grimaced. “I mean- kind of. Not really.”

“‘Not really?’ What’s that mean?” 

“I- like- like I’m with them but I’m not one of them. Old Johnny-boy has never and will never give a shit about me. Not exactly in the running to be his heir or whatever the others think will happen.” Stanheight huffed, rolling his eyes as he explained. “Pretty sure he wouldn't even notice if I went missing if it weren't for the pictures ‘n schedules I go and get for him.”

Peter is quiet for a moment. 

“Why stick around?” He asked softly, already knowing the answer. 

The kid just snorted in lieu of answering, and the two fell into silence once more for a couple of seconds. 

“Glad that Mark has you.” Stanheight suddenly murmured, thoughtful. 

“He does not ‘have me’.” 

“Maybe you can knock some sense into him.” 

Peter scoffed, looking elsewhere. “You’re frustrating, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” Stanheight laughed, “I’m not kidding, though. It always freaks me out how Mark gets when he’s like…” 

Raising a brow, Peter waited for him to sort out his thoughts. 

“Like, when he gets hurt, right? He just- just runs off. Or he’ll go and get hammered on the other side of town and when we find him he’s a mess.” 

At that, Peter’s shoulders went rigid. He was aware of Mark’s habits, his unhealthy coping mechanism. He hadn't thought about who else might know, how deeply it might run. He hadn't thought about how often Mark must be alone. 

When he looked back at Stanheight, he realized the kid was staring at him intently. There was concern in his expression, but also something fierce. 

“John’s really messed him up. Worse than he was before all of this.” His voice was low, almost cautious. “All of them. Lawrence, Mark, Mandy, none of them deserve this. You know that, right?”

Peter’s mouth felt dry. “I…” 

Straightening up again, Stanheight stepped closer to Peter. Before he could see it coming, a smaller hand took his own and held it, inspecting it. “I think Mark needs you.” He said, “maybe all of us do. So you gotta take care of yourself too.” 

Something confused seemed to bloom in his chest then, an uncertain warmth that he could feel rise up to his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when he couldn't decide on anything to say. 

“Just think about it, ‘kay?” Stanheight let go of his hand again and started to leave the kitchen, pausing for just a moment to look back at him. “Oh, one more thing.” 

“What is it?” Peter’s voice was hoarse. 

Stanheight gave him a grin that didn't meet his eyes. “Welcome to the family.” 

Then he was gone, Peter’s protest to that statement dying on his lips, and Peter was left to think on everything he said. 

Hoffman needing him. Hoffman hiding himself away in dark corners to nurse his wounds. Improperly set bones and too much bandage. 

Stray cats.

Peter’s family used to have cats. His sister’s cat had been an old, white, raggedy thing that she named Alfredo. When Alfredo passed away, he had hidden under the bed and refused to come out. Peter thinks he remembers reading somewhere that pets do that on purpose, so their humans don't have to see them die, but it's been years and his animal knowledge is limited. 

Peter wondered how hard it is to socialize a stray cat. To reintroduce it to domesticity. 

He stepped out of the kitchen, lingering at the entryway, and watched the apprentices from where he stood. Gordon seemed to have finished with Hoffman’s leg, speaking to him in a quieter tone than before. To his surprise, Hoffman looked like he was listening. Stanheight was on the couch with them now, leaning his head onto Gordon’s shoulder. 

Peter found that he wished he could freeze this moment with the three of them in it. The bubble of safety that was his living room felt far away from everything Jigsaw. Maybe they were always meant to be here, on soft furniture, and not crouching amongst rusted pipes and jagged metal. 

Tamed. Domesticated. 

He sighed through his nose and walked around the couch, three sets of clever eyes on him again as he caught their attention. Now that he was there, he could see that Dr. Gordon had just begun to wrap up Hoffman’s leg and he silently motioned to ask for the gauze, kneeling down between them.

Understanding the gesture, Gordon handed it over, smiling at Peter warmly enough to raise his body temperature by a degree. 

“Strahm-” Hoffman started, bewildered, but Peter simply began wrapping his leg neatly. 

“Shut up.” He grunted. “Let me help you, stupid.”

[castielsprostate]

sammy season 1 <3 // for @ghostsam 's 3k event!

[brwnsugcr]

i'm not saying that there could be a pilates update this month . . .

[grecoromanyaoi]

gd i hate american (and americanized) leftism so much jesus christ you lot are so stupid. ''omg the houthis are pirates just like one piece!1!!" theyre a heavily armed, religious extremist, powerful radical militia. actually. so not just like one piece. the world isnt a marvel movie where there are strictly good guys and bad guys and the "good guys" have no ulterior motives or underlying ideologies whatsoever. i think tv has rotted your brain

[beatcroc]

turns out i have to make an unnecessarily wordy thoughtspost about doombox too bc there is nothing about this character that isn't fucking ridiculous and also really funny and i'm kind of really obsessed with all of it. ordinarily i would just start firing but in this case I need to just. paste his bio and then go through it step by step because every phrase here is absurd when looking at how he's handled along with the other characters and the world as a whole. here we go

first sidenote: i should also add 'nonsensical' to the list of descriptors up there, because this is a fighting game and no doubt has the typical Bad Fighting Game Writing at play that doesn't really hold up when put under scrutiny as i'm about to, but understand that this is something i've come to love about the genre and its typically batshit lore, and it further enhances the experience for me. it's all utter nonsense and its my favorite shit ever.

the biggest thing to me that makes his entire shtick ridiculous is that he was explicitly made to be a weapon. like his express purpose is destruction and/or killing people, and he certainly has the disposition to be doing that. except that he is not doing that. he's out there playing Ball Game, evidently of his own volition.

i feel it is also important to highlight that he was not originally or intentionally a boombox; he just kinda lives in there. his own bio frames it as happenstance, but sonata's dlc skin lore** implies he isn't permanently stuck in there and can kinda just hop out and take control of whatever he wants whenever he wants. there is an entire goddamn tank just sitting there in the background of one of these stages. he is a weapon. there is heavy artillery readily available to him that he could be commanding if he wanted to, but he's not doing that either. he is still a boombox. i think he likes it in there. *there's an argument to be made that maybe he's not powerful enough to control something that large, or maybe just that switching hosts is really tiring or risky. im just saying though there's like a bajillion host devices better suited for A Fucking Weapon than a boombox, but he seems really committed to this for some reason. while im here btw it's fucking terrifying that he apparently can possess thing that are Not tech as well **as a side note from that the specific mention of her boomhammer is interesting. i don't think it's an intentional implication but i enjoy the idea he has an affinity for sound-based devices; i like to think the boombox left an impression on him with its being the initial thing he possessed and got used to

and then there is the berserking. the 'rampaging', as it is otherwise called. not exactly strange on its own given his temperament and designation, but strange for the way it's characterized as only a tendency. it's only that he's prone to rampaging. he rampages often, but not all the time. just often! what is he doing he is not rampaging? getting a custom trimmed jacket with his own logo emblazoned on it? like a nerd? and on the flipside, what exactly do these rampages even entail? because it's apparently not anything destructive or disruptive enough for anyone to care about stopping him under normal circumstances.

like how are you a giant angry "not exactly stable" weapon of a guy and everyone's like 'yeah that's fine. that's our doombox!' toxic's specific wording regarding his getting unfucked postgame is "back to his old raging self", which implies to me there's almost a certain fondness, or at least amusement, at his being like this. i know one of the core themes of lethal league is letting these oddball misfit dudes do their thing and freely be who they are, but like. is doombox sincerely just not a threat for that? like really? dice's interactions also sort of imply that his actually trying to kill someone is really out of the ordinary for him so truly like. db my man what ARE you doing out there. * re: toxic and dice's talking about him; i do also find it amusing that one of his defining traits is just being pissed off all the time. again, not surprising given his purpose/designation as a weapon, but funny in that it's like. how he's KNOWN; in the sense that it is immediately noticeable and a cause for concern for other characters to see he is Not angry. fuckin social barometer of a guy. local angry guy isn't angry, something's wrong.

the "reasons for playing in the league unknown" bit also strikes me as a little odd even though it REALLY shouldn't. i'm like 97% sure it's just written like that to make him seems mysterious and unpredictable and dangerous, but it's a weird thing to call attention to when you consider that...less than half of the other characters' reasons are known? raptor is there trying to get info on his dad, that one's well out there. dust & ashes i think have some kind of implied reason for being there as well but it of course isn't elaborated on, and grid is like trying to impress "the youth" and establish a profile or something. nitro seems like he might not actually be IN the league as an official competitor? it's just helpful for him to know how to ball for the situations he gets into with his investigations. everybody else's "reason" pretty much seems like they're just out there to have fun. and toxic says as much in the story mode intro! the game was developed for people to escape the monotonies of shine city! so to imply doombox has a separate, non-recreational reason for being here is weird. the easiest read on it for me is just that he was drawn to it cause it's intense and destructive but at the same time.... if all he wants is an excuse to wreck shit....why are you competing in a structured sports game with rules and shit my dude. you are a weapon. just go attack people. except that we've established that he doesnt really do that. so. once again. what IS he doing out here

----

aside from the bio though, there's of course random little tidbits of characterization throughout the game itself and they are all also likewise ridiculous.

he refers to himself in third person, which is always an amusing choice for a character in general. it carries with it a certain sense of ego, an awareness of and and pride in one's presence and gravitas. this was mostly just surprising to me bc before i started looking at everything, i'd assumed he was more or less mindless and, yknow, robotic; without much personality/reason for being there beyond being the Biggest Baddest Best At Ball Game Guy doombox is already very imposing, so this is frankly a well-earned sense of pride for him to have.....but it still doubles back to being funny again because, as i've established above, he could stand to be a hell of a lot scarier! but he doesn't seem to notice or care that there are many readily-available options for becoming more powerful and/or establishing himself as unquestionable top dog. so instead he is a boombox. third-person is also often used for characters who are a little dumb, and i think this applies to doombox as well. he is a weapon, and clearly a brute-force-over-precision type of weapon at that, he doesnt need smarts. i think this is also sort of hinted at with his voice lines; where the other characters have some kind of snarky phrase or one-liner for their kill/score voice line, doombox just goes "bye-bye". Which is still appropriately Disrespectful, but it's also very, uh... simple. again i just think there are... more imposing things a guy like him could be saying there, but i guess he hasn't got anything more than fucking. bye-bye.

anyways the ego thing i think is well-echoed by his stupid fucking jacket. none of the other characters have their logo as part of their design and i'm pretty sure the rest of the symbols are just game abstractions and don't exist in-universe, but like. doombox is just going around wearing a jersey with his own damn face on it. ok. to be clear i love his jacket but it is literally so silly for him to have that. imagine being the guy having to custom-fit a fucking boombox. did db pay for it? how? we're getting into unproductive territory here but you could ask a million questions about that jacket and they all have hysterical implications. while im on the topic of designs i'd also like to say that while i don't count any of the other blaze redesigns as "canon" like actual events the characters went through between games [like raptor in particular would have already had to have the stitches since that's his backstory, it's just they weren't a design point before], doombox is in a weird spot since the first game's design for him was very specifically referencing its HUD in a meta way for his flavor and that was pretty much the entire extent of his flavor; while in blaze he and the HUD are very much separate distinct things with their own flavor. there's more to talk about here later but as it pertains to design what im saying is i think he just went out and found a better and cooler boombox to be in between games. and also got a funny jacket. *actually i have no idea if there's even a Timeline here. the gut vibe i had been running on was that blaze happens a couple years after the original, but looking at it now that doesn't seem right. does blaze Replace the timeline of the first game? are there even Events in the first game to count as a timeline? do they run concurrently?

alright anyway the last point here is the 3rd-person thing is even moreso interesting to me though bc i was under the assumption that 'doombox' was something akin to a codename he was given when other people saw this big fucking Thang rampaging through the streets. but seeing as 1. he's definitely aware of it, and 2. not even the damn scientists who made him knew he was in a boombox [as implied in his dlc skin lore], i'm led to believe he came up with the name himself. the fucking tape in his cassette player does just say 'doom' on it so i am choosing to believe that's either where he got the name, or that he put that on there himself.

MOVING on, another really good thing is that he does this

i just think it's funny he's continuing to use the thing as an actual boombox; i feel like that isn't something he necessarily Has to do. obviously he's susceptible to certain quirks and limitations of being a boombox re: mind control tape, but i don't think that means he has to play out its every function. i think he's doing that on purpose and i am filing it under "he likes it in there". hes listening to his jams.

also on a similar note,

this is also not important and i realize it's mostly just a quirky videogamey way to get around saying the robot kinda character is "asleep", but i do enjoy the implication that shine city's biggest terror is like out there running on 4 D-cells.

also i'm making this guy out to be a city street menace, and the vibe i had assumed for him before was like, a random encounter in the back alleys that you super do not want to run into; but his associated stage/hangout seems to be the desert/scrapyard? which i don't really have anything interesting to say to that, but it's definitely a different vibe for his character if he typically hangs out in more desolate areas.

---

i think maybe the most baffling thing doombox has going on is the apparent "rivalry" with dice. this is also bizzare from dice's side of things. what the fuck does it even mean to be "rivals" with doombox? what are they competing for? what kind of things does dice get up to that doombox would even give a shit about in the first place, let alone to be considered a rival in? i mean, like, the league, probably, but why dice specifically, out of everyone? would doombox's league rival not just be whoever's the [second] strongest there? i believe dice when he says they're evenly-matched, but there isn't really anything that implies dice is of particularly high prestige within the league so it feels like he shouldn't hold much interest as a target. to be fair dice doesn't seem like the type that would care about prestige, but again, if he's not out there flaunting his shit or trying to claim he's the best or whatever, why does db care? this would be a lot easier to understand if it was a one-sided thing on doombox's part like okay maybe dice pissed him off one day and he's still mad about it. whatever. that's the vibe they go for in story mode, but then there's dice's dlc skin description, which seems to run entirely counter to that and has dice as the aggressor:

when deprived of his usual sense and restraint, dice's first thought is I Gotta Go Fuckin Kill Doombox? even if he's over it under normal circumstances, it's clear both of them have some deeper-rooted beef in this exchange. there is yet another layer to this in that doombox is, weirdly enough, not really shown to be the kind of guy that's interested in revenge. again, going back to his own dlc description, he- and i quote- "couldn't care less" about the guys who made him capturing him and chaining him up. his only interest there is breaking out and getting back to doing his thing. if you want to be really generous, you could also read this vibe from the story mode epilogue: doombox was not the one hunting down the safety league, that was nitro. doombox was simply, as stated before "back to his old raging self". both of these to say, he simply does not seem to give a shit about people who have directly wronged him and only wants to Do His Thing. so. once again. what the fuck is going on with dice that they both have lasting beef here. i truly cannot fathom what either of them did to be so mad specifically at eachother. this rivalry is something they reference a LOT too like it's a big deal in-universe, or something otherwise really important to portray. like

lore so strong you gotta put it on an achievement!!!!! really!!!!! and there are no details whatsoever about this????? * while i'm here i'd just like to say have more questions about dice than fucking anything else in this game. sadly there's practically nothing to intuit from the game about any of his situations so i don't have much for coherent thoughts to post on him, but my god. what the fuck, dice. this rivalry is arguably the single strangest thing doombox has going on but it doesn't even break top 5 weird things about dice.

anyways, the final section and MOST interesting thing to me in all this is that, coming out of the first game, i was really under the impression that doombox is just the arbitrary final boss monster you gotta kill; no real purpose or personality his own to speak of, and most importantly just synonymous with the game itself and its aesthetics re: mirroring the HUD design. he certainly still holds the role of big scary final boss monster in blaze too, but blaze 1. has him much more fleshed-out as his own Guy, and more importantly, 2. doesn't really consider him a Problem like your typical big angry final boss monster. or at least not moreso than anything else going on in the game. he's not a threat to be eliminated, he's respected as a character and as a competitor in the league; and more than that he just seems to be... liked? as in, liked by other people in-universe? and he's liked enough that they'll readily help him out so he can keep doing his thing? i do think latch fixed him up postgame mostly bc he felt bad about being the one responsible for getting db brainwashed in the first place but like. the game could have just as easily gone "and then doombox was defeated yay" and left it at that. instead, they seem to have a vested interest in keeping him around. most transparently this is likely just a "we can't get rid of any of the playable characters or else story mode would be noncanon", BUT the point of this post is trying to read cohesive narrative sense into places there probably isn't any, and my read here is that doombox is a sort of inadvertent guardian of the league. for 1, he does still very much embody a lot of what the game [both The Videogame and the league itself] is about, but more importantly i think his presence is just really good at keeping a lot of the more minor threats at bay. if you try to fuck with the league, you will eventually be squaring off with doombox, most likely having freshly pissed him off in the process, and i can't imagine that goes well for who or whatever is in that situation. there's probably not much that wants to stand up to him by himself, and there's even less that can challenge the league as a whole unit; he's really just a good guy to have on your side like in general when you are running an illegal sports operation. i think at Worst toxic might see him as the league's funny little mascot but realistically i think she has more respect for him than that. either way i don't think he's going to care and it doesn't affect him much regardless. for this, doombox simply gets to keep doing his thing, whatever the fuck that may be. there are certainly still forces beyond his control at play here [as demonstrated in story mode by the safety league], and when these come into play, the league in turn looks out for him and keeps him on top of his game. i'm not sure if he has the, uh.... kind of cognitive ability that he could be grateful for this, but if nothing else, we know he seems to enjoy playing in the league, so he probably at least recognizes that he's not going to meet a lot of resistance in it and/or that it's a good environment to keep doing as he pleases. i don't mean for this all to sound so transactional, but it's hard to say whether he has much charisma in-universe for people to want him around for more "legitimate" reasons. likewise, there's also still a lot up in the air on how like... sapient doombox actually is. whether he can have complex motivations about anything or if he has some concept of "having friends" or if he can experience emotions besides rage; i tend to lean to "no" on those because i am really trying my damndest not to woobify this guy, but ultimately i don't think it matters much; in the end, he and the league are still mutually beneficial for eachother, and they still enjoy having the other around. and i think that's pretty cool :)

[andr0nap-wf]

sorry ab the silence, this week was fucking exhausting and im really tired and stressed out. i need to take a small break from wf too bc i can feel burnout breathing down my neck 💀

[stargazermeadow]

is it cringe to be lowkey stoked about hitting 50 followers or is cringe dead? thanks for subscribing to my bullshit love yall xoxoxo