#and write

[pinkiemme]

Tattoo artist reader getting to do all of these on the boys

[lovejosephquinn]

I enhanced said photo

I cried at said photo

I punched a wall over said photo

I died posting said photo

[pyrrhicpoison]

tw // self harm mention + scars

WOOHOOO THEYRE FINALLY DONE!! team rwby are here and real after nearly 23 hours spent on them in total 😵‍💫

^ versions without the text&arrows

vvv hc transcript + hcs not mentioned vvv:

Ruby

She/they/crescent

5’4

Genderfluid

Butch Lesbian

AuDHD + PTSD

goggles: ‘Goggles to protect remaining eye (+they make crescent look cool as hell)

right eye: ‘Eye scratched out by Cinder’s grimm arm’

green hairband: ‘For Penny :(‘

nose: ‘Shares nose shape, skin tone & freckles with their Dad & Yang’

upper chest: ‘scars on chest from CC’s attempted possession’

chest 1: ‘Yang bought their binder & had it customised for her (+ Blake)’

chest 2: ‘Binds their chest most of the time except from when she’s in Vacuo. Then they borrow trans tape from Blake and bind with that instead’

sash: ‘CR hooks onto the back of sash and sits diagonally across crescent’s back’

shirt and shorts: ‘Stole one of Yang’s goofy shirts & cut his cargos into shorts’

Weiss

She/her

4’11 (5’2 w/ heels)

Transfem lesbian

Asexual

OCD + PTSD

hair: ‘Hair cut shorter & she wears it down more often’

green hair tie: ‘For Penny :,)’

nose: ‘Shares nose shape with her brother + got her beauty mark from her mother who has one in the same place (TO ME!!)’

face: ‘On E’

red bandana: ‘gift from Ruby :)’

right arm: ‘Heavily scarred arms from SH & fighting grimm’

left eye: ‘Blind in this eye’

left shoulder: ‘Wears shawl to protect shoulders from the sun (burns easily)’

right side: ‘Chest scar carries over to her back & she has no feeling in the skin there — the nerves were burned away and caused permanent damage’ then off that ‘Doesn’t cope well in hot climates (Vacuo) too well because of this’

myrtenaster: ‘Has a strict routine she keeps with maintaining Myrtenaster and if she doesn’t do it, it’ll send her into a spiral’

Blake

She/they

5’7

Non-binary bisexual

Autistic + PTSD

ears: ‘Gold jewellery like her mum’s’

right eye: ‘Eyes shine in the dark due to faunus night vision’

left eye: ‘More prominent faunus facial features (slit pupils, fangs, nose, etc.)

hood: ‘Hood has cat ear shaped pockets that unzip so she can choose whether to have her ears out or covered’

chest: ‘wearing trans tape under crop top’

left bicep: ‘Has big, strong arm & shoulder muscles from throwing Yang around with Gambol, but a softer tummy cause she’s healing from all the bad habits they picked up in the WF’

orange scarf: ‘Wears orange scarf to mirror where Yang’s arm ends and where metal begins’

tummy: ‘happy trail and STRETCH MARKS!!!”

shoulder+elbow: ‘More furry like their Dad’

forearm: ‘Scars from WF training, SH & grimm’

waist straps: ‘Yang uses these to pull her in for a kiss all the time :)’

chaps: ‘chaps + cowboy boots = sapphic devastation’

tummy scar: ‘The scar on her hip is the only one that still looks fairly gruesome, and the only one that burns and stings even long after the initial injury is healed. She thinks it’s because technically she was stabbed there twice, even if the second time she managed to use her semblance to get away.’

Yang

She/he

6’0

Butch lesbian

AuDHD + PTSD

nose: ‘Got his nose scar while fighting a jabber walker’

eye: ‘Eyes have specs of crimson in them even when his semblance isn’t active’

ear: ‘Shares skin tone, nose and hair with his dad’

facial hair: ‘On T’

left bicep: wears scarf on left bicep to mirror Blake’

arm,legs,tummy,chest: ‘HAIRY!!! :D’

leg: ‘Heavily scarred from SH, grimm and bar fights’

shorts: ‘Can sew and likes to decorate his trousers/shorts with patches & pins. He also likes to sew things for his team (he’s the reason they all have the team colours somewhere on their outfits)’

chest 1: ‘Scar across chest from Neo’s blade’

chest 2: ‘Got top surgery at some point in Vacuo (he likes to joke around and say that her semblance blew his tits off).

HCS NOT PUT HERE (i forgor):

Ruby:

•takes tips and advice from Yang on how to dress but mainly just throws clothes on and hopes for the best. she hasn’t quite got the hang of things looking… cohesive… yet.

•strong arms from swinging CR around.

Weiss:

•Was quite slender, but began gaining a bit of weight once she got back to Remnant. Starting to heal :,).

Blake:

•has chronic pain that stems from her tummy scar and radiates up her spine. Overworking, stress & the cold cause most flare-ups.

Yang:

•has a collection of goofy shirts (That ruby always steals from).

•has weapons hidden in her prosthetic arm in case he’s ever out of dust or in a bind.

•still experiences phantom pain in his stump and pain from some of the scars he’s acquired over the course of the war.

[livingforthewhump]

8 - "O-oh god - " :)) -🎶 req.

yesyesyes I was going to do this for Whumptober hello writers block so I combined it with the prompt “Forced to Watch”

—

The chains clinked every time Caretaker moved, and it was getting annoying. Really, they were a lot more annoyed that the chains were there at all. They connected to the wall close to the floor, requiring Caretaker to sit since they were unable to stand up all the way. Whumpee was chained to the wall opposite them—a mirror image.

“We’re going to get out of here.” Caretaker spoke it into the echoey silence like a vow. Or a wish.

Whumpee’s head raised off their knees. “I imagine we’d have to, eventually.” Their voice only trembled a little, but it was amplified by the empty walls.

Caretaker was trying to think of a reply, but they didn’t get the chance. The door swung open, and Whumper waltzed into the room.

“I hope you two have found your stay enjoyable so far,” Whumper began, looking them over. Their gaze lingered longer on Whumpee, making them squirm.

Caretaker shifted protectively in their restraints. “What do you want from us, Whumper?”

Whumper glanced back over to them, lips quirking upwards as though at a silent joke. “Right now? Some entertainment will do.”

Something lodged into Caretaker’s chest; something suspiciously like foreboding.

“What does that mean?” they snarled.

But Whumper’s attention was on Whumpee again. They were walking towards them, eyes lighting up when Whumpee tried to cower away even as they glared.

“I think it would be fun,” Whumper began slowly, smile ever growing, “if I took Whumpee here, and I made them scream. Right here in front of you. Doesn’t that sound fun, Caretaker?”

“Don’t touch them,” Caretaker growled in a low voice, pulling against their chains.

“Defensive, are we?” Whumper smiled at them. And then they reached towards Whumpee. “Good.”

“Whumper—Whumper! Don’t you dare—” Caretaker thrashed, trying to move towards Whumper despite the fact that they were chaIined down.

Whumper ignored them, slamming Whumpee’s head into the wall before they unclasped their wrists, effectively disorienting them so they had no chance of fighting back as they were dragged down the room, even further away from Caretaker.

“What should I do to them first, do you think?” Whumper mused as they dropped the limp Whumpee to the ground. Whumpee's head lolled. They were blinking rapidly, squinting to try and refocus their eyes.

“Let them go,” Caretaker snarled, fear melting into the anger to create one red-hot ball of emotion in their chest.

“The whip is more fun when the recipient is actually aware of their surroundings, so that rules that out.”

“Stop.”

“But with a knife, the most fun thing is the fear. Dragging it out, you know? And I don’t think they’re aware enough for that either.”

“Stop.”

Whumper nudged Whumpee’s head with their boot, grinning when Whumpee hitched a gasp and screwed their eyes shut, still so distant from it all. “I mean, they’re so cute like this—I want to find something that complements them. The taser, maybe? How loud can they scream?”

“LET THEM GO, YOU BASTARD,” Caretaker screamed, digging deep indents into their wrists with the way they struggled and convulsed in fury.

Whumper regarded them for a moment, then a very slow smile spread across their face. “I know what we’ll do.” And they stepped away, back turned to Caretaker. They heard the clinking of chains.

When Whumper turned back around, they had fashioned a loop into the thick chain in their hands that was fed from a place in the ceiling. They worked quickly as they circled the chain around Whumpee’s neck. Then they pulled it further through the loop in the ceiling, dragging Whumpee up to their knees, pulling just enough to leave them straining.

“Whumper, you’re going to strangle them!” Caretaker watched as they swayed on their knees, caught in a cycle of beginning to crumple only to be snatched upright by the chain digging into their airway.

Whumper just hummed, pulling something out that was sleek and black and made Caretaker’s heart stop in their chest.

“No.”

Their thumb clicked a button, and electricity spring to life across the little prongs they held. Whumpee choked again, oblivious. They had blood dripping down the back of their head now, but even that major concern vanished in the rush of panic Caretaker felt when Whumper pressed the taser into their side.

Whumpee convulsed. For a moment, their weight buckled out from under them, and the chain snapped tight on their neck. They let out a breathless cry, still distant eyes foggy with tears by the time they got their legs stable under them again.

“Whumper, don’t.” Caretaker’s voice was strained by tears. Whumper’s lips twitched and they did it again, longer this time, raising their eyebrows when Whumpee braced for it. They kept their weight under them this time, though they were still swaying from their concussion.

“Well, that’s not as fun,” Whumper muttered under their breath, looking Whumpee over. A second later they kicked them hard in the chest. Whumpee doubled over on instinct, a strangled yell torn from their throat when the chain dug into their neck again, cutting their air off and setting them off balance. That was the instant Whumper pressed the taser against them again, this time on their neck.

Whumpee threw their head back in a silent scream, tears tracking down their cheeks. It didn’t matter, though. Caretaker screamed for them.

It happened again, and again, until Whumpee’s face was slack and dazed, and they were closer to dangling from the chain than kneeling. Whumper paced around them, smiling at their work. They ran a hand through Whumpee’s hair, grinning at Whumpee’s disjointed yell when they found the wound from earlier. Instead of letting go, they tightened their hand in their hair, pulling them upright by it.

“Look at them, Caretaker,” Whumper said softly, almost teasing. “Isn’t it precious, how weak they are like this? I can see why you’re so protective—I’d never want to let them go either.”

Caretaker’s stomach lurched.

“Ah ah ah, don’t look away,” Whumper warned, jostling Whumpee’s head and drawing out a sharp gasp. “I want you to remember them like this—although I certainly plan on doing worse to them while you’re here. Maybe I’ll even keep them.”

Caretaker jerked against their restraints, voice caught in their throat. After holding Whumpee up for another moment, they released them and paced towards Caretaker. Whumper grabbed their chin tightly, smearing Whumpee’s blood across their face. They smiled when Caretaker flinched.

“See? I told you this would be fun.” With a squeeze of their chin, Whumper left. The lock clicked shut behind them.

In the sudden silence, the room seemed so much emptier. Tears finally filled their eyes as they looked over to Whumpee, all but sagging in the chain. They pulled at their own chains again, but it seemed like all of the strength had been sapped from their arms in the horror that filled the room. No more anger, fear, shouting—only a sense of blank shock.

The room echoed the sound of their first sob: “O-oh God.”

—

General whump taglist: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @twistedcaretaker @lonesome--hunter @poppys-writing @endless-whump @multifandoms-multishipper @shadowylemon @utopian819 @whumpkitty @journey-the-panda @freefallingup13 @prettyboysinpain @1becky1 @temporary-whump-sideblog @chartreusephoenix @thelazywitchphotographer @mylifeisonthebookshelf @badluck990 @lockedupuniverse @luna-rein @broadwaybabe18 @pinescales-whumps @silverwhisperer1 @embersalive @the-bloody-sadist @batfacedliar-yetagain @nicolepascaline @whump-angst-fluff-repeat @susanshinning @didieatyourdog @corvid-voidbur @insane-writing-things @thebaffledtiewriter @morning-star-whump

[subtle-as-an-earthquake]

it's a 'my heart feels full and fragile and all i want to do for the rest of eternity is read fic about alex and miles finding each other in every possible universe and loving each other in every possible way' kinda night 💔💫

[whumble-beeee]

What's In a Name?

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 8

Content: mentioned past attempted noncon, hysterical whumpee/nervous breakdown (seriously yall, it gets bad), disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, tied up/handcuffs, noncon unshirtening, past captivity references

* * * * * * * *

Excerpt from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[While following this guide, as well as generally while playing the wonderful game that is villainy, you will find that the advice can rarely be fitted to every specific scenario. But one piece of advice is universal: If you value your freedom, your loved ones, and your life, you must never reveal your secret identity to your captured hero. As soon as you do, there is no more facade. Villainy is no longer a game. It is your life. And heroes will not hesitate to destroy your life if it means they can win the game. 

If a hero (or ANY untrusted party) ever happens upon your secret identity, it is your responsibility, as a villain and as a human being, to accept the end of your life as you know it…

Or to ensure that the hero can never tell another living soul.]

* * * * * * * *

“See you soon?” Deeby repeated Sweater-vest’s last words incredulously. “See you soon?! Christ, and you know he knows– god, he just needs to stop being such un pendejo and shut the hell up, stop making everything about his goddamn god complex and shoving it en las caras de todos–”

The sudden anger from the usually cool and smug Deeby did not help the apparent panic attack seeping ever so quickly into Stan’s consciousness, especially with said seething bounty hunter circling around the room like an angry shark as he muttered to himself and gesticulated wildly. 

Stan cowered to hide his shirtlessness from said angry shark. His chest and limbs started to buzz from all the excess oxygen entering his system as he took in heavy breaths, his head spinning, dizzy, hurting, every muscle clenching.

“--y quién se cree ese cabrón para venir a joderme MI TRABAJO?” 

He was so angry. So loud, talking so fast, and what the hell was he even saying?! It was too much, too much.

 “Y la puta Lana no puede ni aparecer para decirme que me está jodiendo la vida OTRA VEZ porque es lo único que le encanta hacer, joderme TODO lo que–”

Stop it stop it stay calm stay calm please not now please please please not now you can’t show weakness like this in front of your kidnapper you can’t stop it STOP IT–

He took in an involuntary loud heaving breath. Then fell into a stuttering slew of smaller breaths as he tried to keep quiet, and Deeby finally took notice of the state of his captive. 

Stan squeaked and pulled the jacket around himself tighter. He was small, he was silent, he was invisible. 

Then he gasped in another desperate heaving breath with an involuntary cry of panic when he suddenly ran out of air. He’d stopped breathing entirely with all his efforts.

“Stan? Qué es–... Ah, you good?”

Stan nodded quickly, shaking. “F-fine, fine.”

Deeby raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t lie to me. What is this, you having a panic attack?”

He couldn’t get his eyes to focus, but he shook his head fervently. Then reeled as it made the dizziness and headache so much worse.

“Stan, talk to me, chiquito. If he actually did something to you, tell me. I need a good reason to kill him, you’d be helping me out a lot.”

He didn't actually even hurt me, did he? 

“No–! I-I u-uh-uh yes-s-s, but– but–” 

I don't WANT to ‘help you out’! I don't want to talk about it! ESPECIALLY not with you. 

He let out a whine and failed to swallow the giant knot forming in his throat.

“Alright, is this about the shirt then? Or the uh, the chest thing? Is that why you went from colonizer white to ghost white when you thought I was gonna make you strip earlier?” He walked over to the tattered shirt and scooped it up. “Because if that's what got you, I can assure you I don’t give a single crap what you’ve–... got in your...”

Deeby trailed off as he held up the grey strips of fabric that used to be Stan's button-down. 

And just stared.

Stan gawked at the unrecognizable shredded fabric hanging in the bounty hunter's hands. His breath caught in his throat. He hadn't realized how utterly destroyed his beloved shirt was. What was he supposed to wear now?

“That… Motherfucker…” Deeby muttered, almost as as aghast as Stan. “Christ, I knew he'd pull some grade-A bullshit, but this–”

“Y-you KNEW?!” Stan gasped out, surprising himself with the volume of his outburst. “You– You knew he was gonna– gonna try to...”

Deeby didn't look up from the tatters in his hands. “Yeah. He's predictable, if nothing else.”

Stan's entire body felt like it was full of angry bees. “You–... You left me-e alone with ‘im. On pu-urpose.”

“And everything turned out fine, you're fine. Look runt, we need to have a little talk about what–”

“NO!” Stan cried, ignoring the drop in his stomach when Deeby's eyes took on a slight challenging glint at the interruption. “No, don’t change the subject! You left me alone with him! You knew he was gonna try to– to rape me and you left me alone with him! Handcuffed, chained to the floor, powerless, immobile, beat up to hell and– a-and unable to defend myself and you-you left me alone with him!”

The floodgates were opening. The stifling sense of justice suffocating Stan from the inside out wouldn’t let the injustices go unsaid any longer, crashing through his body and just about ready to make him burst. Ironic, given the everything.

Deeby’s jaw set. “Stan. I wouldn’t have left that shit-for-brains alone with anyone if I didn’t have to.”

“Oh, but you– you had to?” Stan taunted, hoping the sarcasm came through in his voice even with the stuttering and heaving breaths. “What, Dee-deeby the great bounty hunter actually answers to someone? Enough to put the uh, the bounty in danger? Or are you just scared of him, wanted to get away?!” 

Deeby snorted.

“Hell yeah, I'll do whatever if the buyer asks it,” he proclaimed. "And I'm not scared of that human cringe-fail. The day I'm scared of him is the day I'm dragged away screaming and turned into… well, you, basically. But I mean, that's when he's actually dangerous…" 

He seemed to think on it for a moment. Then crouched down in front of Stan, smug grin replaced with something like the look a friend gives when they think you're about to ruin your life with a single dumb decision.

“Honesty, bud… I wouldn't be so tough around a guy like that if I were a guy like you. Best to just fuel his ego.”

Stan physically recoiled. “Don't tell me what–! Who-wh–…”

That insult sounded way too genuine. Since when was the mercenary genuine?

“Wait, wait, you'd…” Stan shook his head, trying to untangle his thoughts from the spaghetti of his mind. This concussion was killing him. He could barely think. “If you were… Who even was th-that?”

Another chuckle. “What, Tweedy? That was Vaughn. He said that earlier, though I applaud your ability to block him out. Wish I could do that.”

Then again, the hunter was most likely just trying to psych him out. Get him to behave again. Stan wouldn't fall for something like that.

“No, idiot, I mean–... I meant who is he? Why is he going to-to see me soon?… And– and for that matter, are you working together? Because it seems like you hate each other.”

Deeby let out a huff of air. “Look, bud, we need to talk about that phone call I had to take, the boss–”

“You're avoiding the question.”

“Well frankly, there's more important things to talk about,” Deeby dismissed quickly. “So I was talking with the boss-lady on the phone while you were–”

“I don’t care about what that Lana person has to say!” Stan said, slamming his hands on the floor for effect, a breath-stealing pang running through his ribs at the jostling. “Jus– Just tell me who you guys are, tell me why I’m here, tell me why I should be scared of ‘a guy like that’! Who ARE you?!”

Deeby narrowed his eyes slightly. “We need to talk about what's going to happen to you next. And you're gonna listen to that. Not yell demands at me like some asshole 6-year-old, because you already know I don't deal with all that ‘who am I, secret identity’ crap, so you're not getting those answers.”

Well actually, judging by the horrible sticky weight that slammed Stan in the gut when Deeby said that, he didn't want to know what horrors awaited him next. So next best thing? Keep being an asshole 6-year-old.

“Why?”

“Anonymity is the most valuable tool you can have in this game.” Deeby recited it like a script, exaggerating a monotone boredom. “Also I'm not an idiot, it's protocol that's saved me before, it helps me do my job without getting invested… take your pick.”

“You're not even wearing your mask any more!” Stan cried. “So much for secret identity!”

“I think what you're meaning to say is ‘thank you for rushing to save my damsel-in-distress ass from some twink with scissors when you heard me screaming for help even though you were dealing with a really important phone call from the worst person ever’. And you're very welcome. Now we need to talk about what I found out in that dumbass phone call and what it means for you.”

He always had an answer for everything, huh? Always another quip.

Stan's blood started to boil, and he may have actually, genuinely growled a little. 

“S-so-so so what, you are scared of her, then? You're scared of her and that's why you left me with that monster?!” He tried, spitting back as much smug asshole-ness as Deeby had been throwing at him. “Is that why you hate them, you’re just their damn lackey doing whatever they tell you to do?! Just a puppet for them to guide around, running around capturing supers and serving them up on a silver platter like a good little servant?!”

Deeby stared at him, genuinely stunned by the sudden venom in the captive's words. His fists clenched by his side.

 Hm. Stan may have gone too far.

“Look, McKellen,” Deeby spat as he took an authoritative step forward, voice slow, low and dark. “There are things at play here that you can’t know about–”

“Why not?!” Stan felt like he was losing it, voice creaky and high and hoarse. “Obviously I’m gonna be trapped here with you assholes for the rest of my short life until you kill me with some new form of torture experiment bullshit! Why not tell me everything?! Why not do whatever you want with me?! Just tell me! Please!!”

Stan glared desperately at the bounty hunter. He knew he wasn’t even just crossing the line at this point; he was sprinting over the line and stomping on it repeatedly in a panic-fueled frenzy, kicking at it and letting out his full fury as if the line itself had done this to him, as if absolutely decimating the line would somehow fix everything.

Way deep down, almost too far down to admit to himself, he almost hoped the mercenary would see through the insults and the fighting to see the pleading, hurt, scared man underneath. And then take pity. Just let him have this one thing, before he broke entirely.

But the bounty hunter glared right back at him.

“No.” He stated venomously. “Right now, you're going to shut up. And listen.”

As if Stan would ever listen to the orders of his kidnapper. Of a villain.

A small laugh, just a little chuckle, took root his chest. A disbelieving smile cracked across his face.

The absence of the signature unbothered grin, the absence of the mask, the deathly seriousness? Not to mention the gun, the knives, the chains, the handcuffs, the power suppressing collar, no cane or crutch or any viable mobility aid in sight, and beaten so hard multiple times that he probably couldn't run properly anyway even if he did have a knee that actually worked…

This really was hopeless, wasn't it? 

He could rage against the dying of the light all he wanted. Scream and shout and cry and fight and say witty things to hide the excruciating, never-ending pain. 

But the light would still die all the same.

He clutched Deeby's very own stupid cowboy-ass jacket around his shoulders. He couldn't even defend himself from getting his shirt ripped to shreds right off his body!

And this bitch–

“You– you don't think…” he had to pause to let out a barrage of inappropriate giggles, then shoved up shakily to his feet, back braced against the wall. “You don't still think I'm gonna– that, that I'm gonna escape, do you?!”

Deeby gave pause, eyeing Stan up and down. Really thinking about it. He took a deep breath. A low grumble emanated from the base of his throat.

“No. I don't.”

Stan laughed out again, full force this time. Desperate. Tearful.

“Then just–... just TELL ME!! IT DOESN'T MATTER!! IT DOESN'T!! IT'LL DIE WITH ME!!”

The mercenary's mouth pressed into a thin line. Was that confusion etched into his features? Or worry? Maybe anger…

“It does matter,” He growled through gritted teeth. “It's probably the most important thing you could know, who I am. Who we are.”

Stan let out a loud cry of anguish, screeching out every single frustration at the unfairness of the world, at this situation, at Deeby and Vaughn and whoever Lana was, at the collar and the chains and the cut and bruises and broken bones and his broken, useless knee into a single, guttural sound. 

“WHY WON'T YOU TELL ME ANYTIN-GAH-AH!!”

Very, very suddenly, the lapels of Deeby's loosely draped jacket tightened around his body and slammed him back into the wall, the fleece-lined collar of the jacket twisting and pulling on the power-suppressing strap clamped around his neck, contracting it, choking him just as the slam forced all the breath out of his lungs. 

Stan clawed back against the force, only managing to grasp at Deeby’s forearms uselessly as they twisted the jacket ever tighter around him. Pinning his arms. Trapping him. He had to heave in and out gasping breaths just to get enough air to breath through his half obstructed airways.

“Look at me, chiquito,” the bounty hunter snarled. “Look me in the eye!”

Stan's panicked eyes paused their sporadic dance around the room. They locked dead onto the mercenary's fiery gaze.

“Did you break your damn brain in the 3 minutes I was gone?” Deeby hissed into his ear. Stan almost screeched in terror. “I don't know what sort of fuckery your mind has been conjuring up that you can't get this very simple concept without going insane,” he jolted Stan and dragged out an involuntary whimper from his throat. 

“But whatever it is, shut it down. Now. I'm gonna tell you the bare minimum of what you need to know, and you're gonna sit there and listen or else I won't tell you jack shit and knock you unconscious so I don't have to deal with your bullshit. Agreed?!” 

“I– Ah, a-ah, I– No, I- I, no-no no No-o–”

He couldn't get his thoughts to line up properly. They swarmed around his head like locusts in a dust bowl, bouncing into each other, frenzied, an indecipherable cloud of fear and frustration that his horrible attempt at defiance, futile as it may have been, always just made everything worse.

He could never stop himself.

Angry tears rimmed at Stan's eyes. His body hurt. His brain pounded in his skull. His ribs cried out in protest as they pressed into the wall. The various bruises and their dull, throbbing aches, the cuts and bleeding wounds and their sharp, searing screeches, the sticky and caked on dried blood, so familiar now it was almost a second skin, Deeby's weight pinning him to the wall, so similar and yet so different to the way Vaughn had done the same.

No. No, no, no, no.

He squeezed his eyes shut, tears finally falling in hot, fat drops down his cheeks. The bounty hunter was so close, too close. Stan tried to pull away, and he just leaned on him harder, their faces barely inches apart.

“Agreed, chiquito?” The voice rumbled through his entire body, sending shivers up and down his spine.

No no no no no no no he needed to get away, get away now, please please that's all he needed he couldn't get away he couldn't even move his arms he could barely breathe–

“WHY DON'T YOU JUST RAPE ME ALREADY?!” Stan screamed into the endless cacophonous void.

And silence.

And the entire world went still.

Deeby’s mouth fell literally agape.

His grip on Stan loosened considerably. Not out of pity or any other considerate emotion. Just shock.

At least Stan could finally breathe again. Not that he took a single breath in the silence.

“I–...” Deeby finally choked out. “I-I beg you finest fucking what?!”

“Just fucking do it,” Stan hissed, gasping. “We both know you could. I couldn't even stop Vaughn, you think I could stop you?!”

The words spewed out of his mouth faster than he could stop them, like a volcano that had finally exploded its top off in a fiery glory. And the way Deeby looked at him, as if his features were having an all out war over shock, horror, or honestly very justified anger? Oh, that did nothing but fan the flames of Stan's sorrow-filed hysteria.

“Tall ass muscle-bound freak with an actual gun that captured me and beat me up again and again then left me to die?! I don't even know who you are! You can do whatever you want and I can't do jack shit to stop you! Just do it, hurt me, rape me, it doesn't matter! Vaughn knew that, you can too!” Stan attempted to shove the bounty hunter off, but he still didn't move. 

“Please, please, I'm begging you, is that what you want?! I'll get on my knees!”

Stan collapsed against Deeby's hold, and to his surprise, Deeby finally let him. Well, not ‘let him,’ more like ‘recoiled and jumped back when he felt Stan collapsing in his grasp'. 

All the same.

“Chiquito,” Deeby rasped. “I'm– not exactly sure what or why you're demanding, but I'm not going to–”

“Why not?! It doesn't matter!” Stan assured, holding his arms out to fully present himself now, shedding the jacket onto the floor behind him and taking a daring scoot forward. “I bet you just kicked Vaughn out because you wanted me all to yourself! I bet you just love seeing me scared and helpless and half naked in your stupid fucking yee-yee jacket–”

“Alright, Stan, enough!”

“AT LEAST VAUGHN had the decency to not pretend like he was a decent fucking person like you!” Stan yelled. “We both know you're not above it, fucking professional kidnapper and torturer! So just do it! Like Vaughn wanted to, like he tried to! Finish what he started, you have me all to yourself now! DO IT! DO IT I DARE–”

“The name's Declan.”

The statement was a whisper in the storm. Stan almost missed it. But the resolute certainty of the southern twang stopped him dead in his tracks.

“What–… What did you just–?”

It was astounding how quickly his voice had turned meek from the cacophony of chaos mere seconds before. Dark freckles stood out against an even starker white face than usual.

“It's Declan,” the mercenary stated once more. “My name. My name’s Declan. You wanted t’know who we are, who I am? Fine then, I'm Declan. Want the last name too?”

“I– wait–!”

“It's Cansano. Declan Cansano.”

Stan was shaking, a million thoughts crashing down upon him like a tidal wave. If he weren't already on his knees, surely he would have collapsed. 

He hadn't actually… meant any of that. No. Had he? No. He couldn't have. He didn't want to know who the mercenary was. No, he didn't. He didn't, not really! He would never want that! Never!

“That’s not… Wh-why would you…?”

The bounty hunter shrugged. “You wanted to know who I am. You asked, you screamed, you insulted me and you went fuckin’ nuts over it.” His thunder-filled eyes betrayed his completely relaxed demeanor. “Declan Cansano. Don't forget‘t.”

“I just– That's not what– Wait, Deeby, you– Where are you going?!”

Deeby was already halfway to the door when he swiftly spun around, fists clenched and any trace of the easy demeanor vanished in those bright blood-stained eyes. 

“I can't fuckin’ deal with you right now!”

Stan nearly launched himself back in fear, right back onto Deeby's stupid, soft jacket. He grasped it up as a barrier between him and the mercenary without even thinking. The mercenary's demeanor relaxed from absolutely terrifying to merely extremely angry at the sorry sight.

“I'm leaving for a bit.” He whipped around and grasped for the lapels of his jacket to yank it on, only for his grasp to come up empty. He whipped around a third time. “And I'll be expectin’ my coat back when I get back! You better've calmed the hell down by then, if you know what’s good for you.”

Wait, wait, he was leaving? No!

Stan tried to scramble after Deeby, but immediately fell to the agony of his knee and the length of his leash. 

“Don't go, please!” he pleaded.

Deeby didn’t stop. “Why?”

What if you come back with more torture tools? 

What if you don't come back at all? 

I still have more questions for you. 

You can't just leave me here, I'm hurt! 

I shouldn't be alone right now. I can't. I'm scared of what will happen, I'm going insane.

Even you are better than no one at all.

“What– what if Vaughn comes back?!”

Deeby scoffed. “I'm not going that far, damn. Eat some protein bars while I'm gone so you don't die, should help with the insanity. Back soon.”

And the door to the room closed shut behind him, the click echoing off the walls in the sudden unbearable silence. 

Stan collapsed to the floor, defeated.

He clutched the jacket closer. 

Pulled it tight around his shoulders, fingernails leaving small crescent-shaped indents on the well-worn hide. The cotton lining was so surprisingly soft against his skin. Hell, he could smell the dirt and musk that permeated the jacket from years of use, the smal signs that this jacket had seen the capture of dozens of supers.

Declan.

Declan Cansano.

Professional Superhero-Hunter.

Stan screamed into the endless abyss around him.

And this time, Declan didn’t come back to save him.

* * * * * * * *

Next (when posted)

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything | @paperprinxe | @lovethiswriting

[ninawolv3rina]

Me when they- me when- when they- (I’m normal about them)

OCs: Sir Markus (He/him), Nova (they/she), Klark (He/him)

[pockettwinzz]

how are you today pretty<3

Doing good now that you asked

WILL 🫵🏻GO 🫵🏻ON 🫵🏻 A 🫵🏻DATE🫵🏻WITH🫵🏻ME?

(I'll bake for you :3)

[lmk-aus-galore]

FANDOM

IF WUKONG DIDNT KNOW HOW TO READ HOW THE FUCK WAS HE ABLE TO TAKE HIS NAME OFF THE BOOK OF THE DEAD AND EVERY OTHER MONKEY HE COULD FIND IN THAT DEATH BOOK?!

AND WHY WOULDN’T SHIFU SUBODHI TEACH HIM HOW TO READ THAT WOULD’VE BEEN A WASTE OF HIS TEACHINGS IF HE DIDNT.

WUKONG KNOWS HOW TO READ ALRIGHT

[delusionaid]

I want to be here and write but work work work 😭 To anyone waiting for replies from me: they're coming!! I promise!! I'm snailing!

[anctherversion]

you know what i want i want a next door neighbour plot but like make it cute, make it sexy, make it mysterious, make it my ex dropped by and they were trying to get back together and you heard the commotion and stepped in and pretended to be dating me and that was so sweet but i know nothing about you other than you're extremely cute and nice and we should fix that

[gutsby]

Hating Game …. dear god ……….. plEASE

[lured-into-wonderland]

Finally, I will be posting something today. These will be mostly older replies that I have already written before rl hit hard on me. But I promise I will also tend to newer things tomorrow. And send some unprompted asks. I will post some immediately and queue other things. And I will be slow so I am very sorry for that.

[wanderlustmagician]

I’m gonna fistfight my brain into submission

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

For the other ask box thing ;D

A compliment! I really love your writing style. The way you portray the character’s thought process is absolutely mind boggling. The fight scene in BDOR? Amazing. I had to read it like four times because I got caught up in the action and lost track of what was happening. It wild, it was great.

I very much enjoy how soft you write Twilight’s view of his relationship with Wild. It’s very elder sibling to be soft for them all the time while simultaneously wanting to suplex them. It does make me curious as to more of what Wild’s view is, but I feel like that’s coming.

I’m so feral for BDOR. Im like vibrating every time you post or share anything for it. It’s fantastic. I have TOO MANY words to accurately share how much I love it.

I'm sorry I didn't respond to this when I got it yesterday. I still don't think I have the vocabulary to respond today, but I figured that I'd try.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you for the kind words. It makes me so happy to know that I've made someone else happy with my work, and that they've cared enough to tell me so. Sorry if that seems way too serious, but that's the only way I can put it into words right now. Thank you thank you thank you

[I very much enjoy how soft you write Twilight’s view of his relationship with Wild. It’s very elder sibling to be soft for them all the time while simultaneously wanting to supplex them. It does make me curious as to more of what Wild’s view is, but I feel like that’s coming.]

Yes, that is indeed how Twilight sees Wild, you've summed it up better than I ever could XD Wild's view of him should be hit in the Noble's Warning chapters, so within the next month this will be expounded upon. Check for the chapter list that I'll be posting soon, I plan to post a chapter every weekend so you can mentally gauge when I'll be hitting things.

[nightyelean]

celestial idiots thng teehe

i enjoy