#This man wants to abandon the flesh for the machine so bad

[truly-sincerely]

Obsessively reading everything in game by and about Gortash and the dude is

On a philosophical trajectory that ends in immortality thru technology / the machine

Doesn't have an original bone in his body, but he can backwards engineer anything

Halfway to being a decent scientist but doesn't have the education and is deeply impatient

Overconfident in the veracity of his own results and conclusions

Accurately predicted that the brain would metamorphose and become more difficult to control and then did nothing about it

Outsources his propaganda / arts and humanities

Charming, but he got there in a Pavlovian way (learned from trial and error and probably doesn't consciously know how he does it)

Vindictive af (learned / reinforced)

Darwinian (in the worst way)

Sociopathic, obviously, but extremely Rationalist about it

Never asks questions he doesn't know the answer to and probably thinks this makes him sound more authoritative

Completely incompetent as a strategist (but doesn't know it)

Not nearly as narcissistic / full of himself as he pretends to be

Thinks what he wants is praise but it's never enough because it's not actually what he wants (he wants to be wanted)

Bane makes him feel wanted (conditionally)

Durge made him feel wanted (unconditionally)

Understands intellectually that Durge got ambushed, but he feels abandoned

See also: thematic parallels between Gortash and

Silouv Yali (the Adamantine Forge & the construct Grym)

Oliver (in the shadow-cursed lands)

Astarion and Gale, obviously

[gnreadergames]

Find Something to Wrap Your Noose Around (pt 1)

Miguel O’Hara x gn!reader

Plot: Miguel gets tapped with a poison that makes him feral. His relationship with the reader is a stake…but neither want to give up that easily.

Cw: Angst! It gets better in later parts though…

WC: 2820

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

There was a harsh slam from the front of the apartment.

From your place in the back bedroom, folding fresh laundry, you jumped. Miguel must be home. He must’ve had a bad day.

Lyla confirms your suspicions when she pops up next to you, giving you half as large of a scare.

“Jesu-“ you clutch your heart, “Lyla you can’t ju- whatever- is he alright?” You ask, quietly as you can because you know Miguel will pick up anything he can focus on across this apartment and even through the walls with his heightened senses.

Lyla shakes her head, and your stomach drops. He’s either pissed or hurt. Or both.

You abandon the laundry to seek a more important goal.

You find Miguel clutching the kitchen island. His knuckles are torn through the suit, something hard to do with the nearly impenetrable fabric. You can see other tears littering the surface of his torso and powerful legs. You swallow.

It’s never usually this bad.

“Miggy…” you say, quietly. “What happened honey?”

He doesn’t respond so you decide to gently, slowly reach a hand out to touch his shoulder. But before you can even make contact he whips around towards you and leaps with a feral snarl.

“MIGUE-“ you can’t even get through the scream of his name before he’s on top of you, red eyes glowing and fangs popping out even longer than they usually seem. His talons sink into your thin flesh and for a minute you genuinely think you’re about to die, here on the floor of Miguel’s kitchen on some average Tuesday.

Lyla has thought ahead though, and at that moment a light flashes in your peripherals a swirling portal of blue and orange. Before you can turn to look, the weight of Miguel is thrown off you to the side and a loud crack echoes across the apartment as his back meets the side of the island with a harsh dent.

Three people hop out of, what you can only assume, is a portal.

A tall man with brown hair, a 5 o'clock shadow and a small red headed child strapped to his chest, a very pretty very pregnant taller woman, and a smaller girl with blonde choppy hair all fold out in a line.

You’re still not sure what’s happening, and your brain is on too much adrenaline to think of anything other than the immediate danger right now.

Somehow, your sweet, caring, and sometimes grumpy boyfriend has become some sort of…feral killing machine.

You realize suddenly that you’re practically hyperventilating as Lyla stands over you and snaps a few times, calling your name.

“Y/N…Y/N!” She says. Her glowing form is painful to look at right now but not as painful as the shallow cuts on your arms from Miguel’s claws. You belatedly realize you’re bleeding when the younger blonde woman comes over and crouches beside Lyla to inspect your arms.

“Peter, they’re bleeding.” She calls back to the man, Peter, you assume. You glance in that direction to see him and the other woman standing over Miguel.

“What's happen-“ you try to sit up but your head spins.

‘Minorly concussed’ Lyla explains. Which also explains why you’re pretty sure you’re seeing other Spider-people right now.

Unless everything has just suddenly gotten weird.

It seems it can only keep getting worse though, as it’s then you realize that Miguel could be getting back up any minute. You turn your head sharply with a twinge of hot pain up your neck as your heart rate spikes at the thought of the experience you just had happening again.

Your fears are quelled though once you see that Peter and the other woman, Jess, you learn from the blonde one talking to her too, have Miguel in some sort of cuff like contraption he struggles against.

He’s also muzzled. You’d almost laugh if he hadn’t tried to kill you a few minutes ago.

The baby on Peter’s chest babbles and yeah, you’re definitely seeing things now because this is just so bizzare you can’t imagine how you had gotten dragged into this.

Suddenly, a large and lanky man with a scary looking Mohawk of spikes steps through the still glowing circle in your wall.

Lovely. More of them.

Peter and the man talk for a second and then you see the scary man look towards you.

No. No.

Whatever is about to happen you’re not on board with it as this strange man hoists you bridal style like you weigh nothing. You’d attempt to fight back if you had any strength left in you, but the further you get towards the glowing portal the more your brain begs for sleep.

As the man steps through, you drift off into a dream.

-

You wake with a start.

The first thing you notice is that your headache is much, much, worse. The second thing is that you are pointedly not in your own apartment.

You were hoping the thing with Miguel was just some sort of fucked up bad dream but judging by your bandaged arms and throbbing temples, it was all real.

The blonde woman is sitting in the corner of the room, a white and sterile looking place that you’d assume to be a hospital room if you couldn’t see an absolute amalgamation of spidermen, just like Miguel, milling about outside the glass wall on your left.

Your jaw drops.

What is happening.

Are you suddenly crazy? Have you seriously gone mad? This has to be some sort of psych ward if this is what your brain is coming up with.

The blonde woman notices your consciousness. She has another young man with curly hair beside her, a similar age you guess from their similar build and height.

“Hi, how are you feeling?” She asks as she stands from a chair and walks to your bedside.

“Am I going insane?” You ask.

She blanches at that, obviously not expecting it.

“Um- no you’re not. This is all real. My name is Gwen and this is-“ she gestures to the boy, “Miles. We’re assigned to watch over you until you wake up and are feeling better.”

You swallow. That explains almost nothing.

“But- what is this place?” You look back out the window.

“Oh! This is HQ.” Gwen says, like that means anything to you.

“HQ for what?” You say.

That seems to make it click for Gwen. “You mean…Miguel didn’t tell you?” She quirks an eyebrow seemingly genuinely confused that Miguel wouldn’t share his involvement in…whatever this is.

“No- no he hasn’t mentioned anything. I mean, I know he’s Spider-Man but there’s like- a million of you…” you drift off, shifting to sit up in your bed.

Miles laughs from behind Gwen. She shoots him a look and he blushes looking down at his feet.

“Well not a million but- yeah there’s a lot.” She says. “This is HQ for the spider-multiverse.”

“The what?” You ask, still confused.

“You know what let me just-“ she sighs and pulls up a watch on her wrist. It’s identical to the one Miguel used to wear around his arm back home. He’d always been shady about it but now you know why.

“Lyla, help me out here will you?” She asks into the watch. The familiar glowing figure pops up and it sends such a pant for homesickness into your heart that you almost want to cry. She’s an island of normalcy in a horrible sea of crazy right now.

“Hi, Y/N!” She greets in her constantly chipper voice.

“Hi…” you repeat. Gwen slips the watch off her wrist and holds it out to you. Gently, you clutch it in your hands as Lyla explains the many, many, thousands of worlds and Spider people in them. The information is shocking enough but most jarring is the fact that Miguel has been running it all almost 24/7.

You knew nothing about this.

For a brief, fleeting moment you feel slightly betrayed. He didn’t trust you with this, so what else could he be lying about?

But then you remember where you left off with him. A spike of fear shoots up your aching spine.

“So where’s Miguel?” You ask frantically, looking between Gwen, Lyla, and Miles for an answer. None of them seem to have one for you.

“Let me get ahold of Peter…” Gwen says as she lifts the watch out of your hands. You twiddle your thumbs nervously, the movement of the muscles sending tiny waves of pain up your arms.

Gwen finishes whatever call she turned to make with this Peter guy and spins back around.

“So, this is going to sound weird.”

You laugh.

“This entire day has practically flipped my world upside down. Hit me.” You deadpan. Miles laughs again but Gwen huffs a snort with him this time.

“So, currently Miguel is being held in our prison sector.”

Your heart drops.

“Why? Is he okay?” You shoot off questions faster than she can answer as you sit further and further up in the bed.

Gwen holds her hand up to slow you down and you take the signal, snapping your mouth closed.

“Ok, well here’s what I know.” She starts. “Miguel got some sort of poison from his last battle. It reacted badly with his DNA that’s part Spider and he’s currently pretty feral. That’s why he attacked you. They have him in an impenetrable cell in the holding area and he’s been muzzled for his own safety.”

You cannot believe this.

Those scratches, they must’ve been really really bad to cut through his suit like that. That must’ve been why he had come home in such a foul mood, he wasn’t thinking straight.

He must’ve been out of his mind completely when he attacked you.

“They’re working on an antidote, hopefully it’ll be ready soon.” Gwen says with a small smile. It does little to cure your nerves but it’s still nice of her to try.

Miles pipes up finally from behind her. His voice is soothing.

“We can take you to see him.” Miles says.

Gwen really does shoot him a look then. You giggle to yourself. It reminds you so much of you and Miguel’s relationship. If these two aren’t together they probably will be soon, you think.

“I’d like that.” You say, standing from your bed.

-

They were right. Miguel isn’t himself.

He’s huddled up in the furthest corner of the red block. The cell borders are reinforced, so you don’t fear much when you walk up to crouch next to the front wall.

Miguel smells you or senses you, something along those lines, because the minute you rest on the balls of your feet, his head swivels like a snake around to fix you in that terrible red gaze.

His eyes are practically glowing as he barrels towards the wall you’re at and slams his full body weight into it. His talons are out, clawing furiously and futilely at the screen. If this cage was even half as sturdy as it currently is Miguel would’ve killed you by now.

You can’t imagine what would make him act like this, even if his primal instincts are being tapped into. You’re his partner. Surely even in such a state Miguel would recognize you?

Apparently not, as Miguel also attempts to bite at you through both the muzzle and the wall. You sigh.

There’s something cold and unsettling about seeing him this way. He’s barely ever gotten angry at you, has never once blown up on you and it’s absolutely unfathomable that he would ever lay a hand on you. So now, seeing this side of him, it breaks your heart.

“He’s a little crazy right now.” A man’s voice says from behind you. You look up from where you’re sitting cross legged on the ground to see the same man from before, Peter, standing with his hands gently bouncing the smiling baby in front of him.

You can’t help but smile as the little girl lets out a joyous giggle, even as Miguel still tries to claw his way to you from inside the cage. You’re glad it’s soundproof, you’d probably have to leave if it wasn’t.

“You know him?” You ask. Peter takes his cue and sits next to you with a groan as he saddles his body down into the same position. You feel that same sensation, painful joints and now painful muscles with your injuries. You can’t imagine throwing the exhaustion of a kid into the mix.

You won’t lie though, you had thought about it. Miguel had mentioned a hypothetical child once or twice, but you could tell it was something he wanted more than anything. And before all of this, you would’ve given him what he asked for in a heartbeat. Seeing Miguel as a dad would’ve made you the happiest person in the world.

“Yeah I know him.” Peter finally answers your question. “I’m like his right hand man. Or I was at least. Maybe his left hand man now that I have this one,” he tickles the soft tummy of the girl and she cackles with glee. You smile at them.

“He never mentioned any of this.” You say.

“He never mentioned you.” Peter says.

That breaks your heart a little, but you don’t let it show.

On the other side of the screen Miguel has seemingly given up on trying to kill you, at least for now. Tiring himself out seems to have mellowed him slightly as he now sits eye level with you, panting and crouching in anticipation.

You sigh.

“How long will he be stuck like this?” You ask. You don’t expect an exact answer, not wanting to get your hopes up.

“I…I don’t know. We shouldn’t have let him go home like that. It was our fault you got hurt. Jess and I-“ he must mean the other woman you surmise “-we thought he lived alone, and even though he doesn’t get cut often we had no idea the anomaly could do that.”

“You couldn’t have known.” You say, trying to comfort him a little, even though you feel slightly hollow.

“We’re working on it though. We’re gonna fix this.” Peter says with a new determination. You smile half heartedly. He stands suddenly, renewed with more energy than he sat down with. “I’m going to go check on that antidote. You’re a little better right?” He gestures to your arms.

You nod. It’s the best you can give him in this situation.

He nods back and walks towards a large hallway opening.

You turn back to Miguel.

The area in which they have him housed is empty and large. His cage stands in the back part of the room. As far as you can tell, it’s just you two now.

Your arms still hurt, but your head has gotten better with some walking and Tylenol.

“Miggy…” you sigh. There’s so much built up stress just from the past few hours that it makes your entire body tense. You lean forward and place your hand on the glass-like substance.

Miguel’s eyes flick quickly to it and for a second you see a look on his face that seems almost like himself again.

It shocks you when he puts his hand back up to the glass mirroring yours.

You tear up.

“Miguel.” You beg. “Please, please come back.”

He doesn’t seem to understand, and the moment passes, as he licks his fangs through the muzzle. His talons pop out and he begins clawing where your hand just was again. You sigh.

It was worth a shot.

You stand, pushing yourself up of the ground. “Okay, we’ll- if you’re like this there’s no point in me being here.”

You turn to leave, maybe you can find Gwen and ask her to get you some food. You have a suspicion you’re going to need more Tylenol to-

“Y/N-“ a ragged voice says from behind you.

You whip around.

Miguel, your Miguel stares back at you. His eyes are wide and terrified but it’s definitely him even if it is for just a split second.

As quick as it’s there, it’s gone. Whatever is overriding his system comes back with vigor as you race towards the cage and press yourself desperately against the glass.

“Say it again- Miguel, please, say it again-“ You are breathy and panicked. He’s in there. Somewhere.

Miguel, the feral one, continues to paw at where you stand with his nails.

“I’m going to get you out.” You press your forehead up against the glass and look into his eyes.

There’s a sound from behind you and Gwen’s voice echoes from the doorway.

“Hungry?” She asks as you quickly pull away.

“Absolutely.” You say, following her.

As you leave you glance backward. Miguel stands, watching you leave.

You’re going to get him back, even if it kills you.

[cupcakeshakesnake]

[Portal 2 AU] What happens in the derelict chamber stays in the derelict chamber

AKA the thing I said was messed up but y’all told me to post anyway.

I hope this doesn’t affect your view on the AU as a whole because I still wanna keep that thing generally lighthearted.

Warnings: Violence, blood, gore, abuse(sorta?)

---

"Mr. Johnson."

The man stopped in his tracks and turned around warily. Chell's footsteps grew further and further away ahead in the abandoned space, leaving the two staring at each other.

"I get a bad feeling whenever you call me that. What do you want?"

Instead of answering, a clawed robotic hand snatched him by the scruff of his neck.

Held in a death grip, he tried to meet the unblinking yellow gaze with his one good eye. GLaDOS reached with her other hand to gather the cables spilling from around the man's neck in one clasp.

"Finally doing me in, are you? Felt like doing the one thing I've been asking you to do?" he struggled as he spoke.

"No," was the quiet reply, "we need you alive. Yet. But I can make you suffer."

Then she yanked, with a jolt, then slowly with force, until the sound of ripping skin could be heard and a thick mess of even more cables intertwined with veins and viscera started to emerge inch by inch from the back of his neck like some eldritch spinal chord.

Along came a prolonged scream, sounding relatively human at first but soon distorting into something like amplified radio static.

It would not stop.

"I just remembered," GLaDOS spoke in a low voice, not caring that his screams drowned her out.

"She told you she didn't want this. Multiple times."

She pulled the cables a little harder.

"Your Caroline. You had security drag her out."

Blood started pooling around their feet.

.

Chell was some distance away when she decided it was too much for her ears. It was not the first time she had left the two alone and heard him scream - but enough was enough. She grimaced, walking back to see a rather grisly sight.

GLaDOS held Johnson's head to her chest with one hand, the other outstretched behind him with his cables; the man was scratching helplessly at his tormentor's chassis.

Chell put a hand to GLaDOS’ outstretched arm, silently but firmly.

Stop. I can't listen to this anymore.

The android looked at her without saying anything for a whole five seconds, then slowly lowered her arm. What was pulled out of Johnson's body was haphazardly pushed back in, somehow.

Chell looked at the man and noted how different he looked. When they first found him, he was dusty and deranged, but otherwise in good shape (so to speak).

Now, bloodstains covered his tattered clothes; the skin on one of his hands was burnt clean off, revealing charred metal underneath - GLaDOS had pressed it right into a Thermal Discouragement Beam at some point; his hair was a disheveled mess with patches of brown peeking out from under sticky blotches of dark red; and one eye was gouged out, leaving only a blinking yellow light sitting in its socket - a vaguely Terminator-like appearance.

Blood trickled from his eyes, his nose, his mouth, his ears, flowed freely from the crevices circling his neck. Chell turned away.

He deserved it.

.

The man's good eye seemed to glitch for a few moments before flickering back to its usual shape. Sparks flew from the other socket. He had stopped screaming, but was still held there, limply, out of breath (in a manner of speaking).

"Oh... Mr. Johnson..."

GLaDOS spoke unexpectedly, quietly.

His undamaged eye widened, dreading whatever would happen next -

And she pulled him into an embrace.

Cradling his shaking body, his face pressed to her chestplate - stained with blood, his blood - with both arms, she continued speaking in an almost pitying manner.

"Oh... you terrible, terrible person, what have you done to yourself."

He ruled this facility, once; now, in front of her was a broken - not even a man, not even a machine, a - thing. A tangled mess of cables and flesh, electricity and blood, misery and denial.

His trembling arms returned the rigid hug despite himself, wrapping around cold metal. His shoulders began to heave.

Broken dry sobs filled the decrepit chamber.

I think I'm going to get secondhand trauma from this, Chell thought, some yards away.

[sukunasun]

I am OBSESSED with Spider-Man Suguru …. YOUR MIND

he's such an ominous figure when he's got the mask on but turns into a nerdy grump when he takes it off. kinda wanna see him in thick-rimmed glasses and sweatpants, lazing around and recuperating from his latest mission. sleep deprived and a little weary, the languid motion of him tossing and turning in a creaky bed made up of duvets and pillows he's stacked strategically, covers pulled over the bird nest atop his head. doesn't want to think about detangling on his off day.

but you like the suit. always had. in another life, you see him crouched on a rooftop, silhouette highlighted by a neon sign, rain pelting against him. how menacing. suguru's got angst brooding within him. withholding the chance to move on, or rather he doesn't intend to. so what if he's become obsessive, talking to screens and dreaming about you. modeling his holographic companions after your figure, your face, your voice. spent forever getting it just right. coding a line or two or a hundred and changing the input repeatedly. the first draft appears before him then. not too nice, not too mean. perfection glowing before him with the same smile you wear, flittering over his shoulder, snuggled up to his cheek, fitting in the crook of his palm as you give him updates on everything. "they're having a sale at the supermarket," says virtual assistant you, and he actually does make a trip there. buying himself a nice box of stock for dinner before he realizes that it's the first time he's actually made himself a meal. a year late but still, it's better than takeout or vending machine natto.

although, he would still prefer a tangible, physical you that isn't made up of glitching pixels. to caress skin and flesh, kiss the very breath from you and feel it graze his own lips. puffing out gasping cries and guttural moans, exhaling his name in exaltation, he'll swallow them up.

he's had a bad day. you can tell because he's abandoned the hot meal and even hotter shower for this. storming towards you with heavy steps and his heavy breaths puffing through his mask. why should you fear spiderman. hero, and saviour of the world. that he's been teasing you, taunting you. so what if he's got your wrists tied up around a tangle of webs. only after he's pulled from you a scream and the third orgasm of that night do you wonder.

spandex serves its purpose when it's hugging muscled arms so strong, bending and straining tight as he cages in, looms above you, his weight steady you can't help but to surrender to how good the pressure feels. the tilt of his head is condescending, enough to show you he isn't impressed, "you made a mess," suguru doesn't even try to be sympathetic. merely stating it as if it was all your fault for squirting all over his oh-so-precious suit. you'd question him on the occasion at hand, he'd been the one who wanted you to come undone on his dick.

legs locked tight behind him, his cock slides in just that bit further, deeper. a surprised squeal slipping past your lips. "easy now," you used to tease whenever he's gotten too eager, too hungry. but you're at a loss for words when the roles are reversed here. especially when the sharp point of his fangs skim over a patch of skin he's come to know as one of your most sensitive spots. right where it won't hurt you too much, he determines where they should sink in and leave behind no more than two perfectly formed puncture wounds, no bruising, no blood. well, maybe just a little, the iron tang he laps at is addictive. is alive.

[azure-steel]

Starter for @wingsdreamt​

‘Signs of life reported from an abandoned warehouse on the fringes of North Corel. Possibly an anomaly, or monsters, I personally don’t hold out much more hope than that. But there’s a decent pay-out would your care to investigate, hm?’

Reeve’s words clashed, metal on metal, in the couriers head, just one of the many favours Cloud had been requested to phone in. Decent pay-out or not. Truth be told, it was becoming rather tiresome continuing to live in the pockets of the WRO; without obligation to really refuse, without the so-called freedom a man like him had asked for time and again. 

Cloud Strife; the hero of Gaia... he was not a free man, and chances were that he never would be for as long as he drew breath. Though ShinRa had long crumbled at the foundations and plummeted into obscurity the former mercenary was still considered an asset of sorts; far too valuable to destroy, too dangerous to issue any more slack on this proverbial leash tied about the throat.

The illusion of freedom was all he’d been granted even after vanquishing the Planet of one of its most savage threats, not once, not even twice, but three times had he found himself at war with the man who’d taken away everything he’d loved, who almost destroyed the world as he and the general populace knew it. 

And what exactly did he have to show for it? The price paid to become the hero he’d always wanted to be. It had cost him almost everything. 

But in this place, this so-called warehouse, it was not a warehouse at all, but a laboratory - derelict and littered with debris, damp and ill intentions. That bad feeling had settled deep in his guts the moment he’d discovered it amongst the woodland attempting to claim it back. And that bad feeling would breed and fester there the deeper he would traverse into this ruinous relic of an extinct empire, with little to discover save for the odd rat or two scurrying underfoot. No anomaly, nor monster in sight, the latter would figure given the sparsity of mako springs in this area, and North Corel’s mako reactor now a mere fable, the possibility of leaks to create these monsters was a very slim risk at best. 

The place had been ransacked no doubt; all filing cabinets he would come across empty if not slung to the floor in whatever haste the scientists based here were ordered to abandon ship. Whatever ShinRa had been doing here, they did not want anyone else to find out. 

It wasn’t until he was almost ready to abandon this mission, and the superstitious awe Cloud was harbouring for this place, in which he’d heard it; a strange mechanical chirping sounding to his left. A board of sorts - possibly an old rotting pallet - thrown up against the wall there seemed oddly out of place, awkward and conspicuous. Certainly enough cause for investigation for the fact that this abandoned warehouse was still drawing power if nothing else. 

With nothing else to really lose other than wasted time, Cloud wrapped his hands around the soft damp edges of the pallet, pulling it enough to have the thing fall into the room with a loud echoing thump. And it was then that time itself seemed to turn in on itself, the very corners of his mind tilting to have everything he knew to be reality spilling sideways; he was almost certain his heart had stopped beating in that one moment the source of that noise came into view. 

A body encased in a pod. 

‘Signs of life reported from an abandoned warehouse on the fringes of North Corel.’

And not just any body... 

‘Signs of life reported from an abandoned warehouse.’

Not even a corpse, but a living breathing man in a state of suspended animation floating there in fluid, kept alive by the dying machine sitting on a simple table nearby.

‘Signs of life.’

A forgotten experiment. 

“Zack...?” A whisper, disbelief rendering into a state of unadulterated shock as his flesh would tighten around his bones and his blood turn to ice. This couldn’t be... this man was dead, he watched him as he took that final breath, a life sacrificed in order to save another. But there was no mistaking this... the scar upon his cheek, the distinctive shock of raven hair. 

It was him.  It had to be! 

It took far too long for Strife to take action, first by slamming each palm against the glass and screaming that name over, and over, and over again, mashing on the attached control panel so addled by dust and moisture it had long since been rendered useless. Until frustration and sheer desperation finally took hold, he would brandish his weapon, swinging the Fusion with everything he had, lungs burning with his war cry, to shatter the glass and send the fluid flooding into the room. 

The body began to fall inside the pod, causing Cloud to lunge towards him, grasping him about the waist and pull him into the open, the blond falling to his knees with the weight, and his chest slamming against Zack’s back.  “Zack! Zack, I got you...” he was gasping as he spoke, rolling the man into his back across his lap, one hand supporting his shoulders while the other grasped his face and prayed for him to breathe. 

“... I got you...” 

[ihatemyselfbutidolovetea]

3/25/2024

I'm coping with so much pain and stress.

Jayson took me to planet fitness and showed me how to use certain machines. That was so sweet of him. He even showed me breathing techniques. I loved getting rewarded with smiles and head pats from him... It was nice up until he sent me home. I might have eaten something bad because my stomach was hurting. I thought it was my period until I started shitting my guts out for a bit... I went to work anyway cuz I wasn't sick.

So here I am now... lonely... my reproductive system trying to kill me and seeing chunks of flesh the size of goldfish in the toilet... waiting on my hands for how my graduation application will be received will I be allowed to graduate early? Will I have three classes? four classes five? What if there will be no classes available that I need to graduate for the summer? what if it takes me another year? I'm so scared of this not going to plan I feel like throwing up I hate this I hate this I hate this I hate this I hate this I hate this please stop... May's coming... the month I have to prepare I have to get insurance from my job... it feels like I have to grow up now... I know I have to. But all those years of playing and being happy and free feel like they were in a dream and I'm about to be woken up.

Jayson has been talking to me a lot. I'm happy that he's gone back to the gym. He's happier just like in the old days. And since he's back to being happy I could see him smile more. I was with him and staring at him and involuntarily said "you have such a nice smile." I think his smile was the first thing that I fell in love with... That's why I need to do this I need this plan to go right. I cry in pain at the thought of losing him.

Before I spiral there are other things I wanted to meditate on... I've been thinking a lot about Schmudd... I keep thinking I'm getting everything about this wrong... I think he feels multiple complicated ways about me... I confessed to him something terrible I did, something that goes against his moral principles and you know how he reacted? Nothing. No emotional reaction. Nothing positive or negative just emotionless disapproval. And yet I was on the verge of tears that I couldn't lie to him and make him think I was a perfect angel he could idealize. I wonder if Schmudd's mental state is suffering when he gives me the #1 Disney Princess reward of having a high value man ignore other girls in favor of me. Which is not love, I would never say I let that happen out of love. It's a seprate feeling because I like it when he treats the other girls in the server nice and gentlemanly. He might even flirt with them. But I'm not too bothered by it because I know them. But I will throw a tantrum if he's going about it with strangers. But here's the thing. His illness gives him the urge to be alone and completely unavalible to anyone

pain too much can't think. maybe I'll finish my thought another day

still in pain. but I have now found new pain and stress. I cried in the bathtub, ate some stress gummies and made some tea. Still crying. I wanted to talk to Schmudd but I didn't want to vent my problems on him if he was suffering too. So I asked. No answer. Asked again. Got a passive aggressive response that essentially translated to "fuck off leave me alone." So I cried in the bath and went offline from discord. It's not fun to be rejected by your best friend and I don't know how I'm going to handle it in the future, having this pattern of rejection. I don't know why the two most important men in my life ended up being the kinds of men that are pleasant most days, but then randomly they will reject you and want to be alone and you can't rely on them right now. Is this how most people are? Regardless it hurts. I feel abandoned.

This experience made me realize something. When someone does something to make you angry, whether intentionally or unintentionally it boils up these feelings of range. But if it was JUST because of the incident the problem would be solved. in the flames of that rage the core is that you feel wronged, yeah? It's rage inducing to know that someone had that much power over you. So you want to take that power back. Maybe by making them angry back, hitting them, being passive aggressive, anything to send the aggressor into a rage that makes them lose control. Ergo, you have won the situation, you are powerful and dominant. Schmudd did something to me that hurt my feelings and made me feel unsafe. And something tells me that if I voiced my feelings with those exact words he's not going to care. Meaning he has taken power from me, he finds power in pushing people away and being comfortable with being alone. By begging for his attention and validation I have lost. All I could do in that situation is flee and go gray. If he really valued my kindness and companionship, he'd eventually get out of this funk himself and message me to apologize. Whether or not he ends up doing that is out of my control. On this day we'd usually hang out in VC, but if it ends up not happening today, then I'm not gonna try to hang out. I'm too sad and defeated.

Am I mad at Schmudd? No just hear broken... There's no point in being mad at a severely mentally ill man. He promised me safety, but its confusing when mentally ill people can't/don't owe anyone safety really. It is what it is...

Time to escape into Fruits Basket! yaayyyyyyy

[bitchlessdino]

Bad Habits (M)

Pairing: fwb!seungcheol x fem!reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 3.2k

tags: dom!seungcheol, sub!reader, daddy kink, spanking, overstimulation, degradation, dirty talking, pussy slapping, pink!cheol, fingering, reader being in denial, light tit play, light edging

Summary: To take your love life seriously, you need to cut ties with the one person holding you back. Too bad he comes back to you like a bad habit.

author note: I feel like it's been a really long time since I posted smth longer than 1k bc I have been fucking drained and I am so tired of being an adult like I don't wanna be here. I am so happy I got this done but I feel like it is so much tamer than I wanted it to be like I kinda have been having a soft cheolrot and all i wanna do is cuddle his ass. Btw I'm gonna try working on more stuff next week, maybe post multiple short pieces here and there next week bc i will be on vaycay with no internet access from April 9th to 17th, so yall will see me inactive.

His face, his body, his words; everything about him was fucking mind-blowing, and how he blew out your back was indescribable. Seungcheol was the top picking of casual sex.

It was mutual that things stay sexual and only sexual, but how this one guy had you wrapped on his finger was something that you had to go to your therapist for. You worked your schedule around this man. Every time he’d text you, you’d drop everything and make sure that he had your full undivided attention. Often he showed how grateful he was while simultaneously showcasing how strong those thighs underneath you while you grinded on top of him or how fast and powerful hips were slamming full force into your cervix. His big hands always gripped the flesh of your ass as he fucked you from behind. Much often, your face would be buried in his pillows while you muffled your loud moans. 

“You fucking like that, baby?” He muttered under his shallow breaths.

You turned to your cheek, trying to look back at him. “Y-yes, fuck, just that. Your cock is good fucking my pussy.”

“You take it to f-fucking good,” he praised, both palms clashing against your ass cheeks like a pair of cymbals.

You arched your back at the strike of pain, your teeth digging into your bottom lip while you let out a hoarse moan. “Mmm, daddy.”

Seungcheol was like a well-oiled machine. He ran beautifully, pressing into your core in a steady rhythm, audibly degrading you to filth, filling you with a sense of accomplishment. “You’re such a good slut for me. Is my little cumslut enjoying how I fuck your filthy hole?”

“Mmmh, yes. I love how you fuck me, daddy. You always know how to make me feel so good.” His hands smoothed against your side, not losing his pace, fucking you until the sunrise, only to have you do it all over again the next day. 

He was insatiable and you found it addicting. Eventually, all things had an end and that end for you was when one of you had decided to take control of your life again. It had been a long time since you were in a committed relationship and to you that meant differently now that you were older. At this point in your life, you needed some romantic consistency and you weren't going to get it stuck in your college ways.

“I don’t want to just sleep around anymore.”

“I told you, y/n, I’m not looking for anything serious.” Seungcheol reminded you.

He shielded his body with his once abandoned white tee, getting ready to go about his following day. Being in your home, you laid comfortably nude in your own bed.

“I know. That’s why I’m ending things between us, Cheol. I want to get into dating again. I want us to stop sleeping together.”

With his back towards you, he halted midway pulling up his pants, almost contemplating, before pulling them back up all the way. “Did you meet someone?”

“No,” you admitted, “I just want those other things to come after sex.”

You watched him nod, before turning back to you. “Okay…So this is the last time then.”

You nodded.

“I wish you would’ve told me that. I could’ve made it a bit more…celebratory.” He joked lightly, a dark undertone in his voice.

You looked at him intrigued. Your upper body slipped from the covers, hanging the delicious fruit that would at times be suckled on or bruised with hickies by his cherry red lips. Seungcheol’s throat went dry by the simple gestures, mesmerized by the beauty every time you displayed it, wondering if there will be anyone else like it once you leave. He finally met your eyes, tempted by your siren gaze. “We still can, if you want that is. The day is still young.”

Seungcheol gathered his thoughts. A speedy gulp of saliva ran down the narrow pipe of his throat as he fixated on how you shifted in bed. Revealing more and more skin, you leave nothing to the imagination. This was a momentary crucial decision, he could decide to leave and help himself to what else the world had to offer starting now, or—“Fuck it. Get on your knees for me.”

Seungcheol took his time that night, making sure you felt every inch that craved your attention, just as you took your time finding a permanent romantic partner. You’ve had your fair share of dates back in your college days but this was a long time coming and you were no spring chicken anymore. It’ll be the first time in a while that you've put yourself out there. How you came upon Seungcheol was pure coincidence and convenience, not expecting it to have lasted as long as it did. Now you’re finding yourself finding something to occupy that time in your life, a time where you put your energy into someone else.

You start to remember how tiresome it is getting to know someone and making an effort to be presentable. By now, you’d have several dates, all varying types of people, and all varying different types of disappointment. None of them made themselves second-date worthy and all lacked an attractive quality. Maybe you were being picky, but none of them drew you like you wish they had. Some were nice, sweet even, while some were simply a waste of time, but there were none you willingly thought twice about.

You waited even now for possibly another awful date. You both agreed upon a bar, thinking of a night letting loose with drinks would be a good start to whatever this is. Whoever this person was, their impression was already off given that you’ve waited a good half hour for them to arrive. Additionally, they began to be unresponsive, leading to the point that tonight was likely another failure of date.

You sighed, almost embracing your cosmopolitan, and staring off into the flashing lights reflecting off the bar mirrors. Your straight back slouched in the curve-hugging dress, twirling your drink between your fingers. You have a moment to yourself before deciding to dig through your purse to pay a transaction, only to be stopped by a familiar voice offering to do it for you.

You blinked once, then twice. Hesitant, you turned to meet their eyes and you see Seungcheol with hair as bright as chewing gum, smiling with his perfect cherry lips. He takes the barstool beside you, looking at you the same way he did the last time you saw him, looking breathtaking as ever. “It’s been a while.”

“You changed your hair.”

He fingered through his strands, a corner of his lips stretching up to his ear. “I thought it’d be a nice change. Are you meeting someone?”

He took in how you wore the dress, seeing the familiar outline of your silhouette catch the eye of anyone passing by. Your red-stained lips jutted in his direction, drawing him in like a bee to pollen, longing to see the cream formula smear all in places that don’t dare see the light. 

“I was and now I’m thinking of leaving. Looks like I’m only wasting my time.” You grabbed your purse and your eyes shot towards the doors. “He’s not coming.”

“Then let me take up some of your time since you’re already here. We can catch up.” He suggested, his voice lingering in a tone of mischief. 

You scoffed. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why? Scared of a good time?”

Exactly.

“Why’d you dye your hair, Seungcheol?”

He pursed his lips in amusement, “Why are you changing the subject?”

“Did you miss me so much you gave yourself a breakup makeover? How cute.” You teased.

The man snickered, leaning the top of his head in your direction, “Cop a feel. It’s surprisingly healthy.”

The cotton candy hair was alluring, the crown of his head emitting his sweet and spicy cologne, the one that you’d bathed in every time you spent the night together. Your hand raised up in his direction, almost taking his offer to heart before pulling away. You shook your head for him to notice. “That also isn't a good idea.”

“I know you’re scared, y/n. I’m not going to try anything. I just missed you.”

You blinked. “You…miss the sex, you mean.”

“No, I missed you, Y/n.”

What were you thinking entertaining the idea?

His hands remembered your sensitive spots. His lips entangled with yours like they were never once apart. He pulled your coat off your body and hung it from his hanger at the front door. He held you by the waist, creating a surge of urgency in your body. He inhaled your perfume that hadn’t changed since you first met, overwhelming his senses with notes of citrus and orchids. He smiled, pressing his lips harder to you than before.

“You smell so good,” he whispered against your lips, “you don’t know much I wanted to see you.”

You swooned. “Seungcheol.”

“I’m going to take my time with you.”

His hands slid down to reach for your thighs and he hoisted you up in the air, having you loop around his waist. He stared up at you in awe, seeing you stare back at him with discern before he pressed his lips back on yours. Your arms wrapped across his shoulders, bringing yourself against him ambitiously. “This is the actual last time, okay?”

Seungcheol didn't respond, and only kissed you deeper, embracing you until his arms grew sore, and even then he knew he felt no desire to let go. You clasped his face in your hands, savoring the pillowy felt of his lips and how he tasted like jolly ranchers. It made you remember how he always preferred those over mints or gum; it was a bit childish, yet endearing.

“Cherry?” You guessed, “There are other jolly ranchers flavors, you know.”

He shrugged, smiling. “Habit.”

He carried you off to his room, laying you delicately into the sheets, and climbed on top of you. One strap at a time, he began to undress you. Pulling the zipper down the line of your back, you slipped out from your clothing. He traced down your spine, sending you shivers. You softly moaned, whispering his name against his neck. Your fingers pulled at the hem of his henley, pulling it over his head. He dipped his torso against your crotch, your flushed making brief contact, and grooved into your sensitivity. The fabric of his dark jeans brushed against you harshly, wetting your entrance until they soaked through the thin fabric of your underwear. You cursed under your breath. “Y-you fucking tease.”

“You’re so cute,” Seungcheol sighed blissfully, “Your voice is so pretty.”

He subtly slipped out of his pants, his eyes locked on you unclasping your bra as your perfect mounds came to view. Seungcheol dug his knees into the mattress, fully palming your breasts, and nipping at the erect bud as he twisted the other between his fingers. His teeth grazed your textured bumps, biting and sighing into your skin. Your hand landed in his hair, fingering through his soft locks, and his eyes narrowed at you.

“Mmh, Cheol, you miss my tits in my mouth?” You combed through his hair in your fingers, tugging against his scalp, in which he hummed a sign of confirmation. “I missed it too, but I missed your fingers more.”

He mused at you, sucking against the bud harder, occasionally switching between each one. His gaze hardened on you, putting his weight against your body, building up the pressure in your stomach. He detached himself from your chest, hand crawling down until it reached your aroused core, pushing a single digit with your walls. 

“You’re so wet,” he twisted it inside, your panties as a barrier, thrusting until he coated his finger, “what a cute little pussy.”

“Cheol,” you gasped, “fuck, please, deeper, daddy.”

“Deeper? Mmh, baby, you’re so spoiled,” He peeled off your panties and threw them aside. His index finger slid against the strip of your wet cunt before penetrating it, making your body twitch in anticipation around him, “you like that? I was wondering when I’d ever do that again.”

He inserted another finger, hooking them inside you as he allowed them to explore your arousal, emitting a low but loud moan on your end.

“Daddy,” you proclaimed, “more, just like that. Your fingers feel so good…”

He grunted with a rough shove, holding them inside, soaking himself to the knuckles. His thumb found your clit, rubbing its glistening shape that then created those familiar stars in your vision. Your hips moved to his pace, clutching the back of his head to devour his lips. He inched up at your frame, your perky nipples tickling against his, and he felt his hunger burden him.  He pulled out his digits, pressed them flat against his tongue, and sucked them dry. “Mmh, dessert.”

You giggled at him, feeling joy at the playfulness he emitted, and watched as he unraveled his full length that throbbed in your direction. Seungcheol stretched behind you to grab a condom from the bedside table and then layering himself in a coat of protection after discarding his briefs. You looked back at him expectantly, locked in his gaze as he pretended to tease your fingers, and then pushed his entirety in your sopping cunt, not forgetting to praise you afterward.

“Shit, you’re still so tight.”

Seungcheol took your clueless hands and held them on either side of your head, lacing his fingers with them. Initially, you’re shocked given that you never held hands with him, let alone did it during sex, but how he looked at you made you feel precious and you didn’t have the heart to say otherwise. His bangs fell to your forehead and perspiration glistened on his skin. 

He thrusted into you, starting off slow to leave you wanting more, gradually growing faster. You clenched around him, hushed moans heating up his lips, and you anchored around him. Seungcheol slipped his hand down your wrists, then down to the small of your back, until finally pulling you up in a sitting position. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders possessively, hands running up his hair, while his hands guided your hips in movement.

“I needed this,” you dreamily sighed, “I needed you.”

“Not as much as I needed you.”

Your foreheads kissing, you gazed at him with heavy eyelids. Seungcheol pushed up his waist into you, jerking his cock inside you. You palmed at his chest, pressing your lips against his neck, leaving remnants of your presence. He moaned in your ear, gorilla gripping your legs around his body to thrust from underneath you, all while you rode his lap. You felt the journey to your climax grow shorter in time, but for Seungcheol that meant nothing.

“L-let me cum, daddy, please.” You whined.

“You can’t baby, you have to hold back,” he teased, quickly finding your clit and sandwiching his hand between your bodies.

You squirmed under his touch, desperate for gratification. Your nails dug into his firm thigh, halting your release for as much as you could manage. Your sweat mixed with his and your cheeks became an enticing red. You tried pulling yourself together for a little longer, knowing the aftermath would be nothing but euphoric. “Y-you just feel so good, daddy. I-”

“Don’t make me have to punish you, do you want daddy to punish you?”

“B-but—mmph!” You felt your soul leave your body.

Clutching onto him for dear life, you felt your cum seep out of you, trembling uncontrollably in his lap. Your eyes, shaking from regret, stared into his with a plea. “I-I-I’m sorry, d-daddy.”

“Looks like I’ll have to punish you after all,” he sighed, “I didn’t want to have to be mean today.”

He pulled out of you, pushing you against the mattress with no remorse. He glared down at you, spitting into his hand, and struck your spent pussy. You winced in pain, clutching your sensitive cunt, until he pried your hands off.

“Uh uh, you deserve this.”

He pinned your hands away from your body, this time by the wrists. His painfully red erection stroked your slit, harshly rubbing into you without penetrating. He let go of one hand of your hands to stroke his length at your entrance, the tip rubbing on your thick sensitive folds.

“C-Cheol, I c-came.” You vibrated.

He snickered. “That’s never stopped us before.”

He eased himself inside and abruptly he was rough with every push. His eyes fluttered, feeling the faster, deeper thrusts come more naturally as he abused your cunt to his liking. He found him laughing manically, obsessed with your convulsions squeezing his girth. Your face would twist in fucked out expressions, desperately clutching your sanity.

“Fuck, my little cum slut such a good fucking toy. Do you like how I use you like a toy?” He glowered.

Your whines fell out in bursts, having already came once, it did not limit the immense pleasure that Seungcheol continued to offer. Y-y-yes, I f-fucking love when you use m-me.”

“Yeah, because you’re not just any toy, you’re my toy and I can fuck you however I want.”

“P-please, I want you to fuck me until I c-cum again.”

Seungcheol held back his moan, slapping your pussy more to see you flinch, and laughing deviously every time you do. He dipped into the mattress, pushing his full force inside you until he ensured he was essentially deep enough that he’d reach another organ entirely.

You swore every passing second. A pounding in your head as Seungcheol persisted in pace and began to feel yourself melt and become one with the sheets. You whine uncontrollably, screaming at him to fuck you to the point of your legs going boneless and that’s when you feel his foundation start to collapse. He drew his breath more often, shutting his eyes until his thighs gave out, and the tension all pushed to the top.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, shit.” 

Seungcheol came inside the condom as predicted, trapping his arousal in the latex tubing with much regret. He pulled out to see the casing filled to the brim with his cum disposing of it in a nearby waste, wasting a perfect load that could’ve landed perfectly in your mouth or chest. His eyes fall over you still twitched in bed, twisting your body to find the most comfortable position and silently cursing yourself through a personal post-nut clarity. “I can’t believe I did that. I’m so fucking stupid.”

You clutched your head, experiencing another kind of regret until Seungcheol repositioned you on the bed. Spooning you from behind, his head fitted in the crook of your neck, inhaling your sickly sweet body. He softly smiled, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You were amazing.”

“Well, good, because this is the ‘actual’ actual last time, okay? I need to start dating seriously.”

“Then do it with me.”

[giorno-plays-piano]

Rusted Remnants

Pairing: Karl Heisenberg x mutant!Reader

Warnings: past noncon, smut, dirty talk, Stockholm syndrome, violence, mention of human experiments, swearing.

Words: 1924.

Summary: You felt better knowing he wouldn't have to leave for quite some time now, staring at the man as he leaned back against the pillow, watching the smoke slowly disappear in the air - Heisenberg wasn't your darling, but he's the only one who kept you sane in that fucking hole where human life mattered so little. Among other Lords he's the only one who had the resolve to fight that heartless bitch hiding behind the façade of a holy mother.

____________________

When a bearded man in sunglasses opened the door with a grinding, abrasive sound, you felt both fear and relief - Heisenberg was a mean son of a bitch who couldn’t stand people crossing him on anything, and you learned that the hard way. However, thanks to that insanely strong bastard who could smash in a Lycan’s skull with one swing of his hammer, you were still safe in his hideout, not having to worry about mutilated monsters this place was swarming with.

Besides, even though Heisenberg was as rotten and disgusting as any other Lord, he still had more human in him than Dimitrescu, Beneviento and Moreau altogether.

“Did you miss me, little monster?” He smirked, watching you laying in bed with some cheap romance novel you traded for bullets with the Duke: you had little hobbies since you barely left Heisenberg’s factory.

You rolled your eyes, knowing he hadn’t been home for a couple of days and now needed to get under your skin, feeding off your emotions like Alcina fed off her victims’ blood. It was something like a routine to him: he needed to know you had something human in you, too.

“Who else do you expect me to miss?” you snorted, leaving a worn book with a dirty yellow cover on the bed. “You know I don’t like when you leave for so long.”

“It’s not like I like it either.”

Leaving his monstrous hammer on the table full of blueprints, drawings, nails and all other things you were forbidden to touch, he took his glasses off, and you saw his weary eyes, the blood vessels widened in their white. It didn't happen often, but from time to time Heisenberg would abandon his façade of a smug, careless bastard, and then you could catch a glimpse of a deadly tired man who had long lost any hope to ever free himself from Miranda’s death grip. Something had happened in those couple of days when he had been wandering the woods and catacombs filled with Lycans, Samcăs, and Vârcolacs, and it certainly wasn’t good news if it stripped Heisenberg of his endless complacency.

Quietly slipping away from the bed, you put your shoes on while the man in front of you left his coat hanging on a chair and stilled, his dirty hands on the desk as he stared at it blankly. While he stood there, motionless, you turned on the large faucet in an improvised shower cabin - everything there had been old and rusty, and you needed time to adjust the temperature of water from icy cold to bearable cool or even hot if you were lucky enough. Thankfully, Karl never protested against showering, washing away dry blood, machine oil, muck and filth.

Saying nothing, you carefully lifted his hat, unclasped the belt on his chest and started unbuttoning his dirty shirt - nobody would believe it had been white once. Finally, Heisenberg came back to his senses, smirking and letting you strip him of his clothes, leaving his pants and huge heavy boots on the floor. As he stepped into the shower, he dragged you with him behind the old plastic curtains full of holes, and your nightgown got drenched within a couple of seconds, water pouring over your head. You didn’t protest anymore, knowing the man wouldn’t let you go until he blew off some steam, pushing you into a wet stone wall and wrecking you ass till you started sobbing - he loved when you squeezed his fat cock with your pussy, but Heisenberg couldn’t risk getting you pregnant, leaving his child to be endlessly tortured by that holy bitch until she turned his baby into some fucking monster doll. Sometimes he could buy some condoms from the Duke, but it was still a rare occasion, so most of the time Heisenberg spent using your other holes, filling you to the brim with his cum until he felt satisfied.

"Wearing that white nightgown like some noble slut from Alcina's castle." he growled into your ear from behind, grinding against your ass, his callous fingers gripping your hips as he forced you spread your legs for him. "Did you do it on purpose, baby? Did you want to bounce on my cock so bad?"

Turning your head to him, you didn't get a chance to speak up when the man crashed his mouth into yours, his arm lifting up the drenched fabric of your nightgown and baring your flesh. Landing a loud smack to your ass, he grinned through the kiss: he loved it when you behaved well around him, taking whatever he was giving you like a good girl you were.

You didn’t mind. At first the thought of him touching you had been giving you panic attacks and nausea, but as years flew by, nothing changing in this Hell of a place where sanity was a privilege, you clung to Heisenberg in a desperate attempt to feel human again - even if it was something as primitive as grinding your bodies against each other.

As he rubbed his cock in between your shaking thighs pressed together, you moaned, the water cascading down your bodies while Heisenberg fondled your breasts, biting and nipping his way down your neck.

"You're going nowhere until I fuck the shit out of you."

_________

Breathing in the smell of his Cuban cigars, you watched Heisenberg smoke as he laid close to you, his naked body barely covered by a blanket: his skin was littered with nasty scars, and it seemed like every centimeter of it had once been burned, cut or bitten. Some of them were so old you could barely see them, others relatively knew where the scar tissue was still angry red and thick: most of the time he got them while working on his personal army down there, but with his regenerative abilities they were like a kitten bite to him. Of course, even of they weren't, Heisenberg would still pretend like it was nothing, wearing his shit-eating grin.

"The holy whore is up to something," he says after long minutes of silence, ash falling to the floor from his cigar, "and I don't like that I know fucking nothing of her plans."

You felt better knowing he wouldn't have to leave for quite some time now, staring at the man as he leaned back against the pillow, watching the smoke slowly disappear in the air - Heisenberg wasn't your darling, but he's the only one who kept you sane in that fucking hole where human life mattered so little. Among other Lords he's the only one who had the resolve to fight that heartless bitch hiding behind the façade of a holy mother. You couldn't call him sane, but he had enough sanity to remember what Miranda did to all of you and how fucking twisted was her desire to have a family. You weren't her children, regardless how many times Moreau was going to call her his mother. Whatever she did to you or those miserable villagers, her cannon fodder, she did only to revive her real daughter, and the thought had been making you sick since the times Heisenberg told you about Miranda's past.

"You think it's something big?"

"Yeah. She keeps disappearing into thin air, and I can't find a trace of her anywhere at all."

You grew silent, staring at the blanket with empty eyes: it certainly wasn't a good sign. Where was she going if even Heisenberg couldn't locate her? Was she crossing the forest to get to the outer world? The last time it happened she brought to the world one more horrifying monster with a face of a little girl. The only thing you knew about her was that she was destroyed a couple of years ago, just a failed experiment like all those Miranda had been involved in.

"I think she partners up with someone, some organization that can give her what she wants like, you knew, she did before." You muttered, and Heisenberg stared at you, narrowing his frightening light eyes.

"With whom could the old bitch partner?"

"I don't know, but I know she brought someone with her, willingly or not."

Now you had his full attention as he turned to you, his eyes burning a hole in your face. "Who did she bring here? How the fuck do you know?"

Rolling over to your stomach and hugging a pillow - a real pillow you got from the Duke a month ago, not that pile of garbage the man had been sleeping on for ages - you let out a loud sigh. You weren’t eager to go exploring the factory even though you knew where his soldiers were, but you couldn't just stay in his room for the rest of your days, and sometimes you would get out for a couple of hours, wandering empty corridors with rusted doors.

At first it was subtle. You knew this place well, but you couldn't sense monsters or people getting in the way Miranda did even after Cadou implantation. You just wandered the same places over and over, collecting semi-precious stones, bullets and other things you could trade for something with a merchant. As the time flew by, the feeling of uneasiness was washing over you as you stepped into certain rooms, got into certain places. There was nothing peculiar there, nothing that would catch your attention, but something was still eating you up as if you knew something wasn't right.

At one point you realized that what disturbed you were things moving from their original places - changes were small, barely noticeable for someone who didn't spend hundreds of hours walking around here, but you could know put your finger on what was wrong. Who was it? You knew it weren't the Lords who had no business here. Besides, the Master of Metal could always feel their presence. Obviously, it weren't humans from the village for whom the factory was sacred, and monsters possessed too little intelligence to put things on their places in the very same order. You thought it could be Mother Miranda, but she wouldn't be sneaky if she really wanted to show Heisenberg his place.

Now it all made sense. You knew the outer world would learn about this place sooner or later, especially after that monster girl incident, and it only proved the idea Miranda brought someone with her.

"I think it's someone smart, Karl. Someone who will either destroy Miranda or try to take control of her - and us, maybe." You said after telling him about your little adventures, and the man smirked, stroking your back. Of course, after her little Eveline had been released into the world, he had thoughts about other organizations having their fair share of Megamycete,

“Someone we can use against her, then.” He whispered, his eyes dark and perceptive as he leant closer, dropping a kiss to your shoulder, his complacency getting back as he sent you a smug grin, slapping your ass loudly. “Good job, little monster. Good job.”

Rolling you over on your back, he got on top of you, pushing your legs apart and licking his lips at the sight of your naked pussy right in front of him, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs.

“I’ve forgot to tell you baby," he grinned at you when you squirmed from his touch, his thumb already tracing tiny little circles against your clit. “I’ve got a rubber, so you better milk me dry with that sweet little cunt of yours.”

[merakiui]

Frostbite

yandere!childe x (gender neutral) reader art credit - GNSN_FA on twt cw: yandere, blood, minor gore (lacerations), unhealthy behaviors/relationship, mentions of death/hypothermia, fighting

It’s borderline animalistic, the way you cling to warmth and life like a starved, neglected hound. Your fingers stiffen in a vain attempt to flex—to successfully grasp your sword like a true warrior. The furs that were once draped over your body are ragged, torn to shreds from a dangerous battle between the elements and him. There’s no mistaking the excitement that lights his every nerve like bulbs hanging from a Christmas tree, coated in the maddening swell of potent bloodlust. If surrender was an option, you would have done it long ago.

Even then, you’re certain he wouldn’t give you such a benevolent chance no matter how hard you were to beg and plead.

Your breath materializes like a phantom in front of your face, a cruel reminder that you’re still breathing in a battered body. Your fingernails are chipped, blood running down the tips from an icy struggle, but you refuse to succumb to the cold. Instead, you allow yourself to be swept up in his electrified stare. 

“What’s the matter, comrade?” There’s a wry smile pulling his chapped lips apart, showcasing flawless teeth aligned in a perfect face. Despite the brutal wear of this current fight, he’s still handsome. And that makes you sick. “I thought you said you’ve gotten stronger. If I wanted a real battle, I would’ve challenged one of my subordinates and that’s nowhere near as fun as this!”

Keeled over in the snow, your lungs burning with each rattled inhale, you struggle to meet his eyes. The deathly chill of the Snezhnayan climate claws at your exhausted form like the porcelain fingers of a skeleton. You might as well surrender to the freezing temperatures. After all, the frostbite is far kinder than the fighting machine looming over you, the toe of his boot nudging your trembling self. 

“I... I am strong,” you manage to say before the dangerous wind pierces your throat like a dagger. Like the icicle Childe’s wielding, a happily convenient reaction between Hydro and Cryo elements. You cough and crimson paints the snow. “Strong. I’m strong.”

“Then get up.” There isn’t any warmth in his tone. Cold like ice and devoid of his former playfulness. Under all of that nonchalance, a fierce, chiseled warrior lies in comfortable wait. When his eyes trace your hunched form and he spots the blood that dribbles past your lips, practically freezing as soon as it makes contact with the frigid air, those dull hues widen. Surely he’s hit a weak spot, a vital organ or something close to a fatal blow. He wonders for a brief moment if you’re afraid of death. “You’ll freeze if you don’t move.”

A flash catches your attention and then there is the flow of suffocating water. Sharpened blades of ice surround you on all sides, nearly scraping your arms, so you force yourself onto unsteady legs. Internally, you’re searching for a way out—for a way to give up before you bite off more than you can chew. This sparring match wasn’t your request, but you had been a fool to accept, having been so certain of your strength and wit. But you aren’t accustomed to Snezhnaya, whereas Childe has spent years of his life here: training, learning, and fighting until he was worthy of the Tsaritsa’s praise. 

With sloppy movements, you cut through the ice as if it’s butter, eternally grateful for the sharpness of your trusty sword. You can’t tell when this fight will end, but you hope an opening with present itself. As soon as it does, you’re running as far as your frozen legs will take you. Like a feral beast who fights desperately against the unfair hands of the Grim Reaper, you stumble forwards, slashing blindly at your target. He’s thoroughly amused with your struggle, having seen this sort of desperation many times before on the battlefield.

It’s a depressing thing, knowing you’ll be destined for failure and yet you still push onwards. As if that will turn the tide of this battle in your favor. Childe almost admires your persistence, but it isn’t all that special. He’s seen it all before but not quite in the way you portray it. Your despair is far more delectable than that of any low-ranking Fatui soldier. Childe could bask in this for eternity and he’d never grow bored. To have you by his side as his punching bag—it excites him just a little too much. 

Naturally, the more he spars with you, the more he’ll grow accustomed to your attack and defense patterns. A strategy is only worthwhile if it rakes in victory. No matter the cost. No matter how many fall and grovel, begging for their pitiful lives. In a way, his moral compass is rather skewed. He supposes that makes him a bad person, but he’s never been one for the hero role. 

Childe taps your shoulder and you whirl, slicing upwards with your sword. The blade cuts the air, not the torso of the man who jumps back with such deadly precision. The expression he’s wearing haunts you: a wicked smile, pupils blown wide with the thrill of life and death, and a blooming bruise from where you managed to hit him in your earlier scuffle. In any form, he looks good, be it blue and purple, red and pale, or even frozen stiff by the very ice that reacts to his Hydro abilities. You can’t stand your weak heart, as you’re well aware of the face he’ll bear tomorrow. Friendly and disarming, a total opposite to the grinning madman twirling water-turned-ice blades like they’re circus batons. 

Like always, you’ll return his kindness because you’re a fool. Because you like the soft, wholesome Childe that cares lovingly for his family—the side he’s displayed in rare instances that glimmer beyond the gilded portrait of a battle-hardened soldier. 

You fall hard on your back, landing in the thick snow with a wheeze. There is no warmth on the battlefield. Only pain, suffering, and the certainty of death. You push yourself to get up, but your muscles won’t move, too heavy and sore. You know you’re strong—you’ve faced many opponents before and you’ve lived to boast of your successes. You can beat Childe. You have to if you intend to avoid fights with him in the future. 

“Well, this is upsetting.” He’s frowning now, idly tapping the crystalized water while he circles you like a sharp-toothed predator. “Didn’t expect this to end so quickly.”

Liar. You already know I can’t beat you, you want to say, but the words escape you. Not yet, anyways.

A sneer splits your dry lips and blood trickles down your chin like a woeful river. You don’t need a mirror to witness the damage. 

“Teucer won’t like this,” you say, staring up at Childe with dead eyes, hoping to prod at his weak spots. If the mention of his brother affects him, Childe doesn’t let it show.

“He doesn’t have to know,” he retorts, brushing aside such a possibility with ease. 

Right. Because you expect me to put myself back together like a toy. Of course, almighty Childe, the greatest toy salesman in all of Snezhnaya. 

“Well.” You pause to exhale and pain shoots through your side. Through your bleary gaze, you can see a deep laceration. Blood stains what’s left of your attire, and you move your rigid hands over the wound to prevent anymore blood loss. “Congrats. You won.”

“You’re giving up?” Bewilderment flashes across his face for an instant before it melts away into an emotion you can’t place. Anger? Sadness? Is he unhappy with this win? 

“What does it look like? I can’t possibly fight with these injuries.” 

It hurts to speak and you wish he would just stop. If he could accept the outcome of this battle, this wouldn’t be such a problem. You’d be able to patch and heal yourself up before your condition gets any worse. With the chill seeping into your open cut, harshly kissing slick, wet blood, you doubt you’ll make it inside before passing out. Vaguely, you recall the unfamiliar stages of hypothermia. At worst, if you stay out in this fatal weather, pinned like an entomologist’s butterfly under Childe’s monstrous gaze, you’ll freeze to death. At best, you’ll escape, build a fire, and warm up to the best of your ability. Weighing your options, you’d rather lose a finger or a toe as opposed to your life. 

“You can fight.” His blade is at your throat, the pointed tip niggling into your jugular. It’s more of a threat than a warning, a means to spur you into action. “You’ll never get stronger if you’re always running away, comrade.”

Your life has some value; Childe just can’t see that. In his eyes, a fight should be seen through to the very end, even if it’s marred in death and destruction. Yet here you are, choosing to abandon your pride. That must have some strength in itself, right? You hate his face, his childish nature, and the fact that his everything is making you reconsider. You’re doomed to fail if you continue to push your frostbitten body past its natural limits. 

“I...” The blade slices along your throat, a mere surface wound. You can’t feel the sting or the sticky blood that spills out like flowing tears, having become as numb as a fish-eyed animal near extinction. “Childe—“

You don’t want to hurt him and he knows this. It twists his insides like a knife in flesh, turning and turning until organs pop and leak into soupy conflict. The blade leaves your throat and another harsh wind blows between the two of you, glacial and prickling. He distances himself, tracking your form in case you happen to move. You’ve stopped shivering at this point, lying flat on your back and staring up at the dark sky. Snowflakes cling to your lashes like the hands of death, pulling you closer to an invisible grave. 

“You can fight.” Is that desperation in his voice? You almost laugh at the idea. He’s not a desperate man; he doesn’t need to be when he has it all. “Get up, comrade.”

“I think...I’ll stay here,” you whisper, your heartbeat irregularly slow. You’ve never counted the beats before, but now it makes for a fun distraction. “Good job, Childe. You’ve definitely...”

Gotten stronger.

You possess strength, just not the type Childe wants to experience firsthand. He has no use for a lonely, unseeing corpse. And when your eyelids flutter, closing upon a face that reflects frozen death, he releases a sigh. His blade falls at once, landing in the snow with a thump, and he bends down to gather your fallen frame in his arms. Somehow, whenever he spars with you—whenever he’s within touching distance—he feels alive. As if you’ve breathed meaning into his frostbitten soul, warming the cold beast that lurks and pounces at the sight and smell of fresh bloodshed. 

If he’s learned anything, it’s that there’s always going to be room for improvement. You just need to train more, and he’d be over the moon to fight you until it’s your blade slicing through his skin. In the meantime, though, he’ll have to kiss color and life back into your monochrome world of death and despair. 

As the greatest toy salesman in all of Snezhnaya, it’s only fair if he repairs the damages done to his favorite toy. Break, repair, and repeat. A cycle befitting a messy relationship and an even messier slew of choices. Rinse and repeat, like waves licking up a carcass bound to the shore. 

Come morning, you’ll be shiny and new, ready to sit by his side for another leisurely ice-fishing outing. Childe isn’t known as the greatest toy salesman for nothing, and you’re just barely scraping by with each battle scar and bandage—courtesy of such an illustrious, experimental toy salesman. 

[the-broken-truth]

Hi, it's the same anon who requested for the whole reader with the bow thing and I have only ONE thing to say: Perfection 🤩🤩 It was AWESOME and OMG, I can't stop gushing about it. Sorry 😅 But if it's not too much, do you mind making a part 2? You can conclude it if you want in part 2. I'm curious to know how she's going to react to when she finally gets kidnapped. Oh, you can make it like she's deathly scared of injections like me lol, I have a HUGE fear of them. So, like she's fighting some assassins and suddenly Damian pulls a sneaky move and sneaks up on her and pierces a needle into her skin and BOOM! She gets kidnapped. Btw, reader/ Alexa's inspiration to being single comes from the maiden Greek goddess of hunting Artemis. She's my inspiration too and she needs no man to take care of her :) Sorry for my rambling TvT And hope you have a nice day thank you <3

Broken Truth (Tail waves): So, Alexa shall have Trypanophobia - an extreme fear of medical procedures involving injections or hypodermic needles; I think I can make those words dance. I'm glad to know you liked it and Artemis is actually my favorite Greek Goddess.

Athena (Somewhere Else): WHAT DID YOU SAY?!

Broken Truth (Shivering): NOTHING! LET THE WORDS WEAVE TOGETHER BEFORE I'M DONE FOR!!!

[Unknown Location]

[Alexa groaned as the aching in her head began to fade a bit before she opened her eyes - a white fog was all she saw; blinking a few times removed it and made her sight clear again and she took in the unfamiliar environment around her. She was in a brick room & from the light that came from the barred window - it was still daytime. The door that was across from her was black metal and - from the sliding viewer in the door - she could tell she was in a cell of some kind; a prisoner's cell? She wasn't sure. When feeling got back to the rest of her body, she looked around to see she was cuffed to some kind of metal wheel, her wrists & ankles secured over her head and spread apart so that they wouldn't touch each other.]

Broken Truth: For reference - Think of the contraption Heteric had Bruce secured in they captured him & Damian in Batman: Bad Blood.

Alexa (Looks at the contraption that held her - at the computer that as hooked up to it and the wire's connected to the machine, connected to her) (Thinking): 'What is this? How did I get here? Where even is here?'

[The girl knew panicking would get her nowhere so she closed her eyes and focused - trying to remember the last thing before she woke up here.]

[She was... She was in Gotham, she remembered that - making portals around her house. Why was she making portals there? She went deeper into her mind and found the answer - She received a present, no - it wasn't a present, it was a sword. A sword from the League of Assassins. Now, she remembered - It was an invitation from Talia Al Ghul & Ra's Al Ghul: An Invitation to join the League of Assassins, to join their family as the Wife of Damian. When she unsheathed the blade - there was a time & a location; they wanted to meet her. She knew they weren't going to leave her alone until she spoke with them.]

[At Midnight - The top of the Warehouse in the Abandoned Industrial District; the place she killed Talia's men with a single arrow.]

[Alexa's feet splashed in the shallow puddles that the pouring rain made when they reached the room - in her Archer's Gear but with her neck gaiter down, showing the glare on her face as she stood before Talia Al Ghul and her Assassins, her hand clenched around the sheathing of the sword she was given. While the protective clothing was waterproof, her dark brown hair was soaked in the downpour.]

Talia Al Ghul (Smiling at Alexa): I see you've got our invitation. What's your answer?

Alexa (Frowns and throws the sword to Talia's feet): I've told you the same thing for the last 6 months - I want nothing to do with you, your son, your organization, or your father! Nothing! I want you to leave me the hell alone and stop chasing after me as if I owe you something!

Talia Al Ghul (Frowning): I thought you would say that. (Snaps her fingers) Secure her for transport.

[The Assassins that protected Talia charged at Alexa, causing the Archer to summon her bow and begin the battle. Even in close combat, Alexa's skills with her bow her unmatched - one by one, Talia's men fell but she didn't look concerned. When the last one fell, Alexa pointed her bow at the green-eyed woman with a glare of hatred in her eyes.]

Alexa (Lightly Panting): You gonna stop sending men after me now?

Talia Al Ghul (Closes her eyes and nods): Yes.

[Alexa began to lower her bow until she saw the smile on Talia's face.]

Talia Al Ghul (Smirking and opens her eyes): Because we have you now.

[Alexa was about to question her when she felt a sharp pain in the back of her neck - the effect as instant. Alexa became sluggish as her vision blurred, making her drop the bow in her hands making it dispel away. Alexa began to fall forward but she was caught in the arms of another - the harder she fought, the more exhausted she became until her mind slipped into nothingness.]

Alexa (Opened her eyes - a glare upon her face as her brown eyes began bleeding gold): Those bastards... They drugged me and abducted me.

[Just then: The door on the far side of the room & two people walked in - The Familiar Face of Talia Al Ghul & An Older Man - He looked dangerous - he must have been the Head Demon: Ra's Al Ghul.]

Talia Al Ghul (Walks over to the bound girl with a smile): I see that you are awake.

Alexa (Narrows her eyes): What? Expected your little knockout serum to last longer?

Talia Al Ghul (Walks over to the computer and sits in the chair before it, typing away on the keyboard): A Cruel Method but necessary - without it, we couldn't have gotten you here unscathed.

Alexa: Maybe you should have just let me the hell alone like I asked you to do.

Ra's Al Ghul (Shaking his head): Out of the question - My Grandson loves you & you are more than worthy of becoming one with the Al Ghul family; you just need some time to realize that.

Alexa: If I didn't 'realize' that 6 months ago - then it's not gonna happen.

Ra's Al Ghul (Looks at Talia): Anything?

Talia Al Ghul: No, Father - nothing out of the ordinary. No genetic mutations could have caused this use of Elemental Magic. She appears to be completely human.

Alexa: Because I am! Gods, you both are morons, just like that overgrown child who can't accept 'no' for an answer.

Talia Al Ghul (Raises from the computer and stands before the bound Alexa): You just act accept the fact you are destined to be with my son.

Alexa (Scoffs & Chuckles): If I was destined to be with your son - The Oracles would have told me but - just like the Huntress Artemis - I don't need or want a man to take care of me when I can take care of myself.

Talia Al Ghul: It doesn't matter what you say - you shall be one with my son, he is away with his father for the rest of the month but that gives us enough time to groom you into a proper partner for Damian.

Alexa (Chuckles before full-blown laughing): AHA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!

Ra's Al Ghul (Narrows his eyes): I fail to see what is funny. With your hands apart, you cannot summon your bow or arrows, thus you are trapped here.

Alexa (Takes a calming breath): You really think my power is limited t using my bow and arrows - False, that's just what I prefer in a fight. (Narrows eyes with a wide smirk) Just where do you think the power in my arrows comes from?

[Before either Father or Daughter could answer - Alexa's right hand opened widely as blue electrical sparks danced along her flesh before spreading to the contraption that held her. Talia moved away just in time thinking the thing was going to blow but all it did was open the locks and Alexa was free, her hand still sparking with electric power as she lifted it to her face.]

Alexa (Smirks at Talia and Ra's): I do love the look on a person's face when they realized they bit off more than they could chew. (Holds her hand out in their direction - a blue ball of light begins to form in her palm)

[Ra's and Talia get out of the room just as a blue bullet of hot blue flame shoots past them and crashed into the wall outside the cell. Alexa moved her hand to face the wall that held the window and blasted it out - the smoke giving her cover to open a portal and jump through, it closed just as the smoke cleared and Ra's and Talia ran back into the room.]

Ra's Al Ghul (Clenching his teeth): Damn it, she's escaped us again. We'll never get her at this rate.

Talia Al Ghul: Relax, Father; I had a backup just in case something like this happened. (Walked over to the machine and clicked a few buttons on the keyboard when a small compartment opened and she reached in - pulling out a vial of blood)

[Alexa's Blood...]

[End]

[deaththesyd]

More Than Enough

Ah! Finally, I have managed to finish something! I hope this one doesn't disappoint. I really do feel proud of this one.

Summary: Standing here, watching the storm envelope this small space of theirs, a home that was just for them, being held and loved by the man who had forced himself into her heart was a dream come true. She could sip her tea as he littered her exposed skin in hickeys, bruises, and the faintest of bitemarks.

"Kisame!" Startled by his sudden presence behind her, the feeling of his large hands on her waist caused her to jump back into him, only to be met with the firm muscle of his chest, and his amused chuckles. "You could have said something! I could have dropped my damn mug!" She chastised him, still clutching the ceramic of freshly brewed tea so tightly her knuckles turned white.

She had been standing in their living room, watching as the grey clouds moved swiftly with the wind, threatening to unload the rain they carried down upon the land. He must have snuck up on her, mischievous as always, or maybe her thoughts had her so occupied she hadn't been able to notice his approach. Did it matter which it was? Not really, not when his chin rested on her head, and his large form engulfed her from behind, wrapping her somewhat chilled body in his comforting presence. Sipping her tea sweetened with honey, the warmth of the liquid was just enough to hurt going down, but the taste of faint spices was worth it. And if she didn't drink it now, it would surely be too cold later.

Outside, the clouds made well on their threat, and the first teasing droplets of rain fell. It started so gradually, but she seemed to blink and then the sheets of water were replacing the cute drops that had run down their window. The steam from her tea tickled her chin, as the man behind her moved to press sweet kisses starting from her scalp and down the back of her neck, sweeping the hair that blocked his access out of the way.

Smiling pleased to herself, she indulged in another long sip from her mug, as the rain pounded against their shelter, and Kisame's hand returned to her waist, his thumb teasing at the bottom of her shirt, tracing circles onto her skin. The heat from the tea wasn't the only thing that had her feeling warm, as his gentle trail of kisses turned more sensual against the side of her throat, and his heated breath accentuated the lingering buzz for each new mark he gave.

"I'm glad you're home with me, and not out there," she said, leaning her head to the side to give him better access, relaxing as his lips drew closer with each press to what they both knew was her sweet spot.

Another low chuckle rumbled from his chest, the movement shaking her along with him. "Hm, me too," he agreed, his voice low and gravelly below her ear. Despite how warm she felt now, his voice sent a shiver up her spine. Just when his mouth circled around a spot that had been bruised by hickeys so many times prior, a flash outside startled her, making her flinch, and causing his sharp teeth to scrape at the sensitive skin. Hissing at the unexpected pain, she stood tense, allowing him to pull away to survey the damage. A loud rumble of thunder nearly drowned out the low apology he whispered into her ear. “Wasn’t expectin’ you to move there, Squirt,” he uttered gently, before he lapped at the small scrape along her collar bone, easing a sigh from her lips in response. Now that she was expecting it, the next flash before her eyes didn’t catch her so off guard, and by the time the next clash of thunder bellowed out, his apologetic kisses and the rough calluses of his hand finally reaching up to her bare chest had drawn more than a few whimpering sighs. Apology more than accepted.

He was taking his time, making sure to find everywhere he could get a reaction, whether it was a hitch of her breath, or her simply adjusting to better allow his mouth to work. It had only been a short while since he had returned to his village and reclaimed his house, only a couple of months since the war, since the Akatsuki were officially disbanded. It didn’t feel real yet, that she didn’t have to worry about him being an outlaw anymore, that he didn’t have to slink around in the shadows completing illegal missions just to support a group whose goals had never truly made sense to her. Though he was often run ragged by the tasks given to him by the Mizukage, and his mood was often soured by the lack of freedom he had now, this was stable, and they could adjust. Standing here, watching the storm envelope this small space of theirs, a home that was just for them, being held and loved by the man who had forced himself into her heart was a dream come true. She could sip her tea as he littered her exposed skin in hickeys, bruises, and the faintest of bitemarks.

This was nice, but she wanted to put her mug down so she could return some of his affections. Looking towards the shelf just beside the window, she was calculating if she could reach it without having to move, when she noticed a problem. “Hun,” she gasped out, just as he pinched at her sensitive nipple, her urgency misunderstood as lust.

“You like that?” He teased, before nipping at another hickey, causing her to jolt at the stimulation.

“No! No, yes I mean, just-ah!”

“No? How about this?” His rumbling laugh blending with the almost constant thunder, while he teased at the delicate flesh, his rough fingers always so good against her skin.

“You feel good, but the roof is leaking!” She managed to get out, even as she could feel every bit of friction against her bud sending pulses of pleasure down to her clit. Abruptly, he stopped and released his hold of her to inspect where she motioned.

“Damn it,” He muttered under his breath before leaving the room to search for a fix. Sighing, she followed suit, placing her mug on the shelf and heading towards the bathroom for a towel to soak up the growing puddle. On her way, she passed a bucket that had been placed the day before as a short-term fix for another weak spot in the roof. For now, that was handling its job well enough. Returning, she found Kisame knelt down, placing a large pot under the steady drops of water that had managed to sneak its way in. “Looks like next I’m gonna have to do some roofing repair,” he grumbled, fed up with the neverending list of home maintenance they had to take care of.

Stooping down to join him, she lifted the pot and replaced it after laying the towel down, watching as the puddle of water seeped into the cloth. ”Ah, the joys of homeownership,” she sighed, standing up and placing a soothing hand on his broad shoulder. “We can tackle that task together tomorrow, no need to stress about it until then,” she said reassuringly, “I’m very much fine having to deal with a leaky roof if that means we officially have a place of our own,” she said sweetly.

Sighing, his large hand engulfed hers and took a hold of it, he stood, winding around to face her. The lack of frustration she had with the situation seemed to help him shake off the bad mood he had been put in, as he smiled lovingly down at her, bowing his head enough to kiss the back of her hand, before grabbing her by the waist with his other hand to pull her to his chest. Turning her head, she looked at their clasped hands, smiling contentedly. “I Don’t have a clue what I’ve done to deserve ya, but I sure am glad you’re here with me, Sweetheart,” Kisame said, the smile she couldn’t see audible in his words. Giggling, she gave his hand a squeeze as her free hand traveled to his ass.

“Since I make you so happy, you should probably get back to what you were doing before,” she suggested playfully. Laughing at that, he let go of her hand, and grasped her ass in return, picking her up without warning, forcing her to frantically clasp her hands behind his neck and lock her legs around him with a surprised squeak.

“If that’s what my woman wants, that’s what she’ll get,” he said with a devilish smirk, Normally, she would be upset at being picked up like that, but his hungry lips were upon hers before she could think up anything to say, and the feel of his tongue gliding upon her bottom lip was enough to melt any anger she had felt. Clinging onto his lips and his body, her eyes were closed, but she felt each step he made blindly towards their bedroom, and it wasn’t until her back hit the mattress that her eyes shot open.

Shoving him away frantically, Kisame was confused, but only for a second, as a cold droplet of water landed on his neck and trailed down his neck under his collar. The wet spot on the bed was small, but that didn’t matter, they had a leak directly above their bed!

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!” He growled in frustration, the mood thoroughly spoiled now. His hand went to the back of his neck, and she rolled off of the damp spot, both for her comfort, and to give her enraged partner his space. The pelting rain was as loud as the thunder, but the sound of a single splat on his skin once again was deafening. He was up off the bed in a flash of lightning, and by the time the thunder roared again, he was coming back into the room with another pot. Without warning, he shoved the bed with her still on it, scraping wood against wood paired with a surprised shriek. Harshly, he placed the pot down and turned again to leave the room. Scurrying off the bed, she removed the dampened bedding while he thundered around the house, just finishing collecting the material in a bundle when he returned and threw the fresh replacements on top of the mattress. They landed with a less than satisfying ‘fwump’. Leaving the room with the soiled laundry, she took her time putting it into the washing machine, and when she was finished she returned to the living room, remembering her abandoned tea. The mug was cold now, and the liquid inside was surely the same, so she took it to the kitchen. After dumping the contents of the mug and placing it by the sink for later, the lights above shuddered and suddenly, they went out. She groaned as a loud yell of frustration sounded from the direction of their room.

Standing in the pitch black, she waited a moment, hoping the lights would come back on the same way someone would say ‘sike!’ but the longer she stood there, the clearer it was that the power was out. Sighing in resignation, she stumbled around, using the wall, and Kisame’s mutterings as guides back to the bedroom. As much as she hated his bad mood, it certainly was helpful in giving her direction in a place she hadn’t yet memorized. Feeling her way into their shared room, she lingered at the doorway, just able to make out the outline of a shadowed man rummaging around, most likely searching for a light source. Kisame had the better eyesight between the two, especially in the dark, but her memory wasn’t clouded with frustration and rage, and she could remember exactly where they had put away the lighter last time it was used and managed to walk over to where it had been placed without tripping or stubbing a toe. Flicking it on, she caught the attention of the helplessly searching giant, and let the flame go out with the slightest smell of burning oil, as she tossed it to him, knowing that he could catch it with ease.

With a grumbled “thanks,” he lit the wick of a sweetly fragrant candle that was settled upon the nightstand that hadn’t been moved in his little temper tantrum before, bringing a soft flickering glow to the room, and making the location of another candle of the same scent easier to locate. Still standing where she had retrieved the lighter, arms crossed, hip jutted out, she watched as the man tiredly flopped down upon the half-made bed with a defeated sigh. The storm outside wasn’t letting up, but the flared energy he once had was quickly doused as there was nothing left to do anymore. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, as she waited from across the room. “Minnow,” he called the pet name quietly, her signal that his temperament had truly settled and that he no longer required space. Without hesitation, she joined him, sitting beside his head and bringing a soothing hand to stroke his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, quieter than normal, “this is all such a mess and I owe you so much better than a leaky roof and a damp bed and a disappointing lead-up.” A large hand reached for the one stroking his head and brought her palm to his lips. He didn’t speak aloud, but the movement felt like he was making vows to himself and to her, she could easily guess what they were. Since the beginning of their relationship he had been making promises, ones that she knew he would always keep to the best of his power, and yet he never seemed to feel what he did was enough for her. He was so wrong.

Gently tugging her hand away, she felt for just the lightest moment his grip tighten anxiously, before releasing her. In moments like this, it was always so evident just how fragile his belief could be. Their trust in one another was strong, but he never seemed to be able to let go of the doubts that her love for him was only dependent on what he could provide. Part of her couldn’t stand it, how a man like him could cling to someone like her, that even after all of the fighting, the Akatsuki, the war, he didn’t believe he was enough as he was. That part of her was the one that brought her fingers to flick his forehead. She was gentle and soft, and of course, that was a surprise to him, so when he looked up at her confused and hurt only to find her stern gaze, he didn’t seem to know how to react.

The other part, the one that knew just how he felt, that knew that the hurt she felt watching him like that wasn’t something she could lash out with, returned her hand to his head. “You’re enough for me, and I’ll remind you of that for as long as we’re together,” she promised, allowing her gaze to soften only when the look of defiance on his face gave out. Kisame lay there for a moment, before shifting awkwardly, and crawling his way into her lap, burying his face in the softness of her stomach and wrapping his arms around her. Reaching for a pillow, she propped it behind her, settling into a more supported position, before tangling her fingers into his hair and rubbing his shoulders, giggling at the hum of content she felt buzz into her tummy.

“Remind me,” she heard his muffled plea come, and she couldn’t help the fond smile that spread across her lips.

“You’re more than enough for me, Kisame,” she said with a slight giggle, but the words were not a joke. “You always give me everything you can, and even right now I”m spoiled.” He gripped the fabric of her shirt, and she knew he wanted to protest, so she kept going. “You’ve been so busy dealing with the aftermath of everything, that you haven’t had the time for anything else, but still you make sure I have my favourite tea, and you treat me with a candlelit bedroom, and even though you’re tired and stressed you always make time for me,” she said, dragging her nails against his neck gently, earning a pleased shiver from him. “Yes, the house is leaking, and yes, I was very much looking forward to a bit more than a few kisses, but both of those can be fixed. We can figure out roof repair, and maybe not tonight, but hopefully for the rest of our lives we can have plenty more ‘fun’,” she reasoned, shaking along with the laugh he made at that last bit. When his short laugh ended, she continued. “You’re not a failure of a partner simply because we didn’t get our way tonight and you threw a bit of a fit, and you never will be because all you do is care for me and make sure I know just how loved I am. You’re so good to me, Love, you’re enough.”

It was then that she noticed how much quieter it was. No longer was there thunder, and whistling wind and the pounding rain had turned into a gentle pattering. The smell of pears and honey wafted from the melting wax, and the cold of the house seemed unable to penetrate the space around them for the meantime. Kisame’s breathing was steady and gentle, and despite the way the night had turned out to be, she felt quite content. This was their home. And it was more than enough.

[mrs-cavill-wife]

Safe And Happy (One Shot)

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Female Reader (Barbara)

Warning: Language. Fluff. Minor Injury. Zombie Apocalypse. Gun shot. Persecution. Please, say if I miss something.

Author's Note: My second fanfic, YAY! Henry is not a celebrity in this fanfic. Duh! It's a zombie apocalypse so it's kinda obvious but I wanted to say it anyway. Hope you guys enjoy it and reblog if you do. I'm all ears to feedback!

Tag List: @lexyvaldez26 @thereisa8ella @natura1phenomenon @mrsavery @number1chonie @themanfromu @littlefreya @legendarywizarddetective @lovingbearherringhairdo @zealoushound @deangal-101 @everydaymultifandom @summersong69 @jgtfvhsg @tellingyouastory @sillyrabbit81 @nuggsmum @pussyverson @oh-for-fic-sake @foodieforthoughts @fanficlover91 @r-t-doll @its--fandom--darling @poledancingdinos @hlkwrites @rmtndew

Summary: The world is a dangerous place now, but in the arms of the man she loves, she always finds security.

Barbara's P.O.V

Shit. I miss when the world used to be good. It was never perfect but no doubt it were way better than now.

An zombie apocalypse, who could have imagined that this could actually happen? Who knew that one day I would be armed, with a "beautiful" wound on my leg, hiding in an abandoned store, running away from a horde of about fifty zombies, crazy and thirsty for some human flesh.

I got hurt entering here, there was a piece of wood that grazed my leg, but luckily I had some bandage on the bag, I tied it to my leg to stop the blood. I looked at my leg and sighed, frustrated with myself.

"What the fuck dressing did you do, huh? My man is going to be pissed"

I live with my boyfriend, well husband, wasn't exactly official but we are together, he's amazing with dressings, but of course, I never pay attention when he tried to explain it to me. I'm hiding, trying to calm my breathing and think of a new plan, I don't know if I'll be able to run with my leg like that, but I think partially, it's really my fault. I'm often on those situations, I have my skills but I might not be the best, I still remember when I meet my boyfriend, on this type of shit cliche situation, today I don't complain for being dumb back there..

We met a year ago, I was running away.. again. I remember going into a dead end street, my gun had only two bullets left, I managed to kill some of those brain eaters, but I had about ten still behind me. I was already out of breath and couldn't think of anything else.

It was all very fast, suddenly my hero appeared, super skilled, I can't say where he came from but he managed to cut the heads of some of them, cut one in half, he stopped in front of me and fired with a super powerful machine gun, spilling a little blood and a disgusting substance on both of us.

"Hey are you alright, princess?"

He spoke to me after all those butchers fell dead. I was in shock but in seconds, I regained consciousness and was able to notice the man in front of me.

Broad back, fair skin, incredibly neat curly hair, a sharp jawline that could cut my soul, kissable lips.. a beautiful ax, a weapons in the waistband and at least two powerful shotguns in the back. The sun was setting and the light reflected in his eyes. The brightest blue eyes I had ever seen. There was a small brown part in one of them, I had heard about cases of heterochromia, but it was the first time that I saw it right in front of me.

"Your eyes are so beautiful.."

He laughed softly and a little shy. The sweetest laugh I've heard. Oh God, he's so wonderful, I think I died and went to heaven and that angel came to receive me. Maybe I'm not too unlucky after all.. wait, what did I just said? Oh fuck, what a good way of cause a first impression. First you almost die then act like a dumb ass needy teen. I rolled my eyes realizing what I done and he touched my arm.

"Thank you, you're beautiful too.. but are you hurt? What are you doing all by yourself?"

I nodded looking down and blushing red like a tomato.

"Huh I'm fine. I was searching for a place to stay. I heard on radio there was a small group of survivors around here. I'm always alone, so I decided to look for it but I obviously didn't payed attention on the munition I had before risking my butt."

He giggled and soft touched my cheek, wiping away some of the dirty. Gosh, I'm not going to handle and he's not making it easy..

"So it's your lucky day, pretty girl. I am from that group of survivors. They always told me to go round and look for possible new survivors."

I looked at him frowning.

"Now it's my time to ask. All by yourself? Why?"

And he smirked, looking like a made a silly question. Your hot bastard.

"I'm a prepared person. Not bragging but I always check my munition"

Touchee. I crossed my arms looking at him, trying to keep my posture but I was really melting inside.

We heard a loud noise, making us concerned. He grabbed my hand and started walking.

"It doesn't seem far, we must walk. Let's go"

"Where are you taking me? I.. I don't even know your name?"

I stopped moving and he stopped looking a little mad then he sighed.

"I will take you to our shelter. I saved you, you can trust me. We both need a bath and some rest.. and I'm Henry."

He said smiling and I nodded starting to walk by his side.

That day, he took me to the survivors. There were at least four people, some couples and children, all of whom welcomed me very well. But despite that, I thought about leaving the next day, I was always alone and until then, it was how I wanted to be and I would be like this today, if Henry hadn't insisted that I stay. I said I would stay for some days but during that, he convinced me to stay for more weeks and when I realized, we were closer than ever. Actually, those days made me found love. One of the guys of the shelter was a priest before the world was destroyed, Henry and I decided to get married and so it happened. Simple but a beautiful ceremony.

After a few years, we both decided to leave, maybe it was not a smart idea in the current situation, but we were certain of it, so we did. It was difficult, at first from hiding to hiding, sleeping on uncomfortable places, sometimes without enough food for both, we almost died a few times but together, yes, we were unbeatable. But finally, we got a place, safe enough to call home.

Henry's P.O.V

One hour left. I trust her, she's a little clumsy but my girl knows what to do, I taught her some tricks when we met but still, my heart is desperate. Today I received a radio message, it was Stuart, a partner, we have known each other since I was part of a group of survivors, he provided us with food, ammunition and weapons from time to time, even now that I am no longer part of the group, he's a great friend. I always went to get it, alone, I didn't want to risk seeing my Barbara hurt. But today, Stuart said he couldn't come, because of some injuries, so I would have to go, but Barbara decided that her chance to do it this time.

"Barbara.. baby, you don't have to.."

I remember I said trying don't sound like I was doubting her capacities.

"Well on my mind, I do need. You always do that, I feel useless, I'm no princess in danger, i can do that"

I got closer touching her back while she packed her bag with "travel" supplies. She looked at me, touched my face and smiled. I love this smile.

"I'll be alright, I know that area is dangerous but you know I know the way and I had a good survivor teacher"

She said and wrapped her arms around my neck and I hugged her feeling defeated. She never had to say much to convince me of anything. I know she was feeling bad about me doing the hard work and I think she deserves a chance. I need to show I really trust her.

"I will be counting the seconds.."

I sighed and she smiled widely packing my lips many times. She grabbed her bag, her gun and went through the door but before leaving she looked at me one last time.

"I love you"

We both said at same time, making our hearts beat at same rhythm.

She gonna be alright, I know.. at least I hope.

Barbara's P.O.V

I heard a small noise that made me wake up. I dozed off for a while when I expected the horde to calm down and preferably leave. I got up and checked outside by one of the windows. Empty. Thank God. My leg didn't hurt so much anymore, but the fact that the street was clean was a relief to m. I wouldn't have to run, just be careful.

I opened my bag and ate a chocolate bar. Stuart wasn't lying when he said that had good things this time, I got things I hadn't ete in years. I left the store quickly after eating and started walking my way back home.

I was almost closer, I smiled seeing my home. Finally, safe house. when I got on the home's street, had three zombies, between me and my house. Great.

I tried to carefully pass behind them, I was almost there, but again, I didn't pay enough attention, I tripped over something and fell to the floor, over my injured leg, I couldn't contain the scream. They heard and were already walking towards me. F U C K M E.

I looked at my house. It's not so far, I can do it. I ran, fast as I could, my leg was hurting a lot, the bandage already red with my blood but I did it. I could climb the special secret passage through the wall and done. I layed in the grass for a second trying to recover my breath, closing my eyes, finally feeling safe then something fell on top of me. I got scared until I could open my eyes. A beast. A fluffy beast.

"Hey Kal, you scared me baby"

I hugged the big black and white American Akita. It's mine and Henry's dog, our loyal companion, our dog son. We found him on our away to find a new safe place, he were a little injured on the front paws. Of course we felt in love with him and took care of him, we had to keep him and we did.

I petted him a little more before getting up.

"Alright, mommy needs a good break now. Promise to play later. Where's daddy? He had a heart attack?"

Oh he will when see my situation. I walked to inside our house and pulled the food supplies on the kitchen. I was focused until I hear the shower on bathroom upstairs. I smiled.

"What a good way of relax, huh?"

I walked upstairs, taking off my clothes though the way. When I opened the bathrooms door, I was fully naked. Oh that vision. My man, all naked.. that furry defined abs, those strong muscles.. that round booty.. and that big veiny dick, shit, even soft he's huge.. I'm so freaking lucky.

I licked my lips and tried to close the door softly but i ended up making noises.

"Thought I had told you need to be stealthy"

When I turned around, he was looking at me, with those gorgeous eyes that left me speachless since first time. Then he's face changed to worried and I realized he were looking at my wounded leg.

"Barbara, what the fuck just happened?"

I rolled my eyes then got into the shower with him. Before he could say something, I kissed him softly. He kissed me back of some type of way that I could feel how worried he were. Was a intense kiss, our tongues battling against each other, oxygen wasn't this necessary for us at this point. He quickly grabbed me tight and gave me a little boost then I had my legs wrapped around his waist. We ended our kisses with soft pecks and smiles. I looked at him. He had one hand around my back and another softly rubbing closer my wound.

"Hey are you alright, princess?"

I smiled way more with his soft voice and nodded.

"Yes, now I'm safe and happy"

[lucky-dreamfisher]

Queer Subtext in The Illusion of Living - Part 5/5

It’s time to address the elephant in the room: Henry.

Joey tries very, very hard to ‘no homo’ his relationship with the man:

“His presence was helpful, I can happily admit, but his absence was even more so. Not having him at the studio ended up being one of the best things that could have happened to it. Of course, the funny thing is, I couldn't have not had him without having him in the first place. Just like you can't appreciate the light if you haven't spent time in the dark, so too does a person's absence become clear only if he has been around.” TIOL, page 154

“A letter from Henry. You might not think I'd keep such a thing, but I do. I have no ill will toward the man as you know. Him leaving, as I said, was the best thing that could have happened to the studio. His letter reminds me of that.” TIOL, page 218

The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

The only hint we get regarding Joey’s true feelings for Henry is the following note by Nathan:

“NateA: Joey has always been a professional person, far more so in many ways than me. That is why this section of the book is so forgiving of the man who abandoned the studio he helped create. Joey can't help but see the good in people. That being said, as a good friend of Joey's, I know that Henry's departure was a great upheaval for him and a great personal betrayal. Joey never truly forgave Henry, and I don't think he should have felt obligated to. The fact that Joey is so gracious in this part of the book is a reflection of his incredible generosity in allowing Henry Stein to be stainless in the eyes of history. I think, had he lived longer, Joey might have in later years called it his greatest illusion.” TIOL, page 155

I’m very surprised by the harshness in Nathan’s tone here. Especially since Henry appears to believe that he and Joey have parted on good terms, and Joey admits that they have continued to exchange letters for a while after Henry’s departure. We’ve also seen Henry’s note to Joey in the game, and it comes across as warm and supportive:

It really doesn’t sound like anything ugly happened between him and Joey. So then why are both Joey and Nathan convinced that Henry is a monster?

While I can believe that Joey is pathetic enough to consider anyone who slights him his worst enemy, Nathan comes across as a more level-headed person. So for him to voice his approval for Joey’s petty grudge must mean that he knows something that we don’t. But what could it be?

Honestly, nothing else comes to mind except for romantic heartbreak. It’s the only thing that could justify a man holding such a deep grudge for so many years. This isn’t Joey’s first friendship that grew apart over the years - his army friends have moved on with their life as well. It’s a normal part of life and there’s nothing in TIOL that would suggest Joey is unable to cope with that. We also know that the studio did fine for quite some time after Henry’s departure, so it’s not like Henry left Joey deep in debt. Henry wasn’t even the only animator at the studio:

“When the studio opened I surrounded him with artists of all skill levels, and the Writing Department had its own de facto leader in Mr. Hemmings, and so the whole of Creative was well managed for that first year of the company before I had to part ways with Henry.“ TIOL, page 155

And so we’re left with only one rational explanation: that Joey isn’t so much hurt by Henry leaving his job, as by the fact that Henry left specifically for the sake of his marriage.

Try as I might, I found no reference to Linda in TIOL. Even though Joey claims to have been friends with Henry for many years, he makes zero mention of ever having met Linda. While there are some hints that Henry wasn’t yet married to her at the time when he and Joey opened the studio together (such as the fact that he claims he hasn’t seen her in “days” even though he presumably slept at home, implying that he and Linda weren’t living together at the time. A shopping list among his notes in the Handbook also suggests that he cooked his own meals, which would be unusual for a married man with a demanding job), the two were already a couple by then, and must have known each other for a while already. Surely, as Henry’s friend, Joey would have met her?

Even when talking about Henry leaving, Joey uses a cryptic language:

“Henry left for his own reasons, and the correspondence between us became less and less. To be honest, it was almost like a weight off when he left. He had grown more sensitive as the studio became more successful and giving him pep talks had become exhausting for me. All the good qualities he brought, the hard work and diligence, were being undermined by a restless need for something different. Something that wasn't Bendy. I will never understand that drive. Bendy was and is perfection.“ TIOL, page 177

In DCTL Norman claims that Henry left to spend time with his wife. Why doesn’t Joey say that? It doesn’t make him look bad to admit that an employee left to enjoy a quiet family life. It’s almost like he refuses to acknowledge Linda’s existence at all. Like it’s too painful for him to speak of her.

Perhaps the “personal betrayal” that Nathan is referring to is related to Henry choosing a real family, over the “studio family”, and the possibility of having a real child, as opposed to a fictional one?

The symbolic image of Bendy as a child shows up multiple times in the game: for example the drawing from Henry appears to depict Bendy, Alice and Boris as a happy family, with Bendy holding onto their hands like a child would:

There’s also Alice using a womb imagery to describe the ink machine:

And of course, the final monologue is centered on Henry’s choice to pursue a family:

That monologue is very interesting if we assume Joey to be gay. Because a gay man would never have been able to follow Henry’s road. Gay!Joey could never choose to have a real family with a man he loved, because that option was denied to him by the homophobic society he was living in. The studio is the closest thing to a family that gay!Joey could ever hope to have. 

And evidently, that was not enough for Henry.

If Joey’s indeed gay, that must have felt incredibly unfair to him - knowing that he had no chance of happiness in marital bliss from the start, through no fault of his own. This would explain his desire to create a real, living, breathing Bendy, no matter the cost, just to prove to Henry that Joey’s “child” can be just as real as the one Linda could give him.

“Bendy was Joey's child, and he felt just as strongly about Bendy as I feel about my flesh-and-blood son.“ TIOL, page 2

This idea of an illusory choice very much resembles the choice between the Angel Path and the Devil Path in Chapter 3. It’s the only choice that Henry ever gets to make in the game, yet no matter which way he chooses, he still ends up in the same corridor. Some of the golden messages highlight his helplessness:

The symbolic meaning of the choice between the Angel and the Devil also shows up TIOL. There’s a scene in the book, where Joey writes a play about an Angel and a Devil fighting over the soul of a human man. Eventually, the Devil confesses that he doesn’t want the human to make his choice, because then one of them would have to leave. The play was supposed to end with the man making his choice, but according to Joey they lacked a third actor, so the ending was never played out.

I believe that the play is symbolic of the relationship between Henry and Joey, specifically with regards to Henry choosing a relationship with Linda over his friendship with Joey.

There are several reasons that lead me to believe this:

The human in the play making a choice between the Angel and the Devil is reminiscent of Henry choosing between Devil Path and Angel path in BATIM.

The play highlights that the Devil is on the left side of the human, while the Angel is on his right side:

“ANGEL: Spending my time with a devil has been an enlightening experience. Working with you over these years with you sitting on that left shoulder, so far and yet so near, all our debates, they were invigorating for the spirit. 

DEVIL: I won't miss you! Fighting all the time, trying to trick you into agreeing with me, trying to push you off that right shoulder of yours. The violence and the anger. I won't miss it at all!”, TIOL page 89

Much like the Devil Path is on the left side in the game, while the Angel path is on the right side:

The Devil is obviously a stand-in for Bendy. Joey even dances on the stage at one point, and one of Bendy’s nicknames is “The Dancing Demon”. Joey also claims that the Devil from the play was an inspiration for Bendy:

“Let's start with the basic idea of a cartoon.You need a main character. Someone who has adventures and who the audience relates to." I did. I needed that. I needed a character who didn't just reflect the general population back to itself, but a more exciting version. I had no interest in moralizing, besides I didn't think moralizing was particularly realistic. People don't see the world as one populated by do-gooders. I thought of the angel in my play. She could never be a lead character. The devil on the other hand…” TIOL, 165

The fact that Joey claims the ending was never played out is strongly reminiscent of the missing ending of the Tombstone Picnic

It’s possible that Joey is lying about the ending not having been played out, to hide Henry’s role in the success of the play, much like he removed his part in Tombstone Picnic. After all, what would be the point of writing a play for 3 actors, when you only have 2? Why not ask someone to play the 3rd?

Although the play itself is centered more on the relationship between the Devil and the Angel, rather than their relationship with the human, there is still a strong queer symbolism in the play:

“Abby shifted nervously next to me the whole evening. She was in a dress for the first time in a long time, white and soft. I was pleased she'd come in character. For my part the only red thing I owned was a garish bow tie, so that was all I was able to contribute visually.” TIOL, page 82

The angel is played by a woman, who usually wears men’s clothing, but of course, the Angel being a symbol of Christian values couldn’t possibly be portrayed breaking the gender norms. She had to wear a dress, though Abby is clearly uncomfortable in it. She’s essentially performing heteronormative feminity. Next to her we have Joey as the Devil, dressed in a red bow tie, which as I’ve mentioned in the first part of this analysis, used to be a symbol of homosexuality. 

This contrast between the uncomfortably heteronormative Angel and flamboyantly queer Devil is striking. It’s also very much in line with the views of the society in the 1920s. For something to be the symbol of purity and goodness, it has to be heterosexual, and the Devil is queer, because he’s also the symbol of sin.

That symbolism could be indicative of Joey’s own internalized homophobia. Back in his army days, his friends used to bully him for breaking gender norms. Joey likes to present himself as the hero, who was easily able to outsmart the bullies, but many of his later remarks in the book and in DCTL show that some of that attitude has left a deep mark on him.

The symbolism could also be intentional. Joey boasts about having personal ties to Noel Coward, a real life gay playwright, who was known for his many affairs with men, and for putting an ungodly amount of queer symbolism in his works:

“The old woman took a liking to me, and she was nice enough. Besides, her connections were incredible. She knew everyone, she even had the playwright Noel Coward come to stay with her whenever he was in town.” TIOL, page 144

There’s a lot of evidence pointing to the play being symbolic of Henry’s choice between his relationship with Linda and with Joey. But it’s also symbolic of Henry’s choice between Bendy, and a real child. The studio family, and a traditional family. Heteronormative relationship vs a queer relationship. 

Although there’s no indication in canon that Henry might be bisexual, he doesn’t need to be. The game has beaten into our heads that the “choice” is an illusion. Henry was never going to choose the Devil, or at least that’s what Joey believes. Although we’re never told what choice the human in the play was going to make, we’re told that he was supposed to be dressed in white, which suggests that he chose the Angel. 

“(The door stage right opens. A man all in white enters calmly and chooses a seat, brushes it off carefully and sits. He takes his hat off and holds it gingerly in his lap.) (Quiet.) (Curtain.) THE END” TIOL, page 91

That might be why the Devil in the play confesses that he doesn’t want the human to make his choice, fearing that one of them will have to leave once such a choice is made:

“DEVIL: You think he has made a choice? 

ANGEL: It is possible. 

DEVIL: Do you think he might be all bad? 

ANGEL: I hope he is all good. 

DEVIL: If he is all bad, my job here is done. If he is all good, you can go home. 

DEVIL: Strange. If we win we also lose. You would think that would be something I would find delightful. 

ANGEL: You would think I would love to make such a personal sacrifice.” TIOL, page 89

The line about a “personal sacrifice” is very interesting in this context. The Angel and the Devil clearly care for each other and for the human, and don’t want their relationship to come to an end. Though the Devil in the play seems to make gestures that the audience interprets as romantic in nature, Joey insists that it isn’t the case:

“I leaned in and placed a hand on Abby's knee. There was a gasp from someone in the audience, but I knew Abby wouldn't be flustered by it. That wasn't the nature of our relationship.” TIOL, page 89 

It makes me wonder if perhaps Linda and Joey used to be friends at some point, and both competed over Henry’s attention.

There’s a much overused trope in fiction where two men compete over a woman, which ends up ruining their friendship. It would be really interesting and subversive to see a man and a woman competing over a man instead.

EDIT: I can’t believe I forgot to add this part:

"Joey, thanks for coming," said Henry, approaching from behind us. I turned to look at him He had dressed up for the event but every item of clothing looked slightly wrong. The sleeves of his shirt a bit short, his vest a bit long, his tie askew. He smiled, though, with such confidence that I couldn't help admire him. I still do.” TIOL, page 160

Joey fell for Henry’s smile, how romantic!

“We watched in silence as he worked. Despite his lack of genius, to this day, I will always say that watching Henry work was a real pleasure.“ TIOL, page 173

“It's fascinating. Henry was never the showman like I was. He didn't tend to be easily remembered by those who met him when we did business. I was invariably the face of the company, the one introduced first at a gala, the one to whom people slipped their business cards.Yet in the end he ended up setting up camp in this small corner of my memory. I can't deny that he is tied to the creation of Bendy, to the creation of the studio itself. That at one time, in one small apartment, one too warm evening, we had shaken hands. That once upon a time we had been partners. He'll always be there, in the dark recesses of my mind. Always linked to me that way. Funny how the forgettable man is now forever in my mind” TIOL, page 177

[honey-dewey]

Sound the Bugle Now

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/Medic Reader

Word Count: 2,658

Warnings: Gore, murder of one animal, medical procedures, big Marcus whump, there’s a gladiator fight, Marcus dies for two sentences, don’t worry he’s fine, this is 99% angst, I’m sorry in advance, I promise it has a happy ending.

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Eight months after the kidnapping of Marcus Moreno, and there’s no news. Everyone’s almost given up until a drone captures a photo of Marcus, and he’s definitely in bad shape. So the heroes make a plan, and that plan is sending you into the thick of it to help poor Marcus. What will happen while you’re in the cell with the missing man, and will he pull through in the end? 

“I’m sorry?”

The request seemed crazy, especially coming from Miracle Guy. But he was definitely serious.

“We need you to infiltrate this location and find Marcus,” he repeated.

You took a breath. No one had seen Marcus in months, since he’d been kidnapped on his way home from work. Missy had been with you, as had been instructed in Marcus’s emergency file. She was sad and sullen, but still had hope. “Look. Miracle. We haven’t heard anything about Marcus in literal months. What kind of intel could you possibly have?”

Miracle Guy put a photo up on the projected screen. “That.”

The photo was grainy, clearly taken with a drone camera. It was of an abandoned warehouse outside of town, the roof of the warehouse caved in, allowing the drone to capture the photo. In the circle of rooflessness, you could see two men in a fighting ring, the ground soaked in blood. One man was clearly bigger, and around the ring was a throng of spectators. The smaller man had his hands up, defending himself, but even with all the grain of the photo, you could see that it was clearly Marcus.

“Okay.” You stepped back. “Why me?”

“He’s clearly in critical condition,” Miracle Guy said, pulling the photo down. “We need a medical personnel to go check on him. We’ll send you under the guise of you simply being there to treat him. We intercepted a letter by carrier pigeon, if you can believe it, asking for a doctor for their special guest. We’ll say that’s you, drop you off with a tracker in your bag, and voila, we have Marcus back.”

It was a risky and hole-riddled plan, but it just might work. You suited up the next day, putting on your crisp white coat and loading up your black bag. Adjusting your shoes, you got into the inconspicuous black car and drove off towards the warehouse.

As soon as you pulled up, there were at least six guns on you. A large man with a bunch of tattoos and no hair stepped forward, holding a gun in one hand. You took a breath and gathered yourself, stepping out of the car. “Are the guns necessary?”

The man smirked. “Of course. Who are you?”

You handed over the small letter. “Your doctor. The hero, he needs healing?”

The man took the letter and read it over, eyeing you as he thought. “Fine,” he decided finally. “He’s busy right now. Wanna see?”

It took everything in you to nod as if you didn’t care. The man led you into the building, and you immediately saw the fighting ring. Marcus staggered around, his clothes torn and bloody as he circled with a tiger.

They were making him fight a fucking tiger.

You looked at the man. “Does he fight like this often?”

“Whenever he can,” the man responded, rattling the chain link of the cage and shouting. “Oi! Hero! Finish it already!”

Marcus slipped, nearly tripping. The tiger pounced, and your breath caught in your throat as Marcus weakly grappled with the animal. The man shouted happily, his cries mixing with the crowd’s. Apparently, people were betting on the tiger.

How disappointed they must’ve been when Marcus let out a nasty sob and plunged a jagged piece of metal into the tiger’s heart. He fell limp beside the exotic corpse, chest wracking with sobs. Two men carried him off, and you watched him go with wide and fearful eyes.

The man turned to you. “Isn’t it fun?” He asked.

You shrugged, trying to keep your face emotionless. “It’s interesting. If you want him alive, I should probably see to his injuries. He looked bad.”

“Agreed.”

The man led you down twisting and turning halls before he finally stopped in front of a metal door with a window fitted with bars. He unlocked it and gave you a shove inside.

Marcus was cowered up against the corner, blood pooling across the floor. He looked up when you walked in, and surged forward. In an instant, he was convulsing and backing away, returning to the corner, whimpering as his hands scrambled to claw at something on his neck.

You seethed, feeling rage boil in your blood as the man pulled a remote from his pocket and waved it in front of Marcus, causing him to whine and shy away, pressing himself against the wall even further. They’d outfitted him with a fucking shock collar. Now that you could see and notice it, you saw that the harsh leather of the collar dug into Marcus’s neck, the small black box on the left side of his neck pressing deep against his skin. It was clearly buckled one notch too tight. Eating, breathing, moving his head, it must’ve all been agony for him.

Aside from the collar, to say Marcus was in rough shape would’ve been a gross under exaggeration. He was at least ten, if not fifteen or twenty, pounds lighter than when you’d lost him, his face sunken and sallow, the usual brightness gone and replaced with a sickly pale color indicative of severe blood loss. His lips were chapped to the point of bleeding, his nails nothing more than bloody stubs or missing altogether. His hair was overgrown, greasy and hanging in his face. Even the usual persistent determined shine in his eyes was dull and faint. The conditions of the room, the lack of regulated temperature and light, the heavy smell of vomit and infection, the stains everywhere, nothing was meant to keep him alive. They intended to kill him, but not before they had their fun.

You had to hand it to his captors. They had successfully broken Marcus Moreno.

The man holding you shoved you, and you would’ve fallen flat on your face had your sense of balance not been impeccable. Stumbling and using the wall to keep upright, you glared at the man. “If you want me to fix your broken hero,” you said coolly. “The collar has to go. I can smell the infection from here.”

The man sneered, but he pressed a key card to Marcus’s collar. It beeped, signaling that it could be taken off.

Immediately, you rushed to Marcus’s side, worry replacing every other emotion you had. “Oh Marcus,” you breathed, just looking at his body. “What did they do to you?”

You helped him upright, guiding him to the metal tray you suspected he slept on. It reminded you, with a chill, of the rolling trays you kept bodies on in a morgue.

Marcus shivered as you lay him down, grabbing your bag and digging through it to find your shears. The heavy duty blade was technically meant for surgical procedures, but for now, they chewed through the thick leather of the shock collar with ease. You knew you could just take the collar off, but on the off chance that the man had tricked you, you weren’t about to try it.

Removing the collar led to a host of new challenges. The prongs had burned into Marcus’s skin, leaving two identical wounds that oozed and smelled like burnt flesh and infection.

Trying not to let Marcus see your worry, you continued to catalog injuries, finding severe bruising across his whole body, a few spots where injuries had been left to fester, and a rattling cough that worried you.

You determined a course of action, immediately setting Marcus up with high strength painkillers and a few travel machines that would keep watch on his vitals. The last thing you wanted was to perform CPR on his purple and blue chest.

Running a finger down Marcus’s ribs, you sucked in a breath. He was skin and bones, malnourished to a point where you wondered if he’d ever regain all the weight he’d lost.

“Talk to me,” Marcus croaked out, surprising you. “Please.”

You nodded, tackling the worst of the injuries, the infected burns on Marcus’s neck. “Missy’s been staying with me,” you said softly, putting on gloves and pressing gently against the wounds, face pinching when Marcus suppressed a whine. “She’s good, misses you of course. Anita visits on the weekends and we play board games together.” As you talked, you gave Marcus a hefty dose of infection cream, hoping it would work on the persistent infection until Marcus could be treated properly. Putting a thick bandage on the wound, you moved on to gently treating his other infected cuts in a similar manner, each one just a bit better than the last.

“I can’t do much for these bruises,” you said, running a light finger over a bruise that spanned most of Marcus’s left hand while you wrapped his missing ring fingernail. “Or that cough you’ve got. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Marcus rumbled. “You’re here, aren’t you? And you’re gonna get me out.”

You smiled tightly. “Yeah.” All you could hope was that the tracker in your bag was still working and that the team was on their way. “Here, I’ll get you a blood bag. I don’t like that color on you.”

Marcus grinned, sleepy and lazy. “What do you mean? I think bloodless grey is a perfect color on me.”

That managed a chuckle out of you. “Brink of death, and you’re still making jokes,” you murmured, grabbing a blood bag from your supplies and putting it beside the painkillers. “Hey, you’re bleeding,” you said, eyes snapping to the side of Marcus’s head, where blood was slowly trickling down his ear. He turned, laying his left ear on the metal tray so you could examine his head. He looked past your body, staring at the blank wall behind you.

You parted the hair above his ear, trying to find the source of the bleeding. Thankfully, it wasn’t a hard find. A small scratch that looked worse than it actually was. A few stitches and he’d be good to go.

“Alright, my favorite part of field work,” you said. “Miracle Guy cried last time he had a head wound.”

Marcus snorted. “Wish I could’ve seen that,” he said wistfully.

You smiled. “Maybe next time. Hold still.”  

Marcus watched you as you dug through your bag and produced a small foldable straight razor. It was shoddy and unsteady work, but with a bit of water, some gritty soap, and your deep breathing to keep your hands steady, you got a clear patch above Marcus’s ear, exposing the wound and thankfully not giving him any new ones.

“Okay,” you said, mostly to yourself. “A few stitches. Then we’ll be good to go. Still hanging in there?”

Marcus swallowed thickly and gave you a wavering thumbs up while you threaded a needle. Of all the pain he’d been through, stitches with no anesthesia would be mild.

As you worked, you continued doing what had always kept you grounded during field work. Listing injuries. You needed to know them all for when the heroes arrived and asked what was wrong, how could they help? You slowly started at the top of his head and worked down. A likely concussion, the stitches in his head, the black eye, the split lip, the still oozing wounds that stank of infection in his neck, the scrapes across the raised bumps of his collarbones. So many injuries, and you’d not even gotten below his shoulders yet. You didn’t know what he’d been exposed to here. Was he sick? If so, what did he have? The cough and the rattle in Marcus’s lungs was bad, definitely some kind of upper respiratory infection. His temperature was higher than you’d like, at an even 100. A fever, but not a severe one. His lymph nodes were nearly unfindable amongst the mess of injuries on his neck, but you had no doubt they were swollen.

Marcus’s coughing broke you from your thoughts. You stopped cataloguing, focused now only on the heave of Marcus’s chest. “Marcus? Do you feel okay?”

More coughing, and then it finally died, leaving Marcus heaving for air. He trembled, and you sighed. The rescue team couldn’t get here fast enough.

Unable to do more, you sat back and held Marcus’s hand, trying to rub some color into the almost lifeless skin. Marcus’s stuttering breaths were the only sound, and you tried not to get discouraged.

You had no idea how much time passed before a shout made you jump to your feet. That was a familiar shout. Miracle Guy.

“We’re in here!” You yelled, rushing to the door and pressing yourself to the bars. “Miracle! Please!”

He appeared before you as if you’d summoned him, suit a bit wrinkled, but otherwise unharmed. “Did you find him?”

You nodded, standing back so Miracle Guy could take in Marcus’s state. He was frozen for a few seconds before he blinked and started waving to people down the hall. “The paramedics are here. They’ll keep him safe.”

It took all your willpower not to fight the paramedics as they carted Marcus’s limp body away. His eyes lazily opened when they stuck him with a frighteningly large needle, and he whined, tearing up when they started to move him.

“I know,” you said, smoothing over his dirty and overgrown hair. “I know. Stay strong. Think of Missy. She’s waiting for you.”

Marcus chose that moment to pass out fully, but that was optimal in this scenario.  You followed the paramedics out, numbly stepping over bodies and ignoring the blood seeping into your socks. You were wearing Marcus’s blood from fingertips to waist, a little more wasn’t any worry.

The other heroes helped you recover, cleaning you up and praising you. Missy hugged you for half an hour, every minute filled with tears. You were numb to it all. Nothing could help you now.

Marcus was in critical condition for three weeks. His heart stopped twice, and he needed surgery after surgery to even start to reverse the damage done. Finally, once he’d stabilized, he was allowed visitors.

You and Missy were first.

Marcus looked over as you entered. His eye was no longer swollen and some color had returned to his skin. He was still underweight, but no longer looked skeletal. His head had been completely shaved, and beneath the bandages, you could imagine where they’d had to cut into his skull at one point. His neck, the area you’d been most concerned about, was wrapped in thick bandages, but a nurse had told you they’d finally begun to see improvement in the infection. He still looked terrible, but he was no longer on death’s door.

“Dad,” Missy said softly, stopping in the doorway.

“Missy.” Marcus’s voice was weak, but just that one word was so full of love. “Hey.”

Missy sat on the edge of Marcus’s bed, eyes full of tears. When he raised his arms, she collapsed against him, crying.

You sat silently in a chair, trying to find words that would be appropriate. Missy fell asleep against Marcus, his arm loosely around her shoulders while she slept.

“So,” he finally said. “Thank you. They said you saved my life. Your field work was the deciding factor.”

That, surprisingly, only made you feel worse. “Yeah,” you said softly. “Yeah.”

Marcus’s face knit. “You look worried.”

You shrugged. “I-“ you still had no words. “I dunno,” you finally decided on saying. “What’s retirement like?”

Marcus chuckled. “Fun,” he said. “They’re talking about releasing me in a few months, after I do physical therapy and my weight stabilizes. They said I’d need a properly trained assistant to be with me at all times until I was in good health again.”

“That might be never.”

“Yeah,” Marcus agreed. “So I guess I’d better really like that nurse.”

You smiled. “You better.”

“Would you do it?”

You thought it over. “Yeah.”

A grin split Marcus’s face. “Good. We’ll get through this together.”

Standing and sitting on the edge of the bed, you nodded, smoothing a hand over Missy’s head. “Of course. Together.”

[unexpectedreylo]

How Ben Solo Became A Martyr

If anyone were to pull me into a Hollywood studio office or lunch at some see-and-be-seen L.A.-area restaurant (personally, I like The Ivy) and ask me, a lifelong t.v. and movie viewer, what should show runners, directors, writers, and anyone who has a creative say in a production avoid doing, one thing I would say is, “Don’t unintentionally make a character a martyr.”

I don’t mean the sense of being a martyr in-universe but being a martyr to the audience.  

First I should define what I mean by “martyr.”  In a Christian sense, it’s a particular kind of saint who suffers and dies a horrible death for his or her faith.  In a secular sense it can describe anyone who suffers and/or dies horribly for a cause or that suffering/death calls attention to a matter of injustice.  This can also be applied in a more colloquial sense, such as when anyone suffers in some way or tries to use the impression of suffering to elicit sympathy.

If anyone at Lucasfilm is wondering why there’s a tribe of people on social media doing Ben Solo hashtags, making pins, and putting blue butterfly emojis on their handles, I’m here to tell Lucasfilm it’s because you guys made Ben Solo into a martyr to the audience.  

First, they made Kylo Ren/Ben Solo Han and Leia’s son/Anakin and Padmé’s grandson.  This makes him an easy investment for fans who have loved those characters for decades.  The killing Han Solo part might have made a certain segment of longtime fans so angry at Kylo they not only couldn’t forgive him but  they didn’t even want him redeemed but others could see how the death clearly affected him which elicits sympathy and compassion.

Second, they got an extremely talented, charismatic actor to play Kylo/Ben.  Adam Driver refused to play Kylo as a one-dimensional mustache-twirling killing-machine villain.  He added subtlety, nuance, and humanity to the role, all the while captivating the audience.  That he’s also sexy didn’t hurt.  As bad as Kylo could be, we also see the soft underbelly, the hints of the real Ben Solo hiding behind the persona.  He managed to create the kind of hero we’d been hoping to see in the ST within a short amount of time and practically no dialogue.  That’s extraordinary.  Driver took Kylo as seriously as he takes any other role.  He could’ve been making a bunch of other Oscar-nominated movies instead and we all know it.  Getting him was a gift and some fans out there think it was ultimately kind of wasted.

Third, if TFA hinted at Kylo’s humanity, Rian Johnson made it entirely the point of Kylo’s arc in TLJ.  When Kylo destroyed his helmet, Johnson was able to let Driver go nuts with a script that treated its characters like human beings instead of caricatures.  While Kylo was still capable of evil and all-around bad guy-ness, we also saw someone who could be gentle and caring, a tortured young man struggling with deep remorse, a lonely soul who can only find connection with someone who’s supposed to be his enemy, and sometimes, a hero.  Those pleading puppy dog eyes and trembling lips did a lot to elicit sympathy from filmgoers.  That he’s also sexy didn’t hurt.

Fourth, both the films and ancillary material showed Ben was subjected to abuse and suffered greatly for the mistakes of his elders.  Ben was targeted at conception and suffered with voices in his head most of his life.  A kitchen droid tried to take him out.  His parents were too busy doing whatever to really give him the attention he needed, even though Leia was aware some outside force was after her son.  His parents ultimately feared him and his emotional freak outs.  Han and Leia shipped him off to Luke’s poor man’s version of Hogwarts, leading to some deep abandonment issues.  Luke almost killed him in his sleep.  The very popular The Rise of Kylo Ren comics series basically acquitted Ben of everything he supposedly did leading up to his fall.  Then Kylo is verbally and physically abused by Snoke.  This has created a tremendous amount of sympathy for Ben, especially by those who have struggled with any number of real-world problems.  They identified with him.  Hollywood as of late has coded a lot of villainous or antihero characters as having mental illness or being neurodiverse or having addiction problems as well as enduring physical and verbal abuse.  I get that writers want to enrich these characters and make them relevant to a modern audience and that actors like the challenge in playing them but I also think Hollywood is being a little irresponsible about it.  Not only is it potentially stigmatizing it also seldom has a solution to those characters’ arcs other than death.  How is someone living with bipolar disorder or autism finding a kindred spirit of sorts in Kylo/Ben going to feel about the constant message that such a life isn’t worth living?  Ben just suffers and suffers and suffers and gets nothing for it.

Fifth, we’re presented with material depicting Ben’s youth.  Ben, when he’s not getting the stuffing kicked out of him by life, is quite lovable and as a child, adorable.  At least with Anakin Skywalker, we’re supposed to appreciate the tragedy of a good person who was loved falling to the Dark Side.  With Ben it makes us love him 10x more and at the same time make us even more upset they unceremoniously killed off that darling little moppet who played with butterflies, ran around the house naked, and begged his daddy to come home.  

Sixth, it didn’t seem like Ben was sufficiently loved either in the films or by Lucasfilm.  Or, to put it this way, whatever gestures Han, Leia, or Luke tried to throw Ben’s way were cases of too little too late.  I always wondered why, if Leia knew Snoke was manipulating Ben, she didn’t go out to find the mo-fo and kill him?  I would!  Leia tries to reach out to Ben in TROS but in the movie it comes off as her distracting him so Rey could inflict a fatal wound.  In fact, the weird thing about TROS is it feels like Leia was trying to take out Ben all along:  the distraction, ensuring Rey takes up her “Jedi path” which Leia knew full well this would somehow lead to Ben’s death, and finally her disappearing the same time he does.  It’s weird!  Han tries to save Ben but he’s a muggle who’s no match against his unstable son gifted with magic powers and lightsaber abilities.  Luke apologizes in TLJ but never had anything to say to his nephew again.  Adding insult to injury, the Blue Ghostie Exposition Scene From Hell establishes Luke and Leia as resigned to Ben’s fate all along, kicking their flesh and blood to the curb for a surrogate more to their liking.  It’s horrible!  The worst is of course his soulmate barely reacting to his death.  In the end nobody cared.  He’s like the kid who cleans up his act, gets good grades, gets into a decent college, and his family couldn’t care less.  The movie abruptly kills him off and it’s on to cheering and celebrations.  Nobody remembers or speaks of Ben and he’s not seen again in any form.  Four-five months after the film has come out, there’s no official Ben merchandise or collectibles.  It’s like “Ben Solo?  Don’t know him.”  You just know that every time the Star Wars social media team has to mention him or post something with him in it, they’re muttering under their breath, “Oh God, here it comes again.”

So they got a number of fans to empathize with Kylo/Ben and hope for his redemption as well as a chance at happiness after a lifetime of abuse and suffering, only to kill him off in a sudden and graceless manner.  There’s no payoff for Ben or the audience.  He’s just...gone.  To us it doesn’t seem right.  It seems cruel and unjust.  But fans are also a tenacious lot so they’re hoping Lucasfilm will realize it made a mistake and correct it.  In the meantime, Ben lives on in our fan fics, edits, fan art, and fan merchandise.

[moonstruckbucky]

The Recruit (3/?)

Summary: Becoming a SHIELD agent had been your dream and finally, you’ve achieved it. You’re at the top of your class in every field except one—hand to hand combat, and it doesn’t impress Captain Rogers in the slightest. Instead, it seems to convince him you’re useless, setting off a tense relationship between the two of you. In an effort to bridge the gap, Bucky offers to help you train to earn your way back into Steve’s good graces. What could possibly go wrong?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes (not Stucky)

Warnings for Chapter: Violence may be wished upon Captain Rogers. Injury, blood, overall not happy times. Some poorly-written fight scenes.

Notes: Sorry for the lateness! Work’s been hectic and I’m about to pull a 9-day marathon. Please send love and chocolate and alcohol. Enjoy! x

Series Masterlist //  Main Masterlist

It comes as a colossal shock to you that, two weeks following the incident with Captain Rogers in the gym, you’re paired up with him and Sam for a mission in Lima. When you receive the email, short and to the point, you spend a good few minutes blinking, rubbing your eyes, spluttering at your desk. Surely you’re imagining it that Captain Hardass has requested you to partake in this mission.

You’re proven wrong when he sends an email in response to yours, in which you claim there’s a mistake, that reads: “Quinjet takes off at 8 PM tonight. Miss it and you’re gone.”

So you show up fifteen minutes early, garbed in an all-black SHIELD-issued tac suit and heavy boots. At the gentle behest of Bucky, you’d applied the salve to your knee as you dressed, just in case. The slight numb feeling in the joint makes you smile - or is that the thought of Bucky?

Your acquaintanceship has blossomed headlong into an easy friendship. He works out with you in the gym, finds you when you’re lounging in the SHIELD common room. In turn, you’ve introduced him to some modern music once you’d learned he’s still trying to catch up. You’ve also gotten him sucked into Netflix and binge-watching shows, which the two of you do together often. Sometimes, you’ll just read while he learns how to work Snapchat or works on mission reports. 

He’s easy to get along with despite the rocky start he’d had to the Avengers Initiative. Gentle, in spite of the horrors he’d survived; cheeky and sassy and so quick-witted it sometimes throws you off. He’s overall just...good.

It’s such a far cry from the relationship you have with his best friend that it nearly gives you whiplash.

And the look Captain Rogers gives you as you enter the hangar is proof of that. He’s glaring fiercely, even finding fault in the fact that you’re early for takeoff.

“What?” you snap before you can stop yourself. You cringe internally, wait for the reprimand for insubordination. You couldn’t help it - your reaction to him is automatic hostility, matching what seems to be his reaction to you as well.

You’re not sure where he gets off on such behavior, but you’ve about had it with Captain Steve Rogers.

“You’re late,” he barks, and it sends white hot rage through your blood.

“You said takeoff was at 8. It’s 7:50,” you retort, make a show of waving your wristwatch in his face.

“Prep is half an hour prior to takeoff, Agent.”

Oh, you could slap the smirk off his face. If you both a) wanted to fist-fight Captain America and b) wanted to be fired for assaulting a commanding officer. He seems to see the struggle on your face because his smirk widens, darkens when he knows he’s won.

“Forgive me, Captain. It appears my commanding officer seemed to have left that part out,” you hiss through clenched teeth.

“A good agent should know when prep time is without her CO reminding her,” he shoots back, and a hot rage boils in your belly.

You brush by him roughly, keeping your biting retort on your tongue, stomp into the jet.

Sam is seated at the controls. You haven’t interacted with the Falcon all that much, but he gives you a bright, welcoming grin that eases your aggravation a little.

“Welcome aboard Falcon Airways,” he chirps, and you find it in you to smile a little. The Falcon glances over your shoulder at Captain Rogers, nodding once, and begins takeoff. Captain Rogers prefers to stand, while you opt to keep your distance in a seat towards the back.

The ride is mostly quiet; Sam and Captain Rogers go back and forth, muttering between themselves, but it’s too low for you to hear. Occasionally, though, the Captain shoots you unreadable glances, and your mind itches with the knowledge that they’re discussing you. It sours you, puts you in a bad headspace that you know you need to get over. It’s your first mission - you can’t fuck it up.

Not with Captain Rogers there to see it.

Sam expertly lands the jet about an hour later. You’d spent most of the ride going over the details of the mission, analyzing each bulletpoint and retaining as much information as you could. In your opinion, it doesn’t hurt to be mentally prepared. Know thy enemy, you think the phrase goes.

(Un)fortunately, Captain Rogers benches you inside the jet. You’re incredulous, and you do a poor job at hiding it. Your first mission, and you’re benched?

“I beg your pardon, Captain?” you question as he slides the famed shield onto his back. He barely glances at you, only doing so when you follow him to the ramp. Then, he rounds on you.

“I said, you’re to remain here. In the event that we need you, we’ll call for you. Until then, do us both a favor and stay put.” He doesn’t say another word, merely stomps down the ramp.

Sam’s hand is warm on your shoulder, and you turn to him. His face reads of sympathy, but an unwillingness to go against his Captain’s order.

“He just wants you to stay safe. First mission and all. Keep your comms on, learn some things, and then you’ll get your chance.” He smirks a little when you scoff in disbelief. His wingsuit is buckled across his thick chest, goggles pushed up his forehead. He checks and rechecks his weapons.

“Next time, kid, it’ll be you out there. We’ll call if we need you.” And then he’s gone.

You can hear the two of them going back and forth, Captain Rogers calling out instruction and Sam countering it with a different strategy. They operate like a well-oiled machine, and you can only hope one day you’ll have that kind of comradery with your teammates.

You spend much of your time alone balancing your knife on your fingertips, disassembling and reassembling your sidearm, and poring over the mission notes once again. It’s boring, but you suppose, in the calmness that follows your initial outrage at being confined to the jet, you understand why Captain Rogers has done it. You’re green as can be, and though you’ve done simulations, have trained under duress, you’re still not quite sure how you’d react in the face of real danger. Perhaps you should be a little relieved, but still, there’s an underlying feeling of resentment towards your prickly Captain.

Narrowly avoiding slicing your finger open as you flip your knife, you startle when Sam’s panicked voice comes over the comms.

“Agent L/N, we need you - now. Southwest corner, fifth floor.” He’s cut off by gunfire, grunting, the sounds of fists meeting flesh. You don’t hesitate, slide the knife back into its sheath.

A second voice in your ear makes you pause. “No, Agent. Remain where you are. Do you hear me? Do not leave your post.”

Captain Rogers growls at his attacker, the echoing ping of his shield loud in your ear. You know the Captain outranks Sam, yet with the noises of the fight in your ears, it’s hard to obey orders when they so clearly need your help. Mind made up, you arm yourself to the teeth, tighten the straps of a Kevlar vest and slam the button on the ramp to the jet.

Nondescript, the building in front of you looks like an office, innocent, unimposing. The gunfire coming from within it, however, shatters that illusion. Your stomach curdles nervously, hands a little shaky where they grip your handgun, trigger finger along the frame, safety flipped off. The door in front of you is smashed open, a boot-shaped dent in it. On silent feet, you enter the building, follow the sounds of gunshots, shouting, the ring of Captain Rogers’s shield.

Sweat beads at your hairline, slides a salty line down to your eye. Jaw clenched, body rigid like a cat ready to pounce. Every bit of your training kicking into high gear as you focus on untoward sounds around you. Bodies litter the floor in the next room, all knocked out or dead, you’re not sure, but you clear the room and move on quickly.

Soon enough, you find Sam and Captain Rogers, each of them bogged down by men in dark tac suits. The shield glitters under the fluorescent lighting as it flies through the air, sends a man careening into a wall, returns to the Captain’s hand thanks to the magnetization. Sam, meanwhile, has his wings folded into the suit and grapples with a brute of a man who has his hand around his throat.

You aim your gun, careful, steady. Inhale, a squeeze of the trigger on the exhale. Bullet meets its mark in the brute’s shoulder. His cry is gruff, a spray of ruby as he presses a hand to it, and Sam sees his opening. A hard boot to the chest has the man flying backwards, head colliding with a metal desk that’s been flipped in the melee.

You throw yourself into the fight despite a sharp order from the Captain to stand down. Yet how can you when the two of them are overcome? You abandon the gun, slide it into the holster at your side and instead reach for your knife. It quickly meets the innards of an approaching enemy, and you drag it upwards towards his neck, open him to the bone of his sternum. You’re drenched in blood, but you shove him away, move onto the next.

Your hand-to-hand is sloppy, but it gets the job done as you slash and stab each body that throws itself at you. A punch to the ribs has you gasping, arching away from the attack as pain blooms in your side. It’s a mistake - your attacker is fast and hits you again, a left hook that sends you spiraling, puts stars in your vision. You hit the floor on your hands and knees, nose bloody and head swimming.

You cry out roughly when his boot meets your stomach, knocking you flat on your back. Your grip is slippery on the handle of your knife, slick with blood, and it’s all too easy for your attacker to gain control. He straddles your hips, plants a knee on your knife hand and pushes. You feel the bones snap under the weight, sending a blaze of pain up your arm, and yours fingers loosen around the handle.

The man’s hands move to your neck as the bones in your wrist are crushed, fingers going numb and losing grip on your knife. The sounds of the fight around you begin to fade out at those gloved fingers tighten, press down on your windpipe until your vision blackens at the edges.

And then they’re gone - the hands around your neck, the weight on your broken wrist. A wrenching gasp from your throat while your entire arms feels as if it’s on fire. Whimpering, you cradle it to your chest as Sam helps you sit up. Around you are the bodies of the rest of the men, a sea of varying shades of black and charcoal stained with blood.

You grimace as your wrist is jostled, press it tighter against your chest as Sam helps you stand. Even with your head down you can feel Captain Rogers glaring fiercely at the side of your head. But he stays silent, at least until you’re boarded on the jet, arm in a makeshift sling.

“I ordered you to stay put,” he barks, face going red with his ire. “A good agent obeys command, not ignore it for five minutes of fame!”

Your face heats up in fresh anger - an emotion you’re quite getting used to around Captain Rogers. You grit your teeth against both his criticism and the pain in your wrist, level him with a fiery glare.

“If I had obeyed, who the hell knows what would have happened to both of you? Sam called for help - I answered.”

“And I said no. That trumps what Sam says,” Captain Rogers responds heatedly. Sam, bless him, pointedly ignores the argument in the back of the jet and prepares for takeoff.

“But you both were overwhelmed! Am I really just supposed to sit here while you get your asses kicked?”

“You might as well have! You nearly got yourself killed in the process. You have no experience in the field, and with that shoddy hand-to-hand, I’m not surprised you ended up where you are! In fact, I’m really surprised you aren’t dead.”

A sharp inhale, though whether it’s from you or from Sam you aren’t sure. Your mouth snaps shut with an audible click, teeth grinding hard as pressure builds behind your eyes. You look away, silently relinquishing this argument, and you can feel Captain Rogers’s gaze burning your face. But you refuse to break, refuse to let him see just how much his criticisms have affected you, have hurt you.

When the jet lands, you tear off of it, making for the med bay with your head down and feet quick. Behind you, you barely make out Sam and Captain Rogers exchanging words. You pay it no mind as you ignore your fellow agents, who all seem to know exactly what has happened already. Whispers flurry around you as you hurry to the elevator, making your face burn in embarrassment.

They’re prepared for you - Sam must have called ahead to let them know. To your surprise, Bucky is waiting too, and when he sees you, his expression is so worried it makes your heart pound. He’s gentle where he grasps your shoulders, eyes flying over you form until he sees the sling and your bound arm.

“Jesus, Sam called for medical but when Steve got on the radio too, I just...I got so worried, doll.” Whether his use of the pet name is intentional or not, it still makes your belly flutter, face flush, and his hands warm your body from the inside out.

“I thought the worst,” he admits, crystalline eyes shining and wide and so damn inviting you let yourself fall into him. He steadies you, an arm around your back and the other cradling your head.

It makes you forget your anger for a little while, allows you to simply enjoy his warmth, the safety you feel in his embrace. His flesh hand is warm where it slides up and down your back, the most comforting of touches that you know you should reject yet can’t.

Finally, you begin to feel a little awkward, your injured arm between you against his warm chest, and you step back. He lets you go but keeps his hands on you, begins to lead you to the waiting team of medics. They take you from Bucky, bring you into a room for an x-ray. He watches you, still worried but warmth in his gaze.

It keeps you distracted, blocks out the pain while they set your arm in a cast, prescribe you painkillers, and send you on your way.

Chapter Four