#And scars and disfigurement are not body horror so again do not do that!

[nopes-and-dreams]

hey folks please do me a favor and don’t tag scars, disfigurement, and amputees as triggers on my art. that’s not cool that is people’s bodies. you would not tag a fat person as ‘fat tw’ or a black person as ‘black tw’ so please for the love of everything holy and profane do not tag scars, disfigurement and amputees as ‘scars tw’ or ‘amputation tw.’ amputation as an act can be warned for but not amputees.

#If you’re triggered by amputees now is a great time to start working on desensitizing yourself because that ain’t something you should make #other people’s problem. thank you. #And scars and disfigurement are not body horror so again do not do that!

[hugsandchaos]

Kwazii leaned back in the seat of the gup-B and stretched his arms, closing his eyes and sighing in satisfaction at the sensation of his upper joints finally popping and releasing a small, annoying tension. He propped his legs up on the lid, inches away from kicking the steering wheel, or stick, and crossed his light leg over his left. He folded his arms behind his head and faced the horizon, eyes still closed.

The rocking caused by the waves was small, even considered gentle to Kwazii, having slept on ships and boats most of his life. Kwazii smiled softly to himself, recalling the old days. It had only been around 3 years and already his pirate days felt like they were a lifetime ago. Days often spent with his loved ones, like Arif, the old bat who saved his life as a kid. Oscar, the albino crow who he admired for being able to do things most crows can’t or won’t do, even with his disfigured wing. His family. Kwazii’s smile quickly disappeared, shaking his head furiously to forget what just crossed his mind. It was a topic of mixed up emotions to him, but they were all negative ones. He could never bring himself to truly remember the days when they were around as the “good old days”, because they weren’t the type of good old days he couldn’t go back to because he knows stuff he didn’t back then, or because he was a kitten and now he’s older, but because the ones he spent time with the most were long gone. And not in the “moved on” kind of way, unless you meant them moving on onto whatever afterlife there was. Surely they wouldn’t have become any kind of ghost. Or maybe they did. There could’ve been regrets or unfinished business Kwazii didn’t know about.

Kwazii tried to push those thoughts aside, knowing he’d just spiral down deeper and deeper into sadness until someone found him in the morning. He never wanted to shed a single tear, getting mad at himself whenever he did. Kwazii moved his left arm from under his head and lightly smacked the side of the gup-B in a steady rhythm. He soon began nodding his head to the beat a bit and slowly started to smile again. No one was there, so no one would hear him.”There once was a ship that put to sea, and the name of the ship was the Billy of Tea. The winds blew up, her bow dipped down, oh blow, my bully boys, blow. Huh!!” Kwazii took a breath.”Soon may the Wellerman come,” Kwazii stopped and turned around when he heard a second voice join in and froze.

Behind him, sitting on the back of the gup-B between the driver’s spot and the back shark fins was a ghost. A cat pirate, too. His legs dangled over the left (from behind the gup, right from Kwazii’s point of view) and he faced out into the ocean in the direction he was seated, eyes closed, like Kwazii had been mere seconds ago. The pirate’s voice was noticeably deeper than his, but not by a lot, just enough to notice. It had that mysterious, ghostly echo that some ghosts have in horror movies. His fur was black, but was stained with blood at the right cheek and on his clothes, along with orange fur, and a white mist outlined the ghost’s body, glowing s bit. Scars and injuries that seemed fresh yet also old scattered across the ghost, suggesting he had died in a fight. He was lightly smacking the side like Kwazii had been.”To bring us sugar and tea and rum.” He continued singing. He turned to look at Kwazii. The lower left side of his face was gone, aside from the skull sticking out and faint traces of blood and flesh. He smiled sweetly at him, as if proud of him.”One day, when the tonguin’ is done, we’ll take our leave and go.” Once he was done singing, a breeze flew by and the ghost turned into a white, glowing mist, and was carried away in the wind.

Kwazii was left almost paralyzed by what he just saw. He took in a breath, not realizing he had stopped breathing when he saw the pirate, and his ears lowered. He was too shocked to notice the tears forming in the corners of his eyes, even the one under his eyepatch, and spoke in an almost broken, helpless tone.

“….Ayah?…”

(Dad?)

#au #octonauts #octonauts slight angst #kwazii #slight angst #angsty #I made this because why not #it was stuck in my head

[ushdubsar]

untitled

Some nights I go to bed absurdly early because of my sleep disorder. Those nights, I wind up awake again at ungodly hours, staring into the abyssal murk of the night, thinking thoughts that draw blood because it's the only thing to do when I'm left to my own devices that way.

I sing songs of loss, contemplate images of suffering, and stare into the gloom, frozen in paranoid silence. I think things that let me feel the flesh peel back from my limbs, the cicatrices marring the bone beneath, the blood turned to caustic soot and wafted away as smoke.

And I think, "This is okay. It's not the same as the scars on my left hand. I will wake up, and this will have never happened." I tell myself stories about why I'm allowed to do this to myself, and they're even believable.

But the damage never goes away. The illusions it used to work its way in fade, but all the cuts and burns are still there, invisible under the skin. You can, perhaps, set a broken bone. No one can ever erase the slow disfigurement of the mind.

Any blade can do damage beyond repair. It makes no difference if it's surgical steel or words that burn furrows behind the sternum. I can never fill these trenches, but I can't help but keep cutting, prying, tearing, digging, alone in lightless places.

Maybe one day the hole will be so deep that they'll be able to bury me in myself. An interment of infinite regress. Will I finally rest in peace when my soul is nothing but the dried peel, devoid of any contents, even the seeds despoiled and desiccated to waste?

But this body isn't hallowed ground. Laying the dead to rest here will demand a haunting. What is left when a haunting becomes haunted by itself? An autocannibalistic locus of occult manifestation. A singularity of ghosts. Something, surely.

At least I'll be something then, though necessarily built of ruin.

Who knows, maybe I already am. I don't know how long I've been digging for. Maybe that's why the weight feels suffocating. Maybe I'm already on my way back out.

In the end, I'll tell you, every time, that I'm alright. It's the one lie I allow myself, because there's nothing you or anyone can do anyway. And you'll believe it, because to all appearances I look fine. Face blank, eyes empty, but not a mark on me. And it's better that way.

In this way, the lie is more true than the facts. I'm fine. I'll always be fine. I have to be fine. There's no other state available, and what could anyone do differently if there was? There is no disproving the lie. There is nothing to do about the truth.

The truth is a spell of powerlessness and suffering. Better to believe the lie. This is just a story. This is just a writing exercise like the others. This is an exploration of metanarrative horror. What could anyone do if it wasn't? What would change?

How many solitary lies hiding impossible truths are there? How many have you told?

There is a hole in everything, and we're all expanding it all the time. Enjoy the prose and don't think about the truth values.

#repost from my twitter #i swear im mostly better now

[unorganisedalienrubbish]

How does it make you feel, to know that the scars you made have outlasted you, in the presence of my life?

How does it make you feel, now that my body is imperfect and disfigured, without you even having to touch me? Does it make you feel powerful? Knowing that your legacy will be everlasting, as long as I am alive.

How does it make you feel knowing that you destroyed both my body and soul, that I am still recovering over half a decade later.?That the stitches I so carefully sewed into my skin all those years ago, are still in a jar on my shelf. That I still am stitching myself together everyday (although metaphorically now), to stop this pain from spilling out of my seams.

How does it make you feel, now that I am stronger, that I can’t feel pain the same way? Do you feel scared? You should be. Even if you tried to hurt me again, I wouldn’t feel it, for I am numb to the pain.

Feel fear, for I am hunting you, always, in the back of my mind.

Feel terror, for if I saw you in public, there is nothing that could stop me from tearing you apart, like you did to me when I was but a child. I cannot pretend that I am above violence, in most situations it is grotesquely unnecessary, but I think here, it is deserved.

Feel horror, as there is nothing you can do to stop it.

My hands were once bloody, my precious colours staining my skin, all from the pain you caused. They will be bloody again, though not with my blood, albeit for the same reason. 

I’d like to think that you aren’t affecting me to this day, but I’d be wrong. The way I flinch at the scent of your perfume, trembling in the changing room, shaking under even the gentlest touch. Maybe after inflicting the same damage, it will bring me some closure, and I can rest again.

#personal #vent #tw self harm #tw blood #btw #if you wanted to know #this is about how my ms gf told me to sh #and it cost me a job too #i could be making a living wage now #but here we are

[lokisprettygirl]

Mystery of Laufey Manor (Loki x Female Reader) (Horror Au)

Read Chapter 15 here // Series Masterlist

Chapter 16

Summary : You're excited to start your married life with Loki. But nothing that seems so perfect could ever be that way right?

You lifted the band of the mask from over his head, and he closed his eyes, waiting for you to push him off your body and run away from him like they all did. Well not instantly but it drove the love they had away from him. He still remembers their words.

"I don't know what I was expecting to be honest, it's not your fault that I didn't listen to you" 

"Good god loki..keep it back on I don't have to see you, you were right" 

"Can I turn on my front? You can fuck me from behind" 

As soon as you took the mask off, you saw his skin, he was burned and the fire must have been extremely bad to melt his skin off like that, it was all scarred with layers of damaged tissues, somehow his beautiful eyes and lips were spared from it. He had his eyes closed and you noticed that he was shaking slightly, you slowly pulled the wig off his head, you have seen him once without the wig. It wasn't any different from the front than it was from the back. His head seemed burnt too and only had patches of hair. Your eyes teared up as you thought of the pain he must have endured that night when the accident occurred. 

You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer to you.

"Lo baby look at me please, I love you" his eyes opened, the shock evident in them as he didn't find a single hint of disgust on your face. You still looked at him the same

"You love me?" He asked you so softly, your heart was breaking for him, he didn't deserve to feel this way about himself. He was beautiful regardless of the scars.

"Of Course I do..I'll never stop, you're the same man I fell in love with, why would you expect me to give it all up just because you have scars on your face? Sometimes I feel as if you don't know me at all" The tears finally cascaded down from his cheeks so you quickly wiped them away. 

His skin was rough under the touch, it was also a proof of his bravery, the courage he had him going through something so terrible and still managing to move past it.

"You're so strong lo..you have been through so much and I admire your tenacity, you have me now and I'm not going to leave, let me love you baby, come here" you wrapped your arms around his neck as you pulled him closer. He still couldn't believe it, he felt as if he was dreaming, you wanted to touch him still, you wanted to be so close to him.

"Come here baby..come here" you placed a soft kiss on both sides of his cheeks then you kissed him passionately, your lips moved together in a heated manner and so did his hips. He started to thrust his cock in and out of you again. He perched himself on his elbows as he fucked you slowly. You bit on your lips and started to moan as the pleasurable feeling grew with every roll of his hips 

"I love you so much darling, so much" he whispered and leaned down to suck on your neck, you ran your fingers through his head and he moaned at the sensation, nobody has touched him like that before, well not since he got disfigured. 

"I love you my pretty husband, you're beautiful..so so beautiful to me, so handsome, so charming..so sexy..so fucking sexy ..oh god" you whispered the last part as his cock brushed against the sweet spot in your pussy. He looked at you as he heard the praise, you kept your eyes on him. Your eyes seemed full of love and adoration for him, not an ounce of pity or disgust. He got truly blessed when he met you.

"Mmhm thank you, you're the prettiest woman I have ever known too, the prettiest ever and I don't just mean your outer beauty. I'm so blessed darling" you smiled as you heard his sweet words, you continued to caress his face with one hand while the other played with the rest of his body, you couldn't help it, you have been on your hands and toes waiting for this night and for a moment it all felt surreal. 

"Fuck..god please..I can't..hold .." you mumbled incoherently as he increased his pace slightly, he has kept you on the edge in these last few months and you knew your body will collapse once your orgasm hits you, once you feel his warm cum spilling inside you.

"You can and you will darling, I promised to ruin you, so let me ruin you until you are vacant and mindless, I want to see that blank look on your face sweetheart, the one you have whenever you're being touched inappropriately" he whispered in your ears, pulling you under his trance like he always do. 

"Godd loki you have a dirty mouth" you rubbed your fingers over his lips and he grabbed your palm to place soft kisses over it. 

"Mmhmm? But you're the one who told me that she wants to choke on my cock, you love my dirty mouth don't you?" You nodded in desperation as you heard his filthy words. He was so damn lewd but it made you burn even hotter for him

"I'll fulfill each and every fantasy of yours my darling, I don't care how obscene they may get, I need you to lay it out on me so I can make you reach that height of depravity that you crave. I'll give you everything you'd ask for love..just ask, just don't ever run away from me"  Now why would you ever do such a stupid thing? He was snapping his hips almost violently, you heard the sound of his balls slapping against your heated core, every thrust, every scent, every word, every look that he threw your way got you crazier for him.

"Fuck yess I want to fulfill all your fantasies too loki..I ..oh god please I need to cum lo..hubby pleassee" you begged him so he'd show you some mercy, you have never been treated like this in bed and you knew after this night you'd be addicted to his cock just like you were addicted to his whole existence.

"Almost there sweetheart, just hold on and be a good girl, can you be good for me hmm?" He grabbed your chin as he asked you that to make you look at him.

"Mmm yess" it felt like a torture but the kind that's you wished he'd inflict on you over and over again. Every night.

"There you go, that's it, you're so obedient for me, so pilant, a perfect whore for my cock..go on cum with me now my sweet sweet wifey, let your husband fill you up until you're spilling out my cum"

You didn't even hear everything he said, you came as soon as he commanded you. You felt the waves of the intense orgasm in every nerve of your body, you felt his warm cum filling you up and that added to the intensity of it. He grunted and moaned your name as he made you fall apart for him, you on the other hand, you couldn't even make a sound, you had your mouth open as the sensations hit all your sensory nodes at once, he clogged every one of them. He was all you could see, touch and smell around you.

It was cathartic, the feeling of him filling you up and the pleasure you got from it felt new as if you had the sex for the first time. His hips continued to move slightly and he interlocked his hands with you and placed them above your head as you both swam in the high.

Once you both came to your senses you cuddled him.

"That was so good, I could do it forever" he chuckled as he heard you, you were laying on top of him as he caressed your back 

"Forever?" His voice sounded so sad so you looked up at him and pecked him on the lips 

"Till death do us part okay?" he turned to his side, placing you on the bed. He still couldn't believe that you accepted him just the way he was, not just that, you made him feel.. loved as you caressed his face and head so mindlessly, not even bothering the way he looked without the mask and the wig.

He has felt love before, but not like this. Never like this. He always was the one giving to his wives, they just took everything for him and they wanted more. Until he got rid of them. You have never asked him for anything. He wished he didn't have to do this to you, the truth will break you and you'd hate him but he had no other choice in this matter. He wanted to be free.

He felt your fist grabbing his flaccid cock and it snapped him out of his thoughts. 

"I just love holding it" 

"You can hold me whenever you want" you stroked him up and down and he moaned as he started to feel himself getting excited again. He ran his hands from your back to your pussy, you moaned as you felt his fingers rubbing against your lips 

"You have the softest lips my darling, and I am addressing both of them" you looked at him, lust clouded your eyes again and he loved that look in your eyes. He has starved you for so long, and you still felt ravenous for him. You got on top of him and took him inside you as you rode him to another orgasm. 

"Ohh you insatiable little harlot of mine, you want more hmm? Take it my sweet, take my body and make yourself cum my love" you increased your pace as you heard his filthy words corrupting your mind.

He pulled you closer to kiss you, his eyes teared up as he looked at the ceiling, She seemed livid, so mad at you. 

Next morning when you woke up, he was in the shower, so you decided to use the one in the bedroom next to yours. However when you entered the first thing you noticed was the portrait of a man and woman hanging above the bed. They seemed old and they had a kid around 10 year old sitting next to them. Were they his parents? You walked closer and looked at the kid in the portrait, he seemed adorable. If this was Loki, you felt awful about the pain he had to go through in his life, it must have been so tragic to lose his face and his walking ability like that. 

While showering you had that dreadful feeling as if you were being watched again. When you reached your room, he was in a white shirt along with black pants, he had his mask and wig on. It was Sunday and you knew the factory would be closed today. You were excited to spend all day with him. As he looked at you he walked over to you with a smile on his face

"Good morning my love, I was looking for you" he kissed you softly so you smiled at him

"Good morning, I used the bathroom in the next room, hope you don't mind"

"You're the lady of the Manor now, do whatever you need to, Just don't go to that room that was burned down, wouldn't want you to get sick with molds or something" you nodded and leaned forward to place kisses on his cheeks.

"You don't have to put it on around me anymore?" You looked up at him and he caressed your cheeks with his fingers then leaned forward to kiss your forehead

"I know and I'm grateful that you are not wary of me, but I am just more comfortable this way darling"

"Then you do you my darling husband" he smiled as he heard your soft voice.

"Umm Did the room next to ours belong to your parents?" You asked him and he nodded

"I saw the portrait, you look adorable in it" you kissed him softly and he smiled again

"Thank you, you know what, I'll look for the family pictures and show them to you" 

"When did the accident happen? How old were you?" 

"I had just turned 20, it actually happened on my birthday" your eyes teared up as you heard that so you hugged him, he caressed your back in a soothing manner.

"It's alright my darling, you don't have to feel awful about it, come on, the breakfast is ready" he grabbed your hand and you both used the elevator to go to the ground level, it was faulty and got stuck sometimes that's why he asked you to not use it but using the elevator was easy on his legs. 

"Are Diana and Laura here to make breakfast and lunch?" You asked him and he nodded

"You learned their names I see" he chuckled 

When you entered the kitchen they bowed down to him in courtesy

"My lord, meals are prepared and in the oven so it stays warm, is there anything you'd like us to do for you?" 

Diana said to him and he sighed.

"I have told you to not be so formal Diana. And no thank you, you both can be on your way" you felt Laura's eyes on him as she looked at him up and down, her eyes seemed sad. You wondered what that was about? 

"So you hired them recently right?" You asked him, he put a kettle on the gas stove to prepare tea for you both

"When I came back from USA..Yes" 

After breakfast, he took you upstairs to his office, you went straight for the book shelf, you felt his eyes on you as you looked around. That book you found yesterday wasn't there anymore.

"Umm where is that book I saw yesterday, from that Indian woman?" You asked him and he just shrugged in response

"I kept it somewhere safe, it was a gift, we should preserve gifts right?" 

You nodded but something about the book felt off to you, you couldn't help but wonder what was written on the last blank page. That night you spent it curled up around him, he gave you several orgasms and made a complete mess out of you. You didn't even wake up when he was getting ready to go to the mill next morning. He did kiss you before he left. 

In the living room he heard the telephone ringing , all the telephone lines were interconnected so he quickly picked it up before you could.

"Hello is this Laufey manor? May I speak to Y/n Y/l/n ?" Loki's eyes widened, he recognised that voice, it was Bruce Banner, the cop from Brooklyn.

"Hello, it's Lady Y/n Laufeyson now, and may I know who am I speaking to and what is the matter?" 

"It's Officer Bruce banner from Brooklyn, it's about her friend Steve, she wanted me to inform her as soon as we find something" 

"Well you can tell me, this is her husband, I'll pass on the information" Bruce sighed on the other side 

"I would actually prefer talking to her about this if you don't mind" 

"Well whatever the concern is, let me assure you that she no longer wants to know anything about Steve, Don't call here ever again" He hung up as soon as he was done speaking. 

This wasn't good, you can't know anything about Steve, he couldn't help but be curious if what the news might be. 

In your bedroom, you put down the phone after they were done talking to each other. You picked the call at the same time Loki did. 

Why did he ask Bruce to not contact you again? What was happening? What was he hiding?

💀💀💀💀💀💚💚💚💚💀💀💀💀💀

Taglist :

@soumya-13   @nonsensicalobsessions    @michelleleewise   @ladymischief11    @keegansakura   @perhaps-just-june    @daddylokisqueen     @chaotics17     @colifower    @crystalmoon-13

 @wheredafandomat     @snigdha-14       

@vbecker10    @rat-p1ss   @howdidurhammergrowchris    @xorpsbane   @xpixiedevilx    @thatsolarflare @apine7    @sweatyroadcowboyjudge    @jadep2003   @hayden429    @asgardianprincess1050

@elenaysusneuras    @christineblood   @cruel-kitten         @evansstanacklescavillthotforever @buckybarnesandmarvel    @huntress-artemiss @el-zef

#loki #loki x female reader #loki x reader fluff #loki x reader fic #loki x reader insert #loki x reader smut #loki x reader #loki x you #loki horror au #horror romance #dark loki

[hurting-fictional-people]

This one is for the anon who asked me about a part three to the Whumpee betrayed Caretaker pieces. So sorry it took me so long to post this, but inspiration refused to come sooner... I hope you're still around Anon! And that you like it <3

Continued from here

-

Cold air tickles Whumpee’s bare torso, blows on still aching wounds exposed to the world, but they don’t dare say a thing. They know better than to talk without being talked to.

Whumper walks around them, arms crossed in front of their chest and face disturbingly blank.

“Did you tell Caretaker?”

Everything trembles at the words, from Whumpee’s hands to their lips to their heart, they tremble. “What?”

“You know what,” Whumper hisses, narrowing their eyes. “Why are they calling your name and asking my guards what I did to you, Whumpee?”

No. No, no, no. “I d– I didn’t say anything!” But both of them can hear the crack beneath the words, the terror. Would someone innocent be this terrified? “I don’t know why they want to see me, please Whumper.”

“And you dare lie to me above everything else? I thought we’d come to an understanding, dear. Guess I was wrong.”

“Please, please, p-please,” they mumble, wishing their hands weren’t bound above their head so they could kneel, show their submission. Twin waves of shame and horror at the thought break against them, but dread is quick to subdue both at the glint in Whumper’s eyes. “I didn’t say anything, please.”

“We made a deal, Whumpee. You don’t tell Caretaker how I got you talking and I don’t hurt you again. But a deal only stands if both sides hold on to it. And whatever you did, Caretaker didn’t fall for our game and that makes me upset. Do you know what happens when I get upset?”

“Please, please, please–“

“When I get upset, love, you suffer.”

“Whumper, please, just, p-p–“

“Please what, Whumpee?” It’s said in such a calm voice, so distant from the raw desperation enveloping Whumpee’s every breath, it brings tears to their eyes.

“Please, not the whip,” they whisper.

Their back is still healing, still pounding and aching each time they move and the sheer thought of having it open again– 

“Fine.” All the whines and pleads die in their mouth, swallowed by shock. Whumpee hangs in silence, sobs muffled at the answer, relief fighting fear inside their chest. Whumper smirks and tips their head to the side. “I’ll oblige you with this, just this once.”

And then they turn their back, and Whumpee uses the moments without that penetrating gaze boring into them to gulp down deep breaths, hoping that fresh air is enough to calm their racing heart. 

“If you don’t want the whip, we’ll have to mark you another way,” Whumper says, crouching down in front of the fireplace across the room and playing with the fire poker. “You know, Whumpee, I always knew you’d fail. Not strong enough to hold on under torture, not strong enough to protect your friend… I just knew you wouldn’t be strong enough to keep a secret. I’m glad I’ve prepared.”

The tears burn their eyes as they roll down their cheek, marking not their fear but their guilt.

Whumper turns around, wolfish smile splitting their face, holding the scorching fireplace poker that isn’t a poker at all. 

“Had it made especially for you, love,” Whumper croons, delighting in the choked yelp that leaves Whumpee’s lips, their eyes locked on the bright red tip of the branding iron, on the letters carved there. 

Whumpee thrashes. They haven’t fought in so long they barely remember how to, but their body is quicker to respond than their mind, and they can’t help but pull against chains that barely move, whining like an animal, all air stolen from their lungs by the sight of each of Whumper’s slow steps toward them. 

When they finally stop in front of Whumpee’s quivering figure, there’s a kind of sadistic satisfaction on their expression that steals Whumpee’s words as well, not even their desperate pleads left to be stuttered out. Only sheer panic.

“Don’t forget you are the one who asked for this,” Whumper murmurs, placing a deceivingly soft finger under Whumpee’s chin to tilt it up, forcing them to meet their gaze. “You know you deserve this, don’t you Whumpee? It’s why you aren’t even begging me to stop. You know it as well as I do.”

They don’t have time to answer before the blazing iron is pressed against their heart, and Whumpee’s world melts into searing pain.

Whumper’s eyes twinkle as Whumpee writhes and sobs and screams, long and ragged, voice breaking in millions of pieces as their skin is burned, charred, incinerated. They try to form words, but all their lips do is tremble and choke on pleads they can’t force out between their cries.

It spreads throughout their whole body, lava seeping into vein and muscle and bone. 

They can only weep when Whumper pulls the brand away and the pain doesn’t abate.

“You look beautiful like that, love. So consumed by agony you can’t even think. Crying and screaming,” they smile, so horribly delighted. “I think this is what you were born for. To hurt. No one who wasn’t would look this good in pain.”

Whumpee sobs, heaving chest that refuses to breathe, feet scrabbling against the floor, searching for support they didn’t even realize they’d lost. It still burns. Even without the brand, it burns, too much, too big, too painful to think through the tears and the shock.

“Want to see it?” Whumper asks, so cheerful it feels like just another hit Whumpee barely even reacts to anymore. And then there’s a mirror in their hands, held in front of Whumpee, displaying the wrecked skin above their heart. The angry crimson letters crossing their chest, the word forever marked there.

WEAK

It isn’t a lie, and that might be the worst of it all. 

Whumpee grits their teeth and screams the little voice they’ve left, shaking and hoping it can all just stop. 

“P-p-ple-please,” they moan, eyes stuck to the grotesque thing their chest has become. “H-h-hurts, p-please.”

“I know it does,” Whumper says, stroking their cheek, spreading the tears. “Don’t worry, I think I know someone who’d be happy to help you.”

Whumper moves, and Whumpee isn’t strong enough to hold onto consciousness for long after that. Too weak to even stay awake, they faint as they are lowered to the floor.

Awareness returns way too soon. The world is filled with pain once again when Whumpee wakes in the hands of Whumper’s guards, and gasps at their return to the world, to sensation they’d trade anything not to feel, as they are dragged through hallways they don’t bother trying to recognize. 

Whumpee drifts, between peace and hurt, agony and calmness, until a scream cuts through the haze of fire they’re trapped in. A scream that doesn’t belong to them, for once. 

They are dropped on the floor, and a broken howl parts their lips. Old and new wounds burn alike, but they can’t remember a time when it wasn’t like this.

“Whumpee.”

A pitiful sob slips through chapped lips at that voice. They should’ve known. 

Tears roll down Whumpee’s temples when Caretaker’s pale face appears above their broken body, taking in the brand disfiguring their chest, the scars that had been hidden when they’d seen each other before. 

“W-what happened?” Caretaker chokes out, covering their mouth with trembling hands. 

Whumpee can’t find any voice left to answer. It was all wasted with pointless screams and useless pleads. Silence fills the cell, only their ragged breaths cutting through it, and all they do is cry. It’s all they can do, but even that becomes too much as their chest moves and the burn along with it and even the tears hurt.

Suddenly, soft fingers touch Whumpee’s hair, and they freeze, holding still like they were taught to, as their head is lifted just to be lowered a moment later on something softer. They open their eyes to find Caretaker, shirtless, kneeling by their side with a lost expression they’ve never seen before on their face.

“I, I’m sorry,” Whumpee all but whimpers, so low they think for a moment they weren’t heard.

And then Caretaker nods, hands reaching out for their arm and retreating when Whumpee winces and yelps at the pain the movement brings. 

“I am going to kill Whumper,” Caretaker whispers.

Whumpee only cries and hopes to pass out soon. 

#whump #whump writing #branding #intimate whumper #branding whump #creepy whumper #branding cw #burning cw #betrayal whump #self blame #whipping mention #captivity #torture #hanging by the wrists #fainting #injured whumpee #broken whumpee #we'll just pretend i didn't post branding whump like... last week? or the one before that? #anyways i was in a branding mood and wanted more ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #i think that some parts might look similar to liam's branding but oh well... feeling too lazy to reread it to make sure it isnt lol

[rocorambles]

Trapped

Pairing: Sakusa x Reader

Prompt: Fantasy

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, Toxic Relationship, NSFW, Fantasy AU, Sorcerer Sakusa, Rape/Non-Con, Mind Control, Manipulation, Obsessive and Posessive Behavior, Degradation

Summary: You should have trusted your gut instincts, the lessons you had learned the hard way about just how cruel powerful men could be. 

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s NSFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this prompt. (Masterlist goes live Friday, October 30th 11:00pm U.K. time!)  

You splutter awake, laughing, but also groaning as a wet tongue slobbers all over your face and you lightly shove the fox that’s currently standing beside your resting head, intent on waking you up to play. Blearily you blink your eyes, trying to gauge what time it is based on the light seeping into the cave you’ve come to call your home. Judging by the bright rays of sunlight, it’s already mid-morning and you stretch your arms above your head, petting your furry companion behind its ears before standing up and treading out into the forest, your friend walking right beside you, its tail brushing against your leg. 

The familiar peace and quiet of the wind rustling past branches and the faint chirping of birds wafts through the air and you smile as you continue making your way to the nearby waterfall, various four-legged animals that have come to be your family and friends popping their heads out of grassy patches and from behind trees in greeting. You can’t even remember the last time you’d seen another human being and you grimace at the thought of your last encounter. 

Orphans, especially female orphans like you, rarely survive for long and you bitterly remember the years of being a street urchin, never knowing when your next bite of food would come, never knowing who to trust in a world full of both humans and magical creatures who’d do horrible things to an unclaimed child and you shiver at the thought of possibly being eaten or harvested for ingredients for countless dark magic spells. But life had only gotten harder the older you became and as a single, vulnerable woman, you began to attract a different attention, no longer able to blend as seamlessly as you once had with predatory eyes trailing after you, resting too long on parts of your body that you desperately wanted to hide from the world. 

You tried sticking it out, finding ad hoc jobs here and there as a maid, as a seamstress, as a waitress. But corruption ran deep wherever you went and disgust makes you recoil when you remember all the times you’d been cornered by all types of men and creatures, received unwanted touches in hidden corners and degrading remarks of what your only purpose in life was. And after being left to sob, pain lancing between your legs, your clothes ripped to shreds, knowing no one would ever take your side, knowing that this would just continue happening over and over again, you vowed to never have anything to do with another sentient being ever again. 

You’d heard rumors of the forest, about its enchantment, about the stories of terrible things hiding away in its heart, but you couldn’t imagine any monster worse than the ones you’ve already encountered and you determinedly march forward, never turning back to look at the city you’re leaving behind. And as you step past the border of trees, even you, someone who’s never had anything to do with magic, can feel the surge of power, feel the crackling energy as you delve deeper and deeper. But maybe the forest could sense that you meant it no harm, maybe it knew that you were just a lonely, helpless soul, maybe it felt generous, felt pity for the damaged woman seeking refuge. Whatever the case was, it left you alone and in all the years you’d made a home in its lush vegetation, not once had you met any of the ghastly creatures you’d heard so many horror stories of. And maybe that’s why you let your guard down when you meet him, finding a false security in the wood and grass-filled world you now live in. 

You don’t bother being quiet or stealthy as you walk. Why would you when there’s never been anyone else around? So imagine your shock when black human eyes are staring at you as you round the corner and reach the water’s edge and panic laces through you when you see how masculine and strong he looks, overwhelming fear making you tremble when you take in the staff you see laying next to him. 

A sorcerer. 

You’d learned the hard way that men were never to be trusted and that men with power and wealth were the ones to be even more wary of. Fortunately you’d only dealt with vile wealthy men and as awful as they had been, you know men gifted with an affinity for magic make those nobles seem as harmless as kittens in comparison. You’d seen firsthand the havoc sorcerors could wreak, seen the charred, mutilated, disfigured bodies put on display at the city gates as an example of the fate for anyone who rebels against the crown. To your knowledge, all sorcerors worked for the royal family, rarely leaving the walled fortress unless sent on a mission or task, but never in a place like this so-called cursed forest. So what was he doing here? 

The urge to flee thrums through your veins, but when he makes no move to stand or get any closer to you, curiosity gets the better of you and you stay rooted to your spot and before you can stop yourself, you find yourself asking the first question that comes to mind. 

“Who are you?” 

When Sakusa had ventured outside of the castle walls for a break from the irritating humans inside the cramped corridors and bustling courtrooms, he had purposefully chosen a place where no other soul would be. His hand had immediately wrapped around his staff as the sound of approaching rustling interrupted his thoughts, but when you had made your presence known, he could only stare in awe, staff forgotten as he took you in. 

You’re different from the usual noble women he sees on a daily basis. For one, you’re barely wearing anything, a makeshift dress of strung together leaves, flowers, and grass the only thing covering you and he can feel his face grow hot as he tries not to blatantly stare at your bare legs and arms. But as he really regards you, he can’t help but feel something wild, something primal in you and he blinks in shock when he realizes that you have the same energy as the forest, as if the forest has claimed you as one of its own and he’s so entranced by his realization that he’s startled by the sound of your voice.

From anyone else, he would have scowled at the forwardness and bluntness of the question, but for some reason, coming from you, he finds himself easily answering. 

“Sakusa Kiyoomi” 

People, conversations, human interaction. Those are all things Sakusa abhors and yet, as you tentatively draw closer to him, staring at him in wide eyed curiosity while the two of you exchange words, he thinks he doesn’t mind any of those things when you’re involved. He comes to visit you as often as he can, something warm blooming inside of him as he sees your hackles relax, notices how you inch closer and closer to him every time he arrives, and he can’t help but compare you to a wild animal and behind the warmth in his chest, something darker lurks, and he wonders what it would be like to tame you, claim you back from the wooded forest that had taken you in, mark you as his own. 

And that thought festers and grows inside of him. 

He does his best to keep it at bay, play it off as just a fleeting idea, but when your eyes and body begin to seep into his dreams, into his every waking thought, he can’t keep the desire down any longer and when he strides towards you once more, he drops to one knee in front of you, asking for your hand in marriage. 

In hindsight it probably was foolish to think that you were as smitten with him, foolish to think that someone who had been scarred enough to escape from civilization would easily just return to the place full of painful memories, and yet red hot anger blazes through him when you turn him down. It doesn’t matter how sweet and kind you are about it, gently letting him down and telling him you’re sure he’d find someone much better suited to being his wife, someone prim and proper, someone educated and knowledgeable of court intricacies. 

Humiliation only fuels his rage as he rises back to his feet and he can feel his magic churning, waiting to be used, dancing at his fingertips, and he has half a mind to forcefully drag you back with him, but he retracts it, pushes it down deep inside of him as he takes a deep breath. No, he wants you to come back and grovel at his feet, beg him to take you in, to help you. He wants you to feel the same need for him that he feels for you and he bites his tongue and restrains himself as his mind begins to plan and strategize. 

He tries to remain as normal as possible, still going to visit you as often as before, but his nails dig into the palm of his hands at the pity in your eyes and he clenches his teeth at the way that you tread around him like he’s a wounded animal. But he takes those feelings and lets them drive him late through the night as he chants strange words, flips through old scrolls, experiments with different spells and ingredients and a rare smile stretches across his face when the pieces finally come together. 

It’s time to take set his plan in motion and in the middle of the night while most of the city is fast asleep, there’s a strange flashing light, a rush of something sinister in the air, and the murmurs of masculine chanting swirling in the air, lingering, and foreshadowing the dark days ahead. But you remain asleep, peacefully ignorant of the shift in the atmosphere, naive to just how much your life will change.  

 You wake up, surprised by the lack of a warm furry body or tongue lapping at your face, and you vaguely wonder if you’d woken up in the middle of the night, but the sunlight filtering through tells you a different story. You feel strange, warning bells beginning to faintly clamor in your head, and you gingerly step outside of your lair only to freeze at the dead silence surrounding you. It’s always quiet and calm in the forest, but where there is usually the sound of nature and creatures, now there is only a deathly silence and you stare in horror as the forest seems to decay right in front of your eyes. What used to be green grass is wilting and brown. The trees you’d spent years climbing and picking fruit from are completely bare. But what makes a choked sob get caught in your throat is the corpses of the animals who’d you come to be so fond of littered around you and your slow stuttered amble becomes a frenzied run, as you race through your dying home, hoping to see any sign of life left. 

But days pass and the state of your home only gets worse. Your throat is parched without clean water to drink, all the water sources near you murky and littered with fish corpses indicating just how toxic they’ve become. Your stomach aches with hunger, no vegetation, fruits, or animals nearby for you to ingest. And a deep loneliness churns inside of you and once again you feel as alone as you did when you were just a dirty street urchin trying to scrape together a living off the streets. 

So when Sakusa comes for his regular visit and finds your weakened body slumped on the floor of your cave, it just makes sense to you, survival instincts kicking in, to drag yourself over to his feet, fling your arms around him when he finally bends down, and sob into his chest. You don’t question the way he’s slow to crouch down to your level and comfort you. You don’t see the cruel smile on his face when he sees you pathetically laying at his feet. You don’t notice the glee in his eyes as you beg him to take you with him. And when he asks you if you’d like to come and be his assistant, you eagerly nod your head and cling tighter to him, burying your face in his comforting and familiar presence as he teleports the two of you back to his living quarters. 

Months pass and despite your initial wariness of returning to live among other beings, you find that Sakusa seems to dislike being around others just as much as you, and the two of you find a comfortable way of life mostly holed up in his living quarters with only the other as company. You’d never really been exposed or taught anything about magic growing up, so you’re genuinely fascinated as you watch Sakusa chant, attentively listening as he tells you what each ingredient is, eagerly following his every step as he shows you firsthand how to mix different potions. And Sakusa thinks that your aptitude for learning, the perfect synchronization the two of you have as you seamlessly work your way into his rhythm, preparing and setting things up before he even needs to tell you, speaks volumes of just how perfect the two of you are together, speaks volumes of how you were meant to be together. 

He continues strategizing, gaining your trust, letting you grow accustomed to his presence, smiling at the way you don’t even bat an eye when his hands linger on yours a bit longer than normal when he hands you something, at the way you don’t tense up anymore when he presses his body against you from behind as he physically guides and shows you how to do something. And he knows he’s on the right track when you take the initiative to swipe a strand of his hair behind his ear as he concentrates on a task at hand, when you perch your chin on his shoulder, peeking over his shoulder as he jots down notes. 

But even the greatest minds make mistakes and when he sends you off to find a certain piece of text for him from the bookshelf in the corner of his room, he forgets to clarify where on the shelf to look and not wanting to bother him, you meticulously comb through every book, forehead scrunching in curiosity when you find a notebook tucked behind, as if it was meant to be hidden. You consider just passing it over, not wanting to intrude on Sakusa’s privacy, but having gone through most of the books and not finding what you need, you wonder if perhaps the thing he’s looking for is in here and that this had just been misplaced or accidentally pushed towards the back of the shelf. 

As you flip through the pages you quickly realize this is a book of Sakusa’s own spells and you stare in awe at how much work he’d done, how extensive his own self-created spell repertoire is, but suddenly your heart freezes when you flip to the last few filled pages. You’re not as fluent as Sakusa is when it comes to the ancient magical language, but you know enough after the time you’ve spent with him, the lessons he’s taught you, to recognize ‘plague’ and ‘forest’ and your throat and heart feel both heavy and panicked when you realize the implication of what you’d found. And suddenly you remember the day he had proposed to you vividly, ice cold shock and realization making you shudder when you remember a flash of something dark in his eyes when you had rejected him. And your hands tremble when you see the very last page, taking note of the phrase ‘mind control’. But before you can dwell on it, you squeal in surprise when the book is plucked from your hands and you’re rooted to the spot by dark eyes pinning you down. 

You want to scream angry words at him. You want to escape. And yet, you do neither, frozen with fear when you remember exactly what happened to the victims who’d defied sorcerers.

“Hmm. This spell’s not quite ready yet, but I guess we can test it out early.” 

And before you can even register what’s happening, a firm hand is placed on the top of your head, the other wrapped around your throat to keep you still as magic surges through the air and you vaguely hear yourself pleading for him to stop, until suddenly you feel trapped in your own body, the connection between your conscience and physical figure severed and you stare in horror as your body goes limp and docile in his arms. 

Sakusa peers into your eyes in interest, humming in thought as he scrawls a few more notes in his notebook. 

“The end goal of this spell is for me to be able to completely control your mind, but right now it looks like I only have control of the section that handles your physical functions if that ugly hate-filled look in your eyes is any indication. But let’s test my theory shall we?”

And it feels like a bad dream as your body submissively makes its way to his bed, seductively swaying your hips as you sprawl out on his bedsheets, eagerly wrapping your arms around the back of his neck as he joins you, bringing him down for a kiss. He’s rough and invasive as he tears your clothes off, calloused hands touching and contaminating every inch of you and you feel disgust as he examines you like you’re a piece of prime meat he’s purchased, coldly and meticulously pinching and prodding you as he observes what makes your body react. And for once, you hate how observant he is, how in tune to your smallest shifts he is, how sensitive your body is as your nipples perk up, as little moans escape past your traitorous lips when he pinpoints your weak spots. 

But what you hate most is the triumphant grin on his face when his dexterous fingers swipe against your lower lips and you internally flinch at the glistening slick that coats his fingers when he holds it to your face, evidence of the heavy arousal mixing with your humiliation and hate. And you try to think of anything else, imagine you’re anywhere but here as he begins to wonder out loud while his fingers twist and turn inside of you, reaching and touching places you’d never been able to explore yourself, if he even needs to tweak his spell anymore seeing how you’re a slave to your body’s natural desire for pleasure. Maybe there wasn't a need to completely control your thoughts and emotions as well.

He hadn’t realized what a slut you are, getting off to anyone using your body, and he leers down at you while he continues questioning you, knowing full well you can’t answer or retort to his crude remarks. And he idly wonders if your mind would naturally break without additional magic if he pleasured you enough, transformed you into a warm body that constantly seeks and craves his touch.

The fear in your eyes at his words only fuels his need to completely dominate you and he grits his teeth as he slides into your drenched hole, eyes closing shut as he just stays still and revels in how tight you are, how perfectly you wrap around him. And when he opens his eyes and sees the glassy-eyed lustful look on your face from being filled, he finally releases himself from the controlled facade he so carefully always wears and lets himself dive headfirst into the sultry, dizzying, primal embrace of lust as he pistons his hips in and out of you at a brutal pace, dark eyes never straying from your face as your eyes begin to roll back and your wanton mewls fill the air. 

He can feel his end approaching, but he’d be damned if he didn’t make you fall apart with him, drown you in inescapable pleasure, and his hand slips between the two of you, fingers finding your aroused clit and all it takes is a few rubs and thrusts before your body is tensing up, back arching, mouth opening in a silent scream, body convulsing and writhing underneath him, your cunt milking him as you’re forcefully brought to your peak. And he joins you over that edge, thick white spurts coating your twitching walls. 

You pray that he’s done, that he’ll release you now that he’s thoroughly tasted and had you, now that you’re just sloppy seconds, used goods. But you’re startled when he lovingly kisses you and tenderly strokes your hair, and your stomach churns at the genuine affection you see in his eyes. And your heart drops, any last bit of hope you had extinguished as he holds your body close to him in a mockery of a loving embrace and whispers in your ear about the future he has planned for both of you, a future where you stay by his side as an obedient, submissive housewife, a future where you’re willing and eager to please him, to love him. 

That was always his goal for the both of you, he insists, and a flame of anger burns inside of you at the exasperated and patronizing sigh he directs your way as he blames you for forcing his hands, for forcing him to do this the hard way, for forcing him to resort to magic when you could have saved everyone the hassle by just accepting his proposal all those months ago. 

Hate and anger twist and coil inside of you and yet, when he kisses you once more, your body instinctively leans into the soft touch before obediently going lax as he tells you to sleep, eyes automatically closing at the command, and Sakusa smiles at your slumbering figure. It’s not exactly how he had planned to go about this, the mind control spell being more of a back-up option he had been trying to avoid, but you’re finally irrevocably his and that’s all that matters.  

#yandere haikyuu #haikyuu yandere #yandere #haikyuu smut #yandere sakusa #sakusa x reader #tw: yandere #tw: rape #tw: noncon

[just-another-dreamerr]

37th Battalion (The Lucky Batch ☘️)

The idea reminded me too much of your works @lavenderstaars so I sprinted to the docs to put it down.

(I wrote this at 2am aaaaaa)

Blooming in the ashes

Luna stood in the middle of the field in silence, a single whisper of wind making the tips of her hair brush softly against her cheeks. Her eyes, usually bright and starry, were clouded as they gently traced the outlines of the land, her lightsaber hanging heavy from her hip.

The sun was quietly setting in the horizon in strokes of sorrowful red, flooding the plains where the fierce battle had been fought for days; chaos of screams and blaster fire and explosions. People had died—people had killed—in this corner of the galaxy, and it had been shredded and torn apart by the pandemonium of the roaring fight. Now it was as if they had never been, every bit of sound stifled by the quiet of a land in mourning.

She could feel it. There was blood tainting this soil, this place. The earth was soaked in tears and cries, life stamped to death under heavy tanks and harsh boots. It had been helpless as bodies of flesh and metal had hit the floor with a final cry, flattening the vegetation and denting the soil under their weight.

There had been grass growing in this field, before they had come with their armies and destruction and ran it over without a second thought. Now, not a single splotch of green could be found among the scars of explosions on the ground, or the sad husks of walkers and droids scattered throughout it. It was barren, disfigured by the horrors of battle still fresh in her mind; haunting. Luna lightly wrapped her arms around her body, suddenly aware of how small she was compared to the battlefield; how young.

Just a little girl standing in the ashes of war.

She knelt into the tainted ground, the burden on her shoulders suddenly unbearably heavy. Her fingers brushed against the earth, copper dust clinging to the tips and smearing over her robes. It was as if this world had branded her as an enemy, a bringer of destruction, and not the peacekeeper she was supposed—meant— to be. And maybe, a part of her whispered harshly in her ear, it was right.

Tears slid quietly down her cheeks as her conscience reached out blindly into the stars, the universe, trying to ease the coldness crawling up her throat and the stinging in her stomach.

She found only another kind of emptiness, similar to the one now carved deeply into her chest. The Force was still, as if it too was bleeding for the ones who’d fallen.

“Take heart, little one,” her Master had once said softly.

(So many lives, lost in the name of peace and justice.)

Kenhla had smiled sadly, a steadying hand on her trembling shoulder. Her eyes had been filled with burrowed sorrow, and the girl could sense how much it pained her to see her padawan being forced to fight.

(So much blood spilled by men bred and raised for war; by brothers with nothing to lose but each other and themselves.)

“War is not an easy burden to carry.”

It wasn’t. It was stifling and suffocating and painfully crushing. She hadn’t been aware of the toll it would take on her body, on her mind—on her heart. Despite the dampness on her cheeks, she didn’t utter a word.

How do you comfort a grieving land?

Luna grieved along with it, her sorrow stretching out into the skies, burying itself deep into the broken ground as if trying to piece it back together, bit by bit; a shattered field mended by the tears of a stranger.

She opened her eyes again, water thick on her lashes as she stared down, devastation drowning in her chest.

Between her guilty fingers, stained by ash and violence, a little white flower bloomed.

@lynnpaper @maygalodon @radbatch @monako-jinn-stories @lusiawonder @foxlock @letsunity @catboy-tech @burnthashbrown27 @oo-hazel-oo @longearedowlfromouterspace @mango-peachjuice @namesmox @cosmicghostie @generaltano

#the padawan needs a hug #it’s about the trauma guys #very sad Luna content #I’m so sleepy its 2:40 when did that happen #anyways enjoy:D #the lucky batch #the lucky batch Luna #lule writes #clone force 37 #fam force 37 #cf37 luna #cf37 #37th battalion #sAD

[chronicalchaos]

Instability

John sits up, his eyes wander back to the cell bars, where's not just the place where the only source of light comes from, but also where he last saw one of his children, and that bothered him a lot. After everything he did, all the sleepless nights, every drop of blood he spilled, every innocent he killed...he didn't find anything, for a long time he thought they had simply vanished from existence.

Until, a few days ago, he met his youngest son, Caleb, once again, one who went missing when he was only 9. Of course, he isn't a boy anymore, 14, almost 15, years later, he's a grown man now, about to celebrate his 23rd birthday. The circumstances that lead them to meet again are concerning, one of the first things he noticed was the dried blood on his chin, then the pointy canines and fingers, reassuringly, he still looked human, however, he didn't want to imagine the reason he was being arrested...

"Can't sleep either?" John looks over to the voice, Mary, his wife, sits up as well "No, it's just..." He averts his eyes, staring at his hands "I hope they're safe" Mary sighs, pushing her legs off the bed.

"I'm sure Benny is taking good care of Lillian" Her voice is soft, almost in a whisper, looking up, he frowns, looking at her from his peripheral vision, she's smiling a bit, trying to reassure him "...and the twins?" Her face dropped, hands clutching the thin blanket at her side.

"You're not gonna answer me?" John turns to Mary, who's face almost twitched in annoyance, after a few seconds, she finally answered "They wouldn't survive" He heard a sigh coming from James, they probably woke him "That cripple was taken without his stupid orthosis, he wouldn't even be able stand" She adjusts herself so her back is touching the wall.

"Don't call him that!" John snaps, quickly standing with his fists clenched "I'm sure they found a use for them" James interrupts, he's sitting with his back straightened, hands resting on his lap "What do you mean–"

Suddenly, the guard by the cell is pushed and pinned to the floor, the three turn to the cell bars, the man seems to be on his late 20s and he's uncharacteristically well dressed for someone covered in blood, before the guard had time to react, the man had stabbed him in the forehead about 5 times, he seems dreadfully familiar...

The most familiar thing about him is a long sleeve white shirt under a plaid green vest and his reddish-brown hair, they used to wear those... He couldn't help but stare, the man laughs maniacally, stabbing with much more enthusiasm than before "My Lord..." Mary gasps, quite hypocritical on her part, she has done things around the same level, maybe even worse, than that.

The man raises his armed hand, seemingly about to give the final blow, however, he was pulled up by an unseen force, one that not only pulled him to his foot, but also turned him around, John gasps in horror, recognizing him instantly, just as he did with Caleb.

Tim's face twists in something that could be mistaken for anger, but there was definitely something else mixed in there, the most predominant change were his eyes, ones who once had a brown color, now are bright red, he does have more scars than he did before.

"Of course you ran off." A tired, and a bit soft, voice was heard, followed by the echo of booted footsteps, turning to the voice's direction, he witnessed another familiar figure appears, one with a messy dark brown hair and matching clothing, differing from his brother by a long piece of fabric stitched to his vest's shoulders.

Him, on the other hand, had a more drastic change on his appearance, there's a black mark coming from the top of his forehead, passing through his left eye, getting thinner when passing his lips and ending at his chin, another black mark came from the bottom of his chin and has a pointy end almost touching his right eye, his whole neck has that same black color.

John looked pale as Tom stops infront of his twin, arms crossed with a tired expression, his sleeves are rolled up just above his elbows, Mary and James were horrified at the sight of the two, who either didn't notice them or just didn't care.

Looking behind Tim, the taller sighs, moving his head in disapproval, looking back at him right away "...you disfigured him" Tom has a serious face, not seeming to be bothered by the dead body, Tim snickers "I didn't just disfigure him, i crushed his fucking brain!" He smiles almost spatting at his brother, his eyes are unfocused, almost as if he's looking for something or trying to ignore the person infront of him.

  Tom, fairly agressively, cupped his twin's face, holding his head in place while staring at him with a serious expression, they could see that, from the tip to the bottom of his fingers are completely black as well, there is another black spot around his right elbow "We're not here to play genocide and you know that." His tone is abnormally harsh and stable, just like Tim's normally was before their disappearence.

"Well, did you do your part?! 'cus i did mine!" Tim's tone is surprisingly the unstable one, he starts pulling on his arm, trying to free his arm from the 'spell'(?) "you'll hurt yourself–" "Hurt myself?! Don't make me laugh!" Tim cuts him off, John felt unease, this could be his opportunity to finally know the truth, the opportunity he lost on the small time he and Caleb met, Tom sighs, closing his eyes and furrowing his eyebrows for a few seconds, but before John could call them, he opened his eyes "Timas, it's trying to take over you again, i know it's tempting..." A wave of nostalgia and worry fell on him as Tom's voice quivers.

"...but you have to fight it, just like you've done before."

━━━━━━━━━

It's finally finished! And it's kinda long...

Mary and James didn't do much, and i felt there wasn't space for John to do anything when Tim and Tom were interacting, but i like it a lot!

Especially the "He's uncharacteristically well dressed for someone covered in blood", i absolutely love this line.

#wick hellbent games #tim weaver #wick #wick (2015) #tom weaver #wick au #wick game #wick horror game #mary weaver #john weaver

[that-lieutenant]

Of the relationship between Mairon and the orcs

An assortment of various of my HCs in one shot format i guess

[This is my first time writing fanfic (whaaat) and i sadly don‘t have an ao3 account yet (but i‘ll get to it once my personal life isn‘t hell anymore) so please consider giving this some love :) ]

Also: this is heavily influenced by @lemurious writing (because all my silm interpretations nowadays are, i just love their content ahh)

His people.

His headstrong, steadfast, steel hard, loyal, ingenious, beautiful people.

When he first came upon them, their bodies had already adapted perfectly to the cold northern tundra of their homeland. Thick grey skin, heavy hair, stocky build.

The wars would add countless scars and burns and limbs of metal.

But that was later.

When he first met his people what was war to them? To him? Who knew then about the horrors they would be forced to face at the hands of the other species of Arda? At a time when they did not even know there were other species.

When he first came upon his people he thought they were the firstborn children Eru had shown the Ainur in their vision. He thought he had been successful in discovering them first, before the other Valar could. He had been so relieved that they would be spared a life in the stifling superficial horror that was Valinor.

And they really are the firstborn. These other, warm skinned, bright eyed, spindly thin creatures that came pouring back from west a couple centuries later, who were they but Valarin lackeys, transformed beyond recognition? And then they demanded land and loyalty and called their primogenitors disfigured and corrupted.

He knows now that he should not have been so surprised back then that these usurpers had shown themselves to have come with the blessing of Illuvatar. After all what were firstborn to Eru? Truly, what had been He Who Arises In Might, the firstborn of the Ainur, what had been his people, the firstborn of his children, to Eru?

The actions of this absentee god would speak clear words in the following millennia, they would come to learn.

When he first came to meet the true firstborn, when he lived among them, when he learned their customs, their language, their love and he found connections so deep they would fuel him for ages to come, that was when he knew he had found his people. And together with their leaders and his own brethren they were able to lay the foundations for a culture that would thrive in spite of its creator and the eternal war this creator perpetuated.

In merely a few centuries, together they were able to develop technologies that would not be seen again the following age.

And then?

The wrath and unquestioned self-righteousness of their enemies erupts over Beleriand and the years of intense warfare lead to brutal massacres. On both sides – he is nowhere close to being without fault; that fierce love of his people has lead him to commit some of the most heinous acts of violence over and over again – but even now he remembers climbing down into the ruins of their underground cities after their defeat. He remembers the protective bunkers filled with civilian bodies and standing in their spilled blood.

The ones that got out in time were mostly soldiers because they had been evacuatable once the defeat was imminent. But the workers, the engineers, the caretakers, the children, those who they had wanted to keep safe in the bunkers? It was too late for them by the time they realises that nothing they could do would stop the fortress from being taken. And then the Valar went on and slaughtered them all.

It is his fault. And at the time it seemed like the worst one he would ever make.

As a nuclear firestorm destroys Beleriand, as the remnants of an entire continent drown in the sea behind them, and he and what is left of his people loose everything, the only thing he can do is lead them away, further and further east. Until he can‘t even do that anymore.

Because at that point everything just collapses in on him. His work has been shattered to pieces, all his brethren and most of his trusted generals killed, his lord, his partner, his lover, his pillar was taken and with that he just stops functioning.

In their hour of greatest need he abandons his people. After all, the only thing he ever seems to bring to them is war and death.

For a millennium he just… There is no purpose, no responsibility. Distantly he hears of the hardships his people are facing now in the East. How slow civilisations develop without the energy of a Vala or three radiating stones to power them. But he shuts it all out. He becomes numb to it.

And strangely, when he stumbles upon the new settlements of the second firstborn he isn‘t filled with unadulterated unstoppable rage. He is just tired. After all, what, truly, are these creatures but the Valar‘s playball in their game of who-is-the-most-despicable-without-realising? And strangely, these Eldar do not recognise who he is.

So why not, he thinks. Why not live in easy expedients for once, why not push away the past and continue to abdicate any responsibility he has to his that people? He crafts a name and a lie to start his new life of ignorance is bliss.

Oh, sweet Tyelpe. How easy it is to share the discoveries they had made in the first age with this ellon when the reward is all eyes big of wonder and desperation to discover more of this „Valinorian“ technology. It is so much like in the old days when he and his brethren and the best scientist of his people would find new methods and formulas to describe the world around them that he can‘t help but loose himself in the intelligent conversations of their workshop, the peaceful thriving of their city, the warm tenderness of their embrace.

They work to create better methods of gaining and storing energy then until they eventually develop the rings that can provide enough power to sustain entire cities.

They plan to make rings for the strongholds of dwarves and men and Eldar. But what about his people, he finds himself thinking. These technologies that are now used in the elvish kingdoms, they are only a small part of what was developed by and for him and his people in the first place. So what about his people?

He feels restless now. Old anger at injustice and blind self-righteousness arise in him again. In secret he starts travelling to the settlements his people have made in a country they call Mordor. The conditions there are rough and the technology now primitive compared to their glorious past but he sees a lot of recent progress.

All of the generals and leaders of old are long dead now and it takes a lot of time and effort to convince his people to trust him again, that he can and will help and that he won‘t abandon them again. They start building an underground city and a fortress once more, Barad-dûr, where the energy will be harvested. He creates a ring more powerful than any of the ones before. It has to supply the entire population after all.

When he returns to Eregion something has changed.

He can feel a strange charge in the air. Are the Eldar suspecting something? They all seem very worried at the sudden surge of activity in Mordor and he is starkly reminded that these Eldar, at the end of the day they still view his people as an ultimate but also undignified threat.

He knows something is wrong when Tyelpe suggests that their rings might also be used as a weapon. One of mass destruction. Mass destruction of his people that is. Tyelpe leaves that unsaid but it is clear as day what he means.

He doesn‘t need to worry about the rings for the elven cities anymore, Tyelpe tells him then and smiles.

A primordial fear settles into his bones. The horror at what is to come turns his stomach. What has he done? How could he have given all this help, all this power to the Eldar when they would only turn around and use it against his people?

He remembers sitting outside on some steps, pulling at his hair, his entire body shaking, growing increasingly mad at all the options that seem to slip out his hands one by one. And when Tyelpe comes to meet him there the only thing left for him to do is to push the ellon against a pillar, knife to his eye and demand the elvish rings he devised in secret. But Tyelpe laughs bitterly and spits in his face.

So it is truly you, the abhorred one, the dark foe‘s torturer, his whore.

This time it is his own wrath that razes cities to the ground. His people are ready for war. They have to be. And the next centuries are dictated by mindless destruction and production lines of battle machinery being the first thing that is re-introduced into the city of his people.

But still the population grows again, the conditions improve, their underground civilisation expands and he finds that he can make alliances with some of the human tribes and kingdoms that they had given rings of power to.

He and his people once again find ways to live in perfect symbiosis with the harsh climate of their land. Volcanic soil is fertile, air and water can be filtered and the ring offers them enough power to sustain artificial lights for growing crops underground and more.

It‘s progress but one that they keep secret. Because just like he is fuelled by the fear of elvish development, the Eldar would surely bring about another war of wrath if they knew about the advancements of his people.

The whole Numenorean ordeal that followed some centuries later was a mess. When that conquerer-king and his armies march upon Mordor he has no choice but to give in quickly. They cannot risk being invaded. Luckily these men are self-complacent enough to take their smugness and their ‚victory‘ and leave again. Though they also feel the need to drag him to that forsaken island of theirs.

Ar-Pharazon truly was a conquerer. He stretched his hands further and further for more colonies on the continent while his nation corroded away with by civil war. The golden king took and took from everyone around him and the displays of subjugation he was continually forced to perform to this king were manifold and in all kinds of ways.

Of course the wrath of the Valar that they unleashed upon the island as soon as they felt slightly threatened in their superiority was in the end blamed on him. He only ever indulged the Numenoreans‘ fantasies. When they brought him to their island it was already on the brink of collapse with conflict and misanthropic ideologies. Sure he, too, lost himself a bit in that collective insanity; he was complicit, so was everyone else. And then Eru felt they could cast judgement upon all these individuals and drowned yet another continent.

He laughs in the face of such insolence. It‘s hysterical, maybe more so a scream.

Then the water hits his body. It presses all the air out, breaks his ribs, crushes his lungs.

When he awakes again he is floating on a piece of driftwood, endless blue stretches around him. His body is raw and for some reason he finds himself unable to shift form anymore. He starts to panic, tries to force his particles to regroup in a way that forms a bird, a fish, something, he needs to get out of this blue emptiness now, he needs to – what is happening??

There is another war at the end of that age, but by that time his memory has turned into an indecipherable blur. It leads to yet more massacre. But worst of all, they take the ring.

For him it is as if all the tissue that holds him together suddenly loosens. He falls to his knees, sacks into himself. He can feel his spirit oozing out of the leaks that now penetrate his form. He stumbles back.

In the underground city the lights go dark, the industrial production comes to a standstill, the water and air filters turn off. His people pour out of their homes once they start to starve, once they realise that their military has lost the war and that their government has no way of dealing with the catastrophe.

They are in need but once again he is abandoning them. He is just so tired.

In the tower there is a large tank with cooling liquid for the energy production of the ring that he now lies in. In the pitch-black darkness his bones have started to shine with a dim fluorescent green. His body has started to disintegrate.

Outside he can feel the remnants of his peoples civilisation fall to ruin a second time. It takes only a few decades for them to return to the primitive conditions of their life without a secure energy supply.

And then suddenly it‘s not only his body that disintegrates anymore but the heavy elements in him too. At a faster rate than is normally used to power an Ainu‘s body that is. The heat of the nuclear fission that has set in brings the coolant to the boil and he had just barely enough mind and willpower left to set off the steam turbine. With a thudding noise the whole energy plant slowly comes to life again.

And for the next millennia Mairon lies submerged in the coolant tank, his body glowing and radiating and falling apart, his atoms splitting and powering a city that has been abandoned and he can only hope that his people will come back and reclaim what is theirs by right and rebuild their lives, their culture, their technology with the last energy that he has to give.

#How Mairon turns himself into an atomic reactor: a powerpoint with pictures #sci fi tolkien #silmarillion #tolkien #mairon #orcs #lotr #silmarillion fanfiction #fanfic #technology #science in tolkien #sauron

[jawritter]

Scars

Summary: The truth can be ugly, scars go deeper than superficial wounds, somethings we will always carry. Can you handle the ugly truth, and still see the love of your life in the same light? 

Rating: Explicit 

Warnings: DARK FIC! Mentions of past injuries, Dean’s physically not so pretty in this one, so if that kind of thing bothers you be warned. Language, smut, unfeeling smut, angst, there’s hardly no fluff in this one. unprotected smut, years of hurt feelings and resentment. Issues from growing up in the life. I think that’s about it.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2713

This fic created for:@spndarkbingo! 

Square Field: Resentment.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons! Thanks so much love! 

A/N: The artwork featured in the banner is not my own, and all rights belong to the artist, whom I was unable to pin down. Please do not copy my work! I hope you all enjoy this one!

Want More? Check out my MASTERLIST. Still want more? BECOME A PATREON!

Fuck if it didn’t all happen so fucking fast. One minute, you were  running behind Dean up the stairs of the old victorian style manner, chasing a witch with guns drawn, witch killing bullets cocked and loaded into the chamber. Then boom, the bitch appeared out of nowhere and now you  all three of you were pressed against one of the mold-covered walls in what you assume used to be a bedroom by an invisible force. She stalked back and forth in front of the three of you like a tiger about to pounce. 

“So, this is the great Dean and Sam Winchester,” she taunts as she continues to pace in front of  you. “You know, I honestly thought that you would be smart enough to not come in guns blazing. The only backup you bring is your pathetic little girlfriend against a witch that is over 400 years old!”

You watched as Dean’s jaw worked and his eyes narrowed in frustration. If looks could kill, she would have died on the spot. 

“How do you know this she my only backup?” Dean mocked, sneering at her as she took a step closer to him. “How do you know I don’t have someone on their way here right now to put a bullet through your skull?” 

The humorless laugh that belted from the witch as she threw her head back in a whole-body laugh fully intending to mock your hunter boyfriend, made your skin crawl and your blood run cold. 

It wasn’t entirely untrue. Cas and Jack were on their way here right now, and when they got here, she was going to meet her long-overdue end. Jack may not be able to use his powers right now in order to keep Chuck from finding out of his return, but Cas was fully capable of shooting a gun, and that’s all you needed right now. Just one good shot.

“Oh don’t play with me Dean.You were always  such a flirt, weren’t you?” She says in a seductive tone that makes bile rise in your throat. She takes a step closer and runs her long finger index finger down Dean’s chest. He tries to squirm away from her but to no avail. 

You wanted to scream at her to leave him alone, but there was something holding your jaws closed that you couldn’t see, and no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t make a sound. A quick panicked look over to Sam told you he was in the same boat, struggling against the invisible bonds that held you all down.His eyes locked on his older brother. 

“You know , that was always something I hated about you,” she said, taking a step back and looking Dean over from head to toe as if he was a piece of meat at a steakhouse she was looking to take home. 

“You always were nothing but a flirt. A worthless, oversexed, daddy favored sack of shit that relyed on good looks and a fuck-all attitude to get you out of sticky situations.”

She cackled as she turned her back on the three of you as she made her way over to the center of the floor, taking you all in  with a satisfied smirk on her face. 

“In fact,” she continued, “I’m going to do you a favor Dean. I’m going to show you the Dean Winchester I can see. The one that hasn’t had all his scars and ugly places covered up by his angel buddy. The one that is disfigured and wretched as the man you feel inside when you look in the mirror.”

Her eyes drifted to you as you struggled against the restraints you couldn’t see. 

“Bet that little bitch of yours won’t find you so attractive then will she Dean? The big strong hunter, the handsome hero, all bravado and chivalry, always the ladies man, revealed for what he really is. Ugly and twisted.”

Before anyone could even blink, the witch pointed her boney fingers at Dean, and twisted her hand in the air. Dean let loose a scream that made your heart standstill in your chest, and a loud shot rang through the air. The witch’s body crumpled to the floor as the three of you fell from your place on the wall, and everything faded to black as your head came into contact with the hard floor.

You came back to reality with a groan as you sat up slowly, your stomach churning in protest with the evident concussion that throbbed at the side of your head. None of that mattered though.The first thought that rolled through your mind was the last thing you heard before the gunshot . Dean screaming. 

You scrambled to your feet as your mobility returned, Sam doing the same on the other side of the room, and both of you hurried to where Cas was kneeling next to Dean’s body that was curled in on itself as if he were a small child, hiding from the monster under the bed. 

“Dean!” Sam yelled, coming to a sliding stop on his knees next to his brother’s body, looking up at the Angel  with utter horror on his face that was enough to stop you in your tracks. “Can you fix it?” he questioned, but the Angel just shook his head as he stood slowly. 

“Not here. We need to get him back to the bunker. From there, I’m sure we can find the resources we need to reverse the spell.” 

You dropped to your knees next to your trembling boyfriend, and tried to move his arms away from his face, earning a yell that made everyone in the room stand still for a moment. 

“NO! Don’t look at me!” he yelled at you, curling more into himself in an attempt to hide from your view.

“Dean, please, let us help you,” you plead with him, but Dean was ever the stubborn  man he always was, and refused to move. 

You give Sam and Cas a look that screamed help. They exchanged a worried look as Sam stripped his jacket from his shoulders, and dropped it over Dean’s face for him to hide into, before Cas and Sam stood him to his feet. 

“Come on Dean, let’s get home, and we can fix this okay,” Sam attempted to console his brother as they made the slow, unstable trip to the Impala that waited out front. Dean was a shaking mess, as Sam lowered him into the back seat, still hiding in Sam’s jacket from view. 

He curled himself up in a ball in the backseat, and Sam motioned for you to get into the front of the car, stopping you from getting into the back with Dean. 

“How bad is it?” you asked him before he opened the door for you. The way he was being,  was something you had never seen before, so afraid, so vulnerable, and it was horrifying. You could tell by the way Sam was acting it wasn’t something he’d seen all that often either. 

“It’s bad,” was all he’d tell you, before motioning you to take a seat. 

You watched the ball that was Dean in the backseat the whole hours drive back to the bunker, and he never moved, never lifted the jacket from his head. 

When the car was put in park, Dean moved again, jerking the car door open to make a hurried retreat to his room with Sam hot on his heels. Cas’s old truck pulled up next to where you were left standing with Jack in tow. 

You didn’t  say a word as they watched you make your way down the hall of the bunker towards Dean’s room. You weren’t going to rest until he let you see him. Not because you cared how the witch had disfigured him. It didn’t alter your feelings for him in the slightest. You wanted him to know that. 

To your surprise, Dean had left the door unlocked to his room in his hurry to get inside the safety of his own space, and when you pushed the door open the sight that greeted you took every bit of resolve you carried to not scream. 

Dean stood looking in the now shattered mirror that hung on the wall above an old sink, both hands on either side of the porcelain bowl, his shoulders slumped slightly as he looked up to see your reflection in the mirror staring back at him. From his one remaining eye, a large tear rolled down his disfigured face, the terror and resentment he held there pouring from his soul, and out into the surrounding air between you as you closed the door slowly behind you.

If you didn’t know who he was, you probably wouldn’t  have  recognized him. Aside from the eye that looked as if it had been scored from it’s socket, deep, long gashes that would have been almost mortal injuries when they were fresh drove deep white lines into his skin that looked more like crevasses  than scars. 

They went from his forehead, all the way to where his eye used to be, and then across his nose and cheek. There were chunks and bits missing from his ears. One of his hands looked like it had been badly burned on the top of his wrist, and the other was missing more than one finger. There wasn’t a part of his body that didn’t hold some sort of horrific scar. 

He turned to slowly face you, his arms wrapping around his chest as if it could help make him look as small as he felt, his gaze cast down to his feet. He was still covered in mud and dirt from the hunt. Your heart was broken for him. The brave, cocky hunter you fell in love with was broken, and the self hate was radiating off of him in almost tangible waves. 

You made a slow step towards him, a hand outreached to touch the side of his face that wore the most scars, and he jumped back away from you like you had burned him. 

“Dean,” you tried as he shook his head and backed further away from you. “Please Dean, let me…”

“No,” he mumbled, shaking his head in disapproval. “No, you can’t, you can’t fix me this time Y/N. She did exactly what she said she was going to do. She turned me into the hideous monster that exists on the inside. The part of me that I can’t run or hide from, it’s open now, and there’s no taking it back.”

Shaking your own head in disbelief of what you were hearing, you made a step closer to him, definitely placing your hand against the rough, uneven skin on his mangled cheek. 

“No Dean, you're not a monster. You’re a hero, a strong brave hunter. You're not damaged and ruined. Even if we never find a way to fix this, it doesn’t matter to me, because you can’t see what I see.”

Dean’s gaze met yours and you swore you could see the hate radiating off of his hard stare. 

“When I sold my soul to save Sammy, I started to have nightmares about what was going to happen to me when I got to hell, what I was going to become. The demon version of myself told me that it knew how much I looked in the mirror, and hated what I saw there.”

Side stepping you, Dean started to strip the clothing from his body, revealing more scars with every new inch of skin that came into view. Even the deep handprint on his shoulders.

“Every mark, every scar on me is a sign of failure,” he said, his voice hard and full of disgust in himself as his hand fumbled with his belt, and his pants dropped to the ground around his ankles. Deep burns on his legs and feet met  in a purple scar, and you had to repress a shudder of horror at the pain he surely felt when these injuries occurred. 

“I lost my eye when I lost a bunch of kids to a Werewolf while in a hunt in Delaware, the same hunt that disfigured my face. Cas fixed it,” he said, still the same air of resentment and disgust. 

“These burns on my legs? They came from hell. The fire’s real Y/N, it’s very real, and it burns clean to your soul.” 

The horror must have been shown in your eyes as he continued to recount each scar as if it was burned into his memory, and by the time he was done, it was evident that even  the scars had been hidden from view, he still carried everyone with him every day, every loss, every failure, everything that he couldn’t fix. He resented himself so much, that you had no real way of knowing when it started, because he had carried it so long that it had become a part of him, of who he was. 

When he finally moved towards you, it shook you so much that you had to visibly blink away the blinding tears that were falling down your cheeks uncensored. 

“So, you still want to be with me now, baby girl, cause I don’t even want to be with me. I’m just as bad as the shit we hunt, I’m just as hideous, and just as fucking ugly as they are.”

You don’t know what made you move. If it was sheer fucking grit, or the fact that words weren’t good enough in that moment, but in  three strides, you closed the distance between yourself, and the man you loved, capturing his mangled lips in a heated kiss that was all tongue and teeth. 

Barely parting, the two of you moved together in the direction of the bed in the center of the room. Dean dropped his clothing as you went with your assistance. There were no sensual touches, no sweet sentiments, no gentle gestures as he used his sheer body weight to push you down on the bed completely bare before him, slotting himself between your legs, nipping and sucking his way from you ear to your pulsepoint, biting down hard enough to leave his mark as his thick length entered your waiting heat. 

There were no loving words as he relentlessly pounded into your body, and the shiver than ran down your spine when your fingertips felt the deep scars running down his back in the form of claw marks left by something that you would probably never see or face, would have been mistaken for pleasure by a bystander. In truth, it was the deep fear that these scars were always there, and you never knew. 

His body, even mangled and battered, drove you higher until you were both a screaming, panting mess. Your orgams washed over you in an unexpected rush, and with two more heavy, deep thrusts, Dean was spilling himself deep inside of you. 

Neither of you bothered to move. Dean just threw the covers over your bare forms as Cas entered the room, pressing his fingers to Dean’s forehead as Sam also came  into the room with a bowl that you could only assume contained a spell. You weren’t paying attention to the details. All you knew was that even though the scars were disappearing in a blinding light, and your Dean, then man you knew so well, down to the last freckle was taking his place, in your mind, you could still see them.

The deep, ugly truth in the form of scars carried more undying inner hate that once you saw, you could never unsee. A brokenness that you could never fix. No matter how they covered it up, they would always be there. Some things just would never heal, and the way Dean resented and hated the man he’d become would never change. The twisted and broken soul that you loved was barely human, and even though you’d never say it outloud, you will never be able to come to grips with the truth. Not because it was ugly and hard to swallow, but because Dean deserved better, but would never get it. That’s uglier than any scar he’d ever carry.

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#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanficiton #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester smut #dean x reader #dean x you #dean fanfiction #dean fanfi #spn fanficiton #spn fanfic #spn smut #dean winchester one shot #dean one shot #spn dark bing #spndarkbinog #jensen ackles #x reader inserts #jawritter #scars

[talonsandtails]

I wrote a thing because I was bored. And yes, believe it or not I do write occasionally. Don’t forget, my persona, Lyric, is also an OC. For context she served as a messenger during the War of Sandwing Succession

Sand.

It stretched as far as the eye could see, dipping and rising. A sea of gold and white that went on seemingly forever, occasionally disturbed by the lone cactus or the scuttle of tiny paws, the desert creatures that dwelled beneath the earth.

It was a pleasant night, a soft breeze drifting through the desert, with two of the three moons full, breaking the dark abyss of the night. The stars were like a net of fireflies cast across the sky.

On a soundless night like this, one could almost forget about the blood that stained these sands.

Overhead the blue dragon soared, blue and green scales catching the moon light, as if it were made of sapphires and emeralds. It’s blue wings beat the air, the spray of emerald scales glittering beneath the moons. It looked dangerously out of place in the desert around it.

Lyric scanned the ground nervously. Why the queen had chosen her for this mission, she would never know. Perhaps it was because she was the fastest? Even so, her pale blue scales were hard to miss in a wasteland like this one.

Or maybe the queen thought she was the most disposable. The council was short on messengers, and this was a dangerous delivery, so best send the young, insignificant rookie. It wouldn’t matter if she died on the way back, as long as the message was delivered.

Lyric shook her head, as if shaking away those thoughts. There was no time to contemplate the queens somewhat questionable decisions. She had to focus on the task at hand.

Lyrics focused on the ground below, her eyes darting around frantically. Was she still on the outskirts of the Sand kingdom? Or had she gone the wrong way and stumbled into the mainland? She’d already passed the Scorpion Den, which she’d thought was on the outskirts of the kingdom. She’d stayed close to the beach, to avoid Burns stronghold, and she thought she should be close by now. Had it gotten unusually colder yet? Or was it so cold because it was night? Deserts were supposed to be cold at night, right?

Lyric beat her wings faster. She could feel time slipping through her claws like sand. The queen had stationed a wing of her army on the border between the Ice Kingdom and the Sand Kingdom. She had hoped to attack the outer Icewing villages. But one of her spies had reported that Burn, the strongest and cruelest of the Sandwing sisters, had caught wind of the queens plan. The vicious princess was planning on wiping out their troops tonight.

The queen had ordered the soldiers to retreat. It was Lyrics job to warn them.

The mountains yawned ahead in the distance, and for a panicked moment Lyric thought she’d gone the wrong way. Did the Ice Kingdom have mountains? Was this the Ice Kingdom? or had she stumbled into the Claws of the Clouds Mountains by accident? But she felt her heart leap when she spotted the gleam of green and blue scales. Yes! The army tents were cleverly disguised in the rocky slopes. Lyric lashed her tail, putting on a bolt of speed, beating her wings as hard as she could. Who knew how much time they had? She needed to get the troops away from here as fast as possible.

Lyric angled her wings down in a dive, lashing her tail behind her. Unfortunately, she misjudged her speed and ended up jerking upwards, flapping her wings wildly in an attempt not to crash headfirst into the rock at top speed. She ended up tumbling into the camp, rolling several times before landing on her back with her wings sprawled. At least she was still alive.

Several of the soldiers around her squeaked in alarm, scrambling out of the way. Lyric winced at the harsh comments they were throwing at her. Way to make a fool of herself.

“Ack! Are you delusional?!”

“Learn to fly idiot! Don’t go flapping around like a drowned seagull!”

“Three moons, shut the heck up! Your going to bring the whole mountain down on us!”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m so so sorry!” Lyric yelped. This was not exactly the grand entrance she had planned. Lyric scrambled upright and whipped her head around frantically. Who was it she needed to find? Who was the commander? Three moons, why couldn’t she do something as simple as remembering a name?

Suddenly, a large, bulky dragon burst out of one of the tents. She radiated menace and strength. It almost made Lyric jump back.

“What in Pyrrhia is going on here?!” The dragon roared. The name suddenly and conveniently popped back into Lyrics head.

Tempest. Commander Tempest. This had to be her, with her gruesome scares a bulky build. She’d certainly lived up to the rumors.

One of the soldiers flicked his tail at Lyric, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“This squid-brained dragonet just crashed into our camp. We’ll be lucky if she hasn’t alerted the whole Ice Kingdom by now.”

Commander Tempest glared at Lyric, her gaze cutting right through her.

“What does this idiot want?”

Lyrics throat closed over her words. Moons above, Tempest was every bit as intimidating as she thought she’d be.

“Well?” Tempest sat on her back talons and crossed her arms, glaring down her snout at Lyric. She poked Lyric with her tail.

“Are you deaf? Speak.”

Lyrics voice returned to her. “I-i-I, I’m s-sorry, Commander Tempest,”

Lyric crouched into a hasty bow. She wondered if this was right protocol for talking to the commander or if she was making an even bigger fool of herself.

“I-I have a message from Q-Queen Coral!”

Lyric fumbled with the bag slung around her neck, hastily tugging out a small scroll.

“The-the Sandwings- er, the prin- Burn has been alerted to your presence. They may be attacking tonight. The queen has ordered you to retreat.”

Tempest raised a scaley eyebrow. She took the scroll from Lyric and unfurled it, pausing for a second, then nodding.

“Slithering sand snorters,” Tempest snarled. “Why don’t we stay and fight them off? We could take out Burn and the lower Icewing villages at once.”

Lyric hadn’t considered that, but this wasn’t her decision. “Y-you can talk it over with the queen. But, t-this is a direct order, so, uh...”

Lyric, under Tempest’s glare, figured it a was probably a good idea to shut up. Tempest turned to several of the dragons around her.

“Go spread the word. Pack up as fast as you can. Anyone not ready in ten minutes will be left to the sand snorters.”

Tempest glanced at Lyric for a second. “Thank you. You better scurry on home, shrimp. This is no place for a dragonet.” Tempest turned back to her soldiers, barking orders.

Lyric was taken aback for a second. Did it really matter? But Tempest was right, Lyric wasn’t much of a fighter. Lyric nodded, gave a half bow, and sprang into the air. Her wing beats were shaky, but oddly confident. She’d done her job. Well, she’d made a fool of herself, but at least she’d done her job. Hopefully the queen would be pleased.

Lyric flew on, with a small grin on her face. She looked behind her occasionally to see the SeaWing troops soaring behind her. She’d done her job, she’d been useful. She’d helped save those soldiers, and-

Suddenly, a dune exploded right below her. Lyric squeaked in alarm. Her wing beats faltered, and she flapped wildly for a second to right herself. She flew higher to get a better view of what was going on.

She wished she hadn’t.

Below her, the ground was bursting with sand dragons, like ants swarming out of their piles to fight whoever had disturbed them. The Sandwings lunged towards the sea dragons, with talons outstretched and teeth bared. Lyric watched in horror as the blue dragons began to drop like rain, crumbling to the ground, staining the sand below them.

Lyric was snapped out of her horror by claws raking across her snout. A Sandwing, a large female with pale white scales, had snatched lyric out of the air, throwing her towards the ground. Her tail stabbed for Lyrics heart, the venomous barb gleaming menacingly.

Lyric lashed out, clawing frantically at the sand dragon. She batted the Sandwings tail away with her wings, and felt her claws grab hold of the Sandwings neck. Lyric sank her claws in, holding on desperately. Her attacker hissed furiously, beating her wings frantically, struggling to stay in the air against Lyrics weight. Her tail snaked towards Lyric again. Lyric snatched her tail in her jaws, like a bear catching a fish, and bit down as hard as she could. She felt her teeth sink into the weak spot that every dragon had in their tail.

The sand dragon roared and yanked her tail away, ripping Lyric off her neck and sending her spinning towards the ground. The sea dragon yelped and spread her wings, landing rather clumsily on the sand.

Lyric turned to the bloodbath above her, her heart sinking, with blood from her snout clouding her vision. Her mind couldn’t register what had happened. Had this been her fault? Had she been too late? Had she somehow caught the Sandwings attention?

Her mind desperately grabbed onto an explanation. Something, anything that could explain this outcome.

As Lyric watched the sky in horror, one of the sand dragons snaked her head around to glare at her, as if she had felt the sea dragons gaze. The Sandwing was large and bulky, her body disfigured with gruesome scars that told stories and fearsome battles and vicious foes. The chain mail armor on her chest gleamed with pride. Her obsidian black eyes had a sharp gleam to them. The eyes almost had a smug look to them. A look that said “nice try” and “I win” and “you failed.”

Burn, Lyric realized, must have planned this all along. Now that she thought about it, it was a rather clever plan. Prompt your enemies into retreating, then ambush them when they try to escape. Quite clever, indeed.

Lyric tore her eyes away. Sandwings were truly the worst tribe. It was their fault they were all in this war in the first place. They were horrible, vicious dragons. The messenger would never forget that. She spotted several blue and green figures, frantically trying to bolt away from the scene. Among them, she thought she saw the Commander. Retreat, yes, they were still trying to escape.

The small, blue messenger leapt into the air after them, blood pooling around her snout, dripping onto the sand. One could never forget the blood that stained these sands.

[rebelliouslala]

Sinners: The Beginning of the End

The tarot cards in order: The Hanged Man, Reversed. The Lovers, Upright. The Chariot, Reversed.

A collab with the Arcana Love Readings, the cards are above! 

1.3k words

Yangyang x Y/n angst, slight horror and cursing, a mention of gore and a bad ending. Character death and tied in with the Seven Deadly Sins. 

A/n: this is the ending of the fic actually, the fic is about y/n’s travels and more on what happened between you and yangyang, so yeah enjoy, it kinda feels good to be back and not dead!

credit to nakamotens! for the gif <3

“Yangyang.”

You stand at the ridge, the heavy wind picking up the crumbs of the red earth and blowing it across your tattered servant outfit.

The Pride territory of the young demon is empty. The other territories of Sin were filled; Decorated and exploited with their signature.

The only thing you could tell was Yangyang’s was the royal purple throne. It was made out of the earth and and sprouted out of the ground. However the thing that really made it a throne was the seat itself.

You did not recognize the demon in front of you standing in front of it, brushing off the crumbs.

This land was thrice the terror versus the others. With it’s emptiness came your shock to him. How barren, he seemed since the last time you both have seen each other. You step forward to the demon, as he is still.

“You came.” The man said simply as he turns to you, and you can see this scars. The scars that Satan had given him. Obviously, the ruler of Hell did not give his demon mercy on your behalf.

“Yang,” you say quietly, your lips becoming shut together as the demon of pride crosses his arms. “The final game. You have to come to me.”

You frown, shaking your head softly, feeling your head, your body become heavy with weight. Is this really the fate of you and he? To convince him to stay. Be a man. Run away, far away from the hands of Satan and the brothers that plague him. 

You shake your thoughts of the things you have learned on your journey to your beloved. What tortured and changed him. You gulp and look at him as he sits on the small throne, “Well, this is your last day; and chance. Are you just going to be mute?”

You open your mouth and only a small croak hops out. You tear up at the thought and look back down. You have fought your way here, past all of the rest of the sins, facing flashbacks of the grotesque words to pin you down and submit. You needed to say something to just bring him back. Bring back the Yangyang you know and love.

“I know what you’ve been through. W-What everyone has. You and the others don’t have to do this. You don’t have to be the monsters Satan wants you to be!” You say, your voice cracking as you can feel the hot tears start to pour, and you sniffle, feeling your throat burn. “Yangyang, just take my hand. Let’s just forget this.”

The man looks over, and he looks at your hand. The wind whips again, and his hair goes to the side, revealing the streaks of the purple pride sin and his deer like antlers, intricate and nearly twice as large as him. He looks at you again and softly raises his arms, before you hear a smack.

The clapping rhythm was even, which made it somehow more unnerving and uncomfortable to take before he gazes on you and smiles. His smile made you step back, and you feel sick. You gulp looking at him as his eyes glow.

“You sick little thing. I can see it in you.” He sang to himself, and you widen your eyes at the endless fangs he holds as teeth.

“S-see what?” You say, gulping quietly, feeling a knot on the back of your throat. His voice echoes, and was deeper than usual.

This wasn’t him.

“I have trained for, awhile now I guess.” He walks to you, and you realize what the rest of what he is. He wears a long cape, that grew in length and width with each step. His face is painted, his lips popping with purple and his eyes glowing lavender as his skin writhes with feathers before disappearing back to his natural skin color. His pants are tight, loose at the ends of his feet, flashing from goat hooves, fins, a horrifying image of gore before hidden behind raw cow skin shoes.

The setting around him changed as well. As he walked you watch the earth crack, before trees sprout and grass become as high to his thighs. Flowers sparkle on the ground beside the trees and gather together in packs. The sun shone bright from behind him. The wind whips harshly around you both again, and you shiver at him.

“Dad taught me a lot. Did you know the beginning of sinning amongst humans is with their pride? It has something to do with their ideals. They want to, let’s say, give clothing away, but not their food or money? Gluttony and greed eat them up whole. Envy soon comes in for the people in the best clothing.” His shirt twirls before he shows his chest and he smirks gently to himself, “Wrath takes place when they have nothing. Lust for a desire of clothing. And Sloth when they cannot do anything more, or to even slow their progress down, until they are so corrupted we can kill them with ease.”

Yangyang stands at the edge across from you. Only two yards away. You pant, your eyes widening as you can recognize the territory behind him. He reaches his hand out to you, “I am fine here.”

“N-no you’re not!” You cry out, croaking again.

“I am. I am the gifted child compared to the others. I am the beginning of every single Sin. I touch them to see their morals, their deepest secrets. I know yours, and I know what you want.”

“Yangyang this is not you!” You scream at him, ignoring what he made. The childhood playground you had with him, in Satan’s palace.

The demon flashes again and you flinch before you hear a crumble.

“You just want peace. You want to forget what you had helped Satan do to us. By making me not what I am, you are ignoring what Satan has done to everyone.” His arms and chest lower and he touches the scar from his neck to his pelvis, “How can I forget what he has done to me, Y/n?”

You cry more as he looks at you and smirks, leaning forward and his hand extends further, “So, what is it going to be, hm? Failing me, as you already did, or joining me?”

Yangyang watches you crumble to your knees and as he walks on the air, the wind blows again whilst you crane your neck to look up to him. Your face is disfigured, your eyes closed but as you open them Yangyang can see the true moral inside you. He flinches but his face stays dead still.

You scream something, but the wind howls over, as you go limp, fading into ash and away from his sight.

“Is it done, Pride?” A voice rumbles behind him. The garden delusion fades away, and Yangyang stops.

“Yes, Your Highness.” He turns back, bowing. “They are gone.”

“Good. Let us go to the Moral Realm. It is time.”

The two walk, the other sin demons appearing. Sicheng wears a brown hoodie and dark grey sweatpants, on his phone, his horns hanging low. Kun appears next to Yangyang, widening his eyes, but looking at the ruler of Hell, he straightens himself up, wearing a suit and a bright devil red tie.

The other members appear, all transforming in and out of their disguises and demon forms.

A portal in the middle of the territories cracks above, and in order of age, from Kun to Dejun, they step in. Yangyang steps up the glass staircase, gently looking at the disguise of Guanheng. His brother looks over, before avoiding his eyes and entering through the black hole, soft screams following.

The man of pride stops, and he looks at his land. He feels another soft breeze across his hands. He nods ever so gently as he mumbles to himself, holding his palm to where his heart is, “I loved you too.”

With another step to the top, the Seven Deadly Sins became one with the Earth; forevermore.

#ultkpopnetwork #kwritersworldnet #wayvnet #neowritingsnet #liu yangyang #yangyang angst #wayv #wayv angst #nct angst #nct imagines #dee writes

[garpie64]

Hiiii!!! Just saw the wip meme game from like, ages ago loool. Is it too late or can I ask? And can I ask for two? What about,,, A Wolf and His Panther and Alone, but Never Again? If I’m too late I completely understand lol. I took a loooooong break from tumblr (even if I’m anon) and I’m just now getting caught up lol

So sorry for such a long wait so, snippets beneath the cut. 

Warnings for slight gore, slight horror, general angst, these are not happy

~A Wolf and his Panther 02~

Jason stirred in Dick’s arms. He turned with sleepy eyes still partially closed and unfocused. He yawned out. “Morning, kitty cat.”

“Little wolf.” Dick nuzzled in against his omega’s throat.

Jason hummed tilting his head back to allow better access to his throat marbled with colors. The discoloring bruises ranged from light to dark each spelling out the story of Dick’s possessive streak. There was something dark inside him; something dark and twisted that didn’t understand love, but understood desire. It stirred strange concerning things inside him. Jason fit so well in the grove of his body; kept him grounded; stripped away the act to let him simply be Dick. He fit Dick too well. Dick didn’t deserve him. He took all that was offered, selfish and greedy.

His arms looped around his omega’s waist, rubbing the smooth skin of Jason’s hip. His mouth roamed rejuvenating old bruises while his hands roamed. Jason seemed to enjoy it as he let himself slowly wake in the lazy morning.

The breeze picked up slightly making the curtains dance a bit more. The air shimmered and once again Dick felt the odd prickle that something wasn’t right.

Dick blinked up at Jason suddenly leaning over him, black hair cascading around his face. The omega smiled, moving to straddle Dick’s hips. He leaned down a mischievous grin on his face as his blue eyes flashed. Dick sighed contently when he felt nipping kisses trailing along his throat.

“Jay,”

“Just lay back and enjoy yourself, kitty cat.” Jason whispered. He pressed a chaste kiss beneath Dick’s jaw.

Dick groaned in kind, content to just lie back and allow his little wolf to do as he pleased. Those hands, rough with callouses and scars trailed up his chest, teasing over his own scars and skimming over ashen skin. The touch remained light and playful just like his own little wolf.

Fingers snapped around his throat, squeezing tight and snapping Dick’s eyes open. The warm morning light vanished replaced by the night sky lit by flames. The alpha gasped, but no air filled his lungs. Those fingers tipped with claws tightened their grip, piercing skin. Jason had been replaced by some twisted vision looming over him. Skin singed and burned, peeling away from bone and muscle. Blood caked tattered clothes and stained skin with bones moving unnaturally beneath what skin it hadn’t punched through. 

For the first time, Dick felt fear looking upon the damaged and disfigured face of his little wolf. This wasn’t Jason and yet it was. It was Jason grinning a bloody toothy smile worst than the Jokester.

“You let me die, little kitty cat. You let me burn in that fire. I’ll make you bleed. I’ll make you burn too.”

~Alone, But Never Again Ending 1~

Jason was alone in a motel in the middle of no where when he felt the first twinge in his soul. Some stupid talk show was playing on the Tv providing noise more than anything. Jason had been sitting at the table eating a meager meal of old takeout swallowed up in his own misery when he felt it. The baby bump had just barely formed, but he could feel it; could feel just the lightest pull on his soul. The action was so minuscule and yet Jason froze. Once blue eyes widened as the fork in his hand fell back into the takeout container. Tears left wet tracks down his cheeks and stung his eyes.

He spent the night huddled in a makeshift nest made in the small closet huddled into a ball and with his arms curled around his stomach.

That little spark, that tiny little tug meant that there was life inside him. For everything he fucked up and failed to be or do, he didn’t fail at this. It changed something in him that night, to know that this was real.

Jason was really pregnant and he needed to take action if he was going to give this baby the best start he could give.

Finding a reputable Omega home had been a bit difficult. Most were either underfunded, shopping markets for wealthy alphas, or would take away every right Jason had to his body and child. Single pregnant omegas always faced social pressure and prejudice. Even those who had lost their mates faced scrutiny for bearing a child alone and yet judged heavily for taking a mate too soon after their last. There were a few run by omegas that protected others and it was at one of these, Lockwood’s Home for Omegas, that he found room and board and the medical aid he would need.

“Hey Jace,” A gentle voice roused him from his thoughts. He turned away from the window, shifting slightly on his perch in the bay window.

“Hey Claire.” Jason answered. He pulled his legs up to his chest allowing the smaller omega to join him in the sunning nest. Claire curled up carefully beside him, giving them both space to flee, a habit learned from a mate with wild mood swings.

Claire kept the silence for a little longer, building up the courage to speak in that meek voice of hers. “Danny said the appointment didn’t go well.”

Silence followed as Jason’s gaze returned to stare out the window of the old Victorian townhouse at nothing in particular. He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

#ask garpie #wip meme game #jason todd #dick grayson #omegaverse #dark #angst #omega jason todd #Anonymous

[theladyofdeath]

In the Bleak Midwinter {12}

A Throne of Glass Period AU: 1920s.

Summary: 2 years after Arobynn Hammel is killed by Rowan Whitethorn, Maeve has returned from Eyllwe with a vengeance. Meanwhile, Rowan is getting married, Lorcan is a father, and Lysandra is finally ready to give her heart away. There’s been peace in The Cadre’s Orynth for 2 years, but peace never lasts.

A/N: .......my finger slipped.

All characters belong to SJM. I am no more than a fan with a plot.

**Warning: mature content - language, alcohol use, drug use, sex, murders and shit.

Links & masterlists:

Fanfic Masterlist

Ask me

The Cadre - 1920s AU {TOG}

In the Bleak Midwinter {The Cadre, Part 2}

The late afternoon sun was bright and warm, but even it did not erase the eeriness of the clearing on the outskirts of town as Rowan and the others waited in the woods, hidden by the thick line of trees.

Maeve’s men would be arriving any second, and although their plan was set, and Rowan was confident in it, it did not take away the bundle of nerves that settled in his stomach. They all remained quiet, not a  word uttered, as they waited. Rhoe had come, along with Dorian, Chaol, and Ren. Fenrys and Connall stood closest to the edge of the clearing, their eyes shooting in every direction, watching intently. Lorcan was leaning against the thick trunk of an oak tree, smoking a cigarette, lazily, as if nothing in the world bothered him at all. Gavriel, on the other hand, kept close to Aedion, not trusting that he had healed enough to be there.

Rowan ran through their plan, for the thousandth time, in his mind. 

It was pointless, though. In situations like this, things rarely went according to plan. 

As the sun began to sink behind the trees, a group of men stepped into the clearing. The six that appeared were only a handful of Maeve’s numbers, which meant the others were no doubt hiding behind the trees, just as Rhoe and his men were.

Nonetheless, Rowan gave a motion with his fingers and stepped out into the clearing, the rest of the Cadre behind him while the others stayed behind. It was strange walking without Vaughan. Even when Rowan was a kid, Vaughan had always been there, in the pack. They still stood their ground, though, Rowan and the other four who walked one step behind, Gavriel, Lorcan, Fenrys, and Connall. They were no doubt feeling Vaughan’s absence, too.

They didn’t walk far into the clearing, stopped a good distance away from their opponents, the long grass nearly up to their knees, no more than ten feet away from the tree line. Maeve’s men, led by Cairn, had done the same.

“I see my aunt still hides when the talking stops and the fighting begins,” Rowan said, hands at his side.

Cairn shrugged. “She’s too precious to be put on the front lines.”

Behind Rowan, Lorcan snorted. Rowan was tempted to do the same, but he only blinked before he said, “Very well. Let her know that her dear Vaughan woke up, will you? She always had eyes for him.”

Cairn’s jaw locked, meaning that Rowan’s suspicions were correct: Maeve had a horribly ugly way of making men fall for her and forcing them to become her bitches.

“Do you always talk so much in these sort of situations?” Cairn asked, cocking his head.

“I can go straight for my gun, if that’s what you prefer.” Rowan’s low voice drifted through the meadow.

He was greeted with silence.

Cairn did not speak, nor did the five others behind him. Rowan stared him down, unblinking, as Gavriel lazily reached for the gun beneath his jacket.

It was a sign.

The first move.

As soon as Gavriel took out his pistol, displayed the cool metal in the late afternoon sun, all weapons would be drawn, and the shooting would begin. Which is, surely, why Gavriel took his sweet, sweet time. Seconds passed as the silence ensued, as branches blowing in the soft breeze was all that could be heard. Rowan kept his eyes on Cairn’s, his jaw hard, his hands slack at his sides, long, scarred fingers brushing along the loose fabric of his trousers.

Then, Rowan’s right hand balled into a fist.

Just behind his right shoulder, Gavriel swiftly pulled out his gun.

Weapons were out and the first shot was fired. Gavriel, landing a bullet in the shoulder of a tall, young red-headed man behind Cairn.

Others were coming out across the clearing as a bullet whirred past Rowan’s ear. He muttered a curse and he took a step forward and reached down, into the long, swaying grass, where one of Arobynn Hammel’s stolen guns laid hidden.

The moment Rowan rose and took his aim, the other machine guns were being fired from his left, toward Maeve’s men, controlled by Rhoe, Aedion, Ren, Chaol, and Dorian.

It was perfect, glorious, an easy defeat as Maeve’s men began to fall. Another fifteen, at least, had come into the clearing from the woods behind Cairn and the others, and Rowan wasn’t sure how many more there were. The gun went off in his hands, shooting more rounds than any gun should be able to, but he wouldn’t complain.

It was them, or him.

Just when he thought it would be a quick, over and done with battle, a shadow flew over his head, and by the time he realized what it had been, it was too late.

An explosion went off, and he was thrown onto the ground. A ringing in his ears greeted him as his head hit the ground, broken by the softness of the grass, but he knew that Rhoe’s men were still shooting, that Maeve’s men were still falling. His body shook off the shock as he rose, running on pure adrenaline.

Rowan stumbled, trying to catch his balance as he aimed, once more, at the few that remained. Cairn had run, he’d noticed, as he started walking toward the others, firing away. Another shadow passed over them, and this time Rowan yelled, “Get down!”

He followed his own advice, falling between the high grass, hands over his head, face against the dirt. The second explosion was further than the first, and just when he was about to stand, yet again, the gunfire ceased.

Even Rhoe and the others beyond the trees. 

Rowan slowly pulled himself up on his feet to find himself in an empty clearing. Maeve’s men either laid dead in the grass or they had fled alongside Cairn. He waited a moment to be sure, scanned the treeline but found no one, nothing. Dropping the massive gun to his side, he slowly turned to face his men as blood trickled from a cut just above his eyebrow. He was unsure of how he’d gotten it, hadn’t even felt it happen.

The ringing in his ears remained as he turned to find Lorcan, sweating, his hair a mess, that cigarette still between his teeth, breathing heavily. Gavriel was alright, too, putting his pistols back into the twin holsters beneath his jacket. 

But it was Fenrys who caught Rowan’s attention, because he was looking around, frantically, eyes wide, chest heaving.

From his lips flew one word, one name, in a desperate scream. “Connall!”

“To your right!”

It was Dorian, jumping out from behind the clearing with a pointed finger. Fenrys didn’t hesitate, sprinting in the direction Havilliard had been pointing. The others were close behind, but Fenrys fell down into the grass, and a piercing cry filled the silence. 

Rowan came to an abrupt stop, nearly running into the back of Gavriel when he saw the crumpled up body Fenrys was covering with his own. Their faces were identical, but one was covered in tears, and the other was staring blankly up at the cloudless blue sky. 

~~~~~~~~

Aelin and Lysandra had been pacing for nearly an hour outside of the front doors of the estate. It was a perfect day, the sun shining brightly, even as it began to sink down beyond the distant hills. The cool breeze kept them from getting too warm. Even though the day was beautiful, it didn’t take away it’s horrid nature.

Aelin felt like she was going to puke.

There was a soft tap from one of the windows above them and Aelin spun around to find Vaughan sitting in the same chair she’d left him in, in the library just above the entrance. He met her gaze, then pointed.

“Ae,” Lysandra breathed.

Aelin’s gaze shot down the dirt drive, where she could see the trio of cars in the distance. As they grew nearer, Aelin’s heart raced faster. Lysandra was instantly at her side, holding her friend’s hand. Aelin gripped her fingers, the other hand resting protectively over her bump. 

It felt like an eternity as they watched the cars come closer, the two women standing together, holding their breath, clutching one another.

And then the cars were in front of them, stopping, neatly in a row. Rowan, Lorcan, and Gavriel got out of the first; her father, Chaol, and Dorian getting out of the second; and in the third, which the other men were hurrying to, Aedion stepped out, then Ren Allsbrook. 

Aelin knew something horrible had happened, knew something had gone wrong, as Fenrys stepped out, covered in bright red blood.

Lysandra tensed from beside her.

And behind her, the door flew open, and Vaughan, grunting and clutching his chest, stepped out into the daylight, bare-chested, barefoot. He stopped beside Aelin, watching in horror as Lorcan, Gavriel, and Rhoe lifted a disfigured body out of the backseat.

The look on Fenrys face could have shattered the world with just a glance.

Rowan turned, and Aelin met his gaze with a soft, brutal sob.

The leader of the Cadre looked utterly defeated as a tear slid down his dusty, bloodied cheek.

~~~~~

Maeve was sitting behind a grand oak desk as Cairn entered the room. His clothes were torn and blood-splattered. He shut the door behind him as she took in his appearance.

“You all are back sooner than I expected,” she said, after a moment.

Cairn’s shoulders tensed as he said, “They had fucking machine guns, Maeve, more so than we thought, you sent us into a bloody slaughter.” 

Maeve just shrugged a shoulder as she crossed her legs. “They called, we answered the call.”

“We lost over half our men,” Cairn snapped.

“And the grenades?” Maeve asked, her voice remaining light, curious.

“Used,” Cairn answered, plainly.

Maeve sat perfectly still, waiting for him to continue.

At last, Cairn went on. “We killed off one.”

A loud, short laugh broke free from Maeve as she rose to her feet. “One? Two fucking grenades, and you only killed one?”

Cairn said nothing.

“Pathetic,” Maeve spat. “Which?”

“One of the twins,” Cairn answered, shrugging. “We did what we could with what we had.”

Maeve looked at him for a long moment before taking a deep breath and falling back into her chair. “Yes, yes, of course, my dear. Do not worry, I have a plan. We will wait for their walls to fall down, and then we will strike. And when we do, he will have no choice but to surrender.”

The one, the only one that mattered, the murderer of her one true love.

Cairn opened his mouth, no doubt to ask a question, but Maeve held up her hand and shook her head. “Not yet, my dear. I’ll reveal my secrets in time, but not yet.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#tacmc ITBMW #the cadre #tog #throne of glass #fanfic #fanfiction #period au #1920s au #pb au

[onebadwinter]

Baron Helmut Zemo Tropes

Taken from Here and Here

Anti-Villain: Sometimes verges on this, though it's a case of Depending on the Writer.

Arch-Enemy: After his father's death, he takes this role to Captain America and leads the Masters of Evil after inheriting the title.

Aristocrats Are Evil: He's a baron after all, and believes his aristocratic heritage entitles him to rule.

Avenging the Villain: Helmut's original motive was to kill Captain America because he killed his father. Eventually, Helmut came to the realization that actually, Heinrich was an awful father and an even worse person.

Badass Normal: Has no powers, but regularly fights the likes of Captain America and the Avengers. He usually has a contingency that will allow him to deal with his opponent's plans anyway; it's only when these contingencies fail (as happened during his battle with Moonstone at the end of the initial run on Thunderbolts) that he's in trouble.

The Big Bad: Of his fare share of arcs, particularly those involving the Masters of Evil.

Brain Uploading: He only survived being decapitated because Techno uploaded his consciousness to a computer.

Butter Face: A Rare Male Example. He has the body you'd expect of somebody who can keep up with Captain America in terms of physique... but that handsome form is contrasted by a hideously malformed visage. For a while, he had a young, dashing look again after hijacking the body of the Helmut from another Earth, but only two years later his face got disfigured again. When he got Carla Sofen's Moonstone, he used it to fix that, but when Melissa broke it again...

Calling the Old Man Out: During his trip back in time, he ran into his father while the latter was gleefully doing mad science for the Nazis. Helmut had long since discarded any Nazi prejudices he had once had, and was fuming watching his father put down other races, the handicapped, etc. Finally he had enough and started beating the hell out of him while giving a "Reason You Suck" Speech. Quite the sign of Character Development for the guy who started out worshiping and avenging his father's memory.

Captain Patriotic: At the beginning of the Thunderbolts, he disguised himself as Citizen V, supposedly the son of a previous hero who'd gone by that name, whom Zemo had killed. Zemo went the whole hog, even decking himself in a cape designed after the American flag.

The Chessmaster: Zemo has a plan for everything, and lays them out months in advance.

Cool Mask: Wears a tighter fitting version of his father's mask.

The Cynic: Has a generally negative view of humanity.

Daddy Issues: He loved his father, and his father loved him... until the Adhesive X incident, where he became outright abusive in every way. Originally, Helmut blamed Captain America. Now, he acknowledges that his father was just a horrible human being.

Did You Just Punch Out Cthulhu?: He once shot the Grandmaster, one of the Elders of the Universe and a being way outside his normal weight class, through the head. Admittedly, there were mitigating circustances that allowed him to do this, and the Grandmaster did get better (because, hey, comics).

Disney Villain Death: Many, many times (see Never Found the Body below).

Even Evil Has Standards: Arranged the death of one of his ancestors during a time-travel jaunt, after he found out the man was a rapist and a mass-murderer who did it all For the Evulz. He later clashed with another ancestor when he thought he was harassing a girl (the two were actually in love, and he quickly apologised).

Evil Genius

Evil Is Petty:

The Faceless: He rarely ever removes his mask, due to his face being horribly scarred in a accident.

Facial Horror: His head has been slashed up so badly that it's practically a skull, with ribbons of flesh draping over his eyes and sliced-off cheeks and lips. The sight of his face visibly disgusts everyone in the original Thunderbolts.

Freudian Excuse: Raised by his father to believe in his inherent superiority. There wasn't a lot of dad hugs down in that South American jungle, mostly just rants and lectures.

Good Scars, Evil Scars: Hideously disfigured beneath his mask.

Grand Theft Me: After becoming a "ghost", his mind was transferred to the actual son of Citizen V (Techno noted it was basically him playing a joke). That is, until an energy conflict - the V-Batallion tried to teleport Citizen V as the body was being sucked into a portal - made his mind be expelled into Techno's machinery. But given he arrived at Counter-Earth, this meant Zemo could do a literal case of the trope, and took the body of his self from this world.

Heel–Face Revolving Door: Cannot make up his mind which side he is supposed to be on. He even once took a bullet for Cap despite being his sworn enemy.

In the Blood: The arrogance and the drive for control certainly are.

Joker Immunity: Unlike his father, he can never seem to be put down for long.

The Leader: Of the Masters of Evil and the Thunderbolts.

Legacy Character: To his father, Baron Heinrich Zemo XII.

Manipulative Bastard: Zemo's very good at getting other people to do what he wants, playing on their emotions and desires.

Master Swordsman: One of the best in the Marvel Universe. Zemo's dueled the likes of Captain America and survived several decades worth of warfare on a time travel jaunt.

Nazi Nobleman: Started out as one, though he's moved away from fascism in recent years. Nowadays his goals align more with Dirty Communists.

Never Found the Body: During the run of Thunderbolts alone he was declared dead on four separate occasions, all of which turned out to be false. In each instance, his body was never found. By the fourth time, most of the team just assume he'll turn up eventually (not that they want him to).

Noble Demon: He's much more noble than his father,for sure.

Purple Is Powerful: Signifies his aristocratic leanings.

Secondary Color Nemesis: Purple, to oppose Cap's blue and red.

Take Over the World: He insists it's to save it. Some people (like Songbird) aren't convinced.

Taking the Bullet: Once leapt in the way of an energy blast an insane Moonstone aimed at Captain America. Messed his face up bad.

There Are No Therapists: This guy is seriously messed up and would probably have turned out differently if he got professional help.

Token Evil Teammate: Alongside Techno, he serves as this for the first iteration of Thunderbolts. While most members of the team fall somewhere between The Hero and the Anti-Hero, Zemo shows no signs of having softened whilst playing-hero, and alongside Techno manages to almost conquer the world and turn it into a Darwinist nightmare. He also constantly mocks his teammates for wanting to be heroes, calling them "weak" and "traitors to the cause" when they show the smallest signs of heroism outside of their pubic duties.

Unlucky Thirteen: He's the thirteenth Baron Zemo.

Well-Intentioned Extremist: In his mind, at any rate, after some Character Development, he becomes determined to take over the world for its own good. That doesn't mean that he's not an Axe-Crazy terrorist who's willing to perform some truly heinous actions for the sake of the "greater good." Zemo: I would never have hurt a world I worked so hard to save.

Western Terrorists: More like this than a Nazi.

Wicked Cultured: When being held at swordpoint by his worst ancestor, an evil aristocrat who believed only in the absolute of power, said ancestor's son (who'd struck up a friendship with Zemo) asked what was more absolute than power. Zemo's answer? "To be, or not to be."

Worthy Opponent: Sometimes sees Captain America this way, and definitely sees Sharon Carter this way.

Xanatos Speed Chess: He's good at incorporating the gambits of others into his plans, as evidenced by his deft manipulation of Moonstone when they were both members of the Thunderbolts.

One of his nastiest acts of spite was destroying a box of Cap's treasured belongings, including some of his last links to the past, right in front of his eyes.

What was his initial plan in founding the Thunderbolts? Pretend to be heroes, earn America and the world's trust, become famous and respected, and then gather knowledge on the other heroes to... sell to the criminal underworld? Eventually, Moonstone points out this is a freaking stupid plan.

Taken to the highest extreme possible. When he actually did have the power to implement whatever change he might have wanted, Songbird shut him down with the intention of killing him out of not trusting him. What were what he believed could have been his last words?

MCU Zemo Tropes

Adaptational Attractiveness: He's quite handsome here, while his comic counterpart usually has to wear a mask to hide his hideously charred, disfigured face. This is true to his first appearance in the comics as a one-shot villain, before he was scarred upon becoming a recurring character.

Adaptational Heroism: In The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, when he does don his iconic comic book alter ego, unlike in the comics where he was a straight-up one-note supervillain, Zemo here is depicted so far as an Ambiguously Evil Anti-Hero ally of Avengers Sam and Bucky without mostly ever betraying them until his escape from the hotel in the fourth episode with most of his redeeming and justifiable qualities shown upfront more than his villainous qualities that Civil War mostly showcased, but still likely an on-and-off antagonist simultaneously during his Enemy Mine with the two superheroes.

Adaptational Nationality: In the comics Helmut Zemo is German, but here he is a Sokovian. Ironically, his actor actually is German, and The Falcon and the Winter Soldier sees a bit of his German accent creep in. He also has a vast array of vehicles and a private plane in Germany, and seems very familiar with both Berlin and the German language. Whether this is a Retcon into making him part German or just a Mythology Gag is yet to be seen, though he does identify Sokovia as "his country".

Adaptational Nice Guy: His comic counterpart and that of his father were literal Nazis who wanted mass genocide and world domination, and while the Helmut of the comics did grow out of the former, he still tends to try the latter. This version of Zemo, despite being on a black ops killing team, has a much simpler and more sympathetic motivation, while his father was merely a civilian. Neither have any ties to HYDRA (aside from Helmut's exploitation of HYDRA's Winter Soldier project), while the versions from the comics are both prominent members of that organisation.

Adaptational Wimp: In the comics Zemo is a major adversary of Captain America and the Avengers, with a particular emphasis on his skills at fencing and manipulation. While this version retains his cunning, he is also presented as much less of a direct threat to anyone despite being a former black operative; when Black Panther decides to bring him in alive, he goes down with barely a struggle. Most of his success ties into this, with him exploiting his lack of obvious supervillainous affect to stay under the heroes' radar until his plan requires him to show his hand, then relying on Steve and Tony's flaws and personal issues to do most of the work for him. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier shows that he hasn't forgotten how to do his own dirty work, however, putting his soldier skills to use alongside his usual guile and strategizing once he gets back into the fray.

Adaptation Personality Change: In the comics, Zemo is generally depicted as an unapologetic villain who is primarily driven by a selfish desire to rule over others. His film version, on the other hand, has a much more sympathetic motive for his villainous actions, as he's just a victim of the Avengers' collateral damage in Sokovia seeking revenge for the death of his entire family.

Affably Evil:

Alas, Poor Villain: His defeat in Civil War is treated as an utterly somber affair, with him having nothing left after completing his plan and hoping to commit Suicide by Cop at T'Challa's hands before trying to kill himself when T'Challa refuses to be consumed by vengeance as Zemo has. Even though he got what he wanted (up to a point), it doesn't change the fact that his family is gone forever.

The Alcoholic: Following his escape from prison in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Zemo reveals himself to be a little bit of a tippler, partaking in shots, champagne, helping himself to Sharon's expensive liquor collection, then taking more shots at a club. He apparently approves of the way they party in Madripoor.

All for Nothing: He wanted to destroy the Avengers and was content with them dividing. Thanos's arrival and the events of Endgame undo all of that. In fact, the Avengers are no doubt more beloved than ever as a result.

Anti-Villain: Despite the grim and often hypocritical in hindsight actions he resorts to, he does have some good traits and was hoping for a cleaner way to get what he wanted first. Also, his motive — revenge for the collateral damage-induced loss of his family — is at least a little sympathetic.

Apple of Discord: His Evil Plan is to find evidence that Bucky Barnes murdered Tony Stark's parents while under HYDRA control and show it to Stark, so Bucky's friend Steve Rogers and Tony will turn on each other over whether to spare or kill Bucky, and the Avengers will be ripped apart as they side with one leader or the other.

Arch-Enemy: Since the death of Ulysses Klaue, it seems Zemo has taken his seat as Wakanda's most wanted for the death of King T'Chaka. Not a day after he breaks out of prison, Ayo is already hot on his trail to capture him.

Aristocrats Are Evil: It's revealed in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier that he is a nobleman like his comic counterpart. Though unlike said counterpart, his upbringing had nothing to do with him becoming a villain since his father was by all accounts a decent man in this universe.

Badass Longcoat: The events of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier have Zemo wearing a stylish winter coat, complete with Conspicuous Gloves.

Badass Normal: Unlike most of the Avengers, he's just a plain old human. But, through sheer patience and ingenuity, he still managed to tear them apart. During the trip to Madripoor he proves to be no slouch in combat either, reminding everyone he was former special forces. He also comes much closer to permanently stopping Morgenthau than Falcon or Bucky have ever managed so far, largely because he's fully willing to kill.

The Bad Guy Wins: Downplayed. Zemo has achieved his goals but with never with the fully desired outcome.

Batman Gambit: He's good at finding ways to make other people do things for him by exploiting their predictable behavior.

Beard of Evil: He has grown a beard during his eight years in prison as seen in Episode 2 of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

Beware the Superman: His return in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier reveals his own take on the idea. While he is against the idea of a Super Soldier on principle, he is not specifically against them as people, but more how they are precisely put on a pedestal, their flaws washed away/ignored and subsequently inspire Blind Obedience. He specifically notes how the personal loyalty inspired by Steve Rogers to Sam and Bucky (then, even now) precisely drives them to such extremes—even breaking the law much like they did to free him. Sam and Bucky do not protest the point. He admits that Steve was not corrupted by the power he was given but points out there was only one of him compared to the many who would abuse it. He is proven right on this point by John Walker taking the super soldier serum and going off the deep end.

Big Bad: Of Captain America: Civil War. He exploits and exacerbates the ideological differences between Captain America and Iron Man, resulting in the eponymous Good vs Good conflict that threatens to destroy the Avengers.

Big Damn Villains: As Sam, Bucky, and Sharon are pinned down by bounty hunters in the Madripoor shipyard, Zemo suddenly makes a grandiose entrance in full villain garb on a ledge, killing several assassins by shooting a nearby gas tank with his pistol before going to ground and taking down the rest in close combat, opening up the heroes' window of escape.

Blue Blood: The Falcon and The Winter Soldier reveals that he was always a baron. While the fall of Sokovia took away most of the power of the title he still has a lot of money and connections as a result of his position.

Breaking the Fellowship: Thanks to his efforts, the Avengers are severely compromised, with several of the foundational friendships that held them together torn apart and anyone who sided with Cap imprisoned or branded a fugitive. Even Tony and his supporters still bear physical and mental scars caused by fighting their friends.

The Bus Came Back: After being imprisoned at the end of Civil War, Zemo returns in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, with the title characters seeking his assistance in tracking down the source of the Flag Smashers's Super Soldier powers.

Cape Busters: Has a personal grudge against the Avengers and plots to destroy them by pitting them against one another. By the time of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, he has apparently narrowed his vendetta to all super soldiers, stating that they "cannot be allowed to exist." At the same time, as stated above in Beware the Superman, his is more nuanced compared to other versions of this trope.

Character Tic: He has a habit of tilting his head whenever he's attempting to manipulate someone. It seems to be a subconscious thing he does, as he immediately stops doing it when Sam notices and lampshades it in Episode 4 of The Falcon and The Winter Soldier.

The Chessmaster: He plays all the Avengers like pawns. He frames Bucky for a crime, to have the world hunt him and lure him out of hiding. This partially causes the Avengers to turn on each other, divided over Bucky's innocence. He takes the UN interrogator's place, extorting information out of Bucky and using the trigger words to activate Bucky's soldier conditioning. Before finally showing Tony the tape of what really happened to his parents, sending him into a murderous rage to kill Bucky.

Colonel Badass: He used to be a Colonel in the Sokovian Special Forces, and he is one of the most effective foes the Avengers have faced — though not because of his combat abilities, but because of how effective he is about executing his plans.

Comic-Book Movies Don't Use Codenames: In Civil War, he's never called "Baron Zemo", the title he goes by in the comics, and is instead referred to by his military rank Colonel. This is subverted in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, which reveals that he was Sokovian royalty and has several characters address him as "Baron".

The Comically Serious: His stoic demeanour tends to stick out when he's in the same room as Sam and Bucky, like when he awkwardly jumps to the defense of Marvin Gaye's "Trouble Man" soundtrack, or his crappy dancing in Sharon's nightclub.

Composite Character: He takes Klaue's role as the man who murders King T'Chaka.

Cool Car: He actually has a lot of these. His family owned an impressive collection of classics, with plenty of Rolls' and Bentleys in his garage. It's a taste he himself had acquired, as he, Sam, Bucky and Sharon make their getaway out of Madripoor in a super-charged muscle car he had stashed in the docks.

Crusading Widower: His wife was among the civilian casualties in Sokovia. He keeps a recording of her last voice message on his phone.

Cunning Linguist: Zemo's multilingualism allows him to assume different identities. Aside from his native Sokovian, he speaks English, German, Russian, and presumably French, given that he was able to convincingly impersonate a French-speaking psychologist.

Death Seeker: Once he has put Iron Man against Bucky and Cap, he first attempts to persuade Black Panther into killing him, then decides to shoot himself. Black Panther catches the bullet before snagging him a headlock so he can face justice.

Determinator: He manages to find new resolve after Civil War, and Iron Man's sacrifice has done little to change his views. With Iron Man dead and Captain America retired, he decides he will stop the creation of any and all super soldiers in the world no matter what happens.

Divide and Conquer: His plan against the Avengers, seeing that there's absolutely no chance he can fight them on his own. He even compares the Avengers to some sort of a mighty empire, which can only be felled by using this tactic.

Driven to Suicide: Tries to goad T'Challa into killing him, and then to shoot himself when he refuses. Neither works out for him; making enemies of a guy with Super Strength and a bulletproof suit was a bad idea, evidently.

Elites Are More Glamorous: His family is Sokovian nobility and he was colonel in EKO Scorpion, Sokovia's black ops kill squad. Even if Sokovia was a developing Balkans country, that still makes him pretty dangerous.

Enemy Mine: Downplayed Trope. Despite not personally hating Sam and Bucky, the latter two consider their alliance with Zemo this due to Civil War and the damage he caused; the only reason they tolerate him is that he can accomodate them with the resources they need to take down the Flag-Smashers. To his credit, Zemo doesn't hesitate in helping their cause because of his Beware the Superman beliefs, even expressing interest in facing Karli Morgenthau herself.

Even Evil Has Standards:

Evil Genius: While he has combat training, his greatest strength is his intellect. Aside from his abilities as The Chessmaster, Zemo was able to crack the encrypted HYDRA files on the Winter Soldier program that Black Widow released to the Internet and build a very effective EMP bomb in his hotel room.

Face Death with Dignity: When T'Challa finally catches up with him at the end of Civil War, he's completely calm and fully prepared for T'Challa to kill him to avenge his father, even seeming to acknowledge that in his mind T'Challa's revenge against him is just as justified as his own revenge against the Avengers. Later, in episode 5 of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, he's completely calm and accepting when it looks like Bucky is going to execute him, and later he calmly walks away with the Dora Milaje when they show up to take him into custody, knowing there's a decent chance he's going to be executed in a spectacular fashion in Wakanda for killing the king (for some reason the Dora Milaje went to all that trouble just to turn him over to the U.N. where he'll be held in the same prison that used to hold Captain America's half of the Avengers, but he's got no way of knowing that).

Facial Scruff: His brief appearance in the second episode of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier has Zemo with this due to his time spent in prison. Downplayed in that it looks relatively thin despite having been locked up for eight years at this point, and he shaves it off shortly after.

Fantastic Racism: He has a distaste for enhanced individuals in general, and super soldiers in specific. Specially if such super soldiers are put on pedestals he deems completely unearned.

Flaw Exploitation: He turns the Avengers, particularly Steve and Tony, against each other through a series of Batman Gambits with the ultimate goal of making them fight each other to the death — or if not that, at least to the point of no longer being a cohesive unit. In particular, he reveals to Tony the truth of what happened to his parents knowing that he'll go into an Unstoppable Rage against Bucky and that Cap will prioritise keeping Bucky alive even at Tony's expense.

Friend to All Children: Invoked in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. In the fourth episode, Zemo earns the trust of a few children in Latvia by offering them sweets in exchange for information. But he also uses to opportunity to manipulate them into thinking Bucky and Sam aren't to be trusted.

Four Eyes, Zero Soul: When he infiltrates the UN compound to activate the Winter Soldier, he wears a pair of glasses as part of his disguise.

From Nobody to Nightmare:

Gambit Roulette: The final part his master plan relies on little other than his assumptions on the personalities and capabilities of various characters after studying thousands of pieces of intel from HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. that Black Widow dumped online back in Winter Soldier. The whole thing would have fallen apart if...

Godzilla Threshold: Sam and Bucky see recruiting him to stop the Flag-Smashers at this...and ultimately cross it when they run out of options.

Heads I Win, Tails You Lose: Even if any of the above had happened, Zemo still would’ve won because his entire goal was for the Avengers to disband - whether through an amicable parting-of-ways or a bloodbath - it was always a matter of how big his win would be. The only real flaw in his plan was the interference of Black Panther, and the creation of the Sokovia Accords, both of which he’d have no way to account for.

He Who Fights Monsters: He wants to take revenge for the death of his family, which he blames on the Avengers for causing collateral damage in the Battle of Sokovia. In doing so, he is responsible for the deaths of dozens of innocent people himself. He even earns someone coming after him for revenge in T'Challa.

Hidden Agenda Villain: His motives remain unclear for much of Civil War and are only revealed as the final battle is taking place.

Hidden Depths: Like Sam, he's a fan of Marvin Gaye and considers "Trouble Man" a masterpiece.

High Collar of Doom: He does the Marquee Alter Ego and Not Wearing Tights through the whole of Civil War, but his winter gear in the third act features a large collar turned up, giving off this vibe. His supervillain gear in Falcon and the Winter Soldier also features one of these, albeit with his comic self's fur trim included.

Human Shield: Thanks to his EKO Scorpion training, is fully capable of taking hostages to hide and shoot behind, as a group of assassins in Madripoor discovered.

Hypocrite:

Interrupted Suicide: After explaining his motivations to T'Challa and apologizing for the death of his father, Zemo tries to shoot himself in the head. T'Challa, however, has none of that, and stops him to make sure he pays for his crimes and turns him over to the authorities.T'Challa: The living are not done with you yet.

It's Personal: Zemo has a personal vendetta against the Avengers. His family was killed during the Battle of Sokovia and he simply wants revenge on those he holds responsible. As pointed out in Beware the Superman, he extends this to any Super Soldier held in such high regard, which is why he has no problem teaming up with Sam (who's more or less Badass Normal like himself) and Bucky (who is a Super Soldier, but isn't exactly held in high regard).  When he, Sam, Bucky, and Sharon come across the HYDRA scientist responsible for creating more Super Soldiers after the failed Siberian Winter Soldiers, Zemo quietly and stoically shoots the man before the team is attacked.

Jerkass Has a Point: In episode 4 of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Zemo explains why he doesn’t believe that super soldiers should be allowed to exist. By his own previous statements, Sam would probably agree with much of what he says, and John Walker spends the rest of the episode illustrating his arguments.

Kick the Son of a Bitch:

Kill and Replace: Murders the psychologist who was supposed to be evaluating Bucky and takes his place, taking the opportunity to activate Bucky's brainwashing during the evaluation.

Knight of Cerebus: He's a Villainous Underdog, but he manages to tear the Avengers apart through tactics. Unlike previous villains, his methods includes manipulating Tony into trying to execute Bucky to avenge the deaths of his parents and turning on Steve in the process. Averted in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier when his Laughably Evil side lightens the mood.

Know When to Fold 'Em:

Laser-Guided Karma:

Laughably Evil: Downplayed the next time he makes an appearance as he becomes The Comically Serious in an Endearingly Dorky kind of way when he joins in Sam's conversation with Bucky to praise Marvin Gaye's "Trouble Man" soundtrack, or his lame dancing in Sharon's nightclub.

Manipulative Bastard: He is very skilled at manipulation, having studied the Avengers' psychological profiles in order to exploit their individual weaknesses and play them against each other.

Man of Wealth and Taste: Zemo is a baron and more than loaded, owning a private jet, a fleet of classic cars, a personal retainer, and plenty of money and stashed resources.

Marquee Alter Ego: In Civil War, Zemo does not wear a mask — or any kind of costume at all, unlike his comic book counterpart. This changes in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

Master of Disguise: Zemo uses prosthetics and heavy makeup in order to convincingly make himself look like Bucky Barnes in the security cameras, fooling just about everyone into thinking the latter was responsible for the UN explosion. He later pulls a Kill and Replace on the psychiatrist who was intended to interview a contained Bucky with no one none the wiser until things start going wrong. Although the latter example is downplayed as when Tony finally discovers the real psychiatrist's body, he looks decidedly nothing like Zemo's impersonation of him.

Misplaced Retribution: Zemo holds the Avengers responsible for all the damage Ultron caused; while Tony and Bruce did create Ultron (after the former was influenced by Wanda), the "end all human life" thing was still his idea. The rest of the Avengers, however didn't know about Tony's plan, and did their best to stop Ultron once he went rogue.

Moral Myopia: He seeks to avenge his family, but he ends up killing multiple innocents who surely had family of their own. He acknowledges this, seeing as how he apologizes to Black Panther for killing his father but by that time he’s hoping to be killed so he can join his family, either by T’Challa or his own hand, so it’s more about easing his conscience rather than remorse for what his actions indirectly caused.

Movie Superheroes Wear Black: Instead of the purple and gold costume he had in the comics, he sticks to dark civilian clothes. Near the end of Civil War, he has a pitch-black coat with a large collar. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier trailers and promo images however reveal he’ll be getting a new costume featuring his signature purple mask and even incorporating the classic ermine trim on his collar.

Nazi Hunter: As part of his Adaptational Nice Guy he's no longer a member of the Nazi-affiliated and fascistic HYDRA group, but is shown to despite and openly oppose them, telling Karpov that "HYDRA deserves its place on the ash heap". The Falcon and the Winter Soldier has him openly despise Nazis and reveals that he'd been hunting down and killing HYDRA members for years as part of his quest to destroy the Super Serum, long before the destruction of Sokovia.

Necessary Evil: How Bucky, and especially Sam, view him in their fight against the Flag-Smashers. No one knows more about the super-soldier serum and Hydra than Zemo, and fortunately for them, they have a common enemy in the Flag-Smashers.

Nice Job Fixing It, Villain!: While his plan does succeed in its goal, it does allow Steve to find Bucky, after fruitlessly spending two years scouring the Earth for him, and gives them an ally who can get the brainwashing out of Bucky's head.

Nice to the Waiter: He is quite friendly and courteous to both a staff member of the hotel he stayed at for Civil War, and his old family butler.

No-Nonsense Nemesis: Zemo is an extremely pragmatic man who knows full well that he's just an ordinary person in an extraordinary world, and realizes that it will give him no quarter if he were to dally about with regards to his vengeance. He has no choice but to be utterly cutthroat if he wants to complete his goal. This is especially shown in his first full-blown action sequence in Falcon and the Winter Soldier, taking down assassins after himself and the heroes in a surprise attack that wouldn't be out of place in a first-person shooter game.

Non-Action Big Bad: Although he has military training, he never directly fights any of the Avengers in Civil War, acknowledging that he could never physically stand up to the likes of them. Instead, he relies more on subterfuge and deception. Becomes a Subverted Trope by the time of Falcon and the Winter Soldier, showing he's fully capable of taking down several assassins after the heroes, though all of them are still normal humans.

Not So Above It All: After being freed from prison in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Zemo shows that he isn't a stoic and unpleasant individual 24/7. Notably, he jumps in on Sam and Bucky's conversation about Marvin Gaye's Troubleman soundtrack to give his own thoughts on the record, and he can be seen thoroughly enjoying himself Madripoor, drinking quite a bit of hard liquor and awkwardly dancing at the Little Princess nightclub.

Nothing Left to Do but Die: After getting Tony to fight Steve and Bucky, Zemo decides to listen to his wife's voicemail one last time, before deleting it and attempting to commit suicide.

Nothing Personal: He tells T'Challa that he is sorry for killing his father and that he seemed like a good man in Civil War. While conversing with Bucky for the first time since the events of that film in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, he says this verbatim about using him to tear apart the Avengers.

Not Wearing Tights: He doesn't wear anything remotely resembling a costume in Civil War. However, he dons the purple mask in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

Outliving One's Offspring: His son was a casualty from the Avengers' fight with Ultron.

Old Money: He is generationally wealthy due to his family being Sokovian royalty.

Only Sane Man: In The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, it says a lot about Sam's present circle of associates that (other than Sharon Carter) Zemo is by far the most mentally well-balanced individual Sam has around him at his job.

Papa Wolf: The reason he's out to destroy the Avengers? His family was killed in their fight with Ultron.

Patriotic Fervor: Averted. As Zemo himself remarks ruefully, while he served in Sokovia's armed forces, his drive for vengeance isn't out of any love for the country, as he never actually had much patriotic feeling. The Falcon and The Winter Soldier shows that he does have some serious grievances over how it ended up, though, even chastising Sam and Bucky for not visiting the memorial.

Politically Correct Villain: As part of his Adaptational Nice Guy he's no longer a member of the Nazi-affiliated and fascistic HYDRA group, but is a fan of Marvin Gaye and understands Trouble Man (Sam's favorite album) to be a condensation of the African-American experience. Also berates Sam for stereotyping himself as a "pimp" just because he's flamboyantly dressed.

Purple Is Powerful: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier sees Zemo don a purple mask, coat, and gloves as he resurfaces to the criminal world.

Put on a Prison Bus: Zemo is taken to prison by Black Panther before he can commit suicide, ultimately sitting out the next few years until his return in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier.  And it happens again in Episode 5 of the aforementioned series, where he's taken by the Dora Milaje to the Raft.

Pyrrhic Victory: Zemo succeeds in fracturing the Avengers and getting the majority of them branded as fugitives, but he is also captured by Black Panther and still has to face prosecution for the murders he committed. It also works vice versa on his capture being a Pyrrhic Victory for the heroes. Best summarized by the following exchange:Everett K. Ross: So how does it feel? To spend all that time, all that effort, and to see it fail so spectacularly? Helmut Zemo: ...Did it?

Revenge Myopia: Getting his revenge was worth anything — including inflicting upon others the same pain he complained about suffering. Lampshaded at the end of the movie, when T'Challa observes that the revenge he seeks has consumed him. Worse still, because he tore the Avengers apart, they had no gameplan and were unable to present a united front against Thanos, leading to even more families the universe over being devastated by the Snap.

Rogues Gallery Transplant: Downplayed. While Zemo is still an enemy of Captain America and The Falcon as he was in the comics, he also ends up becoming an enemy of Black Panther's, due to his involvement in King T'Chaka's death. It extends to the entire nation of Wakanda as well, as they immediately dispatch Ayo to apprehend him when he escapes from prison in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

Royals Who Actually Do Something: His noble lineage while serving in the Sokovian special forces makes him this.

Secretly Wealthy: He may have been living the gritty villain life in Civil War (probably to fly under the radar), but The Falcon and the Winter Soldier reveals that he is a wealthy Baron like his comics counterpart. Sam even reacts with "So all this time, you've been rich?"

A Sinister Clue: Zemo is left-handed and is the Big Bad of Civil War. Shooting a gun with his left hand starts off his Big Damn Villains moment in Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

Sucks at Dancing: While the gang rests and spends the night at Sharon's club in Madripoor, Zemo's dancing moves leave him wanting. Let's just say he was channeling his inner Commander Shepard.

Suicide by Cop: After apologizing to T'Challa for killing his father, he says that he seemed like a good man "with a dutiful son", saying this last part with a meaningful glance, obviously hinting that he's fine with T'Challa taking vengeance upon him now. When T'Challa refuses to do so, Zemo attempts to just shoot himself, but T'Challa thwarts this effort as well.

Superhero Movie Villains Die: Subverted. After completing his plan to turn Iron Man and Captain America against each other, he first attempts Suicide by Black Panther. Attempts being the operative word, as T'Challa refuses when he realises how close he came to turning out like Zemo. As a result, Zemo attempts to shoot himself in the head, but Black Panther stops him and turns him into the authorities, leaving him incarcerated but very much alive.

Supporting Protagonist: Of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, as most of Bucky's and Sam's story and dynamic are sometimes told from his viewpoint during his team-up with them.

They Look Just Like Everyone Else!: There's nothing from his looks that would suggest that he's more than just an everyday guy.

Took a Level in Cheerfulness: He's much more upbeat in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier than he was in Captain America: Civil War. Which makes sense: in the latter he had just lost his family and was on a revenge quest whereas in the former the stakes aren't as personal and he's had time to grieve for his family in prison, meaning he has the time and temperament to joke around, make fun of "allies" and dance badly.

Took a Level in Kindness: Downplayed, but in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, he's much friendlier with Sam and Bucky than he was with Tony and Steve in Civil War. Justified, as this time around he's working together with them to take down the Flag-Smashers and even then he still takes the time to engage them in relatively civil conversations.

Tragic Villain: He pursues his vengeance purely because he feels he has nothing else to live for without his family. This is highlighted by his decision to goad Black Panther into killing him and, when that doesn't work, shoot himself.

Tritagonist: Of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, when he teams up with Sam and Bucky in their crusade to defeat the Flag Smashers, while being more developed as a character in contrast to his debut in Civil War along the way of the narrative.

Tranquil Fury: Despite spending the whole movie on a murderous crusade, Zemo avoids all the theatrics of Loki or Ultron and seldom even raises his voice. This includes when he finally spells out his motives to the heroes.

Troll: Even when he's not manipulating or killing everyone around him, he's kind of a dick, as seen in his reappearance in Falcon and the Winter Soldier, reciting Bucky's trigger phrase, knowing it doesn't work, just to upset him, needling Sam about his experience in the Raft, and later telling his retainer to serve Sam and Bucky them any food that's gone off.

Truer to the Text: Zemo in Civil War was a borderline In Name Only depiction of him. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier retroactively adds a lot more aspects of the original comic character, such as his noble status, his costume, and his physical prowess.

Unknown Rival: To the Flag-Smashers, particularly Karli Morgenthau. Do to being enhanced with the super-soldier serum, Zemo considers the Flag-Smashers to be dangerous individuals, and is more than willing to form an Enemy Mine with Sam and Bucky to take them down. Karli on the other hand, isn't even aware that Zemo exists until he shoots her and destroys the serum right in front of her. Even then, she seems more content to get up and run than to try to confront him for his actions.

Unwitting Instigator of Doom: He successfully managed to break up the Avengers, hoping to bring down the most powerful team of beings in the universe to avenge the deaths of his family. Unfortunately for him, it worked a little too well, as they don't stand on a united front when Thanos arrives and, despite putting up a good fight, get flattened by the Mad Titan. Said Mad Titan then uses the Infinity Stones to wipe out half of all life in the universe, turning the world into a total mess that it spends five years trying to recover from until the Avengers find a way to set things right. Even when they do undo the Snap, the world falls into utter chaos once again trying to handle those that were restored to life, leading to the Flag-Smashers taking rise and causing just enough trouble to force Bucky and Sam to bust Zemo out of jail to help them.

Villain Protagonist: So far of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, when he teams up with Sam and Bucky to take down the Flag Smashers, getting more screen time and more of his development unlike in Civil War.

Villain Respect: As of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Zemo develops this towards Sam Wilson due to his refusal to be ehnanced into being super soldier while maintaining his idealistic outlook. He also concedes that Steve Rogers was not corrupted by the power he held but holds him as an exception.

Villainous Underdog: He's not a Physical God, not an alien, nor a Super Soldier. He's just a former military colonel with patience, a simple yet effective plan, and The Power of Hate. This is exactly why Sam and Bucky decide to bring him into their crusade against the Flag-Smashers.

Weak, but Skilled: Invoked. Zemo is a professionally trained special ops colonel who has the combat skills to take down regular men with ease. However, he knows that no amount of skill can destroy a group of enhanced individuals like the Avengers, and so relies on his manipulation and espionage skills to turn them against each other instead.

Weapon of Choice: A Smith and Wesson 6906 pistol, which he uses to execute the other Winter Soldiers and attempt suicide.

Well-Intentioned Extremist: Zemo's objective in The Falcon and The Winter Soldier is to stop the creation of any and all super soldiers, believing that they create symbols of facism like the Red Skull once did. He accomplishes this in the fourth episode by shooting Karli Morgenthau multiple times and then smashing the remaining vials as Nico is helping her escape him.

What You Are in the Dark: When Zemo corners Karli and discovers the last of the Super Soldier Serum in her possession, rather than take it for himself, which would have made his mission a lot easier, he smashes the vials and would have successfully destroyed them all had Walker not intervened.

Wicked Cultured: He's a connoiseur of music and art, as revealed in Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

Woobie, Destroyer of Worlds: He has quite a sympathetic motive for his mission of revenge against the Avengers, namely that he blames them for the death of his family.

Xanatos Speed Chess: He's not in control of everything that happens in Civil War (for one thing, he has nothing to do with the Sokovia Accords), but he's good at taking advantage of unexpected situations to further his plans. Even more so in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. In Civil War, at least he still instigates most of the events, but in the show, he's broken out of prison without having expected to and is more or less thrust into an ongoing conflict he has nothing to do with. He still manages to play the heroes and the villains—that he utterly disagrees with—and so far has gotten away completely unscathed, once again having succeeded at what he set out to do.

He's the Big Bad of Civil War and is more than willing to commit mass murder to achieve his ends, but the times he acts polite or remorseful are genuine. He states he'd rather avoid unnecessary deaths if he can, has a few standards, apologizes to T'Challa for killing his father, has regular courteous interactions with a staff member of the hotel he's staying at, and even eventually apologizes to Bucky for using him. Considering he's just a grieving man who's dedicated to avenging the deaths of his family, it makes sense he wouldn't act like a cackling maniac.

By The Falcon And The Winter Soldier, he is shown to be fairly courteous to those around him (who, apart from his family butler were his enemies before) and he is capable of holding civil conversations with Bucky, even offering him a genuine apology for his actions in Civil War. He also agrees to join Sam and Bucky's crusade against the Flag-Smashers, without the driving of a hard bargain one might expect from him. He is also fully willing to lend his resources from the criminal underground to Sam and Bucky to take the Flag-Smashers down, no questions asked.

While none of the Avengers die as a consequence of his plan in Captain America: Civil War, he accomplishes his main goal in dividing them and is content with this. While the looming threat of Thanos forces them back together in Avengers: Infinity War and Avengers: Endgame, the reunion turns out to be temporary — by the time of Spider-Man: Far From Home, WandaVision, and The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, the Avengers are still very much defunct.

In The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, he successfully killed the man who recreated the super soldier formula and destroyed all but one of the remaining samples while inadvertently leading to John Walker gaining the Super Serum for himself. This turns in Zemo's favor after Walker brutally executes a defenseless Flag Smasher in broad daylight in front of civilians, corrupting the image of super soldiers in the public eye. He willing gives up a chance at pulling a Villain: Exit, Stage Left to visit a memorial and allows him self to be captured, his work done.

He framed Bucky Barnes for bombing the United Nations, then relied on everyone else including Captain America hunting him down for it, and further that no one but the Avengers would even be capable of killing Bucky, to get access to Barnes and his knowledge of HYDRA bases.

He arranges for his ruse to be discovered by the media, relying on Tony to find out and make amends with Captain America, so they'll both find the Siberian compound where Zemo reveals to them that Bucky killed Tony's parents.

His entire plan is based on assumptions from the S.H.I.E.L.D. intel on the Avengers he's studied that Captain America's over-protectiveness of his friends and Iron Man's complex over the death of his parents would mean not only that the two would turn on each other if Bucky's involvement in the Starks' death was revealed, but that Steve wouldn't have talked to Tony about Bucky's potential involvement beforehand.

His setup gambled on the fact that it is a conflict that only works if there are no voices of reason to hold either of them back. The fact that the airport fight left only two active members of the Avengers, Bucky and a third party present in the Hydra compound in a place where no one would interfere was a happy accident for him since most of the Avengers present could have prevented things from reaching the breaking point. Of course, this is covered under Heads I Win, Tails You Lose.

Notably, this is also why he finds Bucky a bit tolerable, since he is being bewared of.

In a stark contrast to his comics depiction, he lacks any affiliation with HYDRA and outright states that they deserved to be brought down. A conversation in Falcon and the Winter Soldier reveals he despises the Red Skull and those who idolize him, and he kills Doctor Nagel while the man is gloating about being a god.

Despite his profound hatred of the Avengers, he declined to unleash the other five Winter Soldiers and shot them dead rather than risk someone else doing so, as they were worse than Bucky and would do untold damage to the world given the order. He also seems uncomfortable with the concept of experimenting on humans in general.Zemo: If it's any comfort, they died in their sleep. Did you really think I wanted more of you?

Zemo was "just" a special forces operative, but when his family was killed, he used his intel on HYDRA to take on the Avengers and came closer to destroying the team than any previous villain.

Falcon and the Winter Soldier reveals that at some point, he became involved with the criminal underground, under the simple but accurate alias of "Baron".

A) Captain America and Bucky had captured Zemo before Iron Man arrived (then again, he was in a fortified bunker that would take serious fire-power to break through).

B) Iron Man had not figured out where Cap and Bucky were headed in the first place.

C) Iron Man had not come alone, meaning there might have been someone to restrain him or talk him down after he learned the truth.

D) Black Panther had succeeded in killing Bucky during one of their three fights during the course of the film (of course it’s highly unlikely that he even knew the Black Panther existed).

E) Captain America told Iron Man that the deaths of his parents were orchestrated by HYDRA.

Zemo hates the Avengers after the collateral damage they caused killed his family. So he decides to split the team up and in the process causes collateral damage that kills other people's family members.

Zemo believes that "gods" like the Avengers should not be allowed to exist. Sam points out that be decreeing who deserves to exist, he's speaking like a god.

Tortures and kills Vasily Karpov for information. Karpov is not only a still loyal HYDRA operative but one of the main leaders of the Winter Soldier project and ordered the death of the Starks and his slow death is just desserts. He does the same to  the HYDRA scientist responsible for making more Super Soldiers in Falcon and the Winter Soldier, finishing his work from Siberia.

He also happily participates in the interrogation of Doctor Nagel, the Mad Scientist who recreated the Super Soldier Serum via human experimentation, and personally guns the man down.

Zig-zagged; he knows very well that he can never kill the Avengers himself, since more powerful men than him have tried and all have failed, which is why he makes a plan to get them to kill each other for him.

In the secret HYDRA lab in Madripoor, he and his comrades come under attack. Not knowing where the assailants are, Zemo makes a quick getaway, causing Sam and the others to think he bailed... only to show up moments later when the assassins are in plain view, making it much easier for him to take them down.

 When the Dora Milaje apprehend him a second time in episode 5 of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, he surrenders himself without a fight, presumably both because he knew he had no chance of victory and because he had already achieved his goal of destroying the current iteration of the super-soldier serum.

He uses Bucky's Trigger Phrase while the latter's locked in an apparatus, making him go on a rampage. By the end of Civil War, he himself is locked in the same apparatus.

He kills T'Challa's father in the course of his Evil Plan. After T'Challa learns the truth about this, he foils Zemo's attempted suicide to ensure he faces justice for his crimes.

#HelmutInformation