#i hope i did this vision at least some sort of justice

[oceanic-sunsets]

and we kissed, as though nothing could fall (nothing could fall)

and the shame, was on the other side

[tamrielic]

pairing – scaramouche | wanderer × f!reader

fandom | media – genshin impact

word count – 4,659・AO3

summary – you’ve been avoiding him, and he needs to know why.

tags﹠warnings – smut・porn with plot・degradation・dirty talk・angst・hurt/comfort・fluff・scaramouche being scaramouche・scaramouche is his own warning honestly・vulnerable scaramouche・emotional reader・reader is very subtly implied to be plus-sized・reader has afab!genitalia

originally posted on – 11/07/2022

author’s note (11/07/2022) – if you’d told me a month or so ago that i’d write an almost 5,000 word smutfic featuring scaramouche, i would’ve laughed in your face... but here we are! i dedicate this fic to one of my most beloved and beautiful besties, gen aka getousimp aka gixxie, because she’s absolutely amazing and is the #1 scaramouche fan!!! i really hope that i did him justice, and i hope y’all enjoy – this is only my second ever smutfic that i’ve written and/or posted online! ALSO – i wrote this entire thing before the archon quest that features him (archon quest interlude chapter: act iii – inversion of genesis) and before he was (finally) released as a playable character, so... his characterization is questionable!

The smell of incense and the crackling of the fire in the large marble fireplace greet you as you step inside the mansion in the adepti teapot realm you call home, shutting the doors as quietly as possible behind you and releasing a soft sigh of relief when there is no noise to imply you’ve been heard.

Slowly, you make your way across the main area of the house to the room that was designated as the library and office, slipping inside silently and quickly sliding the doors shut behind you.

Inhaling deeply, you march over to the desk to begin sorting through the large pile of letters that had accumulated during your absence.

You’ve been traveling with Paimon, helping the Aranara in Sumeru and avoiding… well, avoiding multiple things. Searching for your brother, your various promises and responsibilities, and most importantly a certain short-tempered Anemo wielder.

Coming out of the haze of your thoughts, you notice the messy stack of books that had undoubtedly been made by some of your numerous guests and you huff as you grab them and go to put them away.

It wasn’t that Scaramouche had done anything wrong per se, it was more the issue of you being so naturally affectionate and showing it via physical touch and honest words… and worrying that it was becoming too much for him, or too annoying. Or both.

It hasn’t been that long since he’s joined your group of friends… only about two months, though could you honestly say that the two of you were friends?

He was so hot and cold, at times he was standoffish and rude, snapping at everyone and everything and it was during those times that you swore he hated you… but then the next time you’d come across him or have him join you while adventuring, he’d look at you with an unreadable expression and allow you to touch him without bristling, especially when you two were alone, and the back and forth of it confused you.

You’ve been oddly drawn to him ever since you had first met him in Inazuma, his voice sticking in your head and repeating his taunting words and the vision of him sauntering towards you with that insufferable smirk wouldn’t leave your mind…

In truth, your feelings have only gotten stronger as time had passed, especially after he’d reluctantly joined your adventuring team and you’d inevitably gotten to know him better.

If you are being honest, the sexual tension between you two could likely be cut with a knife and served on a platter… in addition to there being purer, deeper romantic feelings present.

It’s far too early to call it “love”, but it is certainly well on its way to becoming that dreaded word… on your end, at least.

You can feel your face heat up in response to the direction your thoughts have gone and as you shove the last book onto the bookshelf you lean forward and bonk your forehead against the hardwood in an effort to clear your mind.

In your distraction you haven’t noticed that the subject of your thoughts has snuck into the room and is moving towards you with purpose.

A pale hand suddenly slams down to grasp onto the shelf right behind you, the other hand gripping your waist and spinning you to face the intruder.

Purple eyes meet yours, anger making them almost burn from their intensity as he leans in so his face is mere inches away from yours.

Gasping, you shrank back against the bookshelf. “Scaramouche? What–?”

“You’ve been avoiding me. Why?” He bites out, eyes narrowing slightly and the fingers at your waist twitching in what you assumed to be frustration.

Blinking at him while you try to gather your thoughts, you can’t help but notice that he isn’t wearing his usual amount of layers – just the tight black high-collared shirt and his shorts and sandals rather than his familiar complex ensemble – and your face heats at the realization that so much of his skin was now visible to you.

Swallowing to try and moisten your suddenly dry mouth, you’re sure that your face openly shows how flustered you are.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’ve been busy but I haven’t been–”

“Cut the bullshit. Do you think I’m an idiot? It’s not like you’ve been subtle about it, and it’s pissing me off,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes as he moves the hand that has been pinning you to the bookshelf to grasp the back of your neck, his thumb brushing against the sensitive skin of your nape.

Eyes widening at his actions and words, you clear your throat and square your shoulders.

“I’m sorry that you feel that way, Scaramouche, but–”

“Why are you calling me that?” He snaps, scowling at you with narrowed eyes.

“Calling you what? Your name?” You reply, eyes darting away from his prying gaze.

It was true that you haven’t necessarily been subtle, but you had assumed that he wouldn’t take much notice of the lack of attention and affection that he seemed to find barely tolerable – this vehement reaction was very unexpected and it was leaving you reeling.

He lets out an angry sigh before his fingers grasp your chin and force you to meet his eyes.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He demands, eyes flickering over your face as his lips turn down into a slight pout.

Glancing down at his mouth, you unconsciously wet your lips and his gaze immediately hones in on it.

Gasping softly, your mouth gapes a bit in surprise as you observe how his burning purple eyes darken as he focuses on your mouth, leaning ever so slightly closer and tilting his head as if entranced.

“Scaram–mmph!”

Lips pressing to yours cut you off, a low groan escaping him when you immediately reciprocate.

Eyes fluttering shut as you breathe him in, you bring your hands up to scratch your fingers through the coarse hair of his undercut.

Scaramouche growls then, shoving you up against the bookshelf as he presses as much of his body as he can to your own, the hand on your waist now groping at your soft skin.

Whimpering, your eyes shoot open and you tear your mouth from his to gasp for air as he starts roughly kissing down your jaw.

“Don’t lie, you were avoiding me. Because of this?” He whispers, lips and warm breath brushing the shell of your ear.

Exhaling with a whine, you nod before his lips press to your own again for a brief moment before he pulls away, nipping at your bottom lip.

He smirks at your dumb expression, tugging you over to the table in the middle of the room and reminding you that he was much stronger than he looked by easily lifting you up to sit on the edge, pushing the letters off and out of the way.

Gasping indignantly, you open your mouth to reprimand him but he takes the opportunity to kiss you again, sliding his tongue in your mouth with a muffled groan.

You can’t help but to close your eyes as your tongue glides against his, feeling that insufferable smirk of his against your lips.

Sliding his hands down to your thighs, he roughly pulls them apart so he can step between them and press his body to yours once again.

He chuckles at your resulting moan, slowly pulling back and licking his lips as if savoring the taste of you.

Your eyes flutter open as you unconsciously follow after him to chase his lips, his smirk growing at your resulting frustrated pout.

“You wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid,” he teases, chuckling at your resulting scowl – but you didn’t deny it.

Before you could formulate a response, he grasps your hips and slides them towards him, making you yelp and slam your hands down on the table behind you to keep from collapsing.

Keeping his dark eyes locked with yours, he leans over you and slides his fingers under the waistband of your pants, tilting his head and tugging ever so slightly in question.

Biting your lip, you lift your hips in response, wiggling a little in impatience.

Inclining his head towards you, he pulls your pants off roughly and your arms give out as you collapse back down on the edge of the table, panting.

His hands tug at the hem of your shirt next as he bends over you, lips pressing bruising kisses to your neck as he slowly lifts it, fingertips tickling along the soft skin of your stomach.

Gasping, you reach between you and nudge his hands aside, practically tearing your shirt up and over your head to get rid of the offending garment.

“Eager, aren’t we?” He murmurs, chuckling lowly as he goes back to mouthing at your neck.

You whine and grab at his back as he bites down on your collarbone, his muscles flexing in response to the feeling of your fingernails digging into his skin as you jolt and cry out.

Groaning, he tears himself away from you to do a slow perusal of the skin that’s been bared to him.

You feel like you’re going to implode, the way his eyes manage to get even darker and his expression more severe in its blatant lust, and you jerk your hips up uncontrollably in response.

His eyes immediately flick down to where you’re soaked and burning for him and his throat bobs with a swallow before he looms over you, skimming his hand slowly down the curve of your waist before sliding a finger against the wetness of the fabric concealing you from him.

“Look at you, look at how wet you are – is this all for me?” He questions, voice gone rough from arousal.

Nodding and biting your lip, you can’t help but to grind up into his fingers.

“So needy,” he grunts, crouching down to nip at your inner thigh.

“Scara, I–!”

“Oh, we’re back to Scara now, hm?” He laughs harshly, making quick work of tugging your panties down and off your legs as he shakes his head at you.

“Scara, I’m sorry–!”

“You should be,” he interrupts you again, glaring up at you from between your legs.

You’re a desperate whimpering mess at this point, and you don’t manage to form a response before he runs his fingers up your inner thighs and jerks them open as much as your body will allow.

“Now be a good girl and say “please” and maybe I’ll give you what you want,“ he growls, brushing the tip a finger through your wetness.

“Please, Scara, I need you!” You whine, embarrassed at how needy you sound but also so turned on that you can’t bring yourself to care.

Smirking, he finally takes mercy on you and slowly slides a finger into you, eyes widening at the feel of your slick warmth.

You keen and writhe against the table when he slowly adds another finger and crooks them, expertly massaging a spot on your inner walls that makes you see stars and causes more heat to pool between your thighs.

“Look at you, getting all worked up over nothing! Your pretty pussy can barely handle my fingers – what a pathetic little thing you are,” he laughs mockingly, thrusting his fingers into you roughly.

Panting, you bite your lip and glance down to meet his eyes, silently begging him for more as your thighs tremble and your back arches.

Breath hitching at your desperation, he suddenly shoves his head between your thighs and licks a broad stroke through your folds, swirling his tongue around your clit before lightly grazing his teeth against it.

You wail, your walls contracting around his fingers as you feel like you’ve been hit by lightning as the tension snaps, little whines escaping you as your hips shudder and grind against his face.

Chuckling, he laps up your release as you ride out your high before getting up and looming over you, smirking at your fucked out expression.

“We’ve barely gotten started and already you’re being such a good little slut for me,” he murmurs, licking his lips suggestively when your eyes flutter open to blearily look at him.

You want to pinch yourself because you swear this has to be a dream, it is all happening so quickly and you’ve just had one of the best orgasms of your entire life but are somehow still so unbelievably horny for him.

His face is flushed and he still has some of your juices on his chin, but his eyes burn with the depth of his want for you as your gazes meet and he smirks, smug about having made you cum.

Glancing down and seeing the tented fabric of his shorts, you lift your still shaking legs to wrap around his waist and pull him into you, rolling your hips against his clothed cock and watching his face intently.

His eyes flutter closed and he lets out a strangled moan, back bowing and lips hovering over your own as he clutches at your hips and ruts into the warmth between your legs.

“Scara, I’m all yours – take me,” you whisper, reaching up to cup his cheeks and pull his head down to kiss him.

Jolting his head back just as your lips brush his, his eyes shoot open and he pants while looking at you incredulously.

You furrow your brows at his sudden change in attitude, your thumbs lightly brushing his cheekbones and you bite your lip, suddenly afraid that you’ve said the wrong thing.

After a moment of his eyes frantically scanning your expression – looking for what exactly, you weren’t sure – his hands slam down on either side of your head.

“Always so honest about your emotions,” he hisses, eyes becoming unreadable as he nips at your lips yet refuses to let you close the gap. “It’s really fucking infuriating, you know that?”

Huffing in exasperation to hide how his seemingly indignant response hurts your feelings, you glare up at him.

“Fine, then – can you just fuck me already, Kunikuzushi?”

He pulls back, smoldering eyes glaring into your own as he releases a shattered breath in response to you calling him that name.

“Oh, now you’re making demands of me?” He rasps, regaining his composure with a harsh thrust against your cunt.

Suddenly hit with a wave of irritation and frustration, you push your hands against his chest in an attempt to get him off of you.

“If you don’t want to, then nevermind,” you mutter, turning your head away to hide the “if you don’t want me” implied from your tone and expression.

Lunging to press your wrists down into the table above your head with one hand, he turns your head back towards him with the other, a deep scowl on his face.

“Why are you putting words into my mouth? What gives you the right to assume what I do or don’t want?”

You glare at him, trying to jerk your face out of his harsh grip which only makes his fingers dig into your jaw harder as he crowds you against the table with his body.

“Stop being such a fucking brat,” he growls as he presses quick, bruising kisses against your lips.

“Make me!” You snarl back at him, body writhing under his own.

He chuckles lowly before it morphs into him laughing loudly and mockingly as he observes your struggles.

“Gladly.”

Letting go of your face to swiftly pull down his shorts just enough to free his erection, he groans as he slides it between your folds.

“Fuck… this is my pussy, it belongs to me and only me, doesn’t it?”

Whimpering and nodding in response, your hands struggle to escape his grasp as you grind your hips against the tip of his cock, trying miserably to get it to catch in your soaking wet opening.

He shudders against you, grabbing your hip with his free hand to hold you still.

“No, no,” he chides, his signature smirk back on his lips. “Only good girls get rewarded, and you’ve been such a brat.”

“Scara, fuck, just take me!” You keen, so overwhelmed with frustration and pleasure that there are tears gathering in your eyes.

Scaramouche laughs, one that borders on a cackle, before he presses his lips against your temple.

“Are you crying? You want me that bad, huh? You’re so fucking pathetic, you did this to yourself you know,” he whispers roughly, tongue flicking out to run along the shell of your ear.

“But don’t worry, I’ll take pity on you.”

He suddenly thrusts into you, bottoming out and leaving you a moaning and babbling mess as he holds himself still to allow you to adjust to his size.

“Oh Archons, please–!”

“Don’t pray to them, they can’t help you, pray to me,” he snarls, pulling out of you just enough for you to whine at the loss before roughly thrusting back inside and making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“Scara, Kuni, please – fuck – more, faster!”

He grants your request with a strangled moan, hips slamming into your own at such a desperate and brutal pace that you know there’s going to be bruises.

Leaning down so your foreheads are pressed together, you stare into each other’s eyes and pant as the sound of his hips slapping against yours fills the air.

The hand that has been keeping your wrists bound lets go, fingers instead curling into the sheets as he continues his merciless thrusts – eyes observing your every reaction hungrily.

“Kuni, feels s’good!” You sob, your now free arms reaching up to wrap around his neck and your legs tightening around his hips.

“F-fuck!” He whimpers, cock twitching against your walls and hips stuttering against you.

Your body feels like it’s melting, fingers carding through his hair to shakily push it out of his face so you can view the way his brow furrows as he grits his teeth.

“Say it,” he commands shakily, jerking your face up so he can stare into your eyes. “Say that you’re mine. My slut, my whore, my everything.”

“Anything and everything that I am is yours, Kunikuzushi,” you choke out with a sob, following up your declaration by tilting your hips and pressing your lips to his, gliding your tongue in and tasting him as he groans at the feeling of your walls fluttering around his cock.

His thrusts grow even more frantic and deep and you roll your hips up to meet his movements, your sweaty bodies writhing together as you fully succumb to each other.

“I’m gonna paint your insides,” he gasps into your mouth, sliding a hand down to rub your swollen clit. “I’m gonna fill you up–!”

Those words and the added stimulation flood your body with overwhelming heat and you wail as you are thrown over the edge, gushing around his cock as he delivers one last powerful thrust before spilling into you with a choked moan.

His trembling body slumps over yours and he buries his head in your shoulder, gasping for air as your bodies continue to twitch with the aftershocks.

After a few moments pass, Scaramouche slowly peels himself away from you, his eyes darting away from your unintentionally open, loving gaze as he slowly slides out of you with a quiet grunt.

Sighing at the loss of him, you inelegantly scoot forward to hop off the table, squeezing your legs together to keep his cum from trickling down your legs.

He snatches the clothes from where they are strewn on the floor and puts his shorts back on before turning to you and holding out your panties and trousers with a blank expression.

Your face feels hot from embarrassment at how drastically his attitude has changed from just a few moments ago and you reach out to grab your clothing, eyes searching him for a sign of… anything, but finding him to be totally unreadable.

Mortified, you turn to the side and shake out your pants, the realization of what had just happened finally hitting you. You haven’t even fully undressed, too engrossed and desperate for each other that you just… went at it like animals in heat.

You don’t notice when he turns and goes to the desk in the corner to grab the box of tissues and bring it to you, clearing his throat as his eyes drift to where your combined fluids were beginning to slowly trickle down your inner thighs.

Flinching at being torn from your downward spiral of second-guessing everything that has happened within the past hour, you look up and slowly reach out to take the box from him, being careful to not brush your fingers together – you aren’t sure where his mind is at and you don’t want to scare him off by being clingy.

“Thank you,” you breathe, pulling his gaze back up to your face and flashing him a quick smile before you turn away to clean yourself up as much as you can.

He turns and walks over to stand in front of the window to give you privacy, which you find very amusing considering what you had just been doing, but you can’t help but watch him out of the corner of your eye as he crosses his arms and seemingly becomes lost in though, his hair mussed and his lips still flushed from the plethora of bruising kisses.

Finding him attractive obviously wasn’t a new development, but it suddenly hits you with the beam of sunlight shining in through the window that was illuminating him just how… beautiful he is.

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts and hurrying to pull your clothes back on, you take a deep breath and summon all the courage you possess.

He turns to look at you as you come to stand next to him, and you were hit once again by how pretty he is; the slope of his nose, his eyelashes, his–

“What are you looking at?” His voice, still a little rough from your activities, snaps you out of your admiration and you blink at him.

He’s staring at you with his brow raised, lips ever so slightly turned down.

“So pretty,” you whisper, eyes widening in panic when you realize that you’ve spoken your inner thoughts aloud.

Scaramouche blinks at you in disbelief, processing your words before letting out a short, humorless laugh.

“I can’t believe it, I actually fucked you dumb!” He snickers, but the smirk on his lips doesn’t reach his eyes.

You gape at him, mouth opening and closing as you try to figure out how to respond to his dismissive attitude.

He grasps your chin in his hand, making the decision of closing your mouth for you, and rolls his eyes.

Grabbing the hand holding your chin, you place soft kisses on his palm, staring into his eyes and pleading for him to understand how truthful you’re being.

Scowling, he wrenches his hand away from you, taking a step back and shaking his head.

“Scara, we need to talk ab–”

“Do we? I disagree,” he snaps, turning and stalking towards the door.

“Kunikuzushi,” you whisper in desperation, and he freezes in place as he’s reaching for the door handle.

“This whole situation started because I was avoiding you, and it made you angry and upset. And yet you’re about to go and do the exact same thing to me. How is that fair?” You demand, voice shaking from all of the emotions you’re trying to keep in check.

He slowly turns to face you, eyes narrowing.

“Life isn’t fair – what do you want from me?”

It’s like you’re talking to a different person, the man in front of you is not the man that railed you into oblivion and ruined you for all others just a minute ago. This man reminds you of a feral cat – suspicious, mistrustful, insecure…

Your hands are shaking, the anxiety over bearing your heart to him causing you to hesitate briefly.

“What do you want from me?” You snap back. “Is this what you wanted? Just a quick fuck? Is that really all I am to you? Some poor, pathetic sap who’s attention and affection makes you feel good about yourself?”

Scaramouche stood there staring at you, unmoving and unblinking, for what felt like ages.

“Okay, you know what – nevermind! You’re free to go, but honestly at this point I almost hope that you just never come back,” you scoff, eyes watering, throwing your hands up in the air and turning away so he can’t see you cry and so you don’t have to look at his stupid perfect face anymore.

All you hear is a faint whisper of fabric before he spins you around and cups your face in his hands, his mouth pressing a desperate, bruising kiss to your lips.

Gasping, you put your hands on his chest and shove him back, your embarrassment making you feel fragile and hostile.

“That isn’t an answer, Scara, and I’m not a mind reader so I can’t–”

“Everything,” he rasps, closing his eyes and nudging his forehead against yours.

“... what?” You furrow your brow, confused.

“You asked what I wanted from you. I answered. Everything. I want everything from you. I want you to be mine,” he whispers, warm breath brushing your lips when he follows up his statement with a shaking sigh.

Your bottom lip trembles as you try to keep your voice from cracking with emotion.

“If I am yours, then you have to be mine. I want everything from you, too. I want to kiss you, touch you, hold you, love you.”

He inhales shakily, opening his eyes.

“If you can’t tell that I’m already yours, that I’ve been yours since you aimed that fucking smile of yours towards me, then you’re an absolute fucking idiot.”

“It’s kind of hard to tell when you’re always so wishy-washy on whether you tolerate me or not, Scaramouche,” you respond, blinking at him innocently, his sudden reveal of his feelings giving you courage.

“What did I say about calling me that?” He growls, stepping closer to press himself against you.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir – is Kunikuzushi acceptable then?” You simper, mimicking his usual smirk to the best of your ability.

His eyes widen and his cheeks and ears flush a faint pink as he grumbles, dropping his arms to wrap them around your waist.

“Keep it up and I’ll have to drag you to your bedroom and teach you a lesson, brat,” he growls, pressing his mouth to your ear.

You turn your head to press a kiss to his neck, grinning uncontrollably now as you both shift seamlessly back into the dynamic that had been created when he had gotten settled in your group – the usual snarky banter and the easy affection you give him comforting after the unsureness that was present just now.

“Is that a threat or a promise? Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

He huffs and rolls his eyes, pulling away to grasp your arm and drag you out of the room.

“Wait, what–?” You stammer, following him gracelessly.

“It seems that I still have to teach you some fucking manners, slut.”

Glancing back at you as he leads you through the door, the look in his eyes and his smirk makes your face heat.

“But you’ll be a good girl and cooperate with me, won’t you?”

You swallow, overwhelmed with all of the filthy thoughts that run through your mind before you shake your head to ground yourself.

It had required a lot of vulnerability and a rollercoaster of emotions, but you finally know your feelings are reciprocated… and as you let him take you to your room you realized that Scaramouche was about to show you just how much in long, excruciatingly wonderful detail.

[dearestones]

By Any Necessary Means Part Two (Platonic! Yandere! L and Child! Reader)

Warnings: Yandere character, yandere behavior, implied stalking, implied murder. 

@maggiequinn59 Request: Hi ! Devin I love reading all your work and tips I apologize if this is redundant but can you please do a sequel to platonic L yandere and his adopted child reader where he goes after them as they are a young adult now and decides to take a more hands on approach as for the first time they meet face to face and the former adopted child learns who they are dealing with !?

Anyways if you are uncomfortable with doing it I understand but I would appreciate it I love your vision and style when I read your stories I feel everything come alive !!! 🎈❤❤

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It had been many years since you’ve last seen your strange benefactor. Ever since that day when you finally escaped from his clutches, you had stayed far away from things that reminded you of him. Hotels, especially the fanciest ones, were off the list of places you wanted to frequent. Expensive laptops and pastries from high end patisseries were also generally avoided. 

But most of all, you hated seeing any gothic letter L’s.

Fortunately for you, these sorts of things were easily avoidable. You had long since made your way in the world. While you were probably not as successful or as wealthy as you would have been had you stayed under your benefactor’s care, you thought yourself happier. After sneaking away that fateful day with only words dripping with aged vitriol as your last goodbye, you had endeavored to try your hardest to see your parents again. 

Unfortunately, your benefactor held more sway than what you had previously anticipated. 

You needed special documentation, permission from higher ups, and you would have to spend months—maybe even years—leaping through miles of bureaucratic red tape all in order for you to free your parents. If you had the funds, if you had an in…. The thought of going back to your benefactor plagued you, but you wanted to push forward on your own. If you went back to him… There was no telling when you could escape again. 

You did not want to spend hours locked inside of bland hotel rooms or staring into a blank screen that would only light up with his signature letter when it suited him. 

Seeing your parents again was your goal in the long run, but other priorities needed to be recognized first.

As much as you hated to admit it, there were some things that you learned from him that were useful. 

Form connections. 

Research and investigate solutions. 

Think creatively. 

Years into your endeavor, you managed to send a few letters into the high profile prison where your parents were left to rot. Unfortunately, it was rare for you to receive any sort of correspondence in return. Apparently, prisoners of their caliber weren’t permitted many allowances: even papers and crayons were cause for concern. At least, you thought with faint hope, your parents knew that you were out there looking for them.

If you could get letters safely to them, you could seek an audience with them.

If you could see them in person, you could plead for their release.

And once they were released… It would be foolhardy to believe that you could be a normal family again, but at the least you would serve justice in accordance with your ideals instead of aligning to your benefactor’s twisted sense of morality. 

One day, after having dropped off another letter to your person on the inside, you found yourself walking down the street away from your rendezvous point when you saw that there was a black car with tinted windows driving towards you. Years of having been chauffeured by the same old man from hotel to hotel, airport to airport, had instilled in you a sense of irritation. However, unlike when you were a child with no one to depend on except for a gothic letter L, you were frightened, but resigned to your fate. 

Had you been still smarting from the horror of learning that your benefactor had kidnapped you when you were younger and that he was no better than a human trafficker, maybe you would have instantly run. Maybe you would have already catalogued all available exits and safe houses within the city that you were staying in. Maybe. Maybe.

Maybe.

However, maybe’s weren’t something that you could entertain. 

You were older now and you had gained a sense of perspective on your situation. 

When the car rolled to a stop right beside you, the window to the frontmost passenger seat rolled down. Even if a century were to pass, you would never forget your benefactor’s main ally. Time had changed the old man’s face so that it was more weathered and wrinkly, yet that did nothing to dispel his distinguished, gentlemanly persona. Even the way he held the steering wheel was strong and steady, no sense of wavering that you would find among the aged folk. 

Whatever his name was, you did not have the slightest clue, but you did know that the way he smiled at you was practiced and fake. There was no way that the grandfatherly persona that he had played up to gain your sympathies years ago was nothing more than a script that your benefactor had him memorize. It had brought you comfort when you were younger, but as you patiently waited for him to make his move, disgust was the only thing that you could feel.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted you. As always, no matter what language he spoke, his voice was baritone and formal. Always the polite one no matter the situation. “I suppose you already know what to do?”

You shrugged.

“Very well. If you’ll please enter the vehicle.” He gestured towards the backseat and as your head turned, you saw that the door swung open. From your position, you may not have been able to see into the interior of the car, but you were already apprehensive over who or what you would find. “Please note that if you do attempt an act of violence against—”

You waved him off. 

“I get it.”

Swallowing hard, you stepped towards the opened car door, hesitation clear in your steps. Even though it was bright outside, you could have sworn that the inside was as dark as a crypt. Squinting did little to make things clear: you could only see the faint outline of a crouched figure. 

You kissed freedom goodbye and shut the car door. 

Now that you were inside, you were immediately greeted with the scent of pastries and well brewed coffee. To confirm your findings, you saw that piled high on the seat was an assortment of opened boxes from several high end cafes that you had seen in passing. You were no connoisseur, but even you knew that the vast assortment probably cost a small fortune—your benefactor never spared any expense when it came to personal goods. 

Speaking of your benefactor, on the seat closest to the window, you saw a man hunched over himself. He wore only a white long sleeved shirt and ratty jeans. Both articles of clothing looked like it had been washed and reused so many times, that the age was more than apparent in the frayed ends of the shirt’s hem and the jean’s faded coloration. His shoes, which he must have kicked off earlier, lay on the floor like dirty laundry, were faded and scuffed, the soles worn. 

But what was most interesting about this person was that not only was he hunched over the seat, it was that his hair looked like a matted mess. His locks were dark and wavy, greasy too if your observation was correct. If he had a hairdresser and a bottle of shampoo he would have passed as a normal human being, but he looked like a homeless person who had given up on any notion of personal hygiene. Discreetly, you tried sniffing again, and found that you could only smell powdered sugar and candied fruits. If he had any body odor, it was carefully masked by the sweets. 

“Is this how you greet the man who took care of you for so long?”

You flinched. 

It had been many years since you had last heard that horrid robotic voice droning from top of the line speakers. A part of you had prepared for the eventuality that you would see your benefactor again (more than likely against your will and in the form of a screen), but this was almost too much. Seeing a man in place of that stupid letter L was enough to rock your perspective askew. Gravity no longer tethered you to the ground and earth’s poles had reversed. 

Nothing made sense anymore.

You looked up from your perusal of his odd choice in clothing and immediately wished you hadn’t. Time and time again, you have heard the expression that “eyes are the windows to the soul”. Yet, when you glanced at his eyes (so dark and unfeeling), you knew that there was nothing underneath there. For a human being, his eyes were remarkably empty. Robotic. They were like pools of ink that only sought to reflect the world and nothing more. 

This man was more robot than the laptop that haunted your hotel room. 

You should have run when you had the chance. 

Ignoring his attempt to create guilt and establish himself as the “parent” in this situation, you asked, “What do you want?” You glanced at the piles of sweets and out the window. “I have nothing to offer you and you definitely don’t have anything to offer me.”

He cocked his head to the side, eyes wide and analytical. 

On any other person, his change in movement would have signalled curiosity. You knew better. This person who had stolen your life from you, who had wrongfully imprisoned your parents, was only playing a role and badly at that. 

“Your parents—”

You interrupted him before he could say something that would snag your attention and trap you again in this man’s twisted fantasy of family. After years of no contact and already he was trying to manipulate you. 

That was going too far and you weren’t having any of it.

“I’m going through the process to get them out. Legally.” You sent him a pointed look to which he merely allowed a facsimile of a smile break like glass on his face. Recoiling now would be a show of weakness, but it rankled you to pretend that this was fine, everything was fine, but this was all beyond your understanding or your control. “And before you say that the possibility of them getting out is almost zero, I at least know that I have done my part to be with them again.”

The man nodded, as if he knew that you would say that. A burst of irritation incited uncomfortable heat under your skin, but you bit back the urge for violence. The old man was still in the front and knowing how shady the both of them were, there was the very high likelihood that there was a firearm stored somewhere in the vehicle. 

“I commend you on your sense of justice, which is what I’ve come to talk to you about.” He stuck a thumb into the corner of his mouth. The skin on the tip of his thumb looked raw and red, chewed too many times if you wanted to guess. “Have you heard of Kira?”

Blanching, you nearly knocked yourself unconscious against the window. Seriously? This is what he wanted to talk about? Despite the fact that this “Kira Phenomenon” was more of an eastern serial killer, the entire world was paying attention. There had been reports of mass heart attacks in a few western countries, but were mostly centered around high profile prisons. It was only a matter of time before INTERPOL would interfere, but for now, you were sure that law enforcement around the world was wary for the next batch of criminals to die from what many deemed were acts of god.

Some god, you thought bitterly. The least that this Kira person could do was let your parents free.

Or kill the man who was daintily nipping at some dessert you had no interest in looking at for longer than you had.

“Of course.” You crossed your arms across your chest and glared at your benefactor. “What does that even matter? Did you orchestrate all of this to tell me that you’ll die soon? Something tells me that Kira won’t take too kindly to L trying to find out their identity.”

If your benefactor was shocked that you knew his true purpose in the world, he didn’t show it. He probably didn’t need to. If his strange nature and vocation were to go by, this strange man knew you better than you knew yourself. 

“Well, Kira kills criminals in high profile prisons. His main areas of activity have been centered only in the major populated cities of Japan, but it’s not unheard of to hear that he has struck in other countries.”

“And?” It wasn’t like it was news to you.

“Well, to draw Kira out and to track his methods, I and a few esteemed colleagues have agreed to allow a number of infamous criminals’ names and faces to be leaked. For some criminals, we only released names and others only pictures. For a few select, special—” Here his eyes seemed to glitter with… not quite pride, but he certainly wasn’t as unemotional as you had once thought he solely portrayed himself to be. Smug, he was smug at what he had done. “—participants in this experiment, we decided to leak both names and faces.”

Your brows furrowed, but your mind was already working overtime. 

Did this… Was he saying that…

“Par… Participants?” You scoffed and tried to look like you didn’t care, but that air of apprehension that plagued you since the start of this conversation continued to mount. Dread was pooling like tar in your gut; it clung to you like phlegm in your throat that you couldn’t cough out immediately. “Having participants means that you had people who were willing to be your guinea pigs.  I bet you leaked private information without any prior consent.”

Your benefactor shrugged, but the smug quality to his smile grew tenfold in both vibrancy and uncanniness. “Your parents were all too willing when I said that they would get to see you again if they complied.”

Your heart leapt to your throat and you had to remind yourself to not launch yourself at the man who held not only your life but also your parents’ lives in his hands. Patience, you told yourself. Don’t be too eager.

There’s a catch.

There has to be a catch.

“A-and?”

Slowly, the man’s pale, spidery fingers reached into his back pocket to retrieve a piece of paper. Creased and folded many times, you did not know the contents until you opened it. 

An address?

An address to—

“A mortuary…” Your voice came out in a hoarse whisper. Carefully, you looked up at your benefactor who continued to gaze at you placidly. What were you to him, really? A young child in need of guidance? Or were you a side character in a soap opera that refused to end? “Why are you giving me an address to a mortuary?”

Your benefactor bit at the skin on his thumb. “Oh, they died. Heart attacks if I read the report correctly.”

For some odd reason, you were having a hard time breathing. “The mortuary… Why the…”

“I wanted to give you the option of cremation or proper burial. There’s also the technicality of having a family member identify the bodies… but that doesn’t matter since you’re technically my family.” 

Cremation? Burial? 

The pieces were there and you already pieced it together, but you couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that… that… that…

Suddenly, your vision was overtaken by a blurry version of what you assumed was strawberry cheesecake. Without you knowing it, tears had welled in your eyes and were now spilling onto your cheeks. The hand that proffered the cheesecake did not waver when you did not respond. Instead, your benefactor placed it back in its rightful box before taking a bite out of something else. 

In an offhand tone, he continued, “Consider this a gift. For your anniversary.” His smile widened, beaming with wicked intent. It was like watching a wound grow from faintly unsettling into a gangrenous crevasse that could never heal. 

“This is a horrible gift… but for what anniversary?”

“Don’t you remember? When you left me all those years ago.” Again, he held out the cheesecake and this time, you had no choice but to grasp it with struggling hands. “Congratulations, by the way. Your attempts were laughable, but your tenacity has always been an enviable trait. At least you’ll see them again and we can put all of this behind us moving forward.”

.

.

.

[PART ONE] [PART TWO]

DISCLAIMER: I do not condone yandere behavior outside of fictional settings. Please don’t mistake the actions of fictional characters displayed in works of fiction to be considered harmless in real life.

If you want to donate a Ko-Fi, feel free https://ko-fi.com/devintrinidad.

DEATH NOTE MASTERLIST

[xcyphoz0a]

Fixing the pair

Gender neutral reader, fluff TW/CW: none iirc Character(s): The loml Liben my love Word count: 627 Proofread: n/a | When he’d break something, he’d always come to you for help, no matter how far you’d both be from each other. | A/N: :) another one @i23kazu

Being one of the top skilled ‘gadget fixers’ or so in Liyue, it was common for many people to flock over to your shop once it opened, people waiting in line to leave their broken items for you to fix.

Perhaps it was the help of your pyro vision that allowed you to have more proficiency when fixing things made of metal or iron, welding them with ease.

But this was the first time that someone with an eccentric aura and outfit with a handsome complexion come into your store, placing a pair of broken sunglasses as he’d ask you if you could fix the pair.

You would tilt your head in slight hesitance as you watch his–Liben, you learned– face turn into slight pead for your help as you’d sigh and nod, telling him to come back tomorrow.

And you were left with the broken sunglasses, as you looked at the four pieces of former eyewear on your counter table.

Turning the sign on your shop to ‘closed’, you take the items from the sunglasses to other items into the room hidden by a bookshelf, turning on the lights as you organised the easiest things to fix to the most difficult.

Spending from evening to next morning you’d find yourself finished with all of the commissioned items except for one– the sunglasses, broken in such an incredulous way which you couldn’t describe, the frame somehow bent into a near impossible way, the middle between the lenses dangling off barely by a string of glue, the lenses cracked– it seemed to be an easy task, but you didn’t want to ruin the accessory due to the lack of experience in fixing eyewear, especially in a state like these.

But before you could ponder more, the time ticked to tell you that it was time to open the store, as you’d leave and turn over the sign again to open, as you’d watch some people from yesterday rushing in to retrieve their items, thanking you hastily as they leave, and new people and some familiar faces come back to the store.

And with every item from yesterday being returned and new items being commissioned to be fixed, one item was left from yesterday– the glasses.

At least, you’d think, he hasn’t visited yet.

With the new time given you go back into the hidden work room, as you stare at the pieces of sunglasses, and formulating a sort of plan to get them fixed.

The frame was metal–you could easily heat it for malleability, and the lenses too, right?

As you sat down to start on the glasses, you weren’t able to hear the ringing of the door to the shop, as the purple themed man sat on one of your waiting chairs, waiting for you to enter the shop.

Some minutes pass by and you’re finally left with a better pair of sunglasses, finishing the lenses with a wipe of the cloth as you leave the room with the accessory, and you jump in startle as you see Liben on the chair, looking at you with the same shock.

The shock seems to subside when he comes towards the counter, as you bring out the pair of fixed sunglasses.

“I wasn’t really sure how to fix them, but I hope I did justice to it, Liben”

Fortunately, Liben flashes you a smile, “This is excellent! Looks same as new, thank you, (Y/n)!”

He shakes your hand firmly as you see him leave your store, and you look at your hand again.

You chuckle as you think that maybe it isn’t a bad idea if he continues to come back again, even with some atrocious statuses of some of his belongings that he needs you to fix.

[charlesandmartine]

Friday 3rd April 2024

We awoke in our Pretoria hotel room to the sounds of the city. All day long the minibus taxis operating like buses ply their route in and out of the grid system of roads tooting their horns indicating there are spaces aboard. People gather at what seems as spurious places and climb aboard with minimal or no apparent hailing of the vehicle.

We had our fill of the inclusive breakfast and some perhaps non-inclusive muffins which went down well at lunch. The people we've met have all been so nice, polite and interesting. Our little waiter this morning insisted that he couldn't serve us with an Americano coffee, but could manage an Africano!

The Southern Sun hotel we were guests at were very helpful and allowed us to check out later than usual at 13:00. This gave us time to go look some more at this lovely city. So we stepped out into the cacophony that is Africa walking a km or so down to Church Square; a good starting point to see what there is to see in Pretoria. We blended in well I'd say; Ray-Bans in place, big map in left hand, smelling of sun screen, bright teeshirt, shorts, oh and white. In the time we were out, we saw no other white people! Our incognito took us eventually to the Palace of Justice where Nelson Mandela was tried in 1963. Just to be sure of our facts we asked some crime prevention officers sitting outside the building if this was the Palace of Justice. They looked blank for a moment and gave the only safe answer they could think of, I don't know. We looked for the Tourist Information office which according to the map and endorsed by the big brown sign should be in the corner of Church Square. A helpful chap suggested we try the big building behind us. Once more we were met with total astonishment at such a suggestion that there was a TI anywhere in the vicinity. So we folded the map up and made our way back towards the hotel. We watched a little band of what seemed to be blind street performers doing the African singing bit. We dug deep into the remaining pile of Rand notes that probably collectively amounted to fifty two and a half pence, and gregariously chucked some in the waiting pot enjoying the extremely jolly rhythmic singing. Next I find myself in the place I had earlier successfully avoided having my shoes cleaned and polished. Without warning my left shoe suddenly was engulfed in white foam perpetrated by a very helpful fellow carrying a can of spray polish. Now what options do you have when one shoe has all the attributes of a snow ball and the other retains the hue of the dusty outback. The process had to continue and the fellow appeared quite satisfied with the result, at least until I proffered some more of this toy money they have here. Too small he said despite the fact that his labour had been unsolicited. We came to a common understanding as I exercised my sparkling shoes quickly down the road in the general direction of the hotel. What an enjoyable taste of Africa!

ps Yesterday when we arrived at our hotel we sat outside by the pool and could not help overhearing a very long instructional call a 'Life Coach' was making to a client. He explained that he was extremely excited and passionate about being part of this person's journey as he transitions from being a man to a woman and to help shape their vision regarding how they saw themselves in five years time and what sort of man they might be looking for, but all that starts from within themselves! He went on and on and on and there were times I couldn't quite hear it all as I searched for a bucket! He did also mention his book quite a few times throughout the conversation.

pps We positioned ourselves by the pool again hoping we would receive some more essential information from the 'Life Coach'. Sadly he wasn't here today so lesson two will be missing from my portfolio.

ppps Just spoken to Phil Spencer in Johannesburg airport. We complimented him on his excellent program.

[mortumslab]

Remembering to be Human - Chapter 6

Next chapter! As always, feedback and comments are appreciated!

(tw: violence, suicidal ideation)

You startle to consciousness. No dreams. Odd. Your head hurts. Your vision is dazed. No. Not dazed. Missing. The Rat King informs you that you were knocked out. Someone must have snuck up on you while you beat Jake into submission. Jake. Nocturne. Hollow Ground. Panic. Where are you? Were you captured? Fear courses through you. Not again. Not again.

“Hey!” A voice cuts through your panic. Heart still ricocheting off your ribs, you extend your senses. There are three others with you in some sort of vehicle, based on the movement under you. Nocturne probably caught you in her eyesight before you went unconscious. Whoever hit you did a number on you, though. Probably a Ranger, as the other big hitter was under you.

The person who spoke seems to be an LDPD officer. His name is unimportant, but he’s worried about the four criminals he has in his armored vehicle. He doesn’t know the older woman, but the other two are highly suspected to be working for Hollow Ground. If the kingpin actually exists. He knows the last one very well. A new and very, very unknown villain. Heartbreak. He’s afraid of Heartbreak. Afraid of you.

“Officer.” Your voice modulator makes the word sound harrowing. “I assume you’re taking us to Ranger HQ.” Yes. He doesn’t say it, but he thinks it.

“Nocturne. Would you mind giving me my vision back?” You know she’s conscious and in front of you. They placed the three of them across from you. Apparently noting that there was a confrontation before they got there. Trouble in villainy paradise. 

“Go fuck yourself.” 

“Pleasant.” You subtly probe her mind. She’s not actively maintaining the effect, and you know from your research that it will end after a time. “Is Manalo alive?” You know he is, but you shouldn’t know that.

“Barely. Herald cold-clocked you before you could kill him.” So that’s who got you. It was a good hit. You wish it had killed you. Don’t.

“Good. He should face proper justice as well.” You say this without a hint of irony. You know you’re also outside the law. Unless the Rangers have betrayed you. Don’t think about that. They didn’t before, and they won’t now.

“You’re here too, you know.” Hollow Ground finally speaks. She sounds nervous, but she’s maintaining her composure well. 

“So I am. Should be good fun escaping.” Having beaten the Rangers before makes you a threat. To heroes and villains alike. Your confidence is warranted. Though you hope it won’t be necessary. You feel the fear spike in the LDPD officer. Good. They should be afraid. Unfettered by the chains of the police, your plans might truly come to fruition.

“Did you call the Rangers?” Nocturne sounds like she’s to your right. Jake must be unconscious next to the divider of the cabin. Incapacitating Hollow Ground’s right-hand man feels good. Really good. You were laughing. 

“Did you?” Nocturne asks again. You rouse yourself from your musings.

“Sorry, I was thinking about how good it felt to break Jake’s nose.” You smile, thankful your helmet is still on. Arya is not this confident. Heartbreak is. “And no, I did not. I want to joy of hospitalizing you, not Charge.” You try to put some venom in the last bit. It seems to work.

“Psychopath.” Nocturne mumbles. “You should have taken our deal. Or at least killed us when you didn’t.” 

“Killing you doesn’t fix anything. Wouldn’t be the first time Hollow Ground has died anyways, right?” You’re not supposed to know that, and you can sense a wave of anxiety shooting through the kingpin and her lover. 

“What do you mean?” Hollow Ground asks. She’s not a fighter. She relies far too heavily on her telepathy. Something the Farm tried to force you to do. You made this choice.

“Regardless, I’m a wanted man. It would be imprudent to get caught. Not to mention you saw Herald clock me. I was too busy brutalizing your man there.” You don’t answer her question. Heartbreak doesn’t follow rules. She doesn’t like rules. The rules put people like Hollow Ground in power. Like Mayor Alvarez. Like the LDPD. Rules are meant to be obliterated. Weak people answer Hollow Ground. You don’t.

“Well, are you going to leave us to them?” Hollow Ground seems anxious about being brought to Ranger HQ. Good.

“I don’t expect to leave you. I want to make sure you’re treated like the criminals you are. Not the monarch you pretend to be.” There is venom in your voice. Good. Get angry. “In fact, the moment I’m able to see and out of these manacles, I will help make sure no one can recognize your pretty face.”

“Good luck with that in the Ranger compound.” Hollow Ground sounds more confident now. What is her game? She was captured easily. Far easier than she should have been. Paranoia has gotten you this far. Someone like Hollow Ground would not allow you to stroll into her compound in your armor without a contingency plan. This isn’t good. You need to warn the Rangers.

You tell Rat King to send a message to Julia to tell her to be on the lookout. You don’t like how easily the kingpin lets herself be caught and captured. The Rat King chitters in your mind. You tell them it is okay to say you love her. Saps, the both of them. He chitters in your mind again. Julia is aware of the suspicious nature of the capture. They’re securing all prisoners and contraband. The kind you stole.

“Alright, freaks!” The LDPD officer gets out of the vehicle. His partner exits as well. You’re starting to get your vision back. You see the door to the vehicle open, and the officer goes for you first. You let him remove your ankle brace and let him lead you out of the armored van. Sure enough, you’re at Ranger HQ. The prisoner transport side. You never knew where the prisoners were kept here. 

You see other Ranger staff exit the building and begin to unrestrain the others. Where are they going to take you? Who else is being held here? You might be able to do some information gathering. You know Psychopathor was taken by the Directive, but taken where? He was always one to have good snippets of rumors. Mia Ochoa had interviewed him before. 

You’re led into the rear entrance of the building and to an open elevator labeled “Holding.” The elevator begins to descend, and you get a pang of fear. 

No, this isn’t the Farm. You will be okay. Julia will save you. This is going according to plan. 

You expect to be held here overnight and probably allowed to escape. You have yet to be stripped of your armor. You won’t let that happen. You’ll have to ask for forgiveness for any Ranger bones you break. No one will strip you again. No one. 

The elevator comes to a rest a few moments later. The holding chamber has around six cells, three on either side. There is an administrative desk before the first row. You’re pushed roughly into the first cell. You can tell there are two other minds here. One you don’t know. A low-level villain and… Psychopathor. You had no idea he was here. The villain is one of Los Diabolos’ most feared. Simply an unstoppable titan of mods, muscle, and madness. Though a regulated madness, according to his mind.

You will need to arrange a meeting. Maybe out of the suit. You need to be on alert for any plots by Hollow Ground. Except. Shit. You hear commotion through the communicator on the holding cell guard. It seems like the kingpin won’t be going quietly. 

A few minutes pass, and several people enter the holding room. Charge, Herald, a barely recognizable Jake Manalo, Nocturne, and… Argent. No one else. Charge looks vicious. From the minds of the others who had just entered, chaos broke out as two unknown boosts killed the LDPD transit officers and left with Hollow Ground, leaving her two lieutenants behind. Nocturne is not happy. Manalo is barely holding onto consciousness. Steel went to pursue the boosts, but you know he’s not going to catch them. You’ll still get your mark it seems. 

The other two are tossed into the cell across from you. You avoid eye contact with Nocturne. Not doing that again. Fuck. The uncomfortably familiar weighted blanket settles around your mind. Dampeners. With nothing to be done, you take a seat. You can’t penetrate the holding cells. In fact, you’re no longer able to sense anything past your cell. 

No. No. No. Not again. You will not be restrained. 

Charge and the other Rangers walk by. No one but Charge meets your eye. She gives you the faintest of smiles. Maybe you haven’t been betrayed. It feels like it. But you’re going to give her the benefit of the doubt. You still have your nanovores. Take the time now to get your information and then escape. Hopefully, the Rangers will make a half-hearted attempt to stop you. Or maybe they won’t. You don’t want to hurt them again. You hope you can contain your fear. If you lose it again. You might kill one of them. You know you will. You almost… you almost killed Julia. 

Calm.

Calm down. 

You’re Arya. 

Remember. Be. Human. 

Not Human. Re-Gene. 

Human. Human. 

Get out of your head.

You need to distract yourself. Might as well get some information while you’re here.

“Hey, Psychopathor… Kurt.” You use his first name. You know it might get a better response. 

“Hey, Heartbreak… No-name.” Ah. Good to see the midwesterner still has his humor. 

“They treating you okay down here?” 

“Well. The cells are reinforced. And my mods are disabled. But otherwise, I am alive.” He pauses. “Why do you care? Last I hear, you’re taking on villains more than heroes.” 

“I’m taking on those in power. The city runs on villainy. Can’t help they’re in my way.”

“Very well. I appreciate a driven person.”

“We need to talk. I hear the Directive did a number on you.” 

A growl. Sore spot. “Doubt the Rangers will let you.” Then he goes silent again.

The elevator sounds again. Charge appears at your cell. She looks serious. You hope this is an act. 

“You’re up first, Heartbreak.”

“Officer, I’m guilty; why don’t you use the restraints.” You try humor to mask your nervousness. Heartbreak is a flirt, after all.

Charge looks like she buffers for a moment. “We do not have time for games, villain.” 

“Oh, of course we do. You have half of Los Diabolos’ A-listers locked up in here. Who else is going to cause trouble?” Charge unlocks the door, takes out a pair of restraints, and closes them tightly over your armored wrists. 

That was a mistake. You don't even have time to acknowledge the panic attack before it overwhelms you. 

No. No. Restrained. 

Never again. Not going back. 

you won't. no. never.

Darkness. 

The Farm. You've escaped again. You're in Los Diabolos. 

The city looks the same. 

You're not the same. 

Broken. Dismissed. Forgotten. 

Ortega forgot about you. She never came for you.  She moved on. 

You're unwanted. Angry. You're so angry. 

You'll show them. You'll make them pay. 

[seasons-beatings]

Happy holidays, @keeper-of-all-the-random-things!

From your gifter: A Season's Beatings story for @keeper-of-all-the-random-things ! I did some research on Thomas and Sam as best as I can, and I hope I did them justice! I hope you enjoy your gift!

TWs: Kidnapping, restraints, blood, knives, gun

Two years. It had been two years since the Agency was killed. Two years since Sam and Thomas escaped from their clutches. Who knew that time passed by so quickly? Either way, Sam was glad that it was all over, and that he was home.

When he returned home, he had to make up stories about what had happened. He didn't want his friends and family to wonder where he got those wounds from; the Agency was dead anyway, and he had promised Thomas to keep what happened a secret so as not to alert the authorities.

"I fell down the stairs."

"I cut myself cooking."

He was glad that his friends and family believed him. Otherwise, things would have gotten worse, for himself and for Thomas. Besides, he didn't want to worry them.

Thomas had disappeared entirely once Sam was returned home. When Sam asked if they would meet again, Thomas shrugged before they said their goodbyes. Seeing the green van driving away until it disappeared from Sam's sight made him frown. Even though they only knew each other for a short time, Sam grew to like the other man. But alas, after what happened, it would be best to say their farewells. He hoped that Thomas had a good life, now that the Agency was no longer around. And he was sure that—even though he didn't say it out loud—that Thomas wished the same for him.

Now, Sam left his home to go out for a walk—a routine he picked up since he was home. However, instead of simply leaving, he took his butterfly knife with him, hidden in his jeans pocket. Ever since the Agency kidnapped him two years ago, Sam wanted to make sure that he was indeed safe. He didn't explain to his friends and family why he bought himself that knife—it would be better if they didn't know.

He hummed as he continued his walk, the autumn breeze making him shiver somewhat despite his coat. He was lost in his thoughts as he continued forward.

Thomas… he wondered how he was doing. Did he get himself a job? Was he still where he was? Sam wasn't sure. But one thing was for sure—he was safe at least. Especially now that the Agency was long dead.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice a mysterious van pulling up by him, not even the quiet crunching of the pavement broke him out of his thoughts. It wasn't until he heard the door opening when he turned his head.

One person—a familiar-looking one, no less—jumped out from the van and rushed towards Sam. In their hand was a knife, covered in what appeared to be red. Blood, perhaps?

Sam yelped, his heart pounding in his chest, and his hand in his jeans pocket to dig out his knife. Before he could even take it out to defend himself, two strong arms grabbed him from behind and placed a sweet-smelling cloth over his nose and mouth. Sam gasped, his gasp muffled as he struggled and writhed against the arms. His eyes were on the person with the knife in front of him, their face cold and stoic. They held up the knife, placing it on Sam's neck.

"Try anything," they growled. "And I'll kill you before you get to meet him again."

Him…?

Sam didn't get the chance to register in his mind what they meant, as the chloroform took its toll on him. His eyes fluttered shut, and darkness took him.

——————————————————————————

Sam wasn't sure how long he was knocked out. He groaned, his head pounding as he began to wake up. His vision blurred—all he could see was grey around him. He blinked, trying to adjust his sight. It was successful, as his vision cleared. He was in some sort of building—a warehouse, perhaps? Or an actual house—with no furniture besides a window to his side. The sun's bright rays shone on Sam; either it was still the same day or that a day or so had passed.

It took him longer, however, to realize that he was in a steel chair, his hands bound with handcuffs behind it. His feet had suffered the same fate, as they were handcuffed to the chair's legs.

You've gotta be kidding…

Sam's heart began to race, his thoughts returning at the realization: he was kidnapped. Again.

The question was: by who? The Agency was long dead. It was impossible for them to return. Was it someone who wanted to hold him for ransom? Or worse?

"So," a familiar voice to his right spoke, "you're here too, huh?"

Sam turned his head so fast, he could have sworn he would have broken his neck. When he saw who spoke, his eyes widened, surprised and shocked at who it was.

Thomas. He was bound in a similar position as Sam, except that there was a long chain tied around his torso and to the steel chair. Likely as a precaution? What alarmed Sam the most, however, was the large, bloody gashes on Thomas' torso and chest. Blood dripped down from his wounds, but Thomas kept his stoic, albeit annoyed face on.

"Thomas?" Sam questioned. "What are you doing here? What happened?"

"I've been kidnapped like you," Thomas whispered urgently with a sigh. "Stedman… she's somehow alive. And she's after us."

"Wh-what?" Sam murmured, his heart stuttering harder now. Stedman… she was still alive? How? Thomas said that the Agency—including her—were dead. How was this possible?

"Didn't you—"

"I thought I did," Thomas interrupted. "Seems like she's sturdier than I thought. Dammit, I should have broken her neck when I had the chance."

"No," Sam piped up. "It's okay. For now, we need to find a way out. I don't know how long until Stedman will come back but—"

"Neither of you are going anywhere. Especially you, Samuel."

Sam froze at the third, cold and hardened voice in the room. Both of them turned their heads to see none other than Stedman entering the room, her nails broken and with disheveled hair. Bags were under her eyes, as if she hadn't slept in days, but the cold stare remained. With her was an unknown person with red hair and dark eyes—likely someone she recruited after the Agency was dead, since Sam didn't recognize them at all from two years ago. Stedman's face was cold—but Sam could see the anger in her eyes as she approached. In her hand was a long, sharp knife that was so rusty, Sam mistook it for a scalpel for a moment; the same knife that was used on Thomas, apparently.

"What are you gonna do to us?" Sam gulped, hiding his fear by trying to keep his voice as best as he could. His hands shook from behind him, as he tried to hide his short breaths. Goddammit, he'd give He didn't want to see her again.

"I'm here for my revenge on both of you," Stedman growled, turning her head to glance at Thomas for a moment. Thomas only glared at her, the only thing he managed to do before she broke eye contact from him to face Sam. "You, Samuel, destroyed my Agency, and my life. If you had cooperated with us and got rid of him…" she gestured at Thomas, who rolled his eyes at her. "You wouldn't be here!"

"I couldn't just destroy him!" Sam yelled, "I have never killed anyone in my life!"

"Shut up!" Stedman growled out. Before Sam knew it, the knife sliced his chest, and he gasped in surprise and pain, and he felt dizzy for a moment as he recoiled from the pain. Blood dripped down his chest from the newly formed wound, as he stared up at Stedman with terrified eyes.

"Now," Stedman began, walking away from Sam. Sam raised a brow as she approached the thrashing Thomas, before she began to unlock the chains binding him to the chair. Thomas also had the same confusion, judging by his raised eyebrow. That was, until Stedman shoved the bloodied knife to his hands.

"You," Stedman commanded, before pointing at Sam, which the realization hit him like a brick wall. His blood ran cold and his eyes widened. "Hurt him. If you don't, I'll kill you."

Sam's heart pounded in his chest, sweat beading down his face. However, he couldn't help but let out a quick hiss, "What, too much of a coward to do the dirty work?" He knew that things would get worse for saying that despite himself, but he wouldn't let his captors think they had broken him.

"I said shush!" Stedman yelled. She whipped towards Thomas, before shoving him towards Sam. Apparently, Thomas had been bound for quite a while, due to his wrists looking a bit bruised, as he stumbled towards Sam, nearly falling over. Thomas glared back at Stedman, before turning back to Sam.

"Cut him," Stedman ordered, "cut his chest."

Sam stared up at Thomas, his heart continuing to pound in his chest as sweat continued to bead down his face. His eyes had a pleading look towards him. Was Thomas going to do this? He knew that they weren't close, but…

He didn't see the slash coming. The wound on his chest grew bigger from the new cut, and Sam choked on air as he cried out in shock and pain. He glanced up at Thomas once more, unable to hide the look of utter betrayal in his eyes. Thomas shook his head, frowning. His way of an apology to him.

The blood on the knife's edge dripped down to the cold floor, tainting the gray tiles red.

Stedman didn't react when Thomas slashed Sam. Not even a smile formed on her face. Instead, she commanded again, "His leg next."

Thomas rolled his eyes at her, and Sam once again felt warm sweat beading down his face. He shivered. He tried to curl into a ball to no avail thanks to his bonds, but his limbs tried to do so anyway.

"Thomas," Sam croaked, trying to hide his wavering voice, "I—"

Thomas said nothing as he sliced Sam's left leg. Sam bit his lip so hard, he could have sworn he felt a drop of blood trickle down his chin. He winced, as the new cut began to burn with a raging fury.

Thomas' face was stone cold, as if he wasn't bothered by this situation at all. But Sam knew—he knew since Thomas protected him two years ago—that Thomas didn't want this at all. He didn't want to hurt Sam. Right? He was someone innocent who was dragged into this mess.

"His arm," Stedman ordered once more.

Thomas turned his head to face her, a glare on his face and his teeth locked in a snarl.

"Damn you," Thomas growled.

"Do as I say…" Stedman casually threatened, holding out a hand for the stranger who helped take the two men here. The stranger approached her, and handed her something neither man could see. That was, until they both heard the telltale sound of a gun being loaded.

Sam's heart pounded faster. Oh God, was she going to shoot them here?

"...Or I'll kill you both." Stedman finally finished, pointing the gun directly at Sam first.

"You'll kill us anyway," Sam piped up, the fear in his voice as he gulped down a lump in his throat. "Why are you doing this to us?!"

"I want you both to suffer!" Stedman yelled, her teeth gnashing together in anger as her gun was aimed right at Sam's head. "For everything you two have done, I want you to suffer, just like how you hurt me."

"We didn't—I didn't—" Sam tried to protest.

"Tommy," Stedman ordered, her tone firm and hard, "His. Arm."

Thomas didn't need to be told twice. He turned and slashed Sam's arm, leaving behind a deep cut. Sam cried out in pain, weakly struggling against his bonds. The pain was starting to be too much, and Sam wanted it to end, he wanted to go home and live his life, not this.

"And now," Stedman began, her glare intensifying at Sam. "Stab his chest."

"What?!" Sam cried. Oh God… if Thomas stabbed him there, with his deep gashes no less, that meant… oh God, Sam would die.

Thomas wouldn't do that. Right? They weren't friends, sure, but Thomas wouldn't have the heart to kill someone like Sam.

"Tommy," Stedman growled, stepping closer, her gun still aimed at Sam's head.. "Now."

Thomas sighed, shaking his head, before he faced a frightened Sam. He held up the knife, and Sam couldn't help but see the knife glistening in the sun's rays, the blood dripping down from the tip. Sam could only look at the weapon, his heart stuttering faster and harder, like an engine about to give uo. Oh God. Was this it?

He would never see his family and friends again when this happened.

He would never get his career.

He would never succeed in life.

And all of it would be cut short in this dingy building, wherever it was. And what of his body? Would anyone find it once this was over?

Thomas didn't bring the knife down for a moment—Sam barely missed Thomas' mouth moving, but nothing came out.

"Pretend you're dead." Thomas mouthed. But before Sam could register what he meant, he felt the stabbing pain in his chest, as his breath gave out and he began to cough and choke on his blood. Blood sputtered, as the knife plunged into his chest. Before he passed out from the pain, the last thing he felt was the knife being pulled out from his chest.

And the last thing he heard were the screams and yells from Thomas.

——————————————————————————

"...on. Hey, get up."

Sam groaned, and it felt like pain exploded everywhere in his body. What…just happened? He wasn't sure. All he remembered was Thomas stabbing him and—

"Come on," a voice called from what sounded like far away, "wake up. We need to go."

Sam's eyes fluttered open, and the first thing he saw was Thomas hovering over him, a piece of his shirt missing. The smell of blood wafted through the air, and Sam nearly gagged at the overwhelming coppery smell.

Wait. Was he… alive?

"Thomas…?" Sam questioned, his throat dry from all his screaming earlier. "What just—"

"Stedman and that guy… they're dead," Thomas interrupted. "We're safe now. You're safe."

Sam's heart slowed to a reasonable pace, as he sighed in relief. Stedman and her goon were gone. They were both alive and safe. Oh thank God. And while Sam felt betrayed by Thomas, even if he was coerced, he couldn't blame him; he would die if he didn't do what Stedman made him do.

Sam glanced down at himself, and his eyes widened at seeing how much blood he was losing. But on his chest was a piece of Thomas' white, thick shirt, the blood seeping through the soft fabric.

"Come on," Thomas said, picking Sam up bridal style. "We need to go. There's a hospital nearby, so we need to get there to help you."

Sam sighed in relief as Thomas carried him away from what he now realized was an abandoned warehouse from the edge of town, surprisingly in good condition. He wanted to fall asleep, but Thomas' insistence forced him to stay awake. Yes, he couldn't sleep now. He was out of there, alive and safe.

After Thomas placed Sam in the backseat of the familiar green van, he hopped in the driver's seat and drove off with Sam in tow.

Silence reigned in the air, with only the muffled radio playing from its speakers. Sam wasn't sure what to say to Thomas. A thank you? A joke? Maybe something mundane?

Thomas finally broke the silence with a, "...Sorry."

Sam perked up at the apology, but shook his head. "It's okay. You didn't have a choice. You're fine."

Sam couldn't see it, but a smile formed on Thomas' face at Sam's response. Silence filled the air once again, but Sam didn't mind one bit.

This nightmare was finally over, and he was glad that he was far away from being the Chosen One.

[seldomscilence16]

Whumptober day 6:

"Do or die, you'll never make me, because the world will never take my heart."

Recording | made to watch | "it should have been me"

Fandom: Voltron (Canon Divergence? Altered Universe? AU?)

Prompts used: All

This is not the continuation! I didn't know I was gonna do a cont. When I made my list, and I just think the prompts are better on the other day I chose so apologies. Anywho, these are like, classic tropes so lets hope I can do it justice! Its longer I think, I went a little wild, and as always apparently, the timeline is wibbly wobbly… so yeah. 

TW for torture! 

…

Lance is almost positive his life is a cosmic joke or something. 

There is absolutely no way, his luck is this bad, by accident. There's no way. There has to be some being out there with his voodoo doll, just going fricken ham. In space must just have gotten him closer and put the being in some angry mode, because these life and death situations are driving him insane. 

But this time there's a kicker, it's not just his life in danger, but they've taken the whole team, with the Castle- and the Alteans- nowhere in sight. Lance- if he has to, he's been dealing with it long enough he supposed- can handle anything towards him, but bring in the people he cares about and well, you've signed your death wish. 

He couldn't even tell you exactly what happened, one minute they're exploring a planet, and the next he's waking up strapped to a table, a screen of sorts showing the unconscious faces of his four teammates, trapped somewhere else. He knew this was a Quiznaking stupidly dangerous situation, and that whatever was to come was gonna suck. 

As he shuffles against his bindings and takes in what he can see of the room, the door opens as the faces on the screen begin to stir and Lance tenses up, face going carefully blank. 

"It's as I thought, your stamina is higher than the others." It's a strange opening line, but Lance can roll with it, just don't let the team know this is affecting him and maybe they'll get out of this. The alien- not a Galra- is tall and lanky, with five arms- though three of them are resting behind his back in a casual stance- and goggle covering where Lance assumes his eyes are, his mouth splits his face. 

"Thanks for noticing! Yeah I run-"

"Hmm, specimen appears to be too confident still despite his many failures." It's said like Lance isn't intelligent enough to converse, and yet with enough disgust to state his disdain for him. Which, rude. 

"Rude, if you think so little of me why the quiznack did you kidnap us?" Out of the corner of his eye he watches the lips of his team move, obviously trying to get their captors attention- or telling Lance to shut up, which is usually the case. 

"Specimen Blue's memory seems to be lacking as well, further tests required." He comes to stand beside Lance's table, the screen just to the right of his shoulder, the team can probably see most of the room, but at the least all of Lance and whatever this guy plans to do. "Test number one." 

He holds up a hand, 3 of eight finger like appendages held up, before the arm disappears behind his back again. Lance wonders how dumb this guy thinks he is, but before he can open his mouth, another of his hands swings so quickly it's a blur even to Lance's eyes, and brings a tool down hard on Lance's hand. He bites his tongue, metallic taste filling his mouth, his back arches and only a cut off groan escapes. He can barely make out the faces of his team, but he can't focus on that when the Alien brings the tool down again. Lance's vision spots with how hard he works to keep quiet, but he refuses to show any more weakness, dangit.

"Well Specimen Blue?" 

It takes Lance a moment to recall what he wants, another to wonder why he should humor him, and another still to work around his bleeding buzzing tongue. 

"Three, you mierda cabeza." He gives a bloody grin, just holding himself back from spitting on the guy. He refuses to look at his hand. 

"Hm. So the Specimen simply refuses to admit to its wrongdoing. It seems to think me unintelligent, or forgetful of its failures. I will have to remind Specimen Blue, to ensure he knows his place." He turns from the table, and Lance is able to idly wonder if he's actually recording notes or not. 

His eyes find the screen again, his team is staring intently and he thinks he actually sees worry. He offers his best reassuring smile before he has to return his attention to the alien. His back is turned to Lance as he fiddles with whatever's on the floating table he's dragged closer. He's really giving off (mad) scientist vibes, and Lance realizes that this is ironically what most humans think of aliens and their interactions with humans and of course what goes on in area 51 and such. Let's just hope there's no vivisections.

"So Specimen Blue, am I to assume you don't recall the life you took? Is it of too little value for your puny brain?" Lance's eyebrows furrow at this accusation, for he remembers every life he's had to take. And every life he couldn't save. "Perhaps this will remind it." 

He turns around and bile rises in Lance's throat. On the table is a severed arm curved around the burned crisp of the remains of what looks to be a child. Lance's eyes burn, stomach churns, heart aches, but he has never seen this race of aliens before. They had not been to a planet with them, he's almost positive, and he would have remembered the death of a child. They are the hardest for him to bear. 

"Do you recall now Specimen Blue?" He caresses the charred remains and Lance swallows thickly.

"I'm sorry for your loss, but I did not take their life." His voice is steadier than he feels, though his tongue is still thick. The alien sighs, shaking his head in disappointment.

"It seems the Specimen is duller than I'd observed. Its heart will need to be examined after further tests of its brain functionality." 

"I don't know who you think I am, but I'm telling you, I did not kill that child! I'd be more than happy to track down who did dude, but this is gonna get you nowhere!" 

"I will make you remember, I will make you regret, I will make you pay, I will make you tell me who your accomplice was, and I will make you suffer as you watch them die before giving you the slowest death I can manage. Because vermin like you don't deserve to live." It's the most emotion he's heard from the scientist, but the only thing Lance takes from it is the threat to his friends. This guy is crazy, they'd need time and luck to get out of this, and Lance would do his best to give them that. His face hardens as he levels a hard stare at the alien,

"You're crazy. Give it your best shot." 

Do or Die. That's how Lance grew up. Every moment was a fight. Space had only solidified that, as it tried to wear Lance down, to force him to give up, but Lance was stubborn to his core. So many had tried, but no one could ever make him do something he didn't want to do, his heart led him, and it could not be taken. This guy could do whatever he wanted, but so long as he could keep the team safe? This guy would get nothing from him.

"Specimen persists. Test 2 commencing." 

Shiro flinches as Lance's back arches again, though his eyes never stray from the screen, if Lance had to endure then the least Shiro could do was watch and be there as best he could. The others were in similar states, eyes glued to the screen despite the twisting it caused their guts. They were great multitaskers however, each of them doing their own thing to try and escape their restraints. Shiro was honestly a little impressed that this guy had not only captured them, but managed to keep them bound this long. 

A cut off yell reaches their ears and Shiro winces as Lance bites a hole in his lip to keep the noise down. Shiro hates it, he knows what Lance is doing, how every moment he should be resting is spent sending reassuring looks towards the team, like he isn't being tortured before their eyes. Lance's hand is a mangled mess of broken bones, his bare chest is now a myriad of bruises and pinpricks from the electric rod. Blood is bubbling down from his shoulder and collar bone from precise cuts. And yet that cut off yell is the closest he's gotten to a scream.

Shiro doesn't know what he'd prefer, the sound of Lances screams forever haunting him, or these images of bloody lips and smiles as he holds it all in. He hates both options. 

Keith growls beside him, straining against his binding hard enough the raw skin beneath has begun to bleed, not that he seems to care- none of them do, it is nothing compared to Lance's injuries.

"That," he growls the next word so roughly Shiro can't even tell which expletive he used, "better pray I don't get my hands on him!" 

"You'd have to reach him before me." Pidge and Hunk speak in unison, Pidges glower never leaves the screen, and despite Hunks pallor, his eyes focus on Lance. The only time the two pairs stray, is to glance at a possible tool for their escape. Though Hunks straining muscles seem close to bursting through the restraints already. 

"Do any of you recognize this guy? There's gotta be a reason he took us." Shiro's galra arm is hot, but the restraints are holding up far too well, still he doesn't stop. 

"No. He's not a race we've come across yet." Pidge answers immediately.

"Five arms, Eight fingers on each hand, tall, large mouthed, small head, does not match any I remember." Hunk confirms, flinching as another cut is added to Lance's chest. 

"Six arms, ones on that table." Keith corrects through gritted teeth. 

"No, there's no signs suggesting another arm. And those… remains… have to be semi-recent, so there would be something. Plus, how does one arm get scorched but nothing else harmed?" Pidge has obviously been dissecting- bad choice of word- what she can of the scene before them, gathering as much info as she can. 

"But he said 'Life you took', why wouldn't he include whoever the arm belonged to?" Keith is only a third invested in the conversation, eyes watching the Aliens every move, and body continuing its struggle. 

"Cause he's a demented Quiznacker that enjoys torturing people? I don't know Keith, I'll ask him when my bayards down his throat! Aha!!" She wriggles a free wrist triumphantly, though keeps it low in case the Alien happens to glance over, though he hadn't yet.

It is short lived however, as a scream fills the space. Their eyes fly back to the screen, where Lance is trembling and straining against his bindings, a needle being pulled from his neck as he continues to scream himself hoarse. 

"Just tell me who your accomplice was, and we can hurry along to your deaths." The alien placates, looking far too pleased with Lance's pain. Whatever had been injected must be agony, they can see it in every fiber of Lance's being, how he tries to close his mouth, to bite back the scream, but can't. Tears are leaking down his face, but he manages to shake his head and even choke out a 'never' in his next yell. 

The scientist 'tsks', like Lance is a disobedient child, and Shiro's Galra arm seems to burn hotter as it finally breaks through the material holding it down. He didn't know where Lance was, but he'd find him dammit, he shouldn't be in there in the first place. Shiro was their leader, their former teacher, and most of all, this was his family, and he would not let this slide. 

"It seems Specimen Blue is a failure in all ways. I will have to move on, but first to make an example of it. It must have a heart as black as its soul after all, and I will have it in a jar, and avenge the life it took." 

"You… won't… touch… them." Shiro looks up from his task, Lance's scream has died out now, as he forces the words from a shredded throat. His pain is still obvious, but his eyes shine with something Shiro can't place. "I will… not let you… hurt them…" 

"And what will you do? Specimen Blue is nothing. It is a murderer. A failure. It will never amount to anything. It can do nothing. It can't even keep its friends from getting captured. It will die here, and so will its friends, like the life it took." 

"You won't…do quiznak…puta." Shiros eyes widen as Lance's mangled hand flings the scalpel-like tool at the Alien. His thumb is obviously broken, wrist bleeding from how tight the restraints had been during his struggles, the motion itself looked incredibly painful, but even with such obstacles, Lance threw the thing with deadly aim. The tool imbeds itself in the Aliens chest, he releases a shout as he stumbles and falls backwards, but he does not keel over like Shiro had hoped. 

His grin is bloody, and Shiro is quick to get back to work on his bindings, because of course the kill shot didn't kill the guy, when do they ever have that good of luck? He needed to get to Lance, now! 

Between the four of them they have 8/16 limbs free, but it won't be enough if they don't hurry the heck up. Shiro will not watch one of these kids die, please universe, he couldn't handle it. 

Another yell comes from the screen, Lance's free arm has been pinned with a two pronged tool, two fresh lines of blood on his upper forearm from where they'd cut him. The alien is hovering over him now, and even with his goggled covered eyes, Shiro can tell he's got a crazed air about him. Lance continues his struggle, gritted teeth and a fire in his eyes. Shiro can't see a lick of fear for the death this guy has out for him, and that alone has him breaking his final limb free. He doesn't wait, he can't, he sprints towards the only way out he sees, and he runs. Lets some instinct take him, barely registering the footsteps behind him, only thinking about-

Their heart.

They would never be the same without Lance. Shiro can see it now, snippets of a what if future. They flash across his vision bullet fast, but he gets the gist. 

They will fall apart. 

Feet hit with solid thumps, hearts beat out of chests, minds race,

'It should have been me.' 

Lance couldn't die here.

'It should have been me.' 

Not for something like this.

'It should have been me.'

Always protecting them, watching their backs, they'd be dead without him, they wouldn't be here without him, there was not a hopeful future without him.

'It should have been me!'

They burst through the first door they find, hardly registering anything, it's a dogpile, the Alien cracks beneath them but they persist. 

It's only later, as the recording plays before them, that they find the reason for their bruised knuckles and various minor injuries. It's only later, as Lance rests in a healing pod, that they are told about how the Alteans had been watching the whole time as they tried to track their location. It's only later that the beasts they unleashed on that monster are recognized as themselves. It's only later that they comprehend how far Lance will go to save them time and time again. 

Do or die, you'll never make us, because the universe will never take our heart.

[dragonsarecool]

Febwhump Day 4 - Obedience

A/N: A darker/alternate version of Edna’s attempts to ‘reprogram’ Citizen Brown. Set during Episode IV: Double Visions.

The metallic table beneath him was sticky with his own blood, which had seemed to pour from endless orifices all over his body. Tattered remains of his white overcoat and grey trousers were strewn across the table as they had sliced him open, leaving him in a bloody undershirt and boxers.

He could feel the wounds that the restraints had been engraving into his wrists as he’d struggled against them, with the slightest twitch or movement sent a ring of fire circling around the remains of his battered skin. Doesn’t help my skin isn’t young and full of keratin anymore…

Although he couldn’t be completely certain due to his impaired mental state, he had been kept in a restrained supine position for at least three days. He was beyond desperate to flex his neck, but he’d been tied down so tightly that the smallest of wiggles was impossible.

What had he seen in Edna all those years ago?

It certainly hadn’t involved restraints, violent beatings and brainwashing monitors. Maybe this is some sort of fetish? It has to be, right?

Part of him couldn’t believe he’d been suckered into her schemes. The alarm bells and red flags should have been obvious when she originally told him how she wanted to maintain justice in Hill Valley. Did I seriously think she meant being a lawyer? God, I was such a stupid young man.

How could I have been so blind?! I should’ve realised she was a psychopath the moment she wanted me to build a mind mapping machine!

“I’m so sorry about all this, my darling,” Edna’s sickly voice floated behind him. She slowly approached his restrained form, gazing down with the expression he’d come to dub her ‘forced concern’ face. “But this is all necessary to restore you to normal!”

Doc didn’t have the strength to reason with her. All he could do was stare at the monochrome ceiling and blink despondently.

“Once we’ve broken you down again,” Edna continued, “then we can use you as another test subject for the Citizen Plus program.”

She must’ve noticed his eyes widening in alarm, for Edna let out a cackle. “Don’t fret, my dear! Look at how well the Citizen Plus treatment went for Mr Tannen. I have no doubts it will work splendidly for you too. I also intend to use that McFly boy before your round of treatment as well, just to ensure there are no…’issues’ with the medication.”

A knot of worry was rapidly growing in Doc’s stomach. Although he had never been a religious man, he’d spent the last three days silently praying that Martin had been able to evade Edna’s clutches. If he has been captured, there’s definitely no hope for my escape.

Edna clasped her arthritic fingers tightly around the wounds on Doc’s blood-stained hand, her smile growing larger as she watched her husband groan weakly with pain. “I know, I know Emmett. But this is all for your own good. If you would just stop resisting this treatment, it would all be over faster!”

The doors behind him were suddenly forced open, the metallic doors clanging loudly against some stray medical equipment. “I don’t think your ‘patient’ is appreciating the bedside manner, Edna.”

Martin!! Doc had no energy to physically react to the arrival of his saviour. If anything, he felt his body growing weaker.

“And can I ask how you are going to treat my husband any better than I could, Mr McFly?” Edna spoke indignantly, her gaze turning towards Marty.

“‘Cause I’m not psycho enough to cut open the guy who literally gave up his entire future just to help you become supreme ruler of Hill Valley!” Marty snapped in disgust. The tips of his hair were just visible to Doc in his peripheral vision. “How can you possibly think this is okay? T-this isn’t brainwashing, this is outright torture!”

“I will admit this may appear excessive,” Edna released her grip on Doc’s hand, seemingly blasé about the copious amount of blood now covering her own skin, “but I would not be doing it if I didn’t deem it to be necessary for my husband’s treatment! He requires immediate and targeted treatments-”

“I’ve heard enough of this shit. You really are a nutcase,” A loud crack rang out through the treatment room, with a strangled cry coming from Edna. Doc was fuming that he couldn’t see what was going on, but continued to feel elated as Marty snapped at his wife. “Also, you should really re-educate your guards about leaving their batons unattended. Definitely a work safety hazard.”

“Y-you…disrespectful…hooligan!!” Edna choked out. “I t-think…you’ve…broken-“

“Your ribs? God, I hope I did! It’ll stop you from getting the rest of your creeps in here.”

Marty’s face finally appeared in Doc’s line of vision, the young man giving him a look that he would’ve described as frightened. His darted all over the place as he looked at Doc’s injuries. “Oh, Doc, I’m so sorry…” He whispered. “I wish I’d gotten in sooner, b-but the guards a-and I needed Jennifer…”

Doc drew upon every last ounce of energy left in his battered frame to force his mouth into a tiny smile. I know you did your best, Martin.

The teenager seemed to have correctly interpreted his gesture, visibly relaxing. “Alright Doc, we’re bustin’ you outta here!” Marty slammed his feet on the breaks to release them before he began pushing the table forward, grunting as he struggled to make it accelerate. “Geez, this is heavier than I expected…”

Doc could only sigh with relief as they passed through a second set of double doors. Perhaps, with Martin’s help, he’d finally have a future after all.

[mrcspectr]

Hope you’re doing well and sorry if anyones asked before. But how do you think Harrow stopped being Khonshu’s avatar? Like did Khonshu know he was straying too far, or did he just drop him when he saw Marc in his temple? I’ve been trying to figure out what their dynamic would have been like but we know so little from that time.

You know, I'm so glad you asked, because I'm pretty sure Khonshu dumped him. And I do NOT think it was a clean break, I think Harrow made it messy.

The way he talks about Khonshu is just. Actually so funny to me when you think about the fact that they probably have an extensive history? He's almost petty about it. There's something to be said about the intimacy required to be an avatar; you'd have no privacy, would be called upon at a moment's notice. They would've been together a majority of the time, or at the very least, Khonshu would've been watching him. He would've maintained some sort of presence whenever he could.

I bet Harrow loved that, because I think he felt like he was the best at his job and wanted to continue doing it for as long as he could. He wanted Khonshu to see it. His entire drive is vengeance, justice, and all matters of judgement. And I think over time, that belief became a little more harsh, those decisions made a little more hastily. Which isn't to say Khonshu didn't appreciate that sentiment, a sharper blade cuts deeper and all that. But it's a chaos not so easily controlled or contained. It's why Harrow turns to Ammit after being separated from Khonshu, because she shares that vision, just more to the extreme under the disguise of being preventative.

I feel like I should also point out that at this point, Ammit's trapped in an ushabti, unable to communicate with anyone (to our knowledge, I'm only basing this off the fact that Khonshu was completely separated from Marc and Steven while trapped). Meaning Arthur would've had to do his research, leading towards the entire plot of him seeking her out. He was looking for a rebound.

What makes the most sense to me is that I think Arthur got a little too confident for his own good. I think he may have starting questioning Khonshu's ideas a little bit, maybe backtalked more than Khonshu cared to listen to.

What's he saying? Is he telling you to kill me? Just remember, you don't have to do everything he asks.

You don't have to listen to him. He often throws temper tantrums like a two year old. None of the gods respect him. Perhaps that's why he's banished.

Because Khonshu very clearly wants a certain level of obedience, he's an omnipotent god after all, and Arthur wanted more than that. More responsibility, more punishment, more blood, and the more he craved, the less satisfied he became with their arrangement. So at some point, Khonshu would have (very dramatically, I imagine) left him to his own bloodlust.

Do you seem him right now? That's a privilege I no longer have.

Now that brings me to Marc. The story's always the same; Khonshu chooses Marc because of his chaos, but it's a different kind. He chooses him because he's so malleable, so changeable. It's easier to manipulate a person who's already questioning and struggling to make sense of their own thoughts and who they are. Khonshu knew he could forge him into a better, more obedient weapon. And Harrow clearly hates that, he's jealous of that.

I'm curious, do you think that Khonshu chose you as his avatar because your mind would be so easy to break or because it was broken already?

He looks at Marc and Steven and only sees insanity, he's not sure what to make of Khonshu's choice in picking them. It's like.. he looks down on them both because he thinks he's better than they are, makes a better avatar, like he can't believe that Khonshu replaced him with what he views as lesser.

Before you, I was the fist of vengeance.

I see by the presence of Khonshu's current makeshift avatar, the purposes of our meeting must be nefarious?

I've seen him speak to himself, threaten himself, I have no idea how many personalities he must possess, the man is clearly insane.

Arthur makes it clear how devoted he is to Ammit, a stark contrast to Marc and Steven's vocal desire to break their deal. It's almost like he has this insecurity, or a need to prove himself to someone, whether that be Khonshu or another god that might appreciate his proclivities more. I mean, he's seeking to free one while he can't seem to let go of the first. It's a pretty interesting dynamic to me, especially in the context of Khonshu taking Jake back to take him out for good.

[honey-milk-depresso]

Genshin s/o stole a vison

OH SHIT I HAVE SO MANY REQUESTS, BUT I WANTED TO DO THIS FOR QUITE SOME TIME NOW SO SPARE ME-

Hope you enjoy! ^^

Diluc

He’s quite shocked to hear so,

and maybe a little disappointed.

Diluc is a man who has a strong sense of justice.

He does not tolerate things like stealing,

especially when a vision bearer was dying,

and you just took away their vision.

Just like that.

But he can tell,

you are very remorseful of what you have done.

That vision you bear constantly reminds you of the sins you’ve committed.

That’s why you don’t use it often.

You felt like you didn’t deserve to use it, let alone bear it.

I guess you wondered if the vision chose you just so to live your sins.

He quite pity you, and be a little empathetic.

Everyone deserves forgiveness, right? 

Not Kaeya sadly-

All he could do is stroke your hair in a soothing motion.

As he could only mutter out two words:

“It’s okay.”

At least you were honest with him,

and decided to owe up.

That’s a first.

Zhongli

He can only sigh.

It’s not the first time he came across such situation.

Countless of people in his life yearned for a vision,

that greed pushing them to do the extreme, like stealing, 

especially in a vision bearer’s final moments.

The look in your eyes,

he could tell you regretted it.

And he connected the dots to finally know the true reason of why you rarely use your vision.

You felt as if you were carrying around a sin,

using it only makes you look little of yourself,

and that no matter how strong it is, it wasn’t yours to begin with.

Zhongli weighs a fair share of heavy burdens, ones were when he was a soul slaughterer.

He regrets it, but has move on.

He can only be there for you now, to reassure you that all is in the past.

“You have admitted to at least one person, I assure you the gods have forgiven you.”

He has forgiven you,

so please forgive yourself.

Telling someone the truth, at least one,

is the first way to letting go of the burden.

He’s there for you. Every step of the way.

Xiao

Like Zhongli,

he simply remains silent.

And like Diluc, he’s a man with a strong sense of justice,

he despises people who does wrongdoings, like stealing.

But, then again,

it’s not his first time seeing someone stealing another’s vision.

He’s live for so long to see such.

But when his s/o stolen one in someone’s dying moments?

He’s quite ambivalent on how to feel.

He loves you, but he also can’t tolerate such crimes.

But when he sees you showing how guilty you feel as such,

he can’t help but feel a little sympathetic.

He’s killed thousands and thousands of lives throughout his life,

the burden laid on his shoulders 

is as heavy as the world could even bear.

Carrying and possessing a vision, he can tell must be like carying around a burden,

a crime.

Something you never wished.

You truly are ashamed, and he wants to let you know it’s okay, sort of.

He’s not good with his words, but he just wraps his arm around you in hopes you feel a little better.

He understands. You don’t have to share your burden alone.

Kazuha

He’s quite sympathetic,

but he has his righteous virtues that he upholds.

While he has taken a vision when his friend was about to suffer under an indestructible force, 

he didn’t use it for his own gain.

He cannot accept crimes such as stealing.

But then again, he did sort of give it to the traveler in the end, 

has he?

But knowing you truly were sorry for what you have done,

and that you felt so guilty of such,

he feels sorry for you.

Maybe that’s why you rarely use your vision.

Because you felt as if you didn’t deserve using it,

and that it reminded you of how cruel you used to be.

Kazuha reassures you,

that at least you repented,

and that you pour it out to someone,

which is him.

Kazuha might hate crime doings,

but he also believes if you are truly sorry for what you have done,

you deserve a second chance.

You will remain his precious s/o, no matter what.

[please-buckme]

Madripoor.

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Words: 2.3k

Warnings: smutty 18+, oral (m! Receiving), cursing, a lot of saliva

Summary: you meet Bucky at Sharon’s party.

The music thunderously blasts through the speakers as the party raged on. People grinding and kissing while their drinks splashed to the beat. The lights danced around the room, sprinkling around the party goers like confetti at a parade. And then there was you, totally drunk and having the time of your life.

The music ran through your body just like the alcohol you’d consumed. Madripoor was the place to be if you were looking for a good time, innocent or not so innocent. You found your way here after leaving home so many years ago. This was your place, you couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, especially after living here for so long. You’d die of boredom if you ever decided to leave.

Tonight you were at a fellow colleagues party; Sharon Carter. You ultimately came to do some business with her. She had something you wanted and you paid a hefty price to get it. Once you dealt with the matter at hand, you joined the party. Sharon danced and chatted with you but didn't have a drink herself. She told you she had business to attend to later.

Your eyesight was a little blurry when you scanned the crowd of people, but you suddenly had 20/20 vision when your eyes landed on them.

“Who are they?” You asked Sharon.

“Ah, the business I’m attending to later.” She smirked.

“Sharon!” You swatted her shoulder. “Good for you, girl.”

“Oh, God. No. Not like that. I mean, we have actual business to attend to later. You’re disgusting.” She scuffed, cringing at the idea of being with either man.

Your eyes locked with the icy blue ones that stared back at you, almost beakening you to come over. He smirked, his gaze roamed down your body, drinking in your features as you rubbed your thighs together.

“Mind if I introduce myself?” You ask, absentmindedly handing off your drink to Sharon.

“Um, sure. Go right ahead.”

The piercing blue eyes never left yours when you started walking across the dance floor to him.

“Hi.” He said flatly. You giggled, finding his grumpy demeanor kinda cute.

“Hi.” You say back, grabbing his hand. If you hadn’t lived in Madripoor for so long with all the crazy things that go on here daily, you would’ve been shocked to feel the cool metal of his hand against your palm. But you didn’t even flinch, if anything it made you want him more.

“What’s your name?” You asked, still shaking his hand.

“Ah, Winter Soldier.” He said nervously. “Yours?” “Summer Civilian.” Bucky grinned down at you, pausing the shaking of your hands and just held it there between the two of you.

“Ha ha.”

“Tell me your real name and I’ll tell you mine.” You challenge.

“I’m sort of in the middle of something- Ah, I’m undercover.” He released your hand to run his own through his hair anxiously.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” You challenge him again.

He leans in close to your ear, his hot breath fanning over your ear almost causes you to whimper, “I’m Bucky.”

You smile when he stands straight again, “I’m y/n.”“It’s nice to meet you, y/n.” He takes your hand and shakes it again.

“Same to you, Bucky.” You stand staring at one another until the other man breaks the sexual tension that’s blossoming against you and Bucky.

“I’m Sa- I mean Smiling Tiger.” He corrects.

You can’t help but to bust out laughing, “Smiling Tiger. You can’t be serious. That man is one of my biggest clients. I’m not buying that cover for one second. At least Bucky came up with a fake name.”

Bucky huffed out a laugh like sigh. The man claiming to be Smiling Tiger just rolled his eyes and walked away. You giggled staring down at your feet and back up to Bucky. He was gorgeous. He wore an all black suit that clung perfectly to his toned body. His large biceps were outlined to perfection and the pants he wore did his thighs a great justice. You wanted him and you wanted him now.

“Would you like to talk somewhere more.. private?” You asked, hanging your arms over his shoulders. You’d forgotten how drunk you were until you felt the weight of your arms on his shoulders. He didn’t seem to mind though.

“I- I shouldn’t. Like I said I’m in the middle of something right now. I have to stay where they can find me.” He gasps when your lips attach to his neck.

You smirk against his neck, “That’s fine. We can have fun right where we are.” One of your hands slides down his chest and past his toned stomach until your hand reaches its final destination on his crotch.

“Wow wow wow” he panicked and grabbed your wrist. “Are you crazy? We could get arrested for public indecency or something.”

You laughed hysterically, his innocence towards the situation made a warmth bubble up in your chest.

You lean in to him drunkenly as your fingers pad over his chest, “Bucky baby, this is Madripoor. Look around you. Everyone here is doing something that should be considered illegal. I could sink down to my knees and take you each by each in to my mouth and nobody would even blink.”

Bucky groaned at your words. You could tell he’d been deprived of sexual relations just by the way he reacted to your fingers dancing across his chest and the dirty words you spoke.

“Would you like that, Bucky? Would you like to watch me choke on your cock in front of all these people?” You ask. Your fingers made their way back down his body but found his hard cock this time. You gasped, “You would like that, dirty boy.”

“Goddammit” He cursed, pulling at your wrist again as he bulldozed through the crowd on the way to the bathroom. The door was locked when he smashed his way through. Two people had the same idea as you, they sat against the sink until Bucky ordered them to leave. With no hesitation, they ran through the now busted door. “So demanding.” You teased.

“On your fucking knees, Princess.” He ordered, latching the door.

You whimpered, “Yes, Sir.” You did as you were told, sitting on your knees in front of him while he unclasped his belt.

“You wanna suck my dick so bad,” he grunted, undoing the zipper and shimmying his pants down to his ankles. “Then you’re gonna. You're not coming up off that floor until I say. And when I’m done with your mouth, I’m gonna fuck that pretty little pussy of yours, you got that?”

“Oh, God. Yes.” You agree, pulling his underwear down his legs to release him. His cock spring free, slapping against his shirt.

Precum dripped from his tip and you whimpered. Bucky was larger than you’d expected, in length and girth. The veins of his cock pulsed in your hand when you started stroking him slowly. The tip was bright red and in need of release, which you had no problem in helping with that.

Once your lips closed around the tip, Bucky knitted his fingers into your hair and shoved his cock as far as he could down your throat. You gag as saliva collects in your mouth and runs down your chin. He pulls out and thrusts back in hard.

“This is what you want, right? To gag on my cock?” He grunts when you flick your tongue at his base. You just nod and gargle incoherent praise around him.

He starts with rough, slow thrusts, slamming in and out until your throat is nice and open for him. Then he fucks your face properly. You know by this point your makeup is completely ruined/gone due to the tears and drool running down your face.

At one point Bucky pulled out completely just to look at your fucked out state. His flesh hand roughly fingered your mouth, then smeared your own spit over your face.

“God, you’re so filthy.” He whimpered and then lined himself up with your mouth again, “You take me so well, Baby. Rub that pussy for me. Get it nice and ready for me.”

You moan against him and run your fingers over your wet folds. You insert one finger and whimper. You were soaked. Your wetness dripped down your thighs and onto the bathroom floor. You added another finger, hoping to stretch your walls enough for Bucky to glad right in. “Does it feel good, Baby?” He asked in a patronizing tone. You nodded, “Is your pussy ready for me now?”

He released you suddenly and your saliva dripped from his cock and your mouth to the floor. You’d already made such a mess of the bathroom and all you’d done was suck his cock.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes, my pussy’s so ready for your cock.” You whine still stroking him.

He smirks down at you, grabbing your chin, “I’ll be the judge of that.” He lifts you from the floor with only his metal arm and carries you to the counter.

“Vibranium?” You ask.

“Yeah.” He answers confused as to how you’d know that.

“Nice.” You hustled for a living and vibranium was something everybody wanted. You were gonna get that arm somehow.

He sat you on the counter and positioned himself between your legs. You shimmied your dress up to your waist and lined him up to your entrance. Before he pushed in he grabbed your face and pulled you in for a bruising kiss. His lips felt warm and full against yours.

For a guy that was out of practice, his lips worked your mouth like his life depended on it. They were soft and inviting. His tongue roamed your mouth so delicately that you barely even noticed it was there. This was Bucky, the real Bucky.

He took your bottom lip between his teeth as he pushed his cock inside you. Both your moans filled the room as he bottomed out inside you. He entered you slowly before pulling out and slamming into you. You yelped when you felt him right at your hilt, the knot in your stomach twisting tighter and tighter.

“You're so deep, Bucky.” You whimpered.

“I know, Baby, I know. Just relax.” His thrusts were slower, helping you adjust. He praised you each time he bottomed out inside you, “You’re doing so good for me.” He’d say.

Once your walls relaxed around him, he picked up speed. He was holding back, you could tell, but was still pounding into you. Your hands wandered down to his ass as you coaxed him into going a little rough.

He got the hint immediately. He pulled out completely then slammed back in making your legs quiver. Then he pulled out again and flipped you over the sink. He reinserted himself and fucked you from behind. Somehow he felt even bigger in this position.

“Bucky-“ You moaned just before he brought his fingers down to your clit. “Yes- just like that. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

There was a mirror in front of you and he made eye contact with you the whole time he took you from behind.

Bucky owned you in this moment. He was marking you as his with his cock as he pounded into you. And by the way he rubbed at your clit, he was making sure you’d never find another man that fucked you like he did.

Your eyes clenched shut when the knot in your stomach was on the verge of snapping.

“Bucky, I’m- oh fuck.. I’m gonna cum.” You managed whimpered out.

“Cum for me. I’ve got you. Cum for me, Princess.” With that he picked up his pace just enough to push you over the edge. He pulled you up so your back was against his chest, driving his cock deeper inside you. You mewled as your climax peaked. Your walls clenched around him as your warm cum drenched his cock.

“That’s it, Baby. Oh, God, I can feel it, I can feel it. Give it all to me, Baby.” Bucky groaned and rubbed your clit a little more aggressively, making you jolt in his arms.

“You're gonna make me cum, too. Where do you want it?” He asks, still pounding into you.

“Let’s finish how we started, in my mouth.” He pulls out and you sink to the floor and insert him back into your mouth. You taste your wetness along with your cum as you suck him dry.

“That’s it. Just like that- fuck I’m cumming, Princess.” He groaned and stuttered his hips as he busted on your tongue. You hummed as his spend coated your tongue and throat. He had a unique taste. Cum usually didn't taste all that great but his did. He was salty and sweet, like salted caramel popcorn on Christmas.

He pulled out and collapsed on the floor next to you. You looked at each other, breathing hard and smiled.

“That was-“

“Incredible” You finished the sentence for him.

“Yeah” He chuckled.

“I guess you should get going. They’re probably looking for you by now.” You assured him.

“Yeah.” He repeated, “That was amazing, though. You were amazing. Thank you.”

You giggled, “Don't mention it.” You paused, locking eyes with each other for a moment until Bucky leaned in and kissed you again. The same softness from before that made you a little lightheaded. “Will I see you again?” You asked, breaking the kiss.

“Definitely.” He whispered, standing up now and tucking himself back into his pants.

“Good because next time that arm is mine.”

Bucky gave you a wide eyed look, “What?” He laughed.

“I want that arm, Bucky.”

He walked over towards, planting one final kiss to your lips. “You’ll get my arm, just not the way you're expecting.” He smirked before running out the bathroom door to look for the fake Smiling Tiger.

If Bucky did ever come back, you know you’ll never let him leave again.

Masterlist

Taglist: @haydens-moles @valkyrieofthehighfae @aurora-sweet @sebbystanlover-vk @youre-a-wallflower-charlie @nebulastarr @meegggoooo @skylerrae-solo @blondekel77 @notwithoutbarnes @gogolucky13 @buckysm3talarm @heavenlyseb @writersbuck @badassbuchanan @buckyownsmylife @buckysdolls @agent-catfish-kenobi @angelicbabydolll @yippikaiyaymotherfucker @seabassstanownsme

[justiceleaque]

Hey Leaque! I know you watched the new Justice League movie and I was around when you were doing the very first DC movie reviews back in the day. I would absolutely love a review of this one if you have the time :)

i've been a fan of Snyder's universe from day 1 so i understand this might be considered an off-balance review already, but i want to note that i didn't come in wanting the film to be good or willing to see it as good despite actual impressions. i wanted to watch it as the Justice League movie i was supposed to get back in 2017, the same one i was willing to not watch for years if it meant Zack Snyder got to finish his vision even later down the line

i was actually as neutral as i could possibly get because at this point i don't have any real emotional involvement in whether this version of the DCEU continues or not. WB execs have done some fucked up things with the treatment of the cast/ray fisher, so i take this as Snyder's DC trilogy and nothing more (which makes it bittersweet for me but that's a different topic)

heavy spoilers follow

it's incredibly comic book-like. i remember typing the exact same words back in the Dawn of Justice days: it doesn't read as a superhero film a la Marvel but as a comic book film. each frame could be a realistically painted comic book frame; the dialogues would fit freakishly well if they had to fit speech bubbles. the damn scene overlaps and changes are heavily reminiscent of a comic book. better yet: of a Justice League comic book. if you’re familiar with comic book events where big things happen and it affects everyone, this is how this reads

it’s a heavy film but it’s not hopeless. i’ve been seeing reviews pop-up already: “ZS’s Justice League film is twice as longe and twice as hopeless” is the maybe verbatim title of most articles. the one thing i kept thinking throughout these four hours is how much hope this is filled with. we’re dealing with a post-superman world that was shaken by the loss of a beloved superhero and you see batman, the #1 comic book superhero known for brooding and darkness and all things sad and bad, be the loudest, most hopeful person in the film, trying to get a team together to save the world, and later on being two steps from literally screaming that bringing back superman is what should happen no matter the cost because of his faith and hope in winning. did we watch the same film?

in the same vein, the 4 hours seem like a stretch until you realize each part has an actual purpose that introduces or ties in important aspects related to the film’s one purpose: take down Steppenwolf and Darkseid. i don’t believe any scene was wasted on useless information. it can get tiring in the way watching a shot tv series gets tiring: it does NOT get boring at any point

such wonderful character arcs. seeing each of the team’s personalities and quirks, the way they clash with each other, the way it makes it all work so goddamn beautifully. the way they click because they just keep interacting so much? Whedon’s cut didn’t give me a team, it gave me five different people in costume that were forced to sort of work in the same vicinity as each other. Snyder’s cut gave me a version of the Justice League that worked so flawlessly together by the end of the film it felt like a dance. felt like comic book page spreads

right before the epilogue they all pose together in the rising dawn, clark included, having won. super reminiscent of the JL cartoon intro. i cried a bit

J’ONN J’ONZZ!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DO YOU KNOW THE AMOUNT OF SPECULATION ABOUT GENERAL SWANWICK BEING THE MARTIAN MANHUNTER BACK WHEN MAN OF STEEL WAS RELEASED???? VINDICATED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

listen to me. i need to make this clear. listen.  j’onn. j’onny boy. the way he’s designed and cgi’d..........the adorable frown............the kind smile......................his obvious need to make others feel better and to simply help......................i love him

his interaction with bruce only comes in the end and it’s super brief but seeing those two still not know how the hell each other works even in film format is hilarious. bruce having accepted aliens and magic and shit is the new norm after like 20 years of only having to deal with the joker attempting to rob neon green hair dyes or some shit is so much bigger of a character development than i ever expected, especially coming from BvS where he’s just a stupid fat-bat-carrying onion

i wasn’t a big fan of Suicide Squad’s joker portrayal but we get to see him at the end of the film while we’re seeing a possible future where lois lane has died and superman is best friends with darkseid playing tic-tac-antilife equation. Snyder somehow managed to turn jared leto into a disgustingly legit comic-faithful joker. dont’ ask me how

in the same scene they mention jason and his death

: - (

we see a few bits of some green lanterns in some scenes, one from the past and one from a possible ultra dark and edgy darkseid future. still convinced bruce simply willingly did not go looking for hal, which, fair

they cut out the fish joke bruce tells arthur when they first meet which immediately turns the whole film into a 1/10 for me

ben affleck’s bruce wayne and batman continue being my favorite on-screen batman iteration to date. we finally move from the usual dark lone soldier version Hollywood is relentlessly giving us into one that belongs with the Justice League. incredibly heartwarming to see

there’s a scene when the JL are first assaulting Steppenwolf’s base and they’re all fighting parademons and shit and there’s a moment where you see batman fighting the Space SWAT From Hell alone and the way he moves? the way he flows from one position to another and another like i’m watching a damn comic book animation????????? sir????????????????????

barry allen saved them

like, literally, barry allen saved them. superman was back and everyone was ready to dance one final time and they were all going ‘steppenwolf fucking SUCKS’ and steppenwolf was crying to darkseid and then the motherboxes did their thing and they all were obliterated into star dust and then barry allen was like ‘bitch i told you i need FRIENDS’ and turned back time and now they’re all okay again :o)

darkseid @ batman through his magic spacetime portal: i’m gonna get your ass one day soon and take you back in time and you’re gonna eventually bring about the end of the world by having every dark twisted batman invade your universe because you inspired them

batman:

batman:

batman: i haven’t read Rebirth bro

i know i’m forgetting stuff but that’s the gist. hands down one of the best comic book film experiences i’ve ever had. with an aside to barry allen being more of a mix of barry and wally, everyone feels incredibly faithful to the source material. also batman definitely killed like, at least 400 parademons in one night, but pest control doesn’t count

(like. he straight up obliterates them)

(pulls out a batbazuka on them)

(amazing)

[silkylious]

Limbo (Bakugo Katsuki x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: bakugo katsuki x female reader warnings: heavy angst, eventual tiny bit of fluff at the end

omf this request is so nice i feel so bad that my writing is literally garbage in this, but thank you sm for requesting this!! <3 and im so sorry if i didn’t do your request justice (i legit hate my writing here :’))

To say the state of your relationship was unbearable would be the euphemism of the century.

Your thoughts often ran amuck, always hopelessly crawling back to that one despaired curiosity; wondering if he shared the same sentiment about your wishy-washy “friends” status as you did. He probably didn’t. That’s the seemingly unshakable brick wall that would inevitably dead-end your lovesick daydreams, each and every time. Though when his roughed-up hands linger on your skin a millisecond too long, when his steeled stare melts, hard rubies morphing into blazing lava pits, threatening to mar your very heart and soul with their scorching intensity –you’re not exactly certain you’d mind that– that’s when a flicker of something ignites within you. Hope, longing, doubt. Whatever it is, it terrifies you. Because you’re agonizingly aware of what that entails. He’s got you hook, line and sinker, but torturously he refuses to do anything with that. Almost like pulling someone in for a hug then abruptly and without explanation stopping midway, he keeps you at arm’s length. Not too far, not too close. And how that cycle destroyed you.

Katsuki was the type to jump into action and ask questions later. Except a lot of the times when these questions pertain to his own emotions, he didn’t even try to answer them, opting to shove them to the corners of his psyche, collecting dust, steadily accumulating until they become too much to ignore and he (sometimes quite literally) explodes. It’s a vicious loop that he could never break away from, he’d even come to find a sordid comfort in it. His coping mechanism was by no means healthy, far from it, but he’d grown familiar to the toxicity.

Katsuki couldn’t make heads nor tails of his feelings for you. Whenever he impulsively threw himself into the lion’s den that was your affection, caught in the moment, in the glimmer of genuine adoration in your eyes, he never came back the same. A piece of his heart would irreversibly split off and reside in the palm of your hand, he was scared that nothing would be left of it, that he wouldn’t be able to regain his bearings until it was too late. You so effortlessly juggled with his feelings, all with a single smile, it scared him that you had so much power over the fluttery sensation in his chest and yet, in the moment, it felt good. It felt so good to indulge in whatever fucky feeling was messing with his head, to let you hold him in the depths of obscurity with all prying eyes shut and what little words exchanged hushed. It felt so alleviating to feel skin on his own (for once not in battle), gentle, comforting but not coddling. It was unspoken between you that you were both more than friends. You knew it, he knew it. Neither of you ever mentioned it. What neither of you knew, however, was how far the other’s feelings ran.

But as high as your silent love made him feel, he crashed back down into the concrete when he was left to his own devices. Without your intoxicating scent, distracting touches fogging his rationality, Katsuki had all the time in the world to overthink. And overthink he did. His pride picked apart the delicate flowering in his heart, ripping it petal by petal until nothing was left but a garden of beautifully withered leaves, a condemnation to what he considered a weakness.

Katsuki was a taker by every sense of the word. Basking in your wispy adoration, only to brush you aside in favor of focusing on academics once he’d had his fill of your love. It was sickening.

Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t outright confessed to him, maybe that’s what soothed the overbearing guilt that crawled up his throat whenever he saw that dejected face of yours, the one you made because of him. If your feelings for him ran deep, surely you would have said something by now, at least that’s what he thought. Or more precisely, that’s the excuse his mind conjured up in hopes of easing his conscious, trying to convince himself that self that yes, he was hurting you, but at least he wasn’t hurting you that bad. He was infinitely aware that this doesn’t put him in any sort of moral high ground, nor does it justify his actions, but, again, it was a last-ditch effort to relieve his anguish if just by a little bit, even if he knew that excuse was bullshit.    

Surely he knew, there’s no way in hell someone as hawk-eyed as him didn’t notice the tyranny he held over the porcelain pitter-pattering of your heart, didn’t notice the fleeting, love-filled glances you sent his way. This was getting ridiculous, you were starting to believe he was taking some twisted sense of pleasure from your heartache, but he wouldn’t do that, right? He didn’t derive some sick kick out of having you indefinitely under his thumb, at his beck and call… right? A few months ago, you would have answered those uncertainties with a resounding “No!” defending his cruel behavior till the bitter end. But now…

Now you weren’t so sure.

And yet you still found yourself in his dorm, on his bed. It was supposed to be another study gathering, but one thing was glaringly missing. Y’know… the gathering. Kirishima was out training and he hadn’t bothered to invite the rest of his brain-dead, self-proclaimed squad. And that’s how you found yourself alone. With your best friend and secret crush. Just dandy.

Your hands were restless. Pulling at the seams of his blanket, cracking your own fingers, picking up your pencil for a brief moment of concentration, answering one or two questions only to drop it back on the mattress again and fidget some more. Katsuki wasn’t fucking blind, and your unease was ticking him off. Though he surprisingly hadn’t said a thing about it just yet, he was clearly nearing his wit’s end. His silence didn’t prevail for much longer, the meek sigh and not so subtle glance you chanced his way being his tipping point.

“What.” It came out as a statement, a demand rather than a question. What was he demanding? He hadn’t thought of that yet, his temperamental limbs already taking the wheel and pressing on the gas without a destination in mind, just being short fused for the sake of it. Was it even his place to be making demands in this situation? Katsuki knew the answer to this one like the back of his hand, a solid no.

“What…?” You really had no idea what Bakugo was expecting with a question like that. He still had the audacity to roll his eyes.

“The hell’s got you so jumpy?”

“It’s nothing…” It was a lot more than nothing, that’s for sure.

“Don’t lie to me, (name). What the fuck is up with you?” Ah, there it is again. That look. His words were as cut-throat as ever, and his mouth was still pulled into that seemingly permanent scowl. But his eyes conveyed something that was whole worlds asunder from his harsh tone. Golden brows furrowed as they usually were, though unusually upturned just the slightest bit. You despised that look. It ensured that you’ll forever be caught in his grasp, forever there for him when he never spared you the time of day.

Your lungs constricted by a force of gorgeously wretched agony. Katsuki wasn’t fair when he bared his soul to you like this, it filled you with such fervent euphoria that torrefied its way through your being, singeing your veins with luminous infatuation. And it hurt. Because you knew he’d cage himself right up as soon as the moment of vulnerability perished.

A crystalline sheen permeated your vision. This wasn’t going to end well.  

“I said it’s nothing,” Your voice raised. You hadn’t meant for the words to be as frosty as they came out, but it seemed like your subconscious was utterly done with the tedium of heartbreak he keeps putting you through.

“What is fucking wrong with you? I was literally just asking why you were being so goddamn obnoxious today and then you go and make a big fuckin’ deal out of nothing!”

“Well, maybe I’m just fucking tired of giving you everything I have and getting nothing in return, Katsuki!”

Your chest rose and fell with each scalding breath that entered your lungs. The blood through your veins was pumping. Never had you been confrontational, and your sudden outburst wasn’t exactly welcome to your system. You wanted to vomit. This was not how you wanted things to turn out, you absolutely needed to leave, distance yourself from the emotional strain he was inflicting on you.  

Without taking notice of the panicked glint in the cherry red of his irises, you bolted out of the suddenly claustrophobic room, leaving Katsuki to stare at his agape door before flickering his unfocused attention to your supplies still laying on his bed.

Katsuki erupted time and time again, with you being as patient as a receiving end could ever be. It’s specifically because of your godly patience that he never considered what he would do once you erupted.

With your back sliding down your dorm room door, and little friction stopping your descent, you wondered and maybe even wished he’d call after you, come banging on your door with bristling apologies on the tip of his tongue. However, the jarring reality was very clear to you. You’d decided on that day, with your head buried in your tear-stained pillow, that these were the last tears you’d ever shed on him, that you were going to put him through the same wringing hell he’d put you through.

You were going to ignore Bakugo Katsuki’s existence just like he’d periodically ignored yours.

The following week had been bleak at best and excruciatingly bitter at its worst for the both of you. It was so strange having to adjust to the absence of the other, even if your company more often than not had been a quiet one, it was company nevertheless. The most grueling part though, was your shared friend group. They’d noticed that something was obviously awry, but since neither of you said a thing about it, they decided it would be best if they didn’t either. The awkward dead silences during lunch were still purgatory to behold. But after a few more slow paced days, the sun seemed to shine bright again. For you, that is.

You didn’t realize how much of your schedule revolved around Bakugo until he was completely out of it. How much time you spent with him, dreading him, thinking about him… him, him, him. He’d consumed your thoughts from the first sparks of dawn till the hallows of dusk. You had so much free time now that he was out of the picture, it was crazy. The more time you spent on yourself, on your hobbies, getting to know other classmates outside of your immediate friend circle, the duller the ache in your chest. Until it was but a static buzz. Yet you couldn’t deny that, with time, your fury had mellowed out, leaving behind a cold loneliness you couldn’t elude whenever your aimless stare landed on him, almost like it was drawn to him by muscle memory.

He was the exact opposite.

You’d think the throbbing within him whenever you finally gazed his way then instantaneously looked in the opposite direction would knock come modicum of sense into his stubborn head. But nope. And seeing you thrive without him only cemented what he already knew. He really was no good for you. So much so that it barely took anytime for you to readjust to the lack of him in your life, and not only did you adjust, you were the best he’s ever seen you both mentally and academically. In the first week of you ditching him completely, his bruised ego kept him for reaching out to you, but now, seeing that elated grin on your face –the one that had been gradually dwindling over the past few months– he didn’t want to take your newfound happiness away, he’d figured he’d done you more than enough harm already.

Heart heavy with reluctance, Katsuki made the decision to give up on your relationship. Deciding to wordlessly cheer you on from the sidelines and watch you bloom, flourishing into the person he robbed you of being for a chunk of your life, though whenever your spring hit, it would be without him. Until some day in the future where his pride wasn’t as suffocating, where he could genuinely, wholeheartedly repent his grievances and only hope for your forgiveness.

Kirishima never took Bakugo for a quitter, hell would freeze over before he even thought such a thing. So this was certainly a shock. What was even more shocking ­– and overwhelmingly concerning– was the fact that Katsuki had willingly, on his own accord confided in him, and he’d, in his own roundabout way, taken accountability for being a gigantic douche to you. As much as the redhead respected his friend’s decision to stay clear of you, he couldn’t help but wish you’d just talk to one another for once. Kirishima really was a saint, having to listen to two idiots ramble about how much they miss the other.

“Listen, man. I know you feel bad and all that, but maybe you should just talk to her? I’m sure she’d like some closure on this just as you do, even if that doesn’t mean things will go back to the way they were.” Eijirou tried to reason, praying to whatever higher being out there that Katsuki would just get the fuck over himself and communicate with you.

“Fuck no. That’s not fucking happening, shitty hair,” Kirishima rolled his eyes at the oh so affectionate nickname, thoroughly done with his best friend’s melodrama. Welp, I guess there’s only one thing left to try. He heaved internally, mentally and physically preparing himself for Bakugo’s tantrum.

“Well, you know that if you won’t talk to her, others will, right? I heard some guys saying they’re gonna ask her ou–”

“Shut the fuck up! I don’t give a rat’s ass who asks her out!” He definitely did. Eijirou hid his smile. Checkmate.

“Whatever you say, dude.”

Later that day, three distinctly powerful knocks woke you up. Needless to say, you didn’t think that night would end up with you and Katsuki staring each other down, seated on your bed at one in the morning. Words got stuck in his throat, so he just… noiselessly watched your face, as if trying to telepathically ram his constipated emotions into you, in hopes that you’d make sense of them. Obviously, that didn’t work.

“Did you come banging on my door at one in the morning just to stare at me, Bakugo? I mean I know I’m pretty but still–”

“Shuddup.” Not really the best thing to say to you after weeks of radio silence. You were about to make another salty remark, but he opened his mouth first.

“I fucked up,” The fact that he was acknowledging he was at fault was… something. But that wasn’t nearly enough to pay off the debt off turmoil he’d caused you.

“No shit.” You replied without missing a beat. The ice that tinged your words caught him off guard, but he really shouldn’t have been surprised. He sighed, knowing he’d have to strip himself of everything, including his pride (especially his pride) down to his very core, to have a go at a second chance.

And so, he did.

He poured his everything out for you to observe, without an ego film distorting his words. Syllables reeked of muted agony, he really had rid himself of anything and everything that wasn’t his deepest soul. He finally offered you himself just as you had done countless times before. Katsuki swore that his heart would –and always has been– explicitly yours, he’d roar that fact at the constellations above if you so wished him to. And while it would take a while to heal from coruscating blisters he’d inflicted, you were more than content mending and welting your heart with his.  

[i-need-air]

Hello I really like your hybrid au especially with kirishima

I was wondering if I can request one with kirishima hybrid where reader gets kidnapped because someone from the old ring wants revenge and kirishima is looking for them

Wow, I took some time with this because it was hard to place Kiri in such a situation. I hope I gave it justice. This is not my usual fluff since it's a darker theme, so yeah. Hope it was worth the wait though! Enjoy and tell me if you liked it!! 💕💕

Word count: 4k [ I... I got carried away... and I still feel it's short 💀 ]

Warnings: kidnapping, blood, mentions of abuse, guns, Kiri's past being f'd up, insults [?], hint towards assault;

[ Masterlist ] [ Main Hybrid!Kirishima HCs ]

× this man is all about safety

× asks you to send him a message whenever you arrive safely at home or wherever you're going

× it's super-sweet and really helpful; your well being is everything to him after all

× yet one evening you didn't arrive on time

× no message, nothing

× he was waiting and paying attention to time since he wanted to suggest going out to watch a movie, but you didn't arrive

× one hour later he finds himself frowning at the clock, tapping his foot in wonder

× he sent you a message; the fact that it send but you didn't receive it unsettled him more, to which he decided to call— "The phone you're trying to reach is disconnected or no longer in service."

× did you run out of battery? was that even possible?

× what seals the deal is a DM he receives from a throwaway account on social media he was so active and known on.

× "We've got your little toy. You know where to find us, Red Riot. Come alone or they die." and attached was a pictute of you, on the floor, possibly unconscious, hands tied behind your back.

× a collar was placed by your side; he knew what it was.

× his blood ran cold, a freezing shiver electrified through his spine as he jumped out of the couch, terrorized and more importantly raging mad

× Red Riot: a name he tried to forget; a name people shouted at him in praise as they put bets on his head; a name he's been given as he fought friends and foes; a name that brought back pain and suffering. A name he didn't want to taint his new life with.

× he did not take any time to leave the house in a hurry, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

× Kirishima didn't know where his friends were, so he found himself on his own, outside your apartment complex, taking a deep breath in; he could find you; he had to find you even if it was the last thing he did, yet he had to do it alone.

× he spotted your car in the parking lot— in a blink he was by it's side, just spotting your belongings inside and the car-keys still in

× uncontrollable rage took over him as he still sniffed your scent in the air.

× you've been here and because of him, now you weren't; you're gone; you've been attacked too, the window smashed and blood running down the door

× he sniffed again, noticing how it wasn't your blood— relief didn't come since he did recognize the other scent; his dealer.

× "You fucking mutt!" he growled above the red-haired man chained to the wall, fist closed readied to make impact.

× Kirishima growled lowly, remembering.

× "You fucking made me lose ten fucking grands because you didn't want to finish that fucking beast!" his screams could be heard throughout the hallways.

× He got inside the car.

× "You and your fucking group, you think you're too good to fucking follow MY ORDERS—" a crack could be heard as the punch collided with the hybrid's jaw, yet it did little to no damage to him. Curses followed, making the man almost chuckle, yet chose not to, knowing the damage it would bring. "YOU PATHETIC PIECE OF— I FUCKING BROKE MY HAND, SHIT!" he yanked him by the hair with his other hand, pulling hard. "I'm gonna make you regret the day you were born." And if it weren't for his improvised family, Kirishima would've been regretting that day anyway without his assistance.

× He sped off, fingers whitening on the steering wheel because of his harsh grip. Tears now ran freely on his cheeks with no conscious attempt made to be stopped.

× Only two places haven't been raided by the Hybrid Protection Services came to mind, deemed as abandoned yet for those that knew the insides, the buildings were definitely used mostly as hideouts and for special occasions

× few escaped from being detained by the police, yet word came to him that the bastard, Mawler as he liked to call himself, was caught; it didn't seem to be the case and as he drove, Kirishima could only think he'd make the fucker regret the day he was born; a bitter laugh left his lips, hating himself for a moment. Although the image of a friend came in his mind, imagining him slapping his back in a poor attempt to motivate him. That's what he would say too.

× the self-hatred washed off; for you he'd do anything.

× he rushed to the first location; it used to be a club with an underground arena, in which he himself fought in countless times

× his neck itched as he gritted his teeth; the memory of the electric collar they had to have on while almost killing each other made him want to vomit

× a deep growl left his frame; gutural, dark, menacing; they wanted the Red Riot? it seems they forgot where he really got that name from;

× he only saw blood on the way there.

× he parked not too far but tried to keep a low profile although his big frame didn't help in a stealth situation. Kirishima knew he's in for trouble, but what else could he do?

× —

× you blinked, blinded by the light that shined harshly in your face

× "Would you look at that, fellas? Guess who's wakin' up?" you had no time to panic, just flashes of the quick encounter just by your house appearing in your mind as a boot collided with your stomach, making you wince in pain

× What was going on? What the hell happened?

× "Aww, don't make that face..." someone mocked. "Save it for when Red Riot comes along, baby." he whispered harshly at you, venom in his voice.

× you muttered "—Riot?" in daze, placing your knees as close to your chest for protection; your head hurt badly, a throbbing pain coming from the back of it.

× laughed echoed around you; "He didn't fucking tell you? How much of a fucking BEAST he was?!"; other voices joined in... two more voices, but you couldn't be sure

× memories came back at you; how you were arriving late but decided to not send any message since you were driving; parking, gathering your stuff, the sound of crystal breaking—

× but nothing else;

× "You don't fucking know what your piece of shit of a mutt even did before acting like a perfect little boyfriend, didn't ya?" the same venom filled voice came closer to you, giving you the chance to finally see his ugly scowl and to imprint his stupidly face in your mind;

× were they talking about Kirishima? Your Kirishima? He never really got into detail about his previous life yet made it clear he was forced to fight for the entertainment of others— did they fucking think he had a choice?

× yet you remained silent; it seems Kiri knew you'd be there and your concussion didn't really help you to think straight and form any plan;

× something could be heard outside, a crash of some sort and everyone stood still for a good second.

× "He—... He's here already?" one of them whispered. A clicking made you freeze. You snapped your head up in terror, only knowing that sound from movies, a sound so scary you really didn't think you'd hear it in real life; guns.

× "I fucking send that message 20 minutes ago..." Ugly Scowl said, taken back in surprise. His eyes, dark and void of goodness snapped on you, an unsure smile painting over him. "I wanted to have some fun with ya."

× your body couldn't control the shiver that ran through it, from head to toes, and he noticed, turning his uncertain smile into a sadistic one; your face was probably a dead giveaway too.

× but Eijirou was there and deep down you knew there was nothing to fear; except for the guns.

× the red-head wasn't dumb, he knew this world a million times better than you, so he must've known; with a flood of nervousness piling up in your stomach, you blinked the stinging feeling in your eyes away and hoped for the best.

× "Go check that fucking sound, retards!" he then screamed, two sets of footsteps rushing at his orders; it seemed he was the "boss" of whatever the hell this small group of pieces of shit was and hated your boyfriend's guts.

× should you talk? should you not? what's the best possible outcome out of this?

× your wrists stung, locked harshly with what felt like a rope; in a poor attempt to move your fingers to feel if you could, in an ideal world, free your hands, the man caught your movements instantly; he yanked you by the neck, lifting you off the ground with no difficulty and that's when you noticed he was strong, muscular, big; his frame wasn't as massive as Eijirou's by any chance but massive enough to make you reconsider any attempt to escape. "Don't even fucking think about it, dear."

× his breath, foul and heavy, hit your face and you almost gagged; he was watching you, observing your face in search of something. Through a nod he hummed at himself.

× "Not bad, Riot." his nose hit your cheek as he breathed you in and a whimper left you, guts screaming danger; he snickered. "It's okay, I like them when they cry." he mocked your tears in a heavy whisper, which you didn't notice until he pointed them out.

× a snap could be heard from inside the building, possibly on the floor above; were you underground?

× the disgusting man by your side lifted himself up, throwing you on the floor like garbage. He lifted his gun and narrowed his eyes towards the stairs.

× "Be good and maybe I'll keep you for myself after I hunt your mutt down." he said between gritted teeth. You just started praying for the man you loved, still trying to figure out a way to at least hide before this scum used you as a threat more than he did already.

× —

× Kirishima watched them from the shadows; his breath was heavy yet silent, his enhanced vision saw the two low-life mobs he sometimes noticed following Mawler whenever he went; he took in consideration their stance; of course they'd bring weapons—

× his mind drifted to one of his trainers, EraserHead, and on the few moments of aloofness he let himself have around the younger ones put in his charge; "Humans are easily fooled—" he'd grin lazily. "And very easy to scare."

× with determination like he's never had before, he grabbed a rock; if he had to reach you, he'd have to do the only thing he was never good at: being stealthy.

× he rushed to the left of the back entrance, hidden behind a beaten up car as he threw the small rock in the opposite direction and in any other situation he'd find himself amused, EraserHead's words on replay in his mind. One of the guys almost jumped in place at the sound, gun fastly jerked into its general direction with trembling hands.

× with no second to spare, he entered the building, his speed impressive—

× no sound was made, but what helped him greatly was that one of them started talking into the nothingness; "We know you're there, you bastard!"

× the other one was now searching inside the building, yet his head turned towards his companion outside; sadly for the poor idiot, it only took a punch in the jaw to immobilize him and knock him out entirely. He took the guns from the now unconscious body and put them in his belt and pocket, yet had no intention to use any.

× the second one left outside was still talking a whole monologue, making the man sweat drop; was this Mawler's plan? he wasn't known to use his brain much...

× yet he wasn't as easy to take down as Kirishima wanted it to be; he turned around, probably uneased by the lack of response of his partner, suspicious and more on the edge; he could feel it, his nervousness, his fear; another bitter grin appeared on Eijirou's features.

× "Jackal?" his voice hid fear behind it.

× they definitely knew the damage he could do and the hybrid was glad they did, wanting them to be terrified, his predator instincts washing over.

× he jumped on him, kicking the pistol out of his hands in a heartbeat and making him stumble backwards, losing his balance; it happened in a blurr, old feeling of being in the ring, fist to fist, tail low and ready to pounce. He was in his element once again and God, he hated himself when he let go of all the pain and broke his arm, the sweet image of your smiling face as you burried yourself into the same arms he hurt people with always in the back of his mind.

× before he could realize, the other woke up from the knockout; he heard rushed steps towards him and a snapping sound. The blabbering idiot was on the ground now, breathing but beaten to a pulp and everything stood still for a good second.

× he got hit? in the back of his head? With just one glance he saw a broken wooden plank and blinked stupidly; did he seriously think—?

× Kirishima grinned and in an instant he grabbed Jackal's head and smashed it into his knee.

× —

× you could hear his steps; you knew it was him; heavy yet trying to conceal them poorly; your man was walking around the floor above and you sniffled your nose at the thought.

× he was absolutely massive and nothing about him was silent; gentle, yes, but silent? laughable. Even in this horrendous situation you closed your eyes lovingly at the thought. He's here.

× "Those damned fucking useless pieces of shit—" Oh, yeah. Him.

× the barrel was suddently pointed at your head and any thoughts you had abandoned your brain completely

× utter terror overwashed your senses in every way as you stared at it with wide eyes

× "Let's see if he fucking likes this—"

× —

× the only way down for the public was the stairway; not even those useless guards knew the hidden entrance his friends and him used once; they had to come back though, the guilt and knowledge that if they're found to be gone would make Mawler execute everyone else.

× a low window painted black that led to a storage room behind the filthy bathrooms and the place they'd be kept in cages; he ran on the first floor, approaching the stairs before jumping on the dusty metal bar, now completely silent and praying his poor attempt at a bait worked.

× in no time he was outside again and in even less of a second he found himself by said window leading to the underground arena.

× —

× "Maybe if I hurt you a little bit, he'll come to his senses." He grinned, gun's safety lever clicked, now pointed at your stomach.

× you saw your vision blurr and you really, really wanted to say something but didn't know what to; your lips trembled and you bit them in the hopes of showing at least some courage before getting shot but you couldn't help closing your eyes.

× the sound was so loud; an obnoxiously loud bang shook the room or maybe just shook you to the core, then warmth engulfed you wholly.

× it gripped into you so strongly yet no damage came; "I got you, baby." came as a whisper in your ear and just as you snapped your eyes to see his red, sweet, gorgeous red eyes look at you tenderly, he was gone.

× nothing was said; just a rush of screams and silence; your kidnapper tried to shoot again or so you saw but he was jumped on instantly; that's when you noticed Eijirou was growling like a wild animal and was covered with blood.

× he was like a hurricane, like a bulldozer, like an unstoppable force that destroyed with no mercy; covered in red and splatters due to his constant attacks just painted him with more of it;

× you were looking at Red Riot and your stomach dropped; this is what he was made to be and you cried when he did not stop beating the man underneath him.

× "Baby, stop—" you'd whisper, really trying to get up and barely making it to stay in a seating position, kinda desperate; and he indeed stopped at your plea, froze actually.

× the poor devil under him was groaning, gargling whatevers but it didn't matter; he was looking at you, shocked and you could see the fear in his eyes...

× was it bad that it didn't matter to you? as long as he didn't kill them, as long as justice got to them and furthermore kept Kirishima by your side forever, it didn't matter to you; it was instant, that thought.

× but as he stood there frozen, taking in your nerves and sudden relief, your crying face filled with worry; you took him in too... how his back was getting soaked in blood, running through his shirt down, and down, leaking...

× he got shot for you;

× "Please, leave him, help me and—" he turned a little, ashamed yet mute.

× like a scolded child, unsure; he was bleeding but he was scared of you; he had a hole in his back but he was hurting for your reaction.

× you sniffled again, getting on your knees, pain striking in your stomach but ignoring it; "Eijirou, come to me, please."

× and he did, all so gracefully, so fast and without a single wince; as if he knew pain more than he should've.

× your hands were instantly freed

× his silence killed you inside, it really did. This man, this amazing creature that beamed like the brightest star in the sky was now somber, dull...

× your phone was thrown on the floor as they tampered with it and you rushed, with trembling hands and uncertainty at his attitude to call the police; he was still to say anything, just staying on his knees in front of you, head low and teary eyes.

× he just muttered the location when they asked you about it but that's it; the operator asked questions yet you didn't care to answer them, just saying you need an ambulance too before closing the call to crawl towards him, taking his torso into your arms careful not to touch the wound on his back.

× he then cried harder into your neck, almost falling into your embrace, accepting it but his hands didn't move to touch you, laying unmoving on his sides.

× "I'm so—" he hiccuped. "I'm so sorry, [Y/N]." His frame was shaking more and more;

× "I love you, Eijirou." It's all you could say. Really, your brain just screamed for you to tell him that, as if you felt it's what he needed to hear the most.

× guilty; blaming himself; putting himself down;

× he shuddered into you as your hands, tired and sore, reached for his sweat soaked hair to stroke it gently.

× "You came for me. You saved me. Thank yo—"

× "Don't! It's all my fault—" his voice broke for a second, hands turning into fists and the only thing grounding him was your scent invading his nostrils. "You're hurt because of me..."

× you cried with him too, gluing his head more into you, peppering his face with shaky butterfly kisses.

× "It's not your fault, it was never your fault, Eijirou." you shook in place as you reassured him. Word by word, sentence by sentence, you let him know he's just as much of a victim being chased by his past, a past he was forced to have; he came for you, he rushed to save you, he took a bullet for you and yet again, he acted like it was nothing, as if the pain of putting you in danger was greater than any damage he could take.

× his hands encircled you and for the first time since you saw him after waking up to this nightmare, he winced in pain but did not let you go. Instead, he pressed your body into his, fearing you'd dissapear.

× you asked him if you should cover the wound, not really knowing what to do for now; you'd have time to talk, you'd have time to reassure him again and again and again, but now you had to make sure he was fine.

× he shook his head, feeling his nose tickle your neck in the process; "Leave it, I've taken worse." And with that statement you cried harder.

× the police sirens could be heard in the distance, accompanied by the ambulance one...

× —

× so much time passed; so many hours without sleep; police station, explanations, Kirishima almost getting arrested in the spot and being incarcerated, hospital, lawyers, more questioning...

× everything was explained, everything kinda settled for the never-ending day, knowing it wouldn't be the last time you'd have to visit said police station, already sure you'd follow Kirishima there without hesitancy to make sure he's treated correctly, but for now... home.

× the bullet didn't reach any vital organ even if he was hit square in the back and for a normal human it would've meant a hit in one of the lungs, but not for a hybrid—

× still, it didn't hurt less to see him in that state;

× your car was sealed and taken away as evidence, so a taxi home was your only way there.

× hands locked and much, so much to talk about ahead of you but one thing sure

× "I love you." You squeezed his hand, catching his attention, loving how his lips curled in a small smile, not as bright as usual, but still, his smile.

× "I love you more." Was his usual response yet this time it was shy, not looking into your eyes but somewhere behind you, out the window. You frowned and shook his hand to catch the attention fully.

× "No. You don't seem to get it." You led his big, strong, scarred hand to your lips, kissing the back of it softly. "I love you, Kirishima Eijirou. So much."

× the car ride was silent as he took in your words and you couldn't help but enjoy the way his eyes widened, now having his full attention as his cheeks reddened slightly, knowing he's been caught putting himself down.

× he let out a breathless chuckle, so small but with it his shoulders fell in relief. He nodded, watching his hand holding yours and gulped, your words repeating in a loop in his mind.

× Eijirou was so easy to read, so transparent and honest and it warmed heart to ser him accept your words, words you've said countless times before this incident and without a doubt in the future until they engraved permanently in his heart.

× he chuckled again at your expression, catching your gaze and holding it until a smile broke on his face, this time big and warm, just like him. The smile you wanted to see all along.

× he cried again through it, passing his free palm over his eyes for a second; "You're my everything, [Y/N]." he'd pull you into his chest, inhaling your scent. "I love you." he squeezed you close.

[writing-in-april]

The 5 Stages of Grief

Stage Two: Anger (2/5)

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader (Spencer POV)

Summary: Spencer going through each of the stages of grief after the death of the reader. Stage two is anger.

A/N: Thank you for all the love this series has gotten just after posting the first part!! I know angst isn’t for everyone— and neither is seeing Spencer in pain but thank you to all the people who read it 🥰 Again there’s a lot of rhetorical questions in this chapter- plus a lot of repition in Spencer’s thoughts. and, again each chapter gets progressively longer (cause each stage lasts a longer period of time) I did want to clarify that the only thing in this series that’s really going to give away what season it’s in is the people that are on the team. Requests are open and thanks for reading!

Warnings ⚠️ (if you want full warnings for the series check the Masterlist): Unnecessary agression against Spencer’s co-workers, Spencer attacking an unsub, Talk of death, Blood, Talk of guns, Unreliable narrator

Main Masterlist | 5 Stages of Grief Masterlist

Word count: 1.6k

The water that I had been submerged under immediately following the denial slipping away was slowly being replaced with a fire that burned hot. As I was being brought back to the police station in one of the bureau supplied SUVs nothing else was on my mind except the scorching anger that flickered inside me. I was inflamed with rage, so much so that I didn’t care to respond to Morgan’s soothing words to me. The words did nothing to douse the flames flaring to life within me, it just made me wish I did shut him up back at the crime scene. I should regret that I almost injured part of my own team earlier when I was blinded by denial, but the roaring inferno that consumed me was forcing me to focus only on the man that dared to pull the trigger.

“Shut up!” I snapped hotly at Morgan. In response he gave me a wounded look, I could care less about his feelings right now, he didn’t have his significant other murdered right in front of him. That at least got him to be quiet for a moment, which allowed me to let a few hot tears slip down my cheeks. They were tears of frustration and anger, they might as well have been gasoline poured on me acting as a propellant for my hostile feelings.

What further fueled the fire that burned hot inside me was the fact that they would never fulfill the dreams they had for their life. There was also a small part of me that was selfish, the fact that I would never be able to experience those dreams with them, it only served as another accelerant for the fire within me.

They deserved a better way to go, they deserved not to be shot in the back alley behind a gas station. They deserved to die surrounded by loved ones after living a long full life, with me right beside them.

When we pulled up in front of the station I quickly shot out of the vehicle, almost forgetting to even unbuckle my seatbelt. Morgan swiftly followed behind me trying to catch up with my long belligerent strides.

“Wait kid!” He grabbed my arm that was still covered in their blood, cardigan had been soaked enough to even bleed through to my button up. My once pristine purple cardigan was stained blood red, I would never wear this again. As soon as I got the chance I would burn it, even if it was gifted to me by them.

“Don’t call me kid.” My statement was laced with a deadly tone, I didn’t want his help nor did I need his pity. I yanked my arm out of his grip, then storming up the steps and barging into the station. The police officers all looked at me with varying looks of sadness that made me want to wipe their expression off their face. They had no right to be sad. They didn’t even know them.

I paced by the evidence board waiting for any news, not caring that I was still stuck in my bloodied clothes. Most of the team had left to go follow a lead a while ago leaving me with Emily. At least she didn’t feel the need to speak to me. She knew there was nothing she could say or do to make this situation better.

“Spencer, can you come with me?” JJ asked me gently. I perked up instantly at those words, hoping that they had at least been able to track down some sort of information. At least then maybe my fire would be partially quelled.

My breath hitched when I saw what JJ had led me to see. There he was sitting at the interrogation table, the only thing separating us was the one way glass. There was no doubt in my mind, it was him.

JJ then looked at Hotch and Rossi with a saddened expression before joining Morgan in the room where the unsub was shackled to the table. They started the interrogation of what they were all probably saying was the ‘suspect’, but I knew him to be the perpetrator.

“Where did you find him?” The volume of my voice was soft when I spoke, though my words still had an edge of fury to it.

“He was found a mile away from the scene by some of the officers on patrol, with a gun of the same caliber that- Anyway, we are just waiting for ballistics to confirm.” Rossi was gentle as he explained the situation to me. My mind wandered again instead of fully listening to the reason this man was apprehended. Where was everyone’s rage? Why wasn’t anyone angry? The sadness everyone permeated right now, did nothing to help bring this man to justice. Justice was needed. Real action was needed. Vengeance was needed.

“It’s definitely him.” I wasn’t paying attention to the man’s recount or his alibi that I had no doubt was fake. It didn’t matter to me, there was no doubt in my mind that he was guilty.

“Are you sure?” Hotch finally spoke up with a tone of authority, seemingly unaffected by the events of today. “You never said if you got a good look at him or not.”

My face hardened into stone at Hotch’s question. Was he trying to make me more mad? Was he trying to goad me into retaliation? Did he even care about them? Did he even care that one of his co-workers had been murdered? Or was he really as stone cold as everyone made him out to be? Maybe Haley’s murder had really made him void of all emotion. I couldn’t do that. I needed to be angry, I needed it to fuel me into bringing this man to justice. Maybe it wouldn’t be the most legal form of justice, but I would make sure he’d see it, whether it was by my fist or the courts.

“It’s him.” I said with even more conviction, almost on the edge of yelling at the two of them. I turned around to face my two bosses, a dark expression taking over my face as I did. I wish they would just let me in the room.

Rossi’s face was full of pity and through learning to read Hotch’s micro expressions throughout the years I could tell he was trying to express his sympathy, though it felt hollow. The pity and sympathy only served to make the rage inside me more volatile, which I didn’t think was possible. I didn’t care that Hotch had experienced the same pain I was feeling and I didn’t care that Rossi truly had cared about the both of us. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to make me not want to burst through the door of the interrogation room and beat the man to a pulp.

My vision clouded over so I only saw red, I had been consumed by the fire within me. I was like an uncontrollable wildfire now, nothing would stop me. Nothing would stop me from reaching the source of my wrath.

————

My hands were bruised and bloodied, almost like I had punched my fists into glass repeatedly. The blood was seeping through the bandages, someone must have patched me up. But, who? I didn’t even know where I was right now or even how I had gotten these bruises.

Scanning my surroundings I realized I was sitting at the round table in my usual spot, my memory then started coming back to me. I remember JJ pulling me off the unsub after I barged into the interrogation room and had landed a few blows. In my fury of being pulled away from the source of my fire I punched through the mirror in the bathroom I had been dragged into. I remember the wounds on my hands being carefully cleaned by Emily with a softness that I didn’t see often from her. And, I remember being taken home on the jet accompanied by half of the team, the other half had stayed behind to wrap up the case. It scared me that I could barely recall the memories without a haze of fuzziness. I must have been so wrought with fiery emotion and exhaustion that everything around me had started to slip away as unimportant. The team must have brought me in here, they probably wanted to keep an eye on me and knew I wouldn’t want to go back to our apartment. Well, I guess it was just my apartment now. Yeah, the team was right to leave me here. If I even caught a glimpse of their belongings I was sure the rage would take over again.

My eyes immediately shifted over to the chair next to me that would usually be occupied by them. Tears once again filled my eyes, I had cried so much in the past few hours- or was it days? I had cried so much that I wasn’t sure how it was possible. My eyes felt raw, my nose felt raw, my skin felt raw, really my whole being felt raw from the abuse it had seen throughout this whole ordeal. I just wanted this to be over. I just wanted them back.

The fire hadn’t fully gone from me, and I wasn’t sure that it ever would. It flickered inside me, trying to force me into enacting vengeance on the man that had extinguished the person I cared about the most. But, the overwhelming feeling of desperation to see the person who mattered to me most had taken over to partially snuff out the flames into embers. I’d do whatever it takes, I just wanted them back.

—

All works:

@shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz

Spencer Reid/CM:

@calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss

5 stages of grief:

@joonie-centric @tatesimper @half-blood-dork @mcntsee @illuxions-x @rainsong01 @nomajdetective @loveheathens