#tw: sickness mention

[antiradqueerguy]

I'm pretty sure I'm sick so

sorry if i take a dip and go offline for a couple day

[milcycyrus-archived]

text - awsten knight 💞

miley: baby.... miley: do you think this baby will stop making me throw up...i didn't have this much morning sickness with nova... miley: the dogs have not left my side, also i miss you a bunch. || @itsawsten

[teaboot]

I've been stuck in bed all day today and I'm morbidly curious

[itokunii-a]

@conquermonger​: " Why is it so cold... " It came in mumbled sarcasm, barely spoken with much thought behind it, it appeared. Muttered under his breath, which was more than visible with every huff exhaled. Strained his breathing came and his voice sounding sour, annoyed, to those that did not know better.

The towering brute trudged through the deep, knee-high snow. Slowed by the thickness of the frozen white which, to him, seemed to have fallen more than he ever knew it could. He was not born in the land known for ice and frost. He had grown up in it however, spent within the Russian winters half of his life. He was used to it - the cold. Yet here he walked, freezing so much through his layered winter clothes, the icy Siberian wind seeping, no, piercing the fabric like thousand crystaline needles that Vyacheslav Skvortsov was actually trembling whenever he came to a halt for a second too long.

For how long he had walked he did not know. His herculean body stiff and tense he could hardly even feel his fingers anymore, let alone his nose, or the rest of his face, when he threw himself with his shoulder against the frozen, wooden barn door of the abandoned farmstead. The tall fir trees lined up at its back swaying to one side and back from the strong winds. The main building appearing to be nothing more than ruins, here was only hoping finding some shelter within here, at least for the upcoming night and from the worsening storm he feared would turn into a blizzard.

With heavy steps he stumbled inside, actually stumbling forward and threatening to lose balance as the grip on the tall man within his arms shifted uncontrolled, the weight and his strained muscles about to send them both falling. A sidestep and he caught himself, breathing relieved.

With the last bit of strength he managed to walk over to one of the sturdy-looking wood beams that helped support and carry the roof. Carefully placing down the other man he made sure the golden-eyed was able to rest with his back against it. With a fleeting movement of his hand the Russian swiped the freshly-fallen white off Valentin's shoulders, then hesitated, only to reach for his face. Lightly tapping his cheeks a few times to get his attention, for him to actually open those same golden eyes again.

" Hey. No sleeping. "

His surroundings are reduced to nothing more than a blur of motion and hue and with every step his savior takes, it begins to get more and more difficult to recognize anything at all. It is an odd sensation, he has come to find out: the stark lines of the trees against the snowy horizon and their branches reaching out towards the heavens are reduced to a mixture of green and black that, despite the repetitiveness, the monotony of the forest, does not give him a single clue on their whereabouts. It is too ungodly bright to avert his eyes from Slava’s chest and focus on anything anyway; has it always been this bright? He could have sworn that it was cloudy when he started his walk, a clear indication of a relentless snowstorm that, in both his stubbornness and perhaps stupidity, had not stopped him. But he has to go back. He needs to go back. How is he supposed to sleep off this cold ( a cold. The notion seems almost ridiculous when he starts to have a suspicion on what it actually is, when he truly considers that what he has seen was not a mere fever dream ) when his men still stand their ground on the front?

He can hear Slava’s labored breathing, can feel him move and carry him within a strong grasp. Dark lashes are heavy, laced with temptation to simply close them and lull himself to slumber to the rhythm of Slava’s body. And yet still, Valentin resists, knows that he is walking a slim line between rest and death. If he is granted death, that is; he begins to have his doubts. And thus he simply lets the other bring him wherever he wishes to go, trusting him completely ( or simply having no energy to do anything but ).

The change in temperature is minimal but palpable and he can sense his grip shift around him as he is finally lowered to the ground. But instead of frozen earth and unbearable cold he finds himself leaning back against a pillar. It is calm, for just a moment, when his body does not constantly tremble and the ringing in his head subsides and he cannot help but sigh softly and close his eyes to bathe in this rare instance of rest. If only his back would stop burning.

But the other man’s voice breaks him out of his reverie and he cannot help but smile sheepishly. “ I won't. I’m sorry you have to do all of this for me. “

[incorrectbatfam]

Bruce: What does Damian want this time?

Dick: A fifty-dollar squirt gun.

Bruce: A fifty-dollar squirt gun? No really, what does he want?

Damian: Father, we're not talking an ordinary squirt gun. We're talking the Hydrosat 3000Z.

Bruce: That's nice, son. Pretty steep ask though, maybe for the holidays.

Damian: Hey great, a water gun in December. I'll be the little boy spreading pneumonia.

[blehboyspost]

swear to god if i don’t get a flat stomach im going to kms

[coffeelovinggayidiot]

Listen, y'all outside of the Israel/Palestine situation can have whatever opinions you have, but as someone who woke up at 7am by the sounds of sirens and who has friends and family living in the danger zone, I honestly don't give a shit, and no other israel or palestinian gives a shit either over what some dumb fuck on the internet who's never experienced war or even been in a bomb shelter has to say. I pray that my palestinian friends are safe, and that they will suffer as little as possible. People on both sides are DYING. You can have your bullshit, experienceless opinion all you want, but fact is people here are suffering, and you, person getting angry and writing shitty tumblr posts, are not.

Go to hell, people are dying and you making anti-semetic/anti-palestinian post is helping no one but your pathetic ego

Edit: there's were just attacks where I live (which is considered safe) and I'm gonna be completely honest, I'm terrified, for both sides. PLEASE if you're in Palestine/Israel dm/reblog/comment to let me know your ok. We need to support each other through this. This is going to cause us all so much trauma, and we need to hold each other's hands.

[hughiecampbelle]

Imagine Butcher trying to protect you from Homelander, who takes a special interest in you:

"Y/n-"

"Nothing happened!" You didn't mean to yell like that. Everyone turned towards you and Butcher. Some, like M.M. and Kimiko watched with pity. Others, Hughie and Annie, with understanding. It was only a few minutes, that was all. Trapped in an elevator with Homelander. If it were anyone else, they would have been dead. But you weren't just anyone. Your ear piece lost it's connection, the signal, and he was smart enough to destroy the cameras. A few minutes, that was all. It was nothing. He let you leave just like that. The Boys couldn't believe it. They thought you were a goner. Instead you walked right out. Supposedly unharmed. No one bought it. You wouldn't talk about it. You wouldn't mention it. Everyone tried, in their own way, to get you to talk. Butcher was their last resort. He wasn't exactly the most gentle. Still, he needed to know what happened.

"Doesn't sound like it." It was a kiss, that was all. He touched you and kissed you and when it was over, he laughed. Made a promise to see you again sometime soon. You froze and he was too strong and you froze. You felt like an idiot. You could have pushed him off or screamed, you could have done something. And now he was waiting for you. Butcher doesn't want to badger you, he doesn't like interrogating you like this, but if Homelander tried something he has to know. He has to know so he can punish him accordingly. This obsession he had with you was dangerous. He was a monster, a psychopath, and now there was a target on your back. You couldn't ignore that. None of them could.

"I'm done talking about this."

[lgbtiwtv]

god. god. the significance of the diary pages about claudia’s assault being torn out raggedly by Louis, clearly in a fit of guilt and anguish and trauma, vs the diary pages about louis mourning lestat and regretting killing him being removed with surgical control and precision. by armand. this wasn’t a heat of the moment action it was deliberate and calculated and I can’t stop thinking about it

[so-very-small]

“I don’t want to do this.”

“C’mon, you know weddings are fun! You’ll be fine.”

“It’s not the actual shindig that’s the issue; it’s the traveling four states over to get there. That drive is gonna take me like, twelve hours. Be glad you’re a borrower and don’t have to travel for cousins’ weddings.”

“Dude, you’re joking, right? Last year my brother had a destination wedding, two blocks down the street at that house with the big birdbath. It took me three weeks to travel there. I had to fight a CHIPMUNK.”

“Goddamn.”

“I wish I could have drove. The birdbath pool party reception ruled, though.”

“Oh, nice. Open bar?”

“Tinies don’t do that. It was Open Bottle. One open bottle of rum, and we were thriving.”

“Fuck yeah.”

[steveshairychest]

Steve doesn't flinch when a punch is being thrown his way. He's used to violence. Used to the sting of a fist against his cheek or a knee in his ribs. Used to the uncomfortable pain of a black eye or a broken nose. What he isn't used to is gentleness. He flinches the first time Eddie reaches out and brushes hair out of his face, and flinches again when Eddie cautiously threads his fingers with Steve's at the movies.

Eddie thinks it's because of him. He thinks Steve doesn't like him, doesn't like touching him or being around him. He says so after Steve nearly jumped through the roof of the car after Eddie put his hand on Steve's thigh. "Do you not like me anymore?" He asks quietly, insecurity bleeding into every word as he avoids Steve's eyes.

Steve shakes his head quickly and takes Eddie's hand in his own, unsure of how to make things right. "No, I'm just, uhm, still getting used to how gentle you are. It's not a bad thing! I love it. It's just a little overwhelming for a guy like me."

"A guy like you?" Eddie raises an eyebrow in question.

"I haven't always been a good guy." He says after a moment, and Eddie squeezes Steve's hand in comfort. Steve doesn't flinch this time. "I used to start fights for no reason. I would pick on kids that are just like Dustin and Mike and You. I-I wasn't a nice guy. I was a dick. I just feel like I don't deserve to be handled so gently, so softly." It hurts to say it out loud. The truth makes him feel sick to the stomach, it makes him want to run and hide from himself.

He hates who he used to be.

"You really were kind of a dick." Eddie laughs.

Steve smiles sadly and sinks back into the car seat. "I know." He knows it's the truth, but it still hurts to hear Eddie agree.

"But -" Eddie turns around in the seat and scoots as close to him as he can in the cramped front seat of Steve's car. "You've changed so much, Steve. You're not that guy anymore. I'm proud of you for acknowledging that what you did was wrong. Yes, you used to beat people up and start fights for no reason, but look at you now, sitting outside the arcade waiting for the gaggle of children that you've literally fought monsters for."

"You're a good guy, Steve." Eddie leans in close and whispers, "You're actually kind of a loser now."

Steve feels like he's going to cry. Eddie's too good for him, even if he did just call him a loser. "Hope you don't mind having a loser as a boyfriend."

Eddie leans over the centre console and kisses him softly and sweetly. "Nope, don't mind one bit. As long as you don't mind having a freak for a boyfriend, we're all good."

Steve laughs and leans back to admire the man who's changed his life for the better; the man he loves. "Hmm, I don't know... I saw you eat a whole packet of cheese yesterday."

"I was hungry!"

"I was cooking dinner! Plus, you're lactose intolerant."

"So, you're saying you don't date lactose intolerant people?"

"Yep, sorry, babe."

[nook-kid]

🥫 || Quick Sick Day Outfit Board ! ╰┈─➤ feelin a little better than yesterday, just gonna keep resting and watch some more of my fav shows / movies tomorrow. Also trying out a new style of boards, I like the border :)

[wl-princess11]

i know being boney isn’t seen as “attractive” but if i was that skinny, i wouldn’t worry about ANYTHING that i wanted to eat 🦋

[chaotic-orphan]

Defiant Leader x Confident Villain (6)

Read part one here! //Continued from here

TW: VERY INTIMATE CREEPY WHUMPER WHO DOESN’T RESPECT BOUNDARIES, WHUMPER WHO DOESN’T UNDERSTAND NO, boundary pushing whumper, close proximity whumper, whumper making whumpee uncomfortable, borderline SA? Kind of? Idk how to tag it, just kind of borderline implied douchebag but i think it can be triggering for people so beware

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Leader?” Villain asked, lunging forward and grabbing Leader’s face in their hands. “Hey, hey. Leader?”

There wasn’t anything except panic racing through their mind as Villain’s fingers trailed down to Leader’s neck, pressing in gently on his pulse. Only then did they relax, tension leaving their shoulders and calves as they pushed back on their heels and just stared at Leader.

“You scared me, you dick,” Villain muttered to nobody. Leader must have passed out from the pain. Doctor did warn them that that could happen when she was training them. Maybe it was a good thing Leader was passed out while his bones fused themselves together again.

Villain ran a hand through their hair, blowing a breath through their lips as they began to pack up their bag. They unclipped the used needle head and put it in the bag of disposables. Supervillain wouldn’t notice one more used anyways, the bag was half full.

No, their rational voice drawled, sarcasm thick. Supervillain wouldn’t notice something so minute at seeing Leader’s healed hand that he took the effort to break. He’ll never notice.

Villain ignored it as they stood, bag in hand. It would be fine. They’d burn that bridge when they came to it.

Villain cranked the metal door open and froze. Supervillain’s sharp eyes met theirs. Villain, the usually calm and cool, collected Villain froze like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar. Their skulduggery was even childish, quickly hiding the bag behind their back as if Supervillain hadn’t just seen it in their hands.

“Villain,” Supervillain said with a winning smile. Supervillain held a hand up to the person he was talking to, muttering something Villain couldn’t hear before he started walking towards Villain. “So funny, I was just looking for you.”

“Oh, really?” Villain asked, their voice coming out higher than they would’ve liked so they cleared it and pitched it down. “Well, I was just doing my rounds, sir.”

“Were you? So vigilant. How about I inspect it? Like the old days?”

The lie died on their lips at Supervillain’s pointed look. The look that didn’t accept No for an answer. Villain swallowed and inclined their head.

“Of course, sir,” they said pushing the door to Leader’s room back open. Supervillain stepped in and told Villain to shut the door again. Villain didn’t hesitate, though their arms felt heavy as they cranked the door shut again until it sealed properly.

Villain turned to face Supervillain. Even he was dwarfed by the size of the room. It was a bunker from World War II, Supervillain told them when he first showed Villain around. It stored plane parts and guns, ammunition. It was a giant concrete void of space, that Supervillain had repurposed to be his interrogation room.

Villain was far less flashy. The more claustrophobic the better for his victims, though… Leader was able to find the flaw in that approach.

“Hmm,” Supervillain said, drawing Villain’s eyes to his face. “Would you look at that, Villain. Leader’s hand is miraculously healed.”

Villain stepped forward. It was better to admit their guilt now then draw it out and incur Supervillain’s wrath twice.

“I can explain.”

“Can you? I’d love to hear it.”

Villain swallowed and paused, searching for the words because what the fuck were they supposed to say? Villain was Supervillain’s second best interrogator, his best torturer and here they were floundering for words to defend healing Leader’s hand. Their enemy. Supervillain’s prisoner.

Supervillain tilted his head. “No? Do you want me to explain?”

“No, Supervillain… I— listen, I—”

“No, no, no, no,” Supervillain said, wagging a finger at Villain. Only gently scolding them. “I have an even better idea. How about we ask Leader what happened?”

Villain’s eyes shot to Leader, still slumped in his seat and back to Supervillain again. “He’s passed out.”

“I can rectify that,” Supervillain said sweetly. Villain shook their head, holding their hands up placatingly.

“Wait, wait, wait — Supervillain, please. I can—”

“Explain. Please,” Supervillain said, bending to pick up the hammer. His kind, pleasant smile still on his face as he swung the hammer between his fingers. “While I still have some semblance of patience.”

Villain gathered their composure, stuttering wouldn’t help them pacify Supervillain. Villain forced their body to relax before speaking. “You broke every bone in his hand,” Villain said. “The risk of infection was high and then you’d get nothing out of him.”

“And what do I want to get out of him?”

Villain shifted their stance. “He knows exactly who hired him from the commission. He knows who is gunning for you, personally. Shouldn’t we at least try to extract that information before we ki—”

Villain choked on the word. Desperate eyes realising their mistake flashed to Supervillain, searching for sympathy.

“And we can’t extract that information from someone with a broken hand, can we, Villain?” Supervillain asker, sarcasm coating every word. “You’re the expert after all. My expert.”

Supervillain walked around Leader’s chair towards Villain, hammer still in hand. Villain swallowed hard, forcing themselves to remain upright. Not to falter or show weakness. They had no reason to be afraid of Supervillain. Supervillain was their friend. Supervillain trusted them.

Now if they could just assure their heart of that fact maybe it would stop jack-rabbiting in their chest. Supervillain stopped in front of Villain, staring down at them. Villain couldn’t quite meet their gaze so instead they stared at his shoulder. Supervillain swung the hammer between their fingers, but Villain didn’t flinch. Then the metal head of the hammer was under their chin, forcing their head up to meet Supervillain’s icy eyes.

Every muscle in their thighs tensed and released, getting ready to run which was ridiculous because why would they run from Supervillain? If their body could just catch up to their brain that would help them a bunch in this moment.

“I want you to grab the medic bag and bring it back to the medbay,” Supervillain told them. The tension almost melted from their body at his words. See? There was nothing to worry about! Villain nodded, though it wasn’t very effective with the hammer under their chin.

“Of course, sir.” Villain said, moving to grab the bag. The hammer stopped them, this time lightly on their cheek, turning their attention back to Supervillain. Something else hid behind Supervillain’s eyes now, like glittering amusement.

“I’m not finished. When you return the bag, I want you to grab the other for me.”

Villain’s brows drew down over their eyes. “The other bag, sir?”

“Yes,” Supervillain said with a grin. His eyes seemed to glisten with malice, drawing Villain further and further into their crystal blue depths. “Your toolkit.”

Villain stiffened. Supervillain’s smile cut into his face.

“And bring it back here, hmm? I think you’re right, Vil. I think we need to get information from him. Leader seems like a tough nut to crack, but, well, I don’t have to tell you that. You probably know all the things that make him tick. Where to poke and prod, and slice.”

Villain’s hands started shaking at their sides, which they quickly balled, trying to hide the tremble from Supervillain. The reluctance. Fuck. Fuck!

Supervillain wanted Villain to torture Leader… that is not what he meant when he said interrogate him! Villain was just trying to come up with a way that would leave Leader still breathing.

Because you care for him, a nasty voice said in the back of Villain’s head. Even after everything, you still care for him, and Supervillain knows.

This is a test.

Villain nodded again. “I couldn’t agree more, sir. Leader would never turn on his team without incentive.”

Supervillain hummed his approval, dropping the hammer from Villain’s cheek. “My, my Villain. You’re going after the whole team now. I didn’t know you could be so vicious.”

Villain inclined their head, a coy smile on their lips that made themself sick. “Of course you did, sir. It’s one of the reasons you keep me around.”

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Supervillain’s smile was pleasant. His words held a very thinly veiled threat. We’ll see if you stay around after torturing Leader. “Don’t be long! I can’t wait to see this.”

Villain didn’t trust their voice so they nodded. It seemed satisfactory enough. Villain grabbed the bag and walked to the door, cranking it open and stepping out. They froze as the door closed behind them, for just a second. They had to do this. They had to do this. They had to torture Leader, or else they would both end up on Supervillain’s to-be-killed list.

Villain didn’t want to end up in a cell next to Leader. Not with how hard they worked to climb the ranks of Supervillain’s organisation. Not to mention some of the enemies Villain had made here who would just love to see them taken down a peg. Reduced to nothing, another prisoner for them to torture. No, Villain refused to put themself in that position. Not even Leader would get in their way of that.

They took their time bringing the bag back to the medbay, grateful that it was on the other side of the bunker, closer to the entrance. It made sense if anyone got injured in the field, but… it was also closer to Villain’s room. Or rather, their workshop, as Supervillain called it.

Villain’s footsteps seemed to echo down the halls, bouncing off the walls and back to their ears, as loud as gunshots. They shouldn’t have tried to help Leader in the first place! What kind of idiot were they? Healing a prisoner? One that Supervillain had personally seen to! They let their emotions get in the way once, they were not about to make the same mistake twice.

Villain opened the door to their workshop. It was a glorified shed of a room with all different torture devices hung perfectly on the wall. Everything was even from the hooks to the actual tools; sorted in groups that made sense to Villain, whips and blunt objects on one side, knives in a group of their own, and miscellaneous others, like tasers and pliers on the other.

Villain glared at the objects now, bending and grabbing his leather bag from under the metal table. Their mutinous brain was working against them, cataloging all the different things that would make Leader break. The knives were Villain’s favourite, but they doubted Leader would break under that kind of pain. It stung, but only for a little while. Still… It was Villain’s specialty and Supervillain would raise his brows if Villain came back without any.

Villain packed a few, and their nasty whip that left their victims screaming and sobbing in their restraints, begging for mercy.

Villain froze as a horrible thought crossed their mind. Leader would turn into one of their victims now. One of their actual victims. Villain was going to have to make Leader beg and plead and cry and scream— they screwed their eyes shut trying to scrub the image from their mind.

It would soon be undeniably in front of them as they caused the damage anyways. They just needed to retreat to that unemotional recess in their brain. Turn on survival mode, just do what they needed to do and hate themselves later for it.

It would be easy, they told themselves. Maybe if they told themselves that enough, they might actually start to believe it. Well… they could live in hope.

“Knock, knock,” Villain straightened, their back going rigid at the voice. “Hey Vil, I saw you sneak into your friend’s room earlier. Are you bringing them something to keep them entertained while they visit?”

Villain turned, not bothering to hide the look of revulsion that appeared on their face whenever they saw Rival. Rival was the definition of a piece of shit personified. He was tall, a creep that made Villain’s skin crawl, and handsome which automatically gave him a licence to be the world’s leading expert on how to not respect people’s boundaries. Rival thought everyone was in love with him, and could give a masterclass on: how to be a bastard while sucking up to your superiors.

“Yeah. Do you want to come? I can beat the shit out of you while they watch, that should keep them entertained.”

Rival smiled his horrible, handsome smile. He had to bend slightly to step through the door into Villain’s workshop. Villain glared at him as he walked over to the wall of knives and took one between his fingers.

“Oh, how I’d love to come and watch…” Rival said, shooting Villain a sideways glance. “You know how much I love to watch you work.”

Villain’s nose scrunched up in distaste. “You ratted me out to Supervillain.”

“Ratted you out? No. Never,” Rival said, turning his body to Villain’s and stepped closer. Rival pressed the flat of the blade under Villain’s chin, tilting their head up to look him in the eye. He had chocolate brown eyes that reminded Villain a little of Medic’s, but where Medic’s were cold and logical, Rival’s were a sickening kind of warm. “Supervillain just asked about your whereabouts and I told him the last place I saw you was in the medbay.”

Villain’s glare turned cutting. “Oh don’t look at me like that, Vil,” Rival said with a pout. “We’re on the same team here.”

Rival stepped impossibly closer, forcing Villain’s head up at an uncomfortable angle. “Why is it you can get along with everyone else but me, hmm?”

Villain’s arm twitched up but they stopped when they felt the blade knick their throat. Rival’s eyes got brighter as Villain felt a bead of blood surface.

“Maybe because not everyone here is a creep like you.”

Rival smirked down at Villain. “It’s just the two of us here, Vil,” Rival said with a honeyed voice, dragging the blade up, tracing the outline of Villain’s skull with the tip of the dagger. Rival’s hand replaced the blade at Villain’s throat, tightening when Villain tried to step away. “You like all the attention I give you. Admit it.”

Villain swallowed, feeling the weight of Rival’s hand like a collar as they did.

“Supervillain’s expecting me,” is all Villain replied, expression blank. The corner of Rival’s lips twitched up, but he let Villain go. Villain went back to packing their bag, as if Rival wasn’t there.

Villain was glad of the distraction, ignoring the slight tremble in their hands that usually followed an interaction with Rival. They walked over to the chemical cabinet. The drugs that drove Supervillain’s prisoners mad, that heightened all sensation and set nerves alight in agony.

Supervillain was more sadistic than Villain. He liked when people screamed and cried, and writhed in pain. Even when Villain told him it wasn’t necessary to get information. Especially traitors. He liked to sit in and watch them in their lowest moments, screaming and begging for help, for a mercy that Supervillain would never give.

Rival’s eyes never left Villain as they moved about, packing the last of the things they needed in their bag. They grabbed the handles of their bag in one hand, about to zip it up when Rival’s hand slid over Villain’s and stopped them.

“Take this one too, Vil,” Rival said, depositing the knife he used to knick Villain’s throat into the bag. Villain shivered as Rival brushed the small cut on their throat, ignoring his hungry gaze. “Trust me when I say it’s work is delightful.”

Villain didn’t say anything in return. They zipped up the bag and turned away from Rival, only focused on getting away from the monster beside them. Once they stepped out of the corridor of their workshop, Villain put their hand over their mouth and sucked in a startled breath, tears pricking the backs of their eyes. They wanted to be sick, but Supervillain…

Supervillain was… Supervillain was expecting them. They took the moment to gather themselves before straightening again and walking purposefully towards Leader’s cell.

Villain held their head high. They could compartmentalise that encounter until later. Right now they had to be Supervillain’s Villain. Supervillain’s protégé, his in house torture expert and interrogator. They had no time to be regular Villain.

Hell… Villain hadn’t seen that vulnerable side to themselves in a while. Maybe Leader did make them weak. Maybe they would have never reached their potential if they had stayed with Leader… and Medic and Rogue…

They steeled their heart once they turned down the hall of Leader’s cell. Reminiscing wouldn’t help them with what was to come. In fact, it would most likely hurt them and prevent them from doing what they had to do. What needed to be done. Their loyalty to Leader was dead and they had to prove it.

Villain wasn’t an idiot, this was a test. To see when it came down to it, who was Villain really? The pathetic nobody that Leader remembered or a valued member of Supervillain’s organisation?

Not only that, but which one served them better at this moment in time? This was the last thing that Villain wanted to do today, but whatever God that was watching them was a sadistic freak that liked to see Villain suffer. Maybe they deserved Rival’s attention, maybe it was their karma for what they were about to do.

Villain took a breath and opened the door then disappeared inside, the metal cranking closed behind them.

*~*~*~*~*

A.N — Sorry it’s short, and also a cliffhanger, it would have been too long if I continued it but next part soon!!! Thank you for reading :)

Orphanage roll-call (tag-list, lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @nameless-beanie @aarika-merrill @criohfreeze @bandnbookbag @gala1981 1 @theonewithallthefixations @libellule888 @cardboardarsonist @shywhumpauthor r r @written-by-jayy @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @whump-is-love-whump-is-life @icarusignite @shirtzip @honeyed-euphrates @shameless-dumbass s @dutifullykrispyland @starlight-hope @thatlittlefirestarter @iskrapolumianka @withercat22 @elizaisnotokay @jumpywhumpywriter

[itokunii-a]

@fcrrous​ asked: “Business is over until further notice, your health is more important.” (from Mark to Valentin)

It truly has proven to be more difficult than he initially thought to concentrate on the task at hand when his vision keeps blurring and both his stare and his thoughts derail the very second he dares to lift his eyes from the paper or blink. But, alas, Valentin Kirilov is nothing if not dedicated and stubborn and, thus, with a quiet, shuddering exhale, his cheek sinks further into the palm of his hand ( warm, so unbearably warm and at this point he does not know where the heat manifests from, just that it is consistent and unrelenting but the damp cold of the remains of a room he currently inhabits still manages to seep into his uniform and make him shudder without pause ) and his hand resumes the motion of an attempt at writing.

Writing. He almost would have chuckled at the absurdity of it all would his body not feel like lead and his tongue rest heavy within the dry confines of his mouth. But his body does not grace him with additional energy and, so, he glares blankly at the report he is forced to write, to recount the events of bloodshed and terror and the young hands ( praying fingers, desperate tears, placing him somewhere between pleas to god, as though both of them could do a fucking thing ) and screams that begged for him to save them while he burned his way through corpse after corpse, enemy after enemy. And here he is, recounting events for some officer that would never read it in the first place. The stench of smouldered flesh has never left his nose.

He clenches his fist and his pen falls from his grasp, shutting brown eyes in frustration, forcing his anger away with practised ease. A sigh, soft, his limbs still protesting every movement he even considers making. His powers always claim way too much of him, he knows that, almost as if he is reliving what he himself inflicts, almost as if heaven itself wants to purge him after all he does.

The other sergeant’s voice genuinely surprises him, as though he forgot that he offered his help in the first place and, finally, Valentin manages to fix his glance on him to focus on the words he has almost overheard. It takes him a moment to deduce their meaning but when he does, he counts it as a victory, albeit small. “ Ah-- no, it’s okay. I’m okay. It’s nothing I can’t deal with. “ And nothing he has not dealt with before. A smile spreads over his lips, slow, hesitant as though the motion is unfamiliar to him in such state. “ I can’t just let you write these reports by yourself. You deserve rest as much as anyone here, Mark. “

[incorrectbatfam]

Bruce: My kids have just discovered that the family sick bowl and the cake mix bowl are one and the same. In my defense, this was also the case when I was growing up... but now I've said it out loud, I realize I need to break the cycle. I won't be taking any further questions.