#just SICK to DEATH OF this fuckin situation

[ineffable-gallimaufry]

ugh fuckit. i don't want to follow that person anymore they're being annoying about something that's completely harmless and i don't want to see their comic that bad . i can't go back to the person i used to be but i would rather be a different person but still BE myself instead of giving up something perfectly harmless for the approval of two people

#i mean. it's a bummer #theoretically i could get back to being myself but it wouldn't really work and we'd have to split in weird ways #but i can deal with it #i mean . i won't say i ship s3lfcest because i fuckin hate the name. but i will say it's kinda dumb to be against that #amasui is the better term. and i really don't get the issue. #sooooo fuck that person. gonna unfollow and block rn. because. well first of all fuck them for making me change. second off. uh. byw #idk why there would be an issue shipping two different versions of the same person. like . i mean. #there are two people here and one person explained it and the other didn't but the first person. totally get it. #but. i mean. UGH #just SICK to DEATH OF this fuckin situation #i am done. amasui is great and i do not want anything to do with them any more

[choke-me-joey]

Matching Tattoos

Eddie Munson x reader

Content warning: 18+ content minors DNI, DO NOT GIVE ANYONE OR YOURSELF TATTOOS AT HOME FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GO TO A PROFESSIONAL THIS IS FICTION AND A VERY UNHYGIENIC SITUATION FOR NEW TATTOOS, blowjobs, gagging, swallowing, friends to lovers, Eddie is so fucking sweet, porn with some plot followed by fluff.

Part 2

"Isn't she pretty?" Eddie grins, producing the homemade tattoo gun from under his bed. Pretty was a very strong word. More like a clump of sketchy looking metal held together with even sketchier looking screws and rubber bands.

You scoff. "If you think she's pretty I'm seriously starting to question your taste, Munson. Going from Chrissy Cunningham to this? That's quite a decline."

Eddie rolls his eyes.

"You're never going to drop that are you? Chrissy was a 5 minute crush, besides, she's been dating that douchebag Jason Carver for ages now." Eddie waves his hand to signify his distate. "Anyway, nowadays my taste is more...refined, thank you very much. Hence why I am going through the world's longest dry spell at the moment. Now shut up, and get on the bed. We're doing this." He buzzes the tattoo gun for extra effect.

"Yessir." Giving him a cheeky salute, you lie down on Eddie's bed as he messes around with the ink, and something crinkles beneath you. Your brow furrows as you dig underneath you, and you pull out a dog eared magazine. You flick through the pages, your cheeks flushing. "Jesus, Eddie, resorting to porno mags? You really are suffering." You throw the crusty magazine at him, laughing. Eddie quickly kicks it under his bed.

"What? I got needs, Y/N, and its not exactly like there's a line of babes wanting to fuck the town freak."

"Not even with the whole struggling rockstar vibe you've got going on?" You cock your eyebrow, shooting him a smirk.

"Right? I should be drowning in pussy," he grins, and you roll your eyes. "Still want it on your hip, right?"

"As long as it can be covered by a bathing suit so my parents don't murder me, have at it."

Eddie gulps as you unbutton your jeans, shimmying your hips out of them and exposing your simple black panties to him. You then roll your shirt up your stomach and tie it in a knot to prevent it from getting in his way.

It wasn't like he hadn't seen you like this before, he'd seen you in a bathing suit hundreds of times but this....this was different. This was you, half naked, on his bed. You that Eddie had been harbouring a crush on for a good year or so now, hence the dry spell. He didn't want anyone else, he wanted you, his best friend, his partner in crime, his girl. Nobody in this deadbeat town even came close, not anymore.

He was ashamed to even admit that the magazine you'd fished out from his bed was merely a distraction tool. So many nights he'd fucked his fist thinking of you, the way your body glistened in the sun that time when you sunbathed out the back of his trailer in that black bikini, the way your breasts threatened to spill out of the cups and your ass peeked out from the bottoms that left very little to the imagination.

He had to get you out of his head. It was sick, it was wrong, you were his best friend. His beautiful, funny, smart, sexy as hell best friend. If he had to beat off to some random chick in a disgustingly cheap porno magazine just to stop him thinking about you, so be it.

But honestly, when you'd asked him to give you a tattoo on your hip, the magazines just weren't doing it anymore.

Eddie cleared his throat. "You sure about this Y/N?"

"Eddie, shut up and ink me already," you smile, playfully nudging him with your foot. "You drew it up, yeah?"

"One bat comin' at ya," Eddie grins, showing you the little stencil he'd drawn. It was an exact copy of the largest bat out of the swarm on his arm. "You know we can never not be friends after this right? Matching tattoos is a pretty big commitment."

"Until death do us part." You teased.

"I fuckin' do," Eddie kissed your hand, making you snort. Your friendship had always been like this, flirty to the point where people were always wondering if you were together or not. But that's all it ever was, all bark and no bite per say. "Can you move your, uh, your-"

"Panties, Eddie? For someone who used the phrase 'drowning in pussy' earlier I refuse to believe 'panties' gets you all flustered." You tease, pushing down your panties and exposing your skin to him.

Eddie can feel his palms sweating as your panties slip dangerously low, almost exposing that dip between your legs. His mouth is as dry as the fucking desert when he catches a glimpse of your smooth, soft skin. God, he wants to put his mouth there. He wants to put his mouth all over you actually. He coughs once more.

"Right, let's do this, pretty girl." He carefully cleans the area you want tattooed with some antiseptic liquid before laying the stencil down, carefully pulling it away to reveal the outline on your skin. "Looks metal, babe, you ready?"

You nod, clutching his comforter in one hand as he brings the needle to your skin and the buzzing starts. You bite your lip as you feel the needle meet your flesh, a searing burning pain but not too unbearable.

As he drags the needle across your soft skin, Eddie is sweating. He's so close to a part of you he desperately wants to explore, to kiss and lick and make you scream his name until you're sobbing in ecstasy. But he can't. Why would someone like you ever be interested in the town freak? The nerdy metalhead that spends his free time planning extensive D&D campaigns, or playing in shitty dive bars to a crowd of not even 10 people didn't compare to the jocks who went to endless parties, or did something better than spending their spring break in their trailer getting high and watching horror movies.

"Whatcha thinking about, handsome?" Your sweet, sweet voice breaks him out of his thoughts and he looks up at you. God, you look like a fucking angel right now, all draped across his bed with your hair over his pillow. He knows he'll be able to smell the shampoo you use on that later.

Eddie, always one to almost never lose his cool, shoots you a cheeky grin.

"Thinkin' about how I could tattoo my name on you, pretty Make sure everyone knows who's girl you are."

"Everyone already knows, I've only got eyes for you, dungeon master."

Fuck, he wishes you wouldn't call him that. Not like this anyway. Not with this amount clothes on. Or not on.

"Less of the dirty talk, you. I'm trying to concentrate here." He growls, wiping the residual ink off your skin, refilling and continuing his work. You try to ignore the throbbing in your panties and how good his hands feel on your bare skin.

-

35 minutes later, it's Eddie's turn. After cleaning and covering your new artwork, you get yourself dressed (much to Eddie's disappointment) and turn to him with a wicked grin.

"Pants off, Munson."

"Yes, ma'am." Copying your salute from earlier, he unbuckles his handcuff belt and undoes his jeans, shimmying out of them and tossing them somewhere in his room. He also pulls off his Hellfire shirt. You raise an eyebrow. "What? Can't risk anything happening to it, I gotta wait another week before I can get more!"

"Alright, nerd, lie down." You smile, rummaging around in your bag for the little design you'd drawn up for him. You pass the small design of the devil from the Hellfire logo to him and he grins.

"That's metal."

"So metal that nobody is gonna see it unless they're going down on you."

"Yeah, but we'll know it's there. It'll be like our dirty little secret, Y/N."

"Hot," you laugh as Eddie lies down, putting his arms behind his head. He tilts his head down towards his hips.

"Get to work, missy."

You'd been practising on that gross fake skin stuff in preparation for this, but nothing could have prepared you for touching Eddie...here. His skin was so soft and warm, and he smelled so good. A mix of his old cologne he'd gotten from you last Christmas, smoke and a hint of sweat. It was so Eddie, it made your heart flutter and somewhere else flutter too.

You think Eddie takes the needle like a champ, but when you look up at him about 20 minutes later, his eyes are screwed shut.

"Hurt that much?" You grin and he shakes his head, eyes still closed.

"Nah, babe, honestly, I'm...fine." He hesitates. You stop for a second, tilting your head to the side in question. You go to wipe off some of the excess ink and your arm brushes over his boxers accidentally.

Oh.

"Eddie, are you-"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up, don't talk about it." Eddie chokes out, his cheeks flushing. His loose plaid boxers had done a good job of hiding his semi, but when you'd brushed against it, it was game over.

Eddie was hard.

"I-is this like a normal reaction to getting tattooed, or...?" You stutter, your mouth feeling dryer than fucking Gandhi's flip flop.

Eddie sighs, throwing an arm over his face.

"No, it's a normal reaction to a very, very pretty girl hovering near my dick, babe." He says in a small voice. Your cheeks flush as you place the tattoo gun down on his bedside table.

"O-oh. Well, do you want me t-to stop? Or I could help with...I could help you with that?"

Eddie groans behind his arm.

"Babe, don't tease me like that, that's just cruel. 'Sides, wouldn't you feel...weird jerking me off?"

Your mind had not gone to jerking him off. In fact, it had gone a step further.

"Oh, I-I wasn't...I was gonna, um-"

"Blow me?!" Eddie throws his arm off of his face and stares at you, and you pretend you don't notice his cock jumping in his boxers. "You, my super hot best friend Y/N, are seriously offering to suck my dick right now?!"

"I-I’m sorry-"

"Sorry?! What the fuck are you sorry for?! Making all my wet dreams come true?!"

You giggle. "Eddie, shut up."

"No, I'm serious, Y/N, you've been in here-" he sits up and taps the side of his head "-doing some nasty shit for so fucking long. Why do you think I'm jacking off to shitty porno mags instead of chasing pussy?"

You're silent, a slow smile spreading across your face as your hand creeps over his crotch, gently palming at his cock which jumps in your hand.

"Well, lucky for you, dungeon master, you've also been the star of my wet dreams."

Eddie falls back onto his pillows with a groan. "Fuck, I can't believe this is actually fucking happening."

"Tell me what you want to do to me, Eds." Your voice is low and sultry as you give him a squeeze. He looks at you, tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips. You tug at his boxers, giving him a questioning look. He grabs your wrist.

"Are you sure about this, Y/N? Cos if it's a choice between getting off, or keeping you as my best friend, I'd rather keep you babe. Blue balls and all."

You smile softly; Eddie was too sweet for his own good. It was one of the things you loved most about him.

"What about if you get to get off and still keep me?" You say, pushing his hand away and slowly pulling his boxers down. His cock springs out, slapping against his lower stomach. He was long and thick, uncut with an upwards curve that the very sighmade your pussy clench. You huff out an exasperated laugh. "Holy shit, Eds."

"Good 'holy shit', or bad 'holy shit'?" Eddie's cheeks are flushed as he smirks.

"You know the answer to that." You wrap your hand around his cock, making him hiss as you stroke the silky skin. You pull the foreskin down to expose his angry looking, reddish purple mushroom head, and a drop of precum blurts out. You continue to stroke him, eyes fixed on his face.

"Fuck, stop looking at me like that," Eddie groans, his cock twitching in your hand. "'S too much."

"Like what?" You smirk, straddling his thighs. He can't answer you, any sort of answer immediately wiped from his brain as you lower your mouth to the head of his cock and lick, tasting him for the first time. His hips buck, forcing more of his cock into your mouth, making you gag out of surprise.

"Shit, sorry, sorry," Eddie gasps. "Fuck, your mouth feels so fucking good, don't be surprised if I come like, super quick, okay? Been thinking about this for so fucking long you have no idea. And you look....God, you looking so fucking beautiful right now."

You shoot him a soft smile, pressing a kiss to his cock before taking him into your mouth properly, swallowing as much of him down as you can.

Eddie's hand comes to your hair, gently stroking it as you bob your head up and down. The flavour of him blooms over your tongue and makes you hum in appreciation.

"Fuck, babe, your mouth...shit, it's so fucking good, taking my cock so well..."

You pull up and suckle the head, flicking your tongue over the slit. "Holy shit, you're gonna kill me, sweetheart."

You smirk, pulling back and pursing your lips, allowing a glob of spit to fall from your mouth onto the head, dribbling down the shaft. Eddie falls back onto the pillows. "That's it, you've killed me, you're blowing a dead man, baby."

"A dead man who's gonna come in my mouth, right?" You mumble, jerking him quickly, your spit allowing your hand to slide over his shaft with ease. Eddie keens, his teeth gritted.

"You can't say shit like that, angel, I'm about ready to blow as it is."

"Do it, I want it." You reply, taking his cock into the warmth of your mouth once more. You allow him to fuck your face, both hands now resting on the back of your head as you swallowed around him.

"Shit, fuck, oh my fucking god, baby, Y/N, I'm gonna come, fuck I'm gonna come so fucking hard in that pretty mouth of yours, yeah? God, you're such a good girl, so good f'me, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuck!"

Eddie comes with a broken moan, his hips thrusting upwards and his hands holding you in place as his cock pumps rope after rope of cum down your throat. You moan, relishing the taste of him, which makes Eddie shudder at the overstimulation. You swallow everything he gives you. "Fuck, sweetheart, can you show me?"

You begrudgingly take your mouth off of his cock and open your mouth, tilting your head back slightly and sticking your tongue out to show him that you had indeed swallowed his cum. "Holy shit. I'm gonna get hard again." He groans, his chest heaving and his cock twitching slightly. You giggle and place a kiss to it, and Eddie grabs you, pulling you on top of him, careful to avoid the new ink. "I can kiss you, right?"

"I think we're past that, Eddie" You smile and squeak in surprise as he pulls your face to his, capturing your lips in a hasty kiss. It's a chaste kiss, experimental and you break away briefly. His eyes lock with yours, as if he was trying to search them to see if this was okay. "It's okay, Eds" you whisper, nodding gently. His eyes dart to your mouth and back up to your eyes.

"Do I get to keep you?" He whispers, his fingers softly stroking your cheek. You brush your nose against his.

"You get to keep me."

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie smut #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #stranger things smut #stranger things fluff #eddie munson

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Yandere Brother Pt 3

Tw: suffocating unbearable love, violence, general yandere, female reader shenanigans, infantilization, and of course incest. also christmas

minors and ageless blogs dni please <3

click here for part 1 and part 2

Click here for my new oc Yves (PLEASE READ IT I LOVE YVES)

plotholes and emglish errors everywhere and i could not be bothered :100emoji: please dont point it out thanks xoxo

Caught the Covid fuk now i cant leave my bed im so damn sick and pukey all the time, i dont fuckin know where my roommate is but at least they're not here to get infected, feeling like a busted up rustbucket rn

So this was originally written last year, couldnt find what else to write but this christmas time is perfect, so like dont mind the shoehorning of Christmas somewhere in this fic

You're having your summer break and you plan to pick up on a new hobby. Crocheting, perhaps.

Fuck, your brother picked up your search history from his spyware. Now you're left to deal with $1000 worth of wonderful quality crocheting materials and your big brother being your personal crocheting mentor.

This is where it gets frustrating. Yes, if you have the resources, you would enjoy your hobbies more. But, just like... What if you didn't like crocheting in the end? You're stuck with all these.

It happens to every single potential hobby. Stamp collecting? Your big brother will bid to the death for an extremely rare stamp from the 1900. You're not even fucking collecting the stamps, the stamp book already comes arranged with all the stamps ever produced. A collection that would only give a hardcore stamp collector an instant orgasm upon sniffing it.

Nail art? Where the hell should you keep all the acrylic powders, fake nails, drills and drill bits? Not to mention the dizzying numbers of nail polishes, nail brushes, nail stickers and cuticle sticks. Of course, your big brother is going to hire a professional nail artist to make sure you're practicing your hobby safely while he's learning how to do it himself, so he could replace your mentor too. He would become so skilled that he could qualify to open up a 5 star nail salon. But he's not interested unless you are.

Painting? you absolutely do NOT need all of those tubes of paint. The difference in shades for some of them are so small that you mistook it for the same colour. You would have a headache choosing the right type of paper, right type of primer and right type of fixative to use.

Are you having troubles on painting? Let big brother teach you. You would sit on his lap as he guide your hands across the canvas. Don't you think his warm hand enveloping yours feel nice? Doesn't his free hand feels nice sensually rubbing your thigh? Don't you just feel protected in his hold?

Makeup? Same situation with your nail hobby. You're essentially being babied by him and experienced celebrity makeup artists, you would drown in a mountain of eyeshadow palettes, primers, setting sprays, skin care products, anything and everything related to makeup.

Every instrument ever? Big brother would insist lovingly providing all the music lessons you need. He is a musical prodigy after all. If it's something ridiculously obscure like a Glass Armonica or the Theremin, big brother would master it in a couple of weeks, earn a fucking pHD in it and THEN teach you. No instrument is too expensive or hard for him. Your big brother is crossing his fingers HARD for you to have this hobby.

Chess? Oh, he is also a prodigy in it. He could teach you. Your chess pieces would be custom made to your liking, by the way. It would be the perfect density, perfect size, perfect texture for you. He knows what you like and you hate that.

Sports? Take a look at his "achievement room". It's filled to the brim with golden medals and trophies of every sport competition ever. He's not leaving you alone for this one.

Pottery? Welcome to your very own personal pottery studio, furnished with all types of drying racks, ovens, kilns, turntables and equipments you have never heard of. Big brother is always there to supervise you, making sure there won't be any accidents.

Cooking and baking? You get to have an industrial sized kitchen all for yourself. Everything is decorated such that it looks like you would be on television, starring in a cooking show. You don't need to clean anything, or prep anything, or actually do anything, really. There's a team of professional chefs and assistants to do everything for you. They're paid to cheer and clap and celebrate when you pour cake batter into a pan.

Gardening? Well, there's a massive plot of fertile land for you to garden to your heart's content at the house he bought as your 18th birthday gift. If you want a big project, it will be done overnight. You wouldn't hear the gigantic machineries and vehicles tumbling about due to the soundproof walls he installed. No one would be able to hear you both either, doing god-knows-what inside.

Video games? Your big brother personally do not encourage you to pursue this. But... Nonetheless, he would spoil you rotten with all the latest gaming consoles, limited edition merchandises, pre release copies of your favorite game franchises and whatever your gamer heart desires. All at a hefty price of... Daily cuddles and kisses. And you also have to move in with him. And he gets to decide what game you're playing, if he deems it a "bad influence"? It is not staying in his house.

You rather not.

Nothing is fun because the fun parts are already done for you. You don't get to experience the highs and lows of picking up a hobby, you don't get to explore and experiment. You're literally cursed with luxury.

So imagine your boredom, stress and paranoia during summer break. All your friends are spies for your brother, your hobbies aren't even "yours", leaving your house would inevitably lead you to your brother and all digital footprints are heavily scrutinized by him too. No privacy, no autonomy, all monotony.

You juggled three smartphones at once. Throwing one up in the air, catching the other one with your dominant hand, throwing the last to your other hand. Who gives a damn if one, or all of them breaks? It's riddled with spyware and your big brother would buy you every time a new model is released anyways. Which is... A new phone, a month?

You stopped caring where he gets the money. Obviously he has an assload and can afford to wipe his ass with thousand dollar bills regularly.

It's summer break. One last resort to try and spend your time like a regular ol teenager is taking up a part time summer job. There is a wide variety of jobs to choose from with your qualification. Granted, it's minimum wage and mostly customer service.

If you work as a barista, the cafe or juice bar you'll be working at will LOVE the crap out of you.

Your older brother will visit daily and increase their sales tenfold. Of course, he would pick the drinks that you like doing. It's okay if you fucked up, its only your beloved big brother's order, you can add as much sugar, salt, pepper, cyanide as you want. He will never yell at you, never tell you that you made anything wrong or never even die.

The management will suddenly see a surge in daily customer count. Thanks to big brother's networking. And like him, they also will accept anything you make with no complaint... As per his instructions. You could go full on ridiculous and give them a cup of ice drizzled with strawberry scented dish soap and call it Tutti Frutti, they would still pay for it and take it with them. Though, you're not sure if they ever consumed anything from you.

Without fail, your brother would visit you during every break and hand you your meal along with a kiss on the forehead or the cheek. He would bring you out to eat but you would refuse everytime. You also didn't want his company, which made him pout and whine without fail. But it's nice that he would actually back off after the sixth "no".

However, you know that fucker is watching you from a hidden camera somewhere in the nooks and crannies of whatever breakroom you're resting in.

He would engulf you in a big hug when you get off work, telling you how proud he is of you for getting through another workday like a champ. Praising you for all the hard work and excellent performance, making sure to soothe and comfort you if you happen to come across a rude customer earlier in the day.

You try not to think too much about their fate.

You will be fed, bathed and loved after every shift.

Hell, he would even build up a company from scratch just to hire you. Any position you want, barista, manager, cashier, back office work, janitor- you name it, you get the "job" and get paid a pretty penny. All your other coworkers and customers are probably paid actors and actresses to simulate a "real life working experience" safely. He controls it all, making sure you have just the right amount of drama, the right amount of diplomacy and the right amount of gossiping. You're rarely pushed out of your comfort zone, though. Big brother always has your safety and best interests at heart.

Of course, he will never tell you all of this, to keep the immersion going. You're going to feel sad that you're not exactly experiencing reality. But a bastardization of it. Might as well star in a trashy reality TV show instead, at least, it's much more authentic than whatever your big brother has going on for you.

He doesn't need to even tell you though. You would pick it up easily and quickly especially if you already watched the Truman Show. Don't tell him you did, god help you if he ever gets an inkling that you knew about the existence of the Truman Show. He deemed that movie as demonic propaganda and he needs to lecture some sense into you. If you want out, just say that you're 'bored' and want to do something else. Your big brother will gladly drop everything and do anything in his power to help you "achieve" what you want.

But for the sake of "plot" in this latest installment, you agreed to work in a quaint little bubble tea stall. Where you're the only employee, making drinks for whoever is ordering in front of the shop's decorated window.

Of course, your big brother miraculously happens to work in a nearby skyscraper as one does. It's not that you didn't do your research, you were a hundred percent certain he didn't work in that building, because that fucker never goes to work... At least, physically. Perhaps he does his job, whatever that may be, through online means.

You were planning to use your bicycle to get there that you got yourself with "your" money. He never bought you a car or a bike or anything that would get you around, he saw it as something unnecessary. Why would you need it when big brother is available 24/7 to bring you anywhere?

Actually, you could have gotten yourself a car with the allowance he gives you every day for being cute and adorable, and being patient with his incessant kisses and hugs and cuddles and love and touches and his fucking insanity in general.

But you know that he's going to kick up a massive fuss about driving alone. It was hell to even get your license with him actively trying to sabotage you at every exam- which includes him stooping so low to bribe the examiner to fail you. However, you persevered, and you got that stupid license. All the while, he was lamenting about how you're going to leave him all alone, how you don't need big brother anymore, how society pressured you to grow up too fast and recklessly drive off wherever.

You knew better than to fall for that. Or even entertain it either. Eventually, he gave up trying to guilt trip you into crying, apologizing to him and sobbing in his arms, promising that you won't leave him.

It's not like he DIDN'T kick up a fuss when you said you're using a bicycle either. He began freaking out about your safety, fearing that you might get run over.

Well. You admitted defeat. He's driving you to fucking work and back. It's not worth it to fight this battle.

So you began working in the stall. You had someone train you for your first 2 weeks. Then you were on your own.

The owner, who is also the person who showed you the ropes around there, said business isn't good, but it isn't bad either. So you didn't need to worry about rush hour where hoards of thirsty, sleep deprived office workers trample over each other to get their daily boba fix. It's pretty peaceful working there.

But what you do need to worry about, is your fucking big brother.

He would come and buy a drink, whichever you like to make. It can be the most expensive one, or the cheapest one, the most elaborate one or the simplest one. It's up to you, he will pay for it and happily drink what you made.

You could make him pay for the most expensive drink there is but serve him a cup of lukewarm water, and he would still drink it with glee and fork over his money, telling you to keep the change (which is usually a hundred bucks extra).

Let's say you want to be decent and make him drink that you know he would actually like. Which is anything that tastes generally fruity. And insist that you like making it even though it actually sucks.

He knows. He can tell that you're specially making his favourite drink. And that makes him happy and more obsessed with you if that's even possible at this point.

He would leave a massive tip and a kiss on your forehead.

Although your brother is fucking gross and weird like that, you still love him. Probably a bad idea but you're working so hard, trying your best to earn money honestly just to get him a Christmas gift.

Despite the restraining order between your parents and him, your brother is still invited back home each year to be jolly together. Preparations start a few days before Christmas, where you would see an unusual sight.

All of your immediate family members in the same room, or at least in the same house together without fighting to the death. Your dad's bones are intact, your mom didn't have her insecurities jabbed on for once. They're not exactly on speaking terms, per se.

You woke up one morning to see an... appropriate sized tree for your parent's house, erected in the middle of the living room. Adorned with beautiful ornaments and... are those pictures of you on the ornaments?

Wrapped presents were patiently sitting under the tree. There was a small box with your father's name on its tag, another small one with your mother's name on it. A decent sized box was addressed to your brother, must be a combined present from your parents.

Your shoulders sagged in defeat when you saw your presents took up the perimeter of the tree and even conquered the couch, the back of the couch and under the coffee table. You lost count after gift box #27.

Since everyone is in the kitchen, you quickly place the presents you got for your parents... and your brother.

You panned to the fireplace. Your Christmas stocking is filled so much to the brim that your brother must have added 5 more next to your original one. Your parents' and your brother's stockings are relatively empty. You stuffed them with candies and nuts to make them look less embarrassing.

You straightened your back, that should do it. Your ears perked up when you heard some clamoring in the kitchen. It must be your brother.

You let out a surprised yelp when you're yanked back by a pair of arms that snuck around your waist. "Merry Christmas, my little wittle precious baby!" You squeezed your eyes shut and scrunched your face as he attacked you with a barrage of kisses.

He giggled and squealed as he held you in his arms and twirled you around in glee. You let out a scream of horror as your feet dangle off the ground. He does this every Christmas morning when you were a child to wake you up further and get you excited for the holiday. But you're not a kid anymore, and this is horrifying.

Finally, he stopped and put you down. Your hair is frazzled and the world around you is gyrating. He squeezed you in another hug and gently rocked you side to side.

He immediately unlatched when you said you're hungry. Your big brother gleefully lead you to the dining table, where he fixes up a napkin around your neck like a bib. You asked him why is he tying a ribbon on your hair, he said that you are his Christmas present and he is spoiling himself this year.

Before you could respond, he gave you a brief peck on the head before frolicking away into the kitchen.

Your parents came out of the kitchen, greeting you. They're holding a tray full of steaming hot breakfast foods, no doubt your brother forced them to make it for you. Every Christmas generated a metric ton of leftovers. It's because your brother wanted you to try all of the foods from all over the world. But don't worry though, the leftovers could be so intact that it was given out to neighbors and friends and extended families. Some didn't even need to cook after that, the sheer amount of leftovers was enough to fuel ten more Christmas gatherings.

Croissants, quiches, various types of bread, eggs, ham, bacon even panettone made from scratch. Looking at the spread in front of you is dizzying, your big brother sets down the last plate right between your hands. It's a breakfast plate your brother customized to fit your usual preference, everything is shaped into a heart. He patted your head as he took a seat next to you.

Everyone ate in silence. Everyone was focusing on their own meal except... your brother. Who else would rather stare at you adoringly instead?

He asked if you wanted to go make snowmen outside. Not without proper winter protection, that is. You shrugged, it's not like you could escape your family anyway. Your friends are all busy with their own families, and you don't even have friends. Everything is closed and if you lock yourself in your room, your brother will just pick the fucking lock and force his way in.

Your parents tried making small talk, this earned a feral glare from your brother because it interrupted the connection between the both of you. They paid him no mind and began asking about your life. You tiredly replied to their questions and asked some back yourself, to try to find any sense of normalcy. Your brother would be disengaged with the words coming out of your parents mouth, but highly interested in what you had to say.

The rest of the morning went by uneventfully. You offered to help clear the table and do the dishes. Your brother just 'aww'd at you and gave you an appreciative kiss on your forehead. That wasn't an explicit yes, he appreciated the gesture, but he wouldn't allow you to dirty your hands doing chores.

He told you to wait for him to clean up. In the mean time, he gave you permission to open some of the gifts he got you. Frankly, you don't even want to deal with it at all, it's just too much crap. You decided to go through the stockings instead and grab some snacks for yourself.

As expected, he filled it with the most expensive treats and the freshest oranges. These types of foods are usually served in a formal setting, like eating gold crusted caviar at a 10 star restaurant, all dressed up in fancy clothes. But he just... shoved it in a Christmas stocking as if they're mundane chocolates.

Whatever, you shoved some into your pockets.

You turned around to see your brother smiling lovingly at you. He wrapped a puffer jacket around you, his scarf with his cologne on it, a pair of thick mittens on your hands , a winter hat snuggly fitted to your head, and a pair of thick pants he made you wear in front of him.

He picked one of your numerous christmas presents and handed it to you. He clasped his hands together expectedly as he watches you.

Your brother urged you to open it, go wild. Rip the wrapping to shreds. You felt so bad seeing how well wrapped it is and the quality of the wrapping paper is... indescribably good. It doesn't even feel like paper, it feels like silk.

So your carefully dismantled it, trying not to tear anything. You look up to see that your brother is pointing his camera at you, capturing this very precious moment. He encouraged you to go on.

You managed to remove the packaging and revealed a box of expensive winter boots. These are high quality and you would have been the source of envy even though most of your "friends" are also from wealthy families. Not everyone gets to have these.

You appreciate it but... You already had a pair of winter boots, the ones from last year, and the year before that. And the year before that, and a week ago where your brother is freaking out about you potentially having frostbite on your toes.

"It's the latest model! It was released as a part of a Christmas special, it will keep you warm and protect your feet too. It was selling out fast, I'm so glad I managed to get a pair for you, I can't have my sweetiepie sad on Christmas day!" Gushed your brother. You slipped them on.

You can't tell the difference between the one you had last year and the one on your feet now. Maybe some minor difference in it's stylistic design but... they're equally as comfortable.

You thanked your brother and finally gave him what he actually wanted from all this: a hug. He put away his phone and returned the embrace, sinking so deep into your jacket that neither of you can move without stumbling. You know he expected you to show gratitude for all his gifts through his main love language; touch.

It is exhausting.

After that, he brought you out to his private plot of land which he made into a park, complete with swingsets, monkey bars and slides. But these aren't for the public, it's for you. All the equipment are well maintained and look brand new even though you know it's been there for years.

He's not fond of throwing snowballs because it could hurt you. But he allows you to throw as much as you want at him. Even after the stunt you pulled last year.

You packed snow around a rock and hurled at him with all your might, it went straight to his head and his right eye was busted for months. Your brother didn't see that as something wrong, though. Even if you tried to apologize, he said that it was an accident and it was alright, he still loves you dearly and you did 'nothing wrong'. The first thing he did after recovering from his injuries at the hospital is to take you out for hot chocolate and then give you a backrub back home because winter could make your muscles stiff; and hence you must feel strained and sore.

He was still mildly bleeding from his gauze at the time, it was covering at least 70% of his upper head. Your brother was clueless when you asked if he needs any painkiller for his recent injury. He claimed to not feel the pain, but his wincing tells you otherwise. He rewarded you for your concern nonetheless with hugs and kisses and another massage.

You laid yourself on the snowy ground and started making snow angels. Your brother had his camera out and began capturing every moment he has with you.

You felt uncomfortable. And the cold is nipping at your bones even though you're thoroughly insulated by the sophisticated winter gear your brother made you wear. You're ready to go home now.

It shocked your brother and made him a bit desperate. He stammered and stumbled over his words, asking you if you wanted to play on the swing, build a snow man, play on the slides, the merry go around and... throw snowballs at him. Are you cold? He was in the middle of removing his own jacket to layer it onto you, but you stopped him.

You said you're tired. You don't find this fun and you're too old for this.

Maybe you're thirsty? He packed a flask filed with steaming hot chocolate for you- no? You're not thirsty or hungry? Maybe you wanted to use the bathroom-- no? You don't have to go?

He tried listing out all the possible reasons you wanted to go home and all its' solutions. Desperately wanting you to stop growing up so fast.

You got sick and tired of this, you yelled at him at the top of your lungs that you wanted to go home. You then stormed away towards the car, leaving your brother to stand there in silence, his camera capturing your explosive outburst.

Your brother saw you slamming the door angrily as you got in.

He sighed, gulping and hovering his finger over the delete button. But he ultimately decided against erasing the footage, it's still a video of you after all. Your brother assured that he's coming to the car, he wipes a stray tear away as he heads to his vehicle.

The both of you stayed silent as he drove you home.

Once you arrived, you bolted out of the car and ran back in. Locking yourself in the bedroom and barricading the door with random furniture. Hugging your knees close to your chest as you pray that your brother does not go after you by climbing into your windows.

And... he didn't. He left you alone for once. For a few hours too. It gave you the much needed relief, you felt like you could breathe now.

You're starting to feel a bit hungry. And you're hungry enough to be willing to face your older brother. So you began unbarricading, placing your dressers to it's original place.

You carefully unlocked the door, fully expecting him to be waiting outside for you. To your surprise, no one was in the hallway. You could hear some noises downstairs, in the kitchen.

You cautiously went down, the tree is still intact. Nothing is broken and there doesn't seem to be signs of a fight. You released a breath that you didn't know that you were holding, happy to know that you don't need to spend another Christmas at the hospital visiting your badly battered parents.

You whipped your head to the sound of your brother calling your name softly. He's holding a baking tray and a bowl, you can't tell what is in there because he's too tall. He smiled at you as he set it down on the dining table. The tray contained freshly baked parts of a gingerbread house and the bowl contained vanilla frosting.

You scanned the rest of the table. There are numerous small glass bowls containing different types of candy and snacks; from pretzel sticks to colourful chocolate rocks, to real gold leaves. Piping bags with metal tips are present too next to a box of plastic gloves.

Your brother pulled your chair out and invited you to sit there. You did, and he called you a good girl. His good girl. As you put on a pair of plastic gloves, he kissed you on the temple.

You asked where your parents are. He said that they're preparing the food for dinner, which includes ham and a roast turkey. And 15 other dishes.

You quizzed on, asking if there will be more people coming in. He shook his head: no. It's only the four of you. In the meantime, you should enjoy yourself building this gingerbread house. He puts on his own pair of plastic gloves too and began filling the piping bag with icing.

The two of you worked in peace, you opting to decorate the house while he pipes the details on the gingerbread men.

There is only two, a large one and a smaller one. You can guess which represents who.

You noticed the odd choice of attaching the small one to the large one's torso. With strategic use of the candies and frosting, he made it look like the larger gingerbread man is carrying the smaller one on its hip. He piped your defining features onto the baby gingerbread, and piped his features on the larger one.

He noticed you staring, your brother asked if you had a hard time connecting the pieces with frosting and if you needed his help. You said no, you just need a spatula from the kitchen. He tried to get up from his seat, but you pushed him back down, saying that you can get it yourself. He pouted, telling you to be careful and not touch the knives or stoves. Your brother went back to obsessing over the details on his gingerbread men.

You went inside the kitchen and greeted your parents who are busy cooking. You go through the drawers to find a silicone spatula and decided to help pick up some stray food scraps on the floor, throwing them into the bin. But as soon as you step on the pedal and have the lid swing open, you saw two crushed, but perfectly edible, gingerbread men in the garbage bin.

You returned to the dining table to see that your big brother is proudly presenting his work. He said this represents you and him... as if you already haven't figured it out. He said he dreams of having you live with him in a perfect fantasy house, fantasy world where you never have to grow up. And he will always be there by your side, taking care of you till the end of time. You will be pampered and spoiled rotten, you don't have to do anything, you don't have to lift a finger. Your big brother will do everything for you. He would even breathe for you if he could.

You nodded in acknowledgement, too tired to engage with him. You sat back down, continued with the gingerbread house. You failed to notice the flicker of sadness in his eyes, your brother felt so neglected and unwanted these few years. He wished that you were a kid again so the both of you could play together and be happy. The more he tries to win your favour, the more distant you get from him. He is endlessly chasing and you are running non-stop.

The rest of the afternoon went by uneventfully, other than the fact that your big brother rests his head on your shoulder the whole time.

Now, it's time for dinner. You tried helping them bring out the dishes, your brother praised you for being a darling as usual. He lets you have the first bite of the turkey, tearing a small inconspicuous piece of flesh from the bird and hand feeding it to you. It's still warm, juicy and delicious. Maybe it's the feeling of being special that makes it even tastier.

You chew as you brought out the casserole, setting it down on the table.

You looked at the spread. It looks like a buffet at a high end hotel. So many varieties and extremely nutritious.

Your brother fixed your napkin bib for you again and took food for you. Slumping in your seat, you were thinking of protesting but you knew it's easier to just wait for him to carve the best parts of the turkey for you and let the food pile up neatly on your plate first. He returned it to you, all your favourite dishes are on it within sensible portions. But these are still a lot of food for a person.

He didn't care about praying. Your brother wanted you to eat as soon as possible because you must be hungry. And it is absolute sacrilege to let you go hungry.

You insisted that you join your parents in saying grace and you're not that hungry. Your brother looks uncomfortable, still believing in his sick mind that you're starving to the point of emaciation. But since you are adamant in doing such 'pointless' things In his mind, he agrees, only if he leads it.

Everyone bowed their head down and held each others' hands.

Your brother said the shortest, most insincere, laziest grace ever. Once he fulfilled your requirement, he urged you to eat.

You're upset, you felt really angry and you thought he was mocking you instead. So you opted to eat alone in your room, you made it clear that you didn't want anyone in. Especially not your big brother.

He cried out a desperate plea to get you to stay with him. You ignored him and took a couple more of your favourite finger foods. Predicting a fight between your brother and your parents.

You wrenched your arm away from his powerful grip and fled the scene, hurrying up the flight of stairs. Only slowing down when you're out of sight.

As you thought, sounds of verbal fighting started resonating throughout the house. You heard your brother screaming his head off at your parents for being bad influences and poisoning you to hate him. Your parents defended themselves and this only fuelled the fire. You didn't want to be around when your brother started hurling chairs, so you slammed the door as hard as you could. The sudden loud noise did stop the commotion downstairs briefly. But it continued soon after.

You ate alone, in your barricaded room. Wishing that you're born into a 'normal' family, with 'normal' trauma. To a lot of people, you are complaining about a blessing. But you are always feeling alone, the only person facing a problem which everyone sees as a solution.

You scraped the last bits of food with your spoon. Waiting for the sounds of the ambulance or at least for the fighting to quiet down.

You looked at the clock. It's 1 AM. It's been relatively quiet for a while now, they should be finishing up their fight or cleaning up. Time for you to return your plate.

You grunted as you pushed the furniture away from your door which felt like the umpteenth time. You left your room and head downstairs.

Hearing soft sobs from one person, your brother. He's sitting in front of the tree, hugging the present you left for him earlier. The presents addressed to your parents are both missing, presumably being taken back to their room. A blanket is loosely draped around his shoulders.

You took slow steps, unsure if you should comfort him or not. But before you can even decide to chicken out, he spotted you. However, to your surprise, he didn't approach you or tell you to come forward. He gave you a soft assuring smile, before returning his attention to the tree.

You set your plate aside and went by his side. Your brother watched you with puffy eyes full of love, yet it tells you that he has been irreparably hurt by something... or an accumulation of things.

"Thank you..." He whispered, refering to the gift you gave him. It isn't something particularly valuable to you. It's a picture of the entire family in a photo frame. Your brother is going to cherish it, because it is a gift from the person he loves most in the world. But deep down, he secretly wishes that it was a photo of you and him alone.

He still looks extremely upset and distraught. Almost like he is at the brink of a breakdown. Your brother usually verbalizes what he wanted, but he couldn't this time.

You wonder what your parents got for him. You peeked over his shoulder to see that an unopened box containing a plain T-shirt and a pair of socks is carelessly discarded to the corner of the room.

Then, it clicked. Just like you, he felt alone. Maybe you will never understand why he holds you so dear in his heart. Just like how no one will understand him either, his struggles are unique to him with no one to relate.

He destroyed the relationship between himself and your parents. His friends are all superficial. You're grown up and constantly rejecting his love.

Not a single one of you paid attention to him. Yes, it is hard to think of a present for someone who has everything. But they could have put in a bit more effort, the colour of the shirt and socks aren't even in his favourite colour or in the correct size. You could have removed your parents from the photo, your brother will never remove it himself. Because that would mean defacing your gift for him.

And growing up, your parents never saw him as... a person. As someone with feelings and a personality. They only saw his value as a trophy piece to show off to their friends and family. Same goes to his friends now, if it wasn't for his skills and possessions, he would be nothing to anyone.

He had to beg to be loved. Even that isn't reliable, he could give it his all and everyone around him will expect more. Your brother could never dream of being the receiving end of his own affection. It seems like an impossibility to him.

Perhaps he is doing all of these despite getting nothing but disgust and disdain from you is all to protect your innocence, to not put you through what he had to face. It's just that he went about it the wrong way. Or maybe he is just... wrong in the head. Or maybe he was hoping by loving you so much, you would give him the intense type of love he was yearning for his entire life.

Either way, he is alone.

The both of you are now seated in front of the fireplace. You didn't want to open presents, your brother is okay with that. He did not nag you to do it for once. Snuggling closer, the both of you shared a blanket. He still looks unhappy and crestfallen.

You remember you still had the ribbon bow on your head.

He hovered his arms around you as you squirm in his grip. You managed to crawl into his lap and rest your head on his chest. He lets out a chuckle and some sniffles, clamping his arms back down around you.

You reminded him of one last gift. Your brother is confused until he saw your ribbon.

From that moment on, he burst into tears of joy. He found you so unbearably adorable, so unbearably cute that his heart couldn't take it. An excited squeak escaped his lips as he held you even tighter. Peppering kisses all over your face, neck and head.

He started blabbering in baby talk, calling you every pet name and listing out everything he loved about his 'gift'. Repeating that this is the best gift he ever received and this is all he ever wanted. You are all he ever wanted. Praising that you remembered what he loves.

You hope that he could feel a little less lonely tonight. You can't peer into his head and know exactly what is going on inside. But you knew, he was happy.

Your breathing calmed him down and he closed his eyes, nuzzling against your neck. The collar of your shirt wet from his tears and your arms are secure around him. Your brother mumbled "I love you." as he adjusted you on his lap. Pressing your form against his, enjoying the heat that the both of you shared. Wishing that this moment will never end and you will never part from him.

You realized another thing too as he strokes your hair.

Your older brother is the only person in the world who harbors true, undying, unconditional love for you.

Even though he has his flaws, there will be no one else like him. Ever.

So you closed your eyes and melt into him. Just like before, you felt safe.

The both of you fell alseep in front of the hearth, surrounded by gifts, mostly unopened ones. Snowflakes floating down from the skies and landing delicately at the edge of the roof. Feeling unburdened and content in the living room.

Merry Christmas.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #tw infantilization #yandere oc x reader #yandere x you #tw yandere #yandere concept #male yandere oc x reader #yandere brother #tw incest

[henneseyhoe]

The Return Of Killjoy.

Killmonger x BLACK!FEM!Reader

WARNINGS: mentions of death, gory descriptions, mentions of religion, possession, choking, rough s*x, cu*khold, !SLIGHT CNC!.

Ps. I’ll edit this fully later, so if y’all see random pov switches then ignore it really quick. I just wanted it out before Halloween was over Lmfao.

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“You sure you wanna watch this, Trey? I just feel iffy” She expressed to her boyfriend, fiddling with the frills on her socks. Her stomach felt queasy, and her nerves were higher than usual all that day. It could be because she knew that there were plans made to do something she had no instest in, plans to watch an old slasher film, but even before she knew it was this movie in particular, she had already felt a bad feeling come over her body.

“You need to calm down, baby. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, and we both know this shit is fake” Trey brushes her off in a nonchalant way, putting the vhs tape into the tv.

“Trey, please. We can watch a classic! Friday 13th?” He ignores her again, playing with the buttons on the television. “This movie is like 80 years old, who knows what type of old ass voodoo is on it?! we needed a fuckin’ box tv to watch this shit, and everybody saying it’s cursed!” She continues to press him, hoping he’d realize how stupid the whole situation was. She was never the type to be scared of movies, but she heard around town about what people saw in the tapes, and she wasn’t trying to be added to the list of people who lost their minds after watching.

Some stories she heard included people gouging their own eyes out, projectile vomiting everywhere only five minutes into the film, some even lose consciousness. “Are you even listening? Trey!” She pushed him, the boy still seeking no interest in what she was saying. She was so convinced that she could change his mind and that she had time to all before, but obviously he was adamant on watching the movie to understand the hype and fear surrounding.

“…someone literally stopped talking for an entire week after watching it. If that ain’t enough proof for you, I dunno what is!” Crossing her arms, she huffs like an upset toddler, over him ignoring her for a ‘stupid little movie’.

“That was just a drawn out joke! Wasn’t shit wrong with that woman” He says, using the tv remote to navigate through the options to start the movie. There was no turning back now, the tape beginning to roll.

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Trey yawns for the fifth time that night. She couldn’t tell if he was tired of just wanted to pretend like the scenes wasn’t scary. The movie started out with a blood curdling scream that made both the young adults cover their ears, Trey attempting to turn it down with the remote, which didn’t work, but even when he put it on mute, the scream continued. After that was the most gruesome death scene either of them had ever seen in a movie that old. It was almost too real. The main character, or who they thought was the main character, was killed only five minutes into the film. The masked man had captured her in her own home and hung her upside down with chains wrapped around her ankles. She was completely undressed, naked glory there to gawk at. Y/N caught Trey doing exactly that for a moment before the woman was split in half completely from the top down with a seemingly dull machete.

Y/N gags strongly while clenching her thick thighs closed as she watched the woman rip in half, screaming in agony until she stopped before the man could even pull the blade all the way through her body. He hacked away multiple times before he had even reached the end of her, blood splattering all over the hardwood floor.

“Ewww!” Y/N let out a girlish squeal while kicking her feet up and covering her face. Trey shook his head. “This shit is not scary, you doin too much”

“Shut up! This shit is makin’ me sick, turn it off”

“Why? You scared?”

“Yes! Stop playin’ and turn it off”

Trey rolls his eyes and laughs, switching his position so he was kneeling in front of his fearsome girlfriend. “It’s not real” she shake her head, her face still scrunched with disgust while Trey laughs at herfit. “Lemme comfort my little cry baby” he teased and kisses her lips. She melted from his touch, feeling safer than before. Trey’s hands roam her body, going for her shirt to pull it right off her body. Y/N’s safe feeling didn’t last too long, a feeling in her stomach creeping up onto her, telling her to open her eyes, which she reluctantly complied to.

Watching the screen behind Trey, multiple pictures of gore flashed as the film continued, the next picture even more disturbing than the next until the screen flashed a picture that had her jumping out of her skin, goosebumps covering her body.

She pushes her boyfriend away with a scream. “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!” She panicked, tears welling in her eyes. “Damn, Y/N! You almost bit my fuckin’ tongue off!” Trey shouts, tasting blood in his mouth from the girl biting down on his lip. “What are you on about now?!” Trey glanced back at the screen, but it had changed to a normal part in the movie.

Y/N couldn’t even begin to explain the feeling in her chest. The picture she saw that flashed lastly was a picture of her. In that same spot. With Trey laying next to her, his face looking as if it was bludgeoned, features beyond recognition.

“STOP FUCKING WITH ME, TREY! IM SERIOUS! IT AINT FUNNY!” She freaked, her chest heaving as Trey looked at her in confusion.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N. If you that scared then I’ll just turn it off, damn” he reaches for the remote and clicks the tv off, yet the screen went no where. Still playing the movie, Trey tried clicking the buttons on the TV to turn it off, but the film stayed put. He sighs. “Look, it’s an old tv, baby. We can smash this shit right after if it makes you happy” he said, turning back to her. Cupping her face in his hands, he kisses her again, tasting salty tears on her lips. As she gave into his temptation, the kiss progressed to him laying her down and undressing them both fully.

Trey took it upon himself to pleasure her first, something he rarely did, but Y/N brushed it off as him trying to make her feel better. Spreading her legs out for him, Trey dove in, beginning to lap up her swelling clit as she used her hands to play in his hair.

They were cornrowed back, neatly placed in straight lines and she found herself tugging at the ends of them while he slurped her up. He uses her thigh as a headrest for him so he could eat without getting tired, but his patters were already sending the girl into overdrive.

“Yes, Trey” She calls out to him, her other hand gracing her wet lips. She sticks her tongue out and licks a long stripe along her pointer finger and thumb, using her own spit as lube to twist her nipples softly. Trey had suctioned his entire mouth around her clit, beginning to suck while his fingers dipped into her honeypot, giving her a reason for her eyes to be rolling backwards into her head like they were doing.

What was into him? She had never experienced this type of behavior. She couldn’t even remember the last time she came from head alone, but this time felt so different to her.

She had wondered when he had gotten so skilled at this..and when he got a tongue.. or when he got dreads.

Popping her head upwards, Y/N’s heart completely drops. The man that was between her legs was no longer her boyfriend, but the same psycho killer that shook her up just a few minutes ago. Her adrenaline rushes, her brown eyes becoming wide with her jaw being stuck hanging low like she had just been hit with a brick. “—oh fuck” She moans, the demon himself keeping himself latched on her clit, shaking his head from side to side. He rubs his plump lips against her clit while humming, vibrations spreading throughout the girls body before she came, a tongue being right there to catch all that she was giving before it was his turn to get his.

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“Like this, baby?” The man stared deep into her soul while stroking her, his callused hand wrapped tightly around her throat. Y/N shook with fear, but she couldn’t stop the moans falling from her lips. Turning towards the tv, she watched as Trey begged and pleaded on mute, slamming his hands against the windowed screen he was trapped in. Before a singular teardrop slipped from her eye, killjoy had already turned her head back towards him, giving her no permission to look at anything but him.

“Take it. Take it like a good fuckin’ girl” He grunts, gripping her thigh and pushing it back so far that she was basically folded in. It took strength to endure the beating he was putting on her, and the little bit she had left was gradually growing weaker. He was to blame for every reaction she was currently having, from the jagged breathing all the way down to the helpless whimpers. She thought he would have never stopped, until he did, his hips colliding with hers one last time before he stops, laying a smack on her thighs.

“Now, sit that ass on it” He demands. It was like she had no control over her own body, the real version of herself watching behind her eyes in utter shock. Flipping them both over, Killjoy does the honors of pushing himself back inside of her, Y/N using the strength of her calves to bounce on the tip of his dick. It was still so much for her, he was barely inside and she already felt so full. “I can’t-“ she chokes out as her legs shake, her body cowering on top of him. Killjoy grunts in annoyance, his patience running low for the girl. He was fed up. How was she gonna be a good host if she was a coward?

Giving her that jumpstart she needed, he lays three hard smacks on her ass, sending Y/N jumping forward with a yelp, landing right back on his dick. She slid down on his thick pole completely, her thighs closing together. “Unt-Unt. Open them legs, lemme see that pretty pussy” He says, completely disregarding her stiff movements and thrusting his hips upwards. She wasn’t even thinking straight at this point, she couldn’t have answered a question if you asked.

“I’m gonna cum!” She shouts, fisting his locs in her hand, a guttural groan escaping his mouth at the hair tugs. Only the lucky knew how he liked it rough, and not one of those lucky people were alive anymore to tell the story of how killjoy himself broke them in on Halloween night. Now, it was her turn.

“Cum on this dick, pretty girl. It’s yours” He taunts with a devilish smirk, but that only made Y/N teeter over the line of ecstasy and unconsciousness just a little more.

“I’m- im-“

“Uh-huh. Show yo’ man how a real nigga do it”

“FU-“

“Show him how a real nigga make you cum!”

“FUCK”

She stops bouncing, but killjoy kept his hips jack hammering up into her, his arms arms going around her waist to hold her in her spot as he fucked her pussy with no remorse. Y/N was praying to the heavens that it would stop and this would just be some crazy wet dream, but it kept going.

“No need to pray now. He can’t help you” Killjoy speaks into the girls ears, his voice echoing in her head like they were in an empty room.

She could hear her water splashing against him, and he had no means to stop just yet.

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#black fanfic writer #black fanfiction #black!reader #masterlist #black reader #black!fem!reader #black!oc #michael b. jordan fic #michael b jordan smut #michael b jordan fanfic #michael b. jordan #michael b jordan x reader #killmonger fic #king killmonger #erik killmonger fanfiction #killmonger smut #killjoy #henneseyhoe #black actors

[holdmeiamscared]

OMNIPOTENT— homelander x reader #2

this is part two to my first bullshit rambling that you can find here: homelander x reader

the start of this picks up like a month after where the first one left off. this one is also ~3k words so like grab a snack 😬

⚠️: pre-season one, CANNON DIVERGENCE, threats of bodily harm, reader is more fem! presenting in this one but only in the beginning and during the sex part, reader is fuckin’ unhinged, reader is the guardian of their nephew (who is named in the fic), reader’s whole immediate family (minus their nephew) is deceased, homelander is his own warning, intercourse, oral (homelander eats pussy don’t argue with me)— fem bodied reader, praise, homelander’s mommy kink is in full swing now (soft dom! reader), homelander is still literally obsessed, reader is a jealous bitch, homelander and reader are toxic together, reader is in a fist fight with their feelings for homelander (reader loses), Madelyn Stillwell is manipulative, and also prolly (definitely) fucked homelander.

when you were still young, toeing on the line of being a woman, but still not old enough people treated you like one, your grandmother explained to you why she gained the nerve to finally leave your grandfather.

you were innocent then, bright eyed and unaware of how the real world hurt. you were unaware of how it would break you— how it would turn you into someone you barely recognize.

she had told you then, as a warning of some sort, “a golden cage, is still just a cage.” she looked sick to her stomach when she’d said it. the look in her eyes, the one you hadn’t understood all those years ago, it haunted you now— every night.

she’d died before she could see the woman you had become— before she could see the rest of your family die off slowly. some fucked up part of you was glad for that, your grandmother was a saint— she wouldn’t have deserved that pain.

but part of you was also jealous of her— she was spared the heartbreak of it all. she didn’t have to witness death after death after death, and she didn’t have to witness you lose your freedom.

but now, as an adult in a very tricky situation, you understood what she meant about golden cages.

the homelander hadn’t locked you up though, at least, not yet.

he let you keep living the way you had before— let you keep your freedom, but maybe that was somehow worse.

the fear of doing something to upset him, doing something to make him irrational, was always present. like you were walking on a microscopic trip wire— one that was attached to the biggest bomb known to man.

but still, he was so good to you, good to Jaxon. he was everything you could have imagined your spouse to be when you were a child, if you ignored the homicidal tendencies, of course.

despite all of his flaws, he wanted you; he loved you and Jaxon— he took care of the both of you. John was part of your family now, he was part of you, he was part of Jax.

he was ingrained in both of your lives— like a parasite.

sure, the homelander was a full-fledged psychopath, but he was yours.

maybe a golden cage wasn’t so bad when it came hand in hand with love— with family.

————

you were sure of one thing, and one thing alone— you didn’t like Madelyn Stillwell, not one fucking bit.

you hadn’t known her well enough before John to make such a brave statement, you still didn’t if you were honest, and despite your fear of sounding envious— you couldn’t help but to think of her as a snake in the fucking grass. venomous— just fucking dangerous.

somehow, she’d dug her manicured nails right into the homelander’s rib cage— and you wanted them out.

today was one of the scariest days of your life, to date. homelander had corralled you into a corner and declared that you two were now official. he didn’t even ask you— he told you, and you had hastily agreed in fear of upsetting him.

homelander kissed you breathless after you hesitantly agreed, the heat of his cock dragging along the length of your thigh, likely a desperate tease—after all, you hadn't fucked him since the first time, almost a month ago.

if the way he jerked when your hands groped at his biceps told you anything, it was that he was losing every lingering shred of his patience. he wanted you again and it made you dizzy— it made you delirious. you were drunk off the very thought of him pleading for you like he had before.

John pulled back as quickly as he started, hips grinding into you one last time, almost involuntarily. he heaved a sigh of your name— all rumpled and looking thoroughly kissed. you melted at the sight, humming happily up at him.

once the heat had vanished from under your skin, the first thing you wanted to do was tell Jaxon— he would be fucking ecstatic that you were finally in a proper relationship with the homelander.

however, the first thing John wanted to do was tell everyone. he wanted the whole fucking world to know who you were, who you loved— who you were loved by.

he was practically dragging you to her office before you knew it, all long limbs and pushy words about how he loved you, about how he wanted to show you off to the world— how it was only fair because you’re his now.

even as the elevator dinged, signaling your arrival to the correct floor— he was still speaking about how the two of you looked so fucking good together and how his fans deserved to see you, on his arm—where you belonged.

the ranting had continued right into her office, and Madelyn had forced a smile in your direction after homelander finished speaking.

she stood quickly, pausing to smooth the wrinkles in her pretty little dress, and once she had collected herself, she sternly told John— absolutely not. the tone she used left no room for question, she wouldn’t allow this— you and the homelander could never be together in public.

she said it with a sweet, motherly smile— and it made you sick. you can still recall the exact look in John’s eyes when she told him he could never go public with you, of all people.

she had said your name incorrectly, motioning to you with a vague indifference, and it made your blood run cold. that icy feeling in your veins didn't last long, because John corrected her on your name sharply.

you almost preened for him—almost.

she had nodded along, like she actually cared, before starting on a long-winded rant about how this was an awful idea.

she said you would ruin his image, that just being seen with you would drop him in the polls. she said he would lose his adoring fans, that they would think he was lesser than he was— because he fell in love with a nobody.

you didn’t like how sharp her words were— you didn't like how much they bothered you.

you didn’t like that she was looking down her nose at you— like you were insignificant.

you didn't like her.

that mean snear, the same one you’d used on homelander, the same one you had mastered when your grandmother died, masked the hurt on your face— this bitch didn’t even know you. how fucking dare she.

you were expecting John to explode into a rage, after all, if the homelander was anything, it was unreasonable— but he didn’t.

you had braced yourself for war, already mapping a way to escape, looking for a place to hide— but he didn’t do anything.

that almost hurt more than being talked to like you were lesser.

the way he so easily gave up on his plan to announce you as the love of his life— it made something churn in your stomach, something bitter.

and despite the way her words stung, the way it hurt that homelander didn’t fight for it, for you— you were happy with the decision to keep your relationship under wraps.

it was better this way— for the sake of Jaxon’s privacy. you’d explained that to homelander later— you wanted Jaxon to be normal. you didn’t want him to worry about people wanting to be his friend for what he had, for who he was.

“can you imagine how children would react if homelander’s self-declared nephew was in their class?” a smug grin pulls at his pretty lips, “he’d be the coolest kid in that whole fucking shitty school.” you fought the urge to roll your eyes, “they’d use him, John. he wouldn’t have any real friends.”

but that look in homelander’s eyes, it haunted you, it haunted you just like that look your grandmother gave you all those years ago.

that very night, his eyes take the place of your grandmother's.

the emotion in his eyes when he looked at her wares at you until you’re angry enough it fucking aches.

he looked so complicit, and all you can think about is that he looked at you like that once— when he was under you.

you didn't let John know that you saw it, but it eats at you.

it tears into you, burrowing fury into your skin all night long— it worms its way into your chest until you feel like you aren’t good enough.

you hate that feeling.

you decide that the homelander has a thing for Madelyn Stillwell.

and you don’t fucking like that.

————

the next day comes with more feelings you thought you would never experience for homelander.

when you notice Madelyn heading your way, you can't help the way your grip tightens against homelander's arm.

she looks happy, at least that’s how she appears in your mind, as she greets him with a smile, “thank you for having dinner with me last night, homelander.”

if homelander notices the way you stiffen next to him— he doesn’t show it. rage pools in your stomach, burning you up from the inside out— so hot it hurts. that bastard.

John had shown up late to your so called ‘family dinner’ last night. he’d made idle conversation with Jaxon about school, picking at his plate until you worried you had made him something he didn’t like.

now this, this made fucking sense.

he’d already eaten.

your blood pressure is on the rise, and this time— you know he knows. his free hand rubs at the one you have gripping at his forearm. it's an attempt to calm you, to quell your worries.

it doesn’t work.

all you feel is acid-soaked hostility and white-hot hatefulness rising from a pit you swore you’d locked up long ago.

you shake off the homelander’s grip, muttering about how you should be going back to work, and you hurry your way through the halls until you’re far enough away you can’t taste the anger anymore.

when you recline against a wall, steading your breathing, you try to remind yourself that you’re trapped with him— that he won’t let you go. you remind yourself that your love for him is fake— that you are nothing but a little bird, locked in your pretty golden cage.

but those thoughts, as true as they are, they don’t help.

later that day, despite your internal struggle, the petty part of you— the part that wants revenge, wins.

you pick Jaxon up from school, settling him in the back of your car with nothing but smiles and light laughter. then, when he asks you what you are planning for dinner, you answer him easily, one of your saccharine smiles pulling at your lips until your cheeks hurt, "i thought we would go out somewhere tonight. wherever you want, baby."

Jaxon asks if Uncle John will be there, and you have to fight off your smug grin. no, he won't. he can't be seen in public with you.

you and Jaxon are both nobodies, after all.

if the homelander wants to play— you can fucking play.

————

you only realize how stupid you are when you pulled into the drive of your ratty old house, hours after you were supposed to have dinner together.

you notice quickly that the kitchen light is on, and you can only imagine how much trouble you've gotten yourself into.

you let Jax go in first, let him greet homelander happily.

Jaxon is all smiles and hugs for his dear Uncle fucking John and despite yourself, when you catch sight of him, your anger dissipates. you greet him the same way you always do, with a sweet kiss and a murmured, 'hi, sweetheart.'

he's tense tonight— pulling you into a solid hug, his hands gripping at you too tightly for you to be comfortable.

it's a fucking threat, you know it is, but you don't waver—continuing to smile felicitously up at him.

it's only after Jaxon goes upstairs to bathe that John confronts you, and he's all malice hidden behind a soft smile, "where'd you go tonight, honey?"

your heart skips a beat, but not from fear, no— it's from excitement.

you peer up at him, every bit sweet, your lashes fluttering in the way you know makes you look faultless, "we went to Jaxon's favorite restaurant. sorry, sweetie— i figured you might have eaten somewhere else."

if the look in his eyes tells you anything, it's that he caught on to your jab, and he doesn't like the tone of your voice.

in response, you coo up at him, trying to dissipate the anger you see in his eyes with your cloying words, “i love you, John.”

he can't bring himself to stay mad at you— not when you say his name like that.

————

now, it's the next day and even after staying up half the night, telling yourself that Madelyn Stillwell wouldn't bother you anymore— you can't help the vexation you feel.

you had agreed to lunch with John— not with her.

she looks pleased to be sat next to him, successfully giving you no other choice but to settle in the seat across from homelander.

you're determined to cut this as short as possible, even if you have to fake an illness. which now, watching as she wraps her hand around his bicep— might not be so fake.

you're tense, pulled taught like a bow— ready to fucking snap.

you don't want to seem rude, but honestly, you’re on the verge of spooning out your own eyes.

in the heat of your jealousy, you don't hide your distaste— you move to leave, a tight smile marring your normally charming face.

a second passes when the homelander realizes you’re planning on leaving— and you think that he might actually let you go. you’re wrong, and his voice stops you dead on your feet, animosity thick in every word, every syllable, "honey—where are you going?"

you turn, voice thick with allure, you’re all doe-eyes and fake sugary innocence— you’re just fucking tempting him, " 'm just going to the bathroom, baby."

when you walk away, your hips sway in the way you know will keep his attention, the way you know will remind him of how they looked dropping in a steady rhythm against his.

after you turn the corner, the smugness, the tickle of revenge— it returns.

you don't come back to finish lunch with them.

————

later in the day, it's only fitting that he catches up to you when you're really in the bathroom.

probably some fucked up karma for telling him that was where you were going when you'd escaped all those hours ago at lunchtime.

the homelander is upset with you.

he's seething, lips curled up into a snarl, voice booming in the open space, and as much as you hate yourself for it, it fucking turns you on.

"just going to the fucking bathroom, huh?"

you blink owlishly up at him, feeling sticky on the inside when his leather clad hand rumples up his hair, "i told you where i was going— i didn't say i was coming back."

that's all it takes for his hands to slam against the tiles of the sink, the ceramic creaking under the pressure, "do you think you're fucking funny? i let you get away with dinner for Jaxon— but this? this?"

the homelander anticipates you to answer with your own anger.

he's come to expect that of you. you don't outwardly fear him and you never back down from an argument.

you're a goddamn luntic— and he fucking loves that about you.

but you don't yell.

you bite back your anger, and instead of raising your voice, you answer in a soft, honeyed one— one dripping saccharine syrup, "do you love me, sweet boy?"

it shoots heat down the homelander’s spine, makes his thoughts slow— you’re a fucking tease. he can hear your footsteps bringing you closer when he doesn’t respond. when you touch him, no hesitance in your movement, he sinks in to the feeling.

your hands brush against the eagles on his broad shoulders, trailing a path straight to his chest, and you linger there, kneading at the muscle— he short fucking circuits.

you shift yourself until you’re caged between his body and the sink, mouth parting in another question, “huh, baby? you love mommy?”

it’s a calculated risk— but a still a risk.

it fucking works.

the homelander’s bottom lip quivers, cerulean eyes darkening at the very sound of the word.

his quivering hands move from the tile of the bathroom sink to squeeze at the fat of your hips, “of course i love you.”

your gaze turns predatory and you push yourself up to sit on the sink, to level with him. your mouth hovers close to his, close enough you can feel his balmy breaths against your cupid’s bow— close enough you can feel the stutter in his breathing, but not close enough to kiss him the way he wants.

you stop to thank whatever fucker sitting up in the sky that you wore a skirt today.

it rides up slowly as you shift— the doughy fat of your thigh rippling invitingly with each movement. the motion catches his eye, draws his attention away from your mouth, and you can hear the hitch of breath in his throat— the desperate little noise that follows, “did you miss mommy’s pussy, John?”

he's nodding in agreement, hazy-eyed and oh so soft. you almost feel bad for him— almost.

you lean close, mouthing at the lobe of his ear, until his hands grope at the softness of your thighs, "you wanna taste it, honey?"

another nod is all you receive in response, but that isn't enough for you— not this time.

"c'mon sweetheart, mommy wants to hear you use your words," your hands trail from their perch on his chest to grope at the thick line of his cock, pressing out so temptingly from his groin of his suit, lining the curve of his hip, "tell me, sweet boy."

the noise he makes is so fucking depraved, and you feel it again— that omnipotent feeling in your chest.

it's delicious. he's delicious.

you're going to rip those manicured fingers out of his ribs— and you’re going to replace them with your fucking own.

"please— wanna taste it."

you don't deny him— you can't. you're just as desperate, thoughts sluggish and disgruntled as you spread yourself open.

your shaky hands pull at your underwear, and John, he's watching— watching as the strands of your slick break from the movement, watching as the translucent fibrils stick your soft skin.

he's looking at you like you're a goddamn masterpiece— and you fucking are.

you almost lose the control you have over him when his knees hit the floor, mouth opening to lap at the confection of you like you're the first thing he's tasted all day.

you attempt to gather yourself, but the sloppy drag of his tongue is so distracting, "gentle, John— mommy needs you to be gentle."

he does as you ask almost instantly, suckling at the most tender parts of you with the considerateness you had almost forgotten he has.

not long after that, you let him press your back to the mirror, you let him tug you to the edge of the sink, you let him hook your thighs around his hips— and you let him fuck you in the bathroom right down the hall from Madelyn Stillwell's office.

but it isn't as rushed as the first time, this time it's tender— soft and with each press of his hips into yours, with the homelander’s cock sinking impossibly deeper with each stroke, you forget each and every one of the worries that had been plaguing your thoughts for days.

in fact, you forget the reason you were so upset in the first place.

when his leather garbed hand tangles in your hair to pull you impossibly closer, to touch every part of you to him— to fuck you so thoroughly that the only thing you can think of is him, the homelander— your sweet boy, you can’t help the way your hips begin to roll down into his with a choked noise in your chest— you sound fucking depraved too.

the homelander mouths at where your pulse races in your throat, muffling the whimpers of your name falling from his lips— and you can't help but to think that this, this is bliss.

————

and now, as you help John fix his hair, that feeling of dread returns like a slow icy drip in your veins.

your jealousy has been mended— your thoughts are no longer irrational.

and your need for verification, the pettiness that let you to this situation, that got you stuck even deeper in his maw, it’s fucking gone.

but the way he looks at you—the crazed love in his eyes— the obsession, it's still there, and it terrifies you.

so when he bares down on you, mouth still carrying the tang of your arousal, the only thing you can hear is your grandmother's voice ringing through the emptiness of the bathroom.

you're looking up at John, but all you see is her, her with that evocative look in her eyes.

"i’ve been thinking, sweetheart,” bile rises in your throat, “you and Jaxon should move out of that shitty old house before it fucking falls in on you.”

you smile up at him, nervous about what he’s planning, “we don’t have anywhere else to go, John.”

the homelander tugs you closer, eyes dark with a silent threat, a threat that’s on standby for if you dare oppose him, “ah— but you do, honey. you can just come live with me.”

a golden cage, is still just a cage.

(PART THREE)

#homelander x reader #the boys homelander x reader #the boys #homelander #the homelander #the homelander x reader #homelander smut

[00-hawkboi-00]

War is Over (and what have we done?)

Part Three

Pairing; Graves x male!reader (slow burn)

WC; ~5k

Summary; reader has another episode, a childhood friend makes an appearance, and the results of the phone call.

Warnings; Implied child abuse, implied child neglect, implied domestic abuse, implied alcoholism, implied death of a parent, implied human trafficking(not of reader), dissociation, hallucinations, description of injuries/wound care, blood, blood used in a way it definitely should not be, described lead up to vomiting (as a result of blood loss)

A/n; ah, look at all those warnings. Oh, how I love angst. And still no comfort.

--- "lucky number twenty-seven" ---

Last week's bad decisions came in the form of a simple, inconspicuous helicopter landing on the worn tarmac out back the following Friday.

A few of your Shadows gathered around you now, curious faces watching the landing skids make contact with the mix of tar and gravel with thinly concealed interest. Likely wondering who the hell was here at five o'clock in the morning; there had been no meeting or announcement of an incoming visitor.

You hadn't told them. Hadn't deemed it necessary to. Not yet.

Only you knew what resided in that cockpit.

Or, rather, who.

That information had come in the form of an encrypted email. Not that there was even much intel to glean from that PDF document—a form containing more black lines than it did useful information.

Looking at those records had nearly made you sick; talking about the person within the file as if he were some type of experiment. A thing.

Clean cut and clinical; the most sterile ‘resume’ you had ever seen. Displaying simple, base facts about the ‘subject’. Anything that wasn't the man's birthdate, sex, gender, medical history- et cetera, was completely blacked out.

Details regarding past operations? Blacked out. With the exception of the date it was started and, as was with every entry, a bold stamp of COMPLETE at the end of each row.

You aren't entirely sure why everything was marked out, it was all in Russian anyway, nothing you could read.

There wasn't even a name. Just a number and prefix.

Predator-27

Predator. You'd thought she had been kidding when she said she had one of her predators—Predators—infiltrating the 141 TF. It made the idea of said Predator having its claws in the team that much more impactful.

And that much more satisfying.

The door slides open and a man steps out, at first you assume that this man was the one she'd sent. He certainly had the height and build one would expect of someone who had been raised into war; tall but not excessively so, wide and strong. Built like a damn tank.

Then the man steps to the side and out comes another man, this one shrouded in black—and you thought your outfit was a bit much.

This man was clearly built for speed and agility, though any indications of muscle mass was hidden by a long, dark cloth—was that a fuckin' cape??

This now felt more like some poorly written self-insert than the serious situation it actually was.

Maybe half a foot shorter than you from what you could tell, covered head to toe in black that likely concealed any tactical gear or weaponry, a cowl wrapped around his head, swathed over like a hood and lifted to hide his lower face as well.

The only thing that stood out amongst the rest of his outfit was the small sliver of flesh revealing the skin below his eyes and the bridge of his nose—you couldn't tell if the rest of the upper portion was covered by shadow or simply more cloth. His eyes were locked on you, unmoving and watching.

Piercing, as if looking through your very soul—or obvious lack of.

The man, Predator-27, doesn't stop walking until he's within a foot of you. Still staring up at you with those same dead, emotionless eyes.

“Lieutenant.” He rumbles, unblinking.

He seems to have no regard for personal space, and as the professional you most certainly are, you somehow find it within yourself to not take a much needed step back.

“Predator-27?” You ask instead, trying your damnedest to keep your voice level. He was here because of you, this was the consequence of your own actions. The least you could do is not treat him like some kind of thing.

Predator-27 merely gives a rough grunt in turn, still standing so close. Not looking away. Not even blinking.

You can feel your Shadows’ eyes on you, their curious gazes burning holes into the sides of your masked face. But, just as the man in front of you, you don't even glance at them. Don't provide a reasoning, not a single ounce of context.

Instead you give a small dip of your head, then a tilt back towards your base. As soon as you turn to leave you feel Predator-27 following behind you,

Not hear.

Predator-27 is a strange man, you've realized. He follows every word that leaves your lips without a second of hesitation. Sometimes you don't even have to verbalize what you want, simply point or gesture and he gets the hint.

He also doesn't leave you alone.

If you want alone time while in your office? You have to order him out, even then he just sits guard outside your door. Simply walking down the halls? He's right behind you. More of a shadow than your own teams’ namesake.

The only place you don't allow him to be by your side is when you visit Viper Shadow 0-9. You don't even grant him permission to wait for you outside the door; dismissing him an entire corridor before the medical wing.

You don't want him anywhere near him.

You tell yourself it's for Shadow 0-9’s safety.

You don't want him to know what you've done.

How you've failed him.

Failed all of them.

Darkness plays at the edges of your vision, shadows curling over walls and laminate floors. Bleeding through the faded white brick of the sterile room, black veins of it eating at the curtain partition.

You know what it is. Who it is.

And yet here you sit. By his side once again,

Desperately trying to ignore the swaths of black as it takes a familiar form.

Watching the faint rise and fall of his chest. To your great relief, it's much stronger than it had been. Considerably so when compared to when you had dragged his mangled body back.

If the deaths of your colleagues were your fault, so was 0-9’s current state.

If you hadn't said anything- if you hadn't told that fucker— who had the gall to say you even resembled him.

If that stupid fight hadn't happened—all over some random man, why is it always some random guy??—Viper 0-9 wouldn't be here right now. You don't even remember the guy's name.

Who has an argument in the middle of an active warzone? About a secret relationship of all things??

You, apparently. And Graves. And 0-9.

The three of you had acted like children and now were reaping what you sowed.

All except him.

“You absolute fool,” you murmur. Soft.. almost affectionate.

“You should've just listened to me.” 0-9 doesn't respond. He never does.

You sigh, looking down at his unmoving form.

Alive. Still alive.

The burns had healed, small, pink scars blossoming in their place. Only a few tiny patches that littered 0-9’s torso and arms. The fractures in his bones had been healing nicely, too, as Maria, one of your nurses, had informed you.

“All for a boy,” you muse, voice bitter. “All for a man who doesn't even know you're alive. Who likey doesn't even care.”

You didn't expect a reply, you never got one. You told yourself it was just because of the tubing shoved down 0-9’s throat. Not the fact that he was in a coma.

He'd been a mess when you had pulled him from the wreckage; a mound of support beam infused concrete, linoleum, and glass. It had been a surprise he was even still breathing.

Even with his extensive list of physical injuries, the main concern was his head. 0-9 had suffered immense damage to his frontal lobe, something about swelling and further wounding sustained to his hippo-something or whatever.

Memory. That is what you had picked up on most out of what your medical staff had told you.

It was bittersweet; you both wanted him to remember—isn’t that what makes a person who they are: memories?—and didn't.

“I doubt he even remembers who you are,” you scoff, eyebrows pulling together slightly, thinking. “Those bastards never consider anyone but themselves. Too worried about each other to look at the bigger picture.”

On one hand, if 0-9 did remember, that meant he would also remember what you did. It was selfish, you were fully aware of that, but you didn't want him to.

It was your fault, yes, but 0-9 didn't need to know that.

“He's going to blame you one way or another.” Those shadows creeping in finally take form. A child, standing just to your right, only barely out of your peripheral—not more than ten years old.

It's not real.

“I know that.”

And yet you always respond.

“Then why do you pretend?”

Always just out of sight,

“Go away.”

Never enough to get a full view.

“You know I can't do that.”

It wasn't anything new,

“I know.”

But it happens so much more often now.

“Then stop being mean to me.”

Ever since that damn accident.

“I'm not-” you sigh, shaking your head. “Then be quiet, at least.”

The child doesn't leave, but he doesn't speak either, so you ignore him and return to 0-9.

Back to those scars, back to those bandaged limbs. Back to that what-if.

Back to your mistake.

You decide that's enough for the day and stand, making your way for the exit, dropping off the snack wrapper on the way.

The child follows.

Out of the medical wing you have to pass by him—you don't even glance at the Shadows you have guarding his door. Then further on you collect Predator-27 just after that—you didn’t want her to know about him either—and he is by your side without a word.

It wasn't clear just how much she knew about you and your little pretend family, but you couldn't risk her knowing who you had kept as a prisoner. If she had ties to Price’s group of nobodies, had a rat in there gathering intel, there's no telling what could slip through the cracks. No telling what could become that self-centered teams’ asset by her influence.

You had to keep your new pet asset on a tight leash.

It's not until a week later that you finally introduce Predator-27 to the rest of your Shadows.

Gathering them in the large open field in the heart of your facility, standing at attention in neat rows and columns before you. Predator-27 stands only a foot away and to your left, silent as ever.

You address them as any commanding officer should; back straight, chin high, and hands clasped firm behind your back. The way you are subconsciously counting each finger with a tap of your thumb over and over again is entirely irrelevant.

The blurry and familiar child-like shape positioned far out behind your grouping of soldiers was also inconsequential.

“You all are probably wondering why I have brought you here,” you begin. “Probably also curious as to who this Batman-wannabe standing beside me is.”

That gets a few amused huffs from the crowd and you find it a little easier to breathe. Said DC comic lookalike doesn't even blink, but you can feel his eyes on you. Cold and detached, no feeling behind that gaze.

“This is Predator-27 and he will be staying here, with us, for the foreseeable future.” There's no reaction to that so you keep going. You'd be pacing if doing so wouldn't reveal the nervous tick you've hidden behind your back. “He is here to offer advanced teachings of stealth and hand to hand combat. As I'm certain you all know, you cannot always rely on your weapons to cooperate and your uniform to keep you hidden.”

The child is closer, no one else can see it. You need to wrap this up.

“Per your contracts, you all do not have to accept his mentorship and will not be reprimanded for denying it. That being said, while 27 is here you will treat him just as you'd treat one of your own. You have no grounds to take my word for truth, but I do implore you to put aside any qualms you may have and search out his teachings.” Closer. And if your gaze flicks away for a moment, no one acknowledges it. “Predator-27 is a skilled and excellently trained man, I guarantee that there is something he will be capable of teaching you. Even the best of us.”

Weary looks shift into curiosity.

“Now,” you need to get out of here. “Any questions?”

If there were birds and this was some god awful sitcom, there would be chirping.

“Good. Feel free to ask if you have any later down the road.” A nod. “Dismissed.”

There's a chorus of ‘sirs’ around the group of your soldiers and then they shift to talk amongst themselves.

You settle a little now that all eyes aren't on you. Sure, you've commanded your fair share. You and him had started this little company together, and had split the responsibilities equally.

In the beginning.

But that had shifted in him taking over the majority of the responsibility when it came to addressing your little army all at once—when it became apparent you weren't exactly the most.. socially inclined in large organizations. Leaving you to do more of the one on one exchanges or small groups.

That was then and this was now. And right now you need to get out of here before those shadows get too close.

You feel Predator-27 moving to follow you when you turn, so you look back, giving the other man a small, half-smile under your mask.

“Why don't you stay right here?” He tips his head a little to the side and you specify, “my shadows may have questions or concerns, may even want a demonstration from you.”

When it becomes clear—somehow, in those depthless eyes—that he's still not quite understanding what you're getting at you give a direct order.

“Stay here. Get to know my shadows. If they ask for a demonstration of your skills, give it to them,” well.. “but do not cause harm. If they ask to be taught, accept. Got it?”

“Yes.” Predator-27 responds immediately, a hint of something—maybe clarity?—passing through his dull gaze.

“Right.” You gesture vaguely with a tip of your head towards your soldiers. “Get to it then, 27.”

He leaves and you let out a breath of relief.

The child is at your hip now.

He's the only one that follows you when you leave the courtyard.

You were six when he first appeared.

You'd been sent to your room only minutes prior, the familiar ambiance of your parents shouting in the kitchen barely muffled by the hollow wood door—the scratch marks and dried blood at the base of it a story for another time. Curled up on your bed—a small, old mattress in the corner of the room, which had seemed bigger when you were little—, bundled tight in your tattered blanket. Trying your hardest to block out the increasingly distressed shouts outside.

“Pssst.”

At first you had thought it was the wind whistling just outside the improperly sealed window. Then it happened again.

“Psssst,” and a voice to accompany it. “Hey! Over here!”

A hushed whisper, coming from somewhere on your right. You turn, searching. But all you can see is the haunting darkness of your room; the matted carpet stained with dark splotches of who knows what, the old, yellowed wallpaper peeling and exposing cracked, crumbling drywall.

The only personal items being the stuffed bunny you were cuddling, that flimsy cardboard box that acted as a makeshift dresser—only overflowing on the merit that the clothes had just been carelessly thrown in—, and the few toys you had crafted yourself. Made up of old plastic utensils, scraps of fabric, and too much Elmer's glitter glue—which you had obtained when your kindergarten teacher was looking the other way.

You were a kid, and the little crafts looked almost laughably unlike the animals they were designed after.

“No! Not there!” The voice speaks up again. “Over here!”

This time you hear the voice from your left and quickly whip your head to the other side, blinking in an effort to adjust your sight to the darker side of the room. The dwindling yellow light of the sun didn't reach this part of your room, the window too far away to properly provide it with much of that fleeting warmth.

But there, in those depthless shadows, you see it. See him.

He looks like you, you think. Has the same hair, the same eyes, is even wearing your clothes. The only difference is that the clothing he wears isn't as worn and frayed as your own. Instead it's as if the fabrics were brand new, not a thread out of place or a hole to see. The double you, as child you had dubbed him—your little kid mind had found it absolutely hilarious that the name sounded like the literal letter ‘W’—, was like the perfect image of what your appearance should be.

Only six year old you didn't realize the lack of scars on his body, didn't take note of the missing hues of purples and blues, of healing yellow tones that painted your own skin.

You're a kid. You don't care when the other child comes closer, don't flinch when he offers out a hand.

Because you're a child and should never have been made to fear a raised hand. Should never have had the scent of alcohol and mold clinging to your outfit whenever you went to preschool—a smell that never failed to create a barrier between you and the other kids your age. Shouldn't have been scrubbing your own blood off those yellowed walls with diluted bleach and a tattered rag at the ripe old age of six.

As a kid you only think of this ‘W’ as a distraction from the screaming match in the other room. He's with you the whole night; you two play with those shitty hand-made toys, hushed whispers of joyful banter passed between you both like secrets from the two beasts next door. Too busy with your new imaginary friend that you don't notice when the ruckus beyond that plywood door comes to an abrupt halt.

The next morning when you wake up it's not your blood you're rubbing out of those laminate wood panels—the cleanest that kitchen floor had ever looked in all the years of your childhood—, but at least you aren't alone.

A sharp stabbing pain in your knuckles is what pulls you from your stupor.

Eyelids blink in harsh, quick flutters, and the crimson-stained floors transform into a broken mirror, your shattered, masked face reflected back at you. It takes you a moment to register that you're here, standing in a fucking bathroom and not your childhood home, then another to finally make the connection between your aching knuckles and the fractured glass in front of you.

Your eyes drag downward. Down, down, down. Oh-so-slowly until they land on the mess of glass and—more fucking blood—torn fabric that is your hand.

Your palms, burnt far beyond repair, may be unfeeling on even the best of days, and you'd long since have become sort of used to the lack of sensation. But the backs of your hands? They weren't completely untouched by that godforsaken flame, but that didn't mean they were as resilient as your scarred palms.

So you actually feel more than just see the jagged shards of glass that stick out of your gloves—the thin, everyday kind, not the thick ones you use for combat—, embedded deep in your skin.

You stare down at it for a prolonged moment, unseeing. Watching that deep red bubble up from around the protruding shards and spill over, soaking into the black cloth surrounding it. For a second the thought of ignoring your self-inflicted wounds crosses your mind.

You don't feel like running down to medical for the second time today. Don't want to be questioned by the nurses there, or any of your soldiers you may run into, or, worse, have to explain this little incident to your newest member. Then he could notify her, and the last thing you needed was for someone to question your mental stability—it was bad enough when your own Shadows did it.

You don't move, don't step away from that dreadful mirror. No. Instead you must have decided that you haven't tortured yourself enough for today and look back up. Gaze into those fragmented pieces of glass and very, very stupidly bring up your uninjured hand to—god, when had you become such an idiot; wasn't one mental breakdown enough for a day?—tug down your mask.

A quick and fluid motion that you immediately regret. The fabric is only bunched up beneath your chin, you'd given yourself that easy out, hadn't even unhooked it from around your ears. But you didn't take it.

Looking back into your own reflection only garnered feelings of shame and disgust. The uneven raises and dips of your scarred flesh never failed to worsen your already diminished self-image.

It was all your fault.

Fingers find your freshly cut up hand, the tips of them dipping into the wounds like some fucked up paintbrush.

So many had died.

Your blood is the paint.

Of your team, yes, but also the hundreds of innocent civilians.

Gliding across the glass, ignoring the jagged bits that scratch up your finger pads.

And yet you had saved the same man who'd brought so many people all that pain.

Because you loved him.

Because you had to be that loyal little soldier you had always been, you couldn't leave him behind.

It only makes the rust-colored smudges more prominent. A win in your book.

Couldn't just let him burn—as he let you.

When you look into that disfigured reflection—that ‘W’—, when those matching irises lock, all you can see is that broken man.

So you correct those mistakes.

That man who failed as a leader, as a soldier, as a student, as a son.

Mend the shattered pieces of his psyche.

The little boy who had grown to be the disappointment his parents knew him to be.

One bloody line at a time.

Who his father had predicted he'd become.

And become just like his mother.

Well, before he died.

And when you meet the reflection again, she's smiling back at you.

Your mask lays discarded on the blanket beside you. You aren't certain as exactly as to when, but somehow, one way or another, you had left the adjoined bathroom and were now seated on a bed you hardly used.

In a bedroom that rarely saw use—even before the massacre; had spent all your time in his.

In your lap is your injured hand, seated atop an old t-shirt to provide a makeshift worktable for you to tend to your wounds. A first aid kit on the bed beside you. Right next to the mask.

Each of your movements are done with a practiced sort of efficiency as you pluck each little shard from your skin with a sterile pair of tweezers. Needing to remove the larger chunks of glass before you can remove your glove and gain access to the smaller fragments.

Crimson still dribbles from each slice with every pull, every tug of the glass out of your skin. Any bleeding that had stopped, that had coagulated during that little intermission spent in the bathroom, restarting once the flesh was ripped back open.

By the time you're able to pull your glove off the poor thing is soaked entirely with your own blood, completely ruined beyond repair.

You fold it, tucking the soiled thing into the small, untouched drawer of the bedside table.

You pretend, telling yourself you'll take care of it later. That you just had nowhere else to put it. Didn't want to ruin the bedsheets too.

The next step is picking out all those tiny bits of glass, and the hardest part about that is keeping your gaze focused for long enough to find the little shits who seem to be doing some kinda disappearing act.

Each shard, to the best of your ability, is now laid out on the shirt you'd place on your lap. The poor fabric now stained with blooms of red that hadn't been there before, dotted with transparent triangles of varying sizes.

Another painting.

Cleaning the wounds is a much easier feat; it doesn't take the same quarter hour that removing the glass had. The needle piercing through your now sterilized flesh isn't nearly as painful as the original injury had been.

You barely even feel it; don't even flinch when you have to restitch certain parts over and over.. and over again. More pigment for the painting below.

After that and a quick layer of antibiotic cream it's time to bandage the mess that is your poor right hand. You can't even pretend to care as you wrap the appendage in layer upon layer of that sterile white bandage. Around and around and around until your fingers, sans the thumb, palm, wrist, and up to the beginnings of your forearm look like a mummy’s limb.

When your now-mummified hand reaches over for your mask, you miss. Trying again yields the same result and the sudden chill down your spine is accompanied with a stabbing throb settling deep in your temples.

Movements sluggish, you reach again, the exertion leaving you breathless. Panting as you try again, body cold, then warm, heating up. You're shivering but your entire body feels like it's just been deep fried in a pot of fucking conola oil.

You're okay, you're fine. Just- maybe, maybe you had waited too long to stitch yourself up.

The world spins in your peripheral, cold sweat forming under your uniform.

If you could just get your damn mask-

The next attempt has you tumbling off the bed, too slow to catch yourself.

Excess saliva pools in your mouth, too much for you to swallow and doing so makes you feel like your throat is clogged up by an overweight toad.

Both palms splayed out on the military-standard carpet, you don't even register the stinging in your still very much injured hand.

Lips part, tongue trying to escape as saliva leaks from the corners of your mouth and, fuck, it's a challenge to keep it from dripping onto the fucking floor.

The moment there's a firm knock at your bedroom door is the same one when you start dry heaving on the floor like a damn dog.

You can't let whoever it is see you like this—you don't even have your mask on!—, especially when you continue to act like a fucking mutt and crawl your way back to the bathroom. In the end you disregard the knocking and whoever's on the other side in favor of losing that protein bar—aka the only thing that had been in your damn stomach—into a porcelain bowl.

Next is viciously rinsing your mouth out with water and an untouched bottle of mouthwash, then crawling back to the bed.

The knocking has become much more insistent now and you barely manage to get on the damn mattress, slap your mask over your face, and tuck your bandaged hand in your lap before calling out a rough, “what.”

“Don't mean to disturb you, sir,” Ah, Venn. What a lovely surprise. “But.. can I come in first? I'd rather have this discussion face-to-face.”

You sigh, gaze flicking around for a spare glove before just muttering a defeated, “come in.”

She enters quickly, and, almost as if somehow knowing about your raging headache, carefully shuts the door behind herself with a soft click.

“Sorry for bothering you, I know you don't get a lot of time to yourself,” she apologizes again, to which you brush off with a small wave of your gloved and thankfully non-injured hand.

“Don't be sorry. Now, you needed something?”

“Yes.” She answers quickly, then hesitates.

“Spit it out.”

“It's about.. it's about him.” Venn finally murmurs. But her reluctance seems more like something she's doing for you rather than herself.

You don't need anyone's pity, so you grit out a bland, “Graves?” Pointedly ignoring the bitter taste the name leaves on your tongue.

“Yes.” She sounds dejected at this, her gaze flicking down to where you've hidden your other hand between your crossed legs before darting away again. It's none of her business, so Venn doesn't mention it. “He's become very.. uh, insistent about seeing you.”

“Seeing me?”

“Yes. He, uhm, said.. something.”

“Something? C’mon now, Venn, don't bullshit me.”

She winces, opening and closing her mouth a few times before simply not saying anything at all.

“What did that fucker say t’ you?” You ask, growing defensive.

“Nothing.”

Her answer is too quick. You ask again.

“Nothing- really.”

“So you came to my room, completely ignoring the fact I'm not in my office- to tell me.. “nothing”?”

Venn averts her eyes, sighs, then drags her gaze back to yours, “it wasn't about me.”

“Was it one of your teammates?” The thought of that backstabbing asshat talking shit to, or about, one of your soldiers makes last week's rage spark. Only verification could ignite it.

“No.”

“...are ya gonna tell me?”

“I don't want to.”

“Why not?”

“Because..”

“Because it's about.. about you, sir.”

That sends a wave of shock through your system, eyes widening in disbelief. “Me?”

“Yes.” Venn reaffirms. “You.”

“What about.. me?” It couldn't be anything good, that's for damn sure.

She looks away again, shaking her head ‘no’.

“You're not gonna tell me, are ya?”

“No, sir.”

“Fine.” You say, resisting the urge to groan in disappointment. “You're dismissed then. I'll.. look into it.”

She nods, and with that, Venn is gone.

And the room is quiet again, as if she were never here.

Looks like you'll need that new glove sooner rather than later.

__

Masterlist | One | Two | Next

__

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[seeds-and-sins]

Light My Fire - Part Three

Pairing: Ben "Soldier Boy" x F!Reader

Rating: M (Crude Language, Graphic depictions of violence, Mentions of depression and death)

Description: Soldier Boy is dead. And his absence affects you more than you expected.

Tagged: @tonixe, @chernayawidow, @mrsjenniferwinchester, @deans-spinster-witchs-favorites

Part Two

Author's Note: Apologies for the long wait. I have had a lot going on, but I am always ready to dig back into my writings. I have a few other stories I am in the process of catching up on as well.

"What?" You could feel yourself on the edge of your sickness, having recovered almost fully to excellent health. You waited then, and waited, and waited, and you waited because you found yourself excited to show Soldier Boy that you had gotten better. The last time you were together, for some reason, it made you wish he had never left. You still found him infuriating, but the reality of the situation was that you tended to enjoy the odd ball conversations and quips that teeter tottered between you two, despite that. "What do you mean?"

They chose Countess to give you the bad news. You didn't know why. You hated that they chose her. Although, there was no one that could inform you of this tragedy that was free from your wrath.

"He-" She had tears in her eyes, but they didn't feel very genuine, did they? "He didn't make it."

"You're lying!" You jumped up from your seat in the meeting room, nearly everyone flinched aside from Stan Edgar. Edgar remained suspiciously calm at his seat at the head of the table. "You're lying to me!"

"Phoenix, he's gone. I watched it with my own two eyes." The Legend was standing at the corner of the room, you looked to him for an explanation, even knowing that he never would have witnessed what your fellow team members had. He shrugged at you, the pity filled and morose expression on his face made you heat up with rage.

"I don't believe you. I want to know everything. What happened? It's impossible!"

"Phoenix. Honey." The Legend was unable to stop you as you began to pace, eyeing up the others like they were fresh meat and all of them were about to be thrown in the fire.

"He saved us. He saved all of us." Mindstorm ducked his head after speaking those words and it was in that moment you knew something was wrong because the air thickened with a harsh tension. Mindstorm was never a good liar.

"Then where's the body? None of you got the body?!"

"How could we? W-We would have died." Gunpowder cried out, his bottom lip wobbling, but he too couldn't meet your eyes.

"Then I will." Your white cape swung out behind you as you booked it for the doors. It would take you a couple hours to get to Nicaragua, but you could do it, you would do it for Soldier Boy.

"One moment, Phoenix..." Stan Edgar's calm voice penetrated you from afar, you didn't face him. "Think rationally. If Soldier Boy did not survive that minor nuclear blast, then neither would you survive it's remnants." You closed your eyes, a wetness rippling down your cheeks that turned into steam off your lashes. Your fists clenched at your sides and you bit down on the inside of your cheek. "You are not the only person mourning a great loss, the world is mourning for a fallen hero, and they need the remaining members of Payback to stick together and rise up."

"How can we rise up? We don't have a leader." You glared back at him, unable to hide the red burning in your irises.

"We don't need him, we just need each other." Even more proof that they were lying, Crimson so swift to give up on Soldier Boy, so swift to forget his importance.

"I should have gone, I should have been there. Maybe I would have done a better fuckin' job than you shit heads."

"Hey!" Tessa protested, you were at the other end of the table, glaring back at Stan Edgar.

"Perhaps..." His next words would haunt you for ages to come. "But you weren't."

...

1994...

You stood before a lengthy window that spanned the entirety of one side of your home. The view of a New York skyline, metal structures reaching toward a crystal blue sky. The sun bled through, your shadow cast against a pristine marble white floor. You were wearing your hero suit, which had changed over the years. It was mostly black, with red accents that followed the curves of your body. Your former suit was all white, but Vought claimed you had been wearing that suit for too long. You needed to rebrand. This new suit still had a cape, it was slanted off one shoulder and it was cut shorter than your last, ending at your lower back. The boots were knee high, with latches of vibrant red.

They started having meetings about your name too. The board hadn't come to a consensus. They wanted to keep you, relocate you after Payback finally disbanded. The issue was no one could ever get ahold of you. The Legend called nonstop, he could barely get your attention at scheduled events. You were never in your penthouse, never available for a quick conversation. You knew what they wanted, but for nearly an entire year you had been avoiding it. In fact, you had been putting all of your energy into a separate project. Outside the knowledge of twisted Vought executives and nosy journalists.

Where was Phoenix? They all asked.

What is the former Payback hero up to? Newspapers read.

The other members of Vought became bought out poster children for big corporations. Vought occasionally had them doing shows and special appearances. Crimson Countess became the face for a nationwide insurance company, the TNT twins had rights to their very own movie franchise, Mindstorm was an author of a New York Times bestseller, Noir, despite his impairment, continued doing signings and attending Vought funded events, and Gunpowder's fame dissipated into nothing as he grew older. There was the occasional memorial for Swatto. And then, of course, the annual Soldier Boy celebration of life. They even put up a poorly crafted statue in his honor, directly in front of the ever-rising Vought tower.

Phoenix knew that this was the only chance she had at rounding up all of Payback's former members. It was the only time of the year that all of them weren't scattered about at different parts of the country. Phoenix-You, were determined to gain their audience. You were more than prepared for it.

So, you called them to your penthouse. Unlike them, Vought didn't immediately kick you out from the tower's many different living accomodations. Vogelbaum and the Legend spoke on your behalf numerous times about your quality and significance as a hero. The others had seemingly died down in popularity, but for decades you could pride yourself in keeping an endless following. You used these facts to your advantage.

Your penthouse was usually filled to the brim with vintage furniture, little war trinkets from the old days sat on black wooden shelves. Today, you ensured it was mostly empty, or out of the way. You had a solid floor plan, no walls aside from the ones that bordered the penthouse. The walls were white, the kind of jarring white that matched the floors. Expensive paintings and photos of a distant past litered your walls, colorful decorations hung from the ceilings. The kitchen was to the far left, it was rounded with a bar counter and an island in the center, fully stocked. Your flat screen television was at the far opposite wall, accented by nothing. The couches, the mahogany coffee table, the end tables, your bed, everything was pushed up against that same wall. It made the entire center of the home barren. Not that it didn't already look somewhat empty, but there was certainly something off about the sight.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Your head tilted, ear turned toward the door that was far out behind you.

"Come in." You prompted in a sickeningly sweet tone. The door creaked open, in entered Crimson Countess, a smile plastered on her lips.

"Ah, Countess." You faced her, approaching with sure strides. You enveloped her in a strong hug, which she lightly returned. You could see the discomfort on her face, despite the smile she wore to hide any suspicions from you. You held her at arm's length. "Let me get a good look at you." You smirked, giving her a once over. "You look just as good as I suspected." The offhanded insult caused her to frown for a moment before she returned to her appeasing demeanor.

"Phoenix, you look..." Countess looked you over from head to toe, cocking her head and blinking away the initial confusion. "Not a year older."

"Trust me, Countess. It's a curse more than anything." Your gritted teeth betrayed your curved lips and bright tone. "Please. Let me get you something to drink." You quickly moved from her toward the bar, while she slowly twisted around and took in the appearance of your penthouse.

"What's up with the furniture?" She rose her voice a little to reach you, words echoing off the high ceiling.

"I'm making a few changes." You went behind the bar and began making her a drink. You were mixing and stirring, grabbing things from the fridge, working with a startling fluidity. "What's your poison?" She followed up to the bar counter, tentatively placing herself at it's edge.

"I'll take whatever you got."

"Sure." You both made eye contact, and you knew that Countess' uneasiness was well-founded then. "Something troubling you?"

"Well, uh-" She snorted nervously, "What have you been up to?"

"Not much, really. The usual."

"Hmm." You shook the cocktail you were making, procured two tall glasses from below with the other hand. You placed them down in front of her and then poured, a stern glare now adorning your face.

"You nervous?"

"No. Of course not. Just uh-" She shrugged, "You haven't talked to us in years."

"Sure." You immediately grinned, another knock at the door followed.

"Come on in." Black Noir and Mindstorm were the next to enter. "Wow, we got a buddy system going now."

"Phoenix, my dear, so good to see you." Mindstorm greeted, Black Noir was his usual quiet, observing behind the protection of his mask.

"Ah, Dan, how ya' doing?" You gestured Mindstorm to come closer and embraced him in a hug. He sent you a raised brow before you attempted the same to Noir, who stiffly stood there in waiting. "I expect the twins will be late as usual. I don't mind waiting. Want something to drink, Dan?"

"Sure." His eyebrows were furrowed and he was eyeing you in suspicion. "I'll take a glass of scotch on the rocks."

"Of course." You rounded the counter to continue serving your guests.

"Is there a reason you invited us here?"

"Oh come on, a girl can't want for a family reunion?" Gunpowder was invited, but you knew he wouldn't show. Moments later the twins came in, with their false smiles and their flaunty hero personas. The general vibe though was that something was off, and they were perfectly right in thinking that, you didn't invite them for nothing. But even after everybody got their drinks and things started to get comfortable, you were waiting on one more guest. He showed up excruciatingly late, entered your home with a placid expression. You knew his tardiness was purposeful, considering that the entire fiftieth floor of Vought tower was his hunting ground.

"Stan Edgar." Your former team had remained congregated around the bar, but there was an immediate shift in their energy the moment they saw Edgar. You hovered at the opening in the bar counter, drink still in hand as you eyed the man with a steely glare.

"Phoenix," He greeted, eyes lifting and examining every other hero that stood around you. "You invited your former teammates as well, I see."

"We, uh..." Countess gulped, standing straighter, "We didn't know she had invited you too, Mister Edgar." Everyone looked at Phoenix, your eyes were flashing red and your glass was turned orange from the heat of your hand. You inhaled a deep breath and placed it down on the counter.

"The annual celebration of life is tomorrow. It's the only chance I had to get all of you losers together." You stepped into the open space where Edgar now stood. You stopped directly in front of him, you stared into his eyes. He didn't flinch, his face didn't wrinkle in fear, he didn't beg. He knew exactly why you called him here.

"Where have you been Phoenix?" He asked, a casual way about him, you swore that even the edge of his lips curled into a half smirk. He crowned his fingers in front of him. You had seen him here and there around the tower, he had aged significantly since he was in charge of the teams affairs. Now, he was promoted, an executive, taking charge on Vought's boards and in all of the slimy crevices where Vought hid their darkest secrets. He wore a business suit now in contrast to the laid back, expensive garbs you recall him wearing when you first met him. He looked as corrupted as his soul, a real life devil. "For months, the top floor has been trying to get in touch with you."

"Vacation." You stalked away from him toward the window, your boots making deafening thumps in the stark silence that followed.

"Have you forgotten that it's been my word that has kept you here all this time?" You gritted your teeth and tilted your head away from the view, eyes squeezing shut.

"Do you think I want to be here?" The venom was practically dripping from your teeth with every word, back still turned.

"Hmm," Edgar pretended to sound surprised. "You've given us no reason to think you don't." You didn't reply and your quiet forced Edgar to continue with a sigh. "The remaining members of Payback have been moved around, they have adjusted nicely to their new roles, but you remain, why do you think that is?"

"Vought is afraid of me. They're afraid of what I can do. Someone like me doesn't just get to walk away."

"Arrangements can be made." Edgar offered and then the realization of what he was doing came to you in a rush. You spun to face him, unable to contain your growl. The others were a distance away from you and everyone, aside from Noir, flinched. Even Edgar had a fear in his eyes that made you very pleased.

"You want to know where I've been, Mister Edgar?" Your demeanor shifted again, you clasped your hands behind your back, under your cape and chewed the inside of your cheek. "I've been thinking about all those years ago..." Your eyes met his. "When my team told me that he was dead."

"I know." Edgar replied firmly, he shrugged. "And what for? Why trudge up the past?"

"Because..." You glanced at Payback, at their confusion and fear. "They were lying. YOU..." You pointed at him, your eyes flashed. "Lied to me."

"Phoenix..." Countess started, "We never lied to you." Her words were practically a whisper, but it was so deathly quiet that everyone could hear what she said.

"Ya'know..." You closed your eyes for a few seconds and took a deep breath. "I have been alive for sixty-four years and I have seen some fucked up shit, but this? This might just be the worst."

"What are you talking about?" Tessa, one of the twins, spat, but her body language betrayed her. She was afraid too. They all were.

"I was foolish enough to think it was a coincidence that I got sick. Right before one our first missions in a combat setting too." You faced Payback. "And then I thought some more..." You tapped your temple, "It was a really big coincidence that Soldier Boy ended up dead on that very same mission, the one that I wasn't there for." You cocked your head from side to side. "Me. The second strongest member on the fucking team."

"Phoenix-" Dan tried to interrupt, you continued.

"And then, I thought some more..." You paced. "Noir approached me a few weeks before that mission, before I was sick, and he asked me how I felt about Soldier Boy. Isn't. That. Weird?"

"You're overthinking this, Phoenix." Edgar lifted his chin, "Clearly, Soldier Boy's death has taken it's toll on you. Perhaps some therapy. We take the mental health of our heroes very seriously."

"Clearly..." You began fierce, your toes gently lifted from the ground, but you lowered yourself again. "I'm not as invincible as I thought. It took a lot of digging, but I figured it out."

"Okay, this has gotten out of hand!" Crimson had the bravery to step forward.

"Carbon Monoxide!" The room was drop dead again. You had caught them at their own idiotic game. "You fuckers were pumping it into my room. That's why no one ever visited me. And that's why when Vogelbaum came around he was always wearing a fuckin' mask."

"Phoenix, I think you should calm down." Edgar calmly suggested, you flared.

"Calm down?!" Your fists clenched, you had enough of this. "Soldier Boy has been somewhere in fuckin' Russia this whole time and you're telling me to calm down?!"

"We did what we had to do! He was out of control!" Dan explained, you could see he was shaking.

"He was the only person who understood how I felt and you fuckers took him away."

"He didn't care about you!" Countess shouted, "He didn't care about any of us!"

"He cared about me. He did."

"So, what's your plan then, Phoenix? What are we doing here? You found out what happened, what now?" Your eyes turned red for real this time, flames engulfed your fingers and Edgar was casually stepping back as if it was a day like any other.

"I'm going to kill you. All of you."

The first hit wasn't made by you. Crimson Countess threw a beam and before you could brace yourself you were being throw back into the heap of furniture at the far corner of your penthouse. It splintered and creaked, the flames from your body catching on fabric. You flew to the high ceiling and it crackled beneath your feet as you pushed off and darted down to her. Noir pounced on you after you tackled Countess, you easily threw him off and he went sliding into the corner. You could make out Mindstorm trying to get a good read on you and you knew you needed to focus on taking him out first, otherwise he'd be the one to put you out in seconds. Your fist put a hole through the marble floor when Countess rolled away from your punch. Noir kicked you in the head, you barely flinched at the blow despite the crack that sounded. Noir and Countess were more hands on, while Tessa and Tommy stayed away near Edgar, hands clasped between them as they waited for a good shot.

Noir got you into a neck lock, you were swinging about. When you flew up off the ground, Countess grabbed your ankle and yanked you down with what strength she did have. None of them could pin you for long though, you kicked her in the face and she was sent flying through the counter top of your kitchen. You spun rapidly to get Noir off your back, even bursting your entire body into flames, but he held on tight.

"This isn't going to resolve things, Phoenix." Edgar called from the seemingly safe spot that he had curled into. You removed a hand from the arm bar that Noir had around your neck and you threw a ball of fire to Stan, he dodged with a wide eyed and shocked expression, practically throwing himself to the floor to get away.

You managed to toss Noir off again, he smashed into the window and fell out, finding a grip at the edge. The high winds burst through, shattered glass spread out across the floor, your cape fluttered behind you and you faced the Twins, Dan, and a recovered Countess. Your chest heaved and smoke exited your lunges with every breath, you glared evilly at your foes.

"Don't make us do this!" Countess warned, your eyes turned red and flames rose up your arms.

"I'm not making you do anything..." You husked out, "You can just sit there." As you were whirling up a heavy wave of flames, the twins and Countess cast their beams at you. Noir jumped you from behind and held you in place. The entire penthouse went up in a massive explosion, smoke flowed from the open window, everything was destroyed, the marble floor filled with dents, cracks, and smudges of black. As the smoke dissipated, the dust cleared, you were rising slowly up from the floor. Noir was laid out flat, unconscious perhaps, you glanced at him to be sure. Countess was squatting, hands still branched out, blood dribbling from one nostril. The twins were propped back against the wall and Dan was hunched forward, arms shielding his head. Edgar was laid down in the corner, legs spread. He eyed you, scurried himself deeper into the wall. You scowled, with rushed strides you made way for him, about to fill your fists with his blood. Just as you were nearly there...

Mindstorm jumped out in front of you, your eyes caught his, the world disappeared around you.

You fell into the abyss.

...

"Phoenix..." His eyes raked over you like he was hungry, and not the kind of hungry where your stomach growls. "Not what I expected." You accepted his offered hand, you gave it a firm squeeze that even made his eyebrows lift. "Vogelbaum told me about you, a real spitfire."

"Soldier Boy. Vogelbaum told me about you too."

"Good things I hope?" Your hands returned and you both walked side by side through the sea of rich socialites that crowded the room. Light jazz music played in the background, you both were wearing your hero suits, visually putting you apart from the dozens of others dressed in expensive suits and sparkling dresses.

"As good as our profession would allow."

"Spoken like a pro."

"Well, I have been doing this for a while after all." He stopped and cocked his head at you, you turned to face him and smiled at the confusion written all over his face.

"Wait, what?"

"I got my first hero gig in the 60's. You're not the only one that's been around." He chuckled in disbelief, shaking his head.

"That's impossible. That would mean that you're-well-" He squinted at you. "How old are you?" You laughed, then twisted yourself and slowly began walking away.

"It's not gentlemanly to ask a lady her age." He followed after you like a lost puppy, immediately taking the space at your side and keeping a slow traipse with you.

"How come I've never heard about you before?" Soldier Boy was fascinated, wide eyed, intrigued beyond his own belief.

"Before Vought came up with this..." You stopped walking with a shrug. "Team up idea, I was operating on the West Coast."

"So, California?"

"Sometimes." He blinked at you, reeled back.

"Sometimes?" He questioned, you rolled your eyes but you still had that coy smile on your face.

"Vought sends me all over. If I fly fast it takes me about three hours to go cross country. I go where they need me, I guess." This time, he looked you over again with an entirely different energy about him. He nodded his head with approval and lifted his chin.

"Damn, not even Lady Liberty could fly that fast."

"Lady Liberty can't do half of what I can, hun." You were bragging, flirting, laying on all the charm. He was a hot piece, you weren't going to deny yourself a little taste.

"That would make you the most powerful woman on the planet."

"Most powerful person." You corrected slyly, he bit his bottom lip, the action made your toes curl in your boots.

"Oh, I'm sure we could put that to the test if you'd like." The both of you held a deep stare and just as you were about to reply, red manicured fingers were curling around Soldier Boy's bicep, interrupting the moment.

"Phoenix, I see you've met Soldier Boy." Soldier Boy didn't look away when you did, staring intensely at you as you directed your attention to a beaming Crimson Countess.

"Countess, it's good to see you. You look amazing!" You reached for her and the both of you embraced in a hug. Your stomach immediately dropped when you saw how clingy she was being with Soldier Boy and how he was unflinchingly accepting it. You trained your disappointment not to show, instead keeping a sweet rapport with someone you considered a good friend.

"Thank you! You too." You both fell into easy conversation back and forth.

In the distance, past waves of people, conversing, drinking, swaying to the music, you watched. Your heart was pounding in your chest, sweat beading on your brow. There was a blurry haze that clouded your vision, but your focus was solely on the scene playing out leagues ahead of you. You could hear every word, understand every cue. Meanwhile, your presence was absent to all others around you. No one saw you: the obvious dark aftermath of the Phoenix they knew. Lonely. Completely devoid of life. With an uncontrollable desire to die. Numerous people had passed through your being as if you were a ghost, a mere image, a shell of your former self. This was a dream. That was the only explanation you had. A cruel, cruel dream.

"Ben." You whispered to yourself, watching your separate visage deflate as Crimson told you about Soldier Boy and her being an item. The former Phoenix forced a smile, collected herself and patted Crimson on the shoulder in congratulations.

"You guys make a cute couple."

"Aww, thank you, you're too sweet." She stepped toward you and wrapped her arm through yours. "I'm so excited for us to work together. The Legend is already talking about getting a photoshoot with you, me, and Tessa." Soldier Boy defensively crossed his arms, his demeanor taking a major shift.

"If you ask me, women don't belong in the hero world." Countess scowled, you were slowly starting to notice the animosity between them.

"Are you seriously going to start this again?"

"Just saying..." Soldier Boy looked between you both. "Women are really only good for cooking, cleaning, taking care of the children..." He tilted his head and his shoulder twitched. "Sex." He added with a finishing smirk and a wink in your direction. Countess went to make some nasty comment in response, but Phoenix was already speaking up.

"That's the old ways talking. This is the new world. Female heroes are the future."

"Keep telling yourself that, hot stuff."

The bantering continued, entering into a more political discussion that you recall being very one-sided; With Soldier Boy making outrageous claims and you immediately disputing them with facts. Countess was silently standing there after that. Upon her first entering the space that Soldier Boy and you shared, you had been the third wheel. After a few minutes of talking, it became very evident that the third wheel had become her.

You stepped closer to the scene, the distant memory, the dream, whatever this was. You looked so much brighter then. You were practically glowing with life and happiness. Things seemed simpler. You had a job, you did your job, you were happy with your job. You felt supported and stronger than you had ever been. Those times, you missed desperately, to only feel as you had in your younger self. As you were taking tentative steps toward the past, another figure invaded your path with swift and confident strides. You immediately recognized the person as a young Stan Edgar.

"No." You spat, the sight of him unleashed a venomous reaction you hadn't anticipated in yourself. "NO!" You shouted, following after the man. You realized then that all of your powers were gone. You couldn't fly or shoot flames from your hands or, in this case, beat Stan Edgar to a pulp. "YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" He burst the invisible bubble forming around Soldier Boy and you, reminding both of you that you weren't alone or in a private setting.

"Hope you all don't mind my interruption."

"YOU DO! HEY!" You waved your hands around, swatted them at Soldier Boy. They ran through his image as if he was fog. You didn't exist to them.

"Stan. Not at all." Soldier Boy greeted, Edgar sent him a half nod and then continued.

"We were hoping to gather up Payback for a team photo."

"Of course, that would be so nice." Countess answered for the three of you. She grabbed onto Soldier Boy's arm.

"Perfect. Follow me."

"Ben!" You were backpedaling directly in front of Ben with every step he took, your former self and Countess at either side of him. "PLEASE! YOU CAN'T TRUST THEM! You can't trust-" You inhaled a sharp breath, tears ran down your cheeks. "BEN!" You stopped walking and the images ran through you, you dropped to your knees and your palms shot up to cover your face. Your sobs were muted, wracking your body with harsh twitches and shakes. The world vanished around you, and another image took it's place. You sniffled, wiping your tears away as you lowered your hands to get a better look at your new surroundings.

It was your old apartment. From way back in the day. Your first home inside a growing Vought tower. They didn't even have fifty or so floors at the time, but the board was determined to go taller than the Empire State Building. Everything was as you remembered it; 70's styled furniture, peach colored wallpaper, the eyesore of a tv in your living room, the fluffy yet itchy carpeting. You could hear muffled conversation, only growing louder as you watched your older self enter the home. You stood to your feet, eyes narrowed on the man following you in.

You remember him, you thought, he was a Vought executive. Someone with a big name. But you didn't care about any of that as much as you cared about getting a quick release. It was always easier to date or sleep around within company borders, you didn't have to worry about someone spreading rumors to the paparazzi or the news. They had to look out for their necks as much as they had to look out for yours. And Vought was very, very particular about news that traveled and where it traveled from.

"Wow, they set you heroes up big time." He commented, adjusting his tie. He was of average looks; slicked back hair, a nice smile, a freshly shaven face.

"You think this is nice? Wait until you see my mini-bar." You bit your bottom lip, closing the door behind him and giving him a lusty once over.

"Oh yeah?" He snorted nervously.

"It's in my room..." You closed in on him, grabbing him by the tie and yanking, he had no choice but to come forward. "If you want?"

"If I want?" He repeated back, "Like I would ever say 'no' to you." His hands fell to your hips, you pulled him closer till your lips were touching. You were moving fluidly together, lips parting over one another, tongues mingling together, swapping spit, a little awkward on his part, but enough to draw a low moan from you. As things were getting heated-

CRASH!

The door to your penthouse broke entirely off the hinges, falling flat onto the floor, splinters of wood exploding everywhere. Soldier Boy stepped over the door, fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight. The Vought exec was clinging to you for safety, putting your body between him and the door. You blinked at Soldier Boy in shock, before anger fell over you like a blanket.

"What the fuck?!"

"Who's this prick?" Soldier Boy hissed, gesturing at the man curled up behind you and using you as a shield.

"That's none of your fuckin' business! What do you think you're doing?!" You stepped forward, the man kept directly behind you, fingers clenched at your shoulder.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Ben shot back, grimacing when he followed your movements and approached as well.

"I'm trying to get laid, which is none of your business! Now get the FUCK out." Your eyes flashed red, the man winced and darted away from your body, he held at his hands. His palms were sizzling from the immense heat that had risen in you. He screeched and dropped to the floor. Neither Ben or you reacted, instead keeping your rage.

"Considering you turn me down at every turn, I'm thinking it is my business."

"YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND!" You yelled in his face, at the top of your lunges, getting an inch too close.

"IT'S AN OPEN RELATIONSHIP!" He yelled back, Ben and you both knew that was a lie.

"GET THE FUCK OUT!" You pointed at the door, shoving his shoulder, he only budged a little.

"HELP!" The man was rolling around on the floor, wiggling his burnt hands about.

"Look what you did!" You pointed at the poor guy, literal steam was coming off your skin you were so angry.

"What I did?! That was your fault!"

"Oh. There you go again! Always blaming it on me!" You stormed away toward your kitchen. "Can't take any accountability, can you? Ya' fuckin' asshole."

"You should take accountability for being a whore." He stomped after you, watching as you pulled a handle of cognac from beneath the countertop.

"Because I won't fuck you. Real classy!" You retrieved two glasses, pouring the orangey liquid into each glass.

You snatched up your chosen glass and sprawled forward into the counter, downing the glass in one go. Soldier Boy grabbed his glass, he eyed you with a sour expression, then sipped. Holding the empty glass up to your forehead, you sighed.

"We should probably do something about this guy."

"You don't want to know what I would do to him." Soldier Boy sassed, downing his own glass he limply dropped it back onto the counter.

"Fuck you." You grabbed the phone on the wall and made a call.

As you were intently following the movements of the past, the visage changed once more. You were surrounded by police cars, news trucks, standing in front of a bank. The alarms were going off, people were screaming inside as gunshots sounded. You were twisting around, trying to find out where you were. Instead, you spotted Soldier Boy conversing with the police chief. As he stepped toward you, a loud whistling split the sky, it went silent and everyone looked up. Soldier Boy kept walking, your former self was appearing from the clouds above, dropping down to the ground with a startling swiftness. He halted and you landed directly beside him, boots meeting the pavement with a thud.

"I fuckin' hate you." You growled, crossing your arms. Soldier Boy ignored you completely, squinting at the entrance to the bank.

"Seven hostages, three perps. We can go straight in, or we can take'em by surprise."

"I'm not really in the mood to prolong this, so let's just get it over with." You both calmly walked side by side up to the bank, Soldier Boy kept his shield posed at his side and a steely seriousness on his face. You trailed after them, desperate for another memory, for another feeling. Upon entering, Soldier Boy and Phoenix were both immediately bombarded with threats. Heavy duffle bags were stacked up over by the check-in desk, each perp had a handful of hostages. One of them had their gun held to the head of a woman, a bank teller, her eyes were red, filled with tears, makeup smudged down her cheeks, and gagged at the mouth with a tie. The robber's breathing was ragged, chest heaving with each pump of adrenaline, finger held on that trigger.

"Take one more step and the bitch gets a bullet!" He shouted, Soldier Boy and you froze, you glanced at each other. He was the first to shrug and look back to the robber.

"Okay." He said, completely nonchalant to the threat. The gagged woman whimpered at the prospect that she might die in that moment. That not even her heroes would save her. You couldn't find words, dumbfounded that Soldier Boy would even say such a thing. You stared at him for confirmation, he nodded to cue you in. He was going way off script that day.

"Y-Yeah..." You placed your hands on your hips and stood tall. "Go ahead and shoot." The robber did fire the gun, but next to her head and you knew her eardrum was blown out for it. You flinched, whereas Soldier Boy remained planted and terse.

"I'm not fuckin' around!" The robber yelled.

"And neither am I, stop being a pussy and keep to your word." The robber's eyes widened, you mirrored the man's expression and immediately sought to deescalate.

"The way I see it, you have two choices..." You gestured at them, "You kill the hostages and we kill all of you, or you let the hostages go and we take you in." Soldier Boy smirked, scoping out the men as they all shared uneasy glances.

"And either way, it's all the same for us."

"Except..." You emphasized the word through clenched teeth, directed at Soldier Boy, then added. "We much prefer that no one dies today."

There was a tense quiet that followed, a precursor to the chaos that erupted out of nowhere. All perps began unloading their magazines on Soldier Boy and you, little clinks and jingles sounded as the dented rounds fell to the floor one by one. The hostages that weren't gagged, screamed for their lives, ducking down as bullets seemingly came from every direction. Loud clicks started to sound, soon all of them were on empty. Soldier Boy and you looked down at the puddle of lead at your feet, then to each other. He smiled.

"They don't make dumb fucks like you anymore, do they?" Soldier Boy commented, you held your hand out to him and he grabbed it with his free hand.

"Our turn." You prompted, just as Soldier Boy twirled and easily took you with him, he tossed you at the main assailant. Your body was rolling through the air, landing directly against the criminal with a sickening crack. Soldier Boy jerked his hips and threw his shield at another. The last perp was trying to make a run for it. You had already killed the main one by breaking his neck and Soldier Boy's shield definitely left a mortal injury on the other. Usually, the two of you would keep one of them alive for the press opportunity of standing in front of a camera and smiling, like two hunters showing off a prized stag. But Soldier Boy made a dead sprint for the third, he had different intentions.

"Soldier Boy! Last one lives!" You reminded, but it was too late and he was tackling the man to the floor, pummeling his masked face in with a barrage of fists. After a few beats, he came to stand, blood spattered all across his face and the chest plate of his suit. "Was that really necessary?!" You shouted to him in annoyance, voice bouncing off the high ceilings of the bank, whimpers and sobs sounding in the background.

"I'm in a mood today, sweetheart, so shut your pretty little mouth."

"You think I wanted to be here either!" Neither of you anticipated a fourth male shooting up from behind the counter with a bomb vest and a trigger in hand.

"I'M LEAVIN' WITH MY MONEY OR NO ONE IS WALKING OUT OF HERE!!" Soldier Boy and you had moved ahead to stand beside each other. Your hands were on your hips, his bloodied fists dangled at his sides, you both carried a stone coldness about you.

"Listen, kid, did you not just see what happened?" Soldier Boy gestured at his three dead accomplices. "If you don't put that trigger down that will be you."

"If I push this button, everyone is gonna' die." The man was shaking to the core, you could see sweat collecting on his skin through the eye holes of his mask.

"Not us," You spoke up, "We won't feel a fuckin' thing. So, just put the trigger down. You're not accomplishing anything with this."

"Fuck you!" He yelled, lifting the trigger in the air. You weren't thinking, you flew fast and gathered him up in your arms. You shot up and crashed through the ceiling of the bank. The bomb went off just as you cleared the building, blood spattered all over, you were holding bits and pieces of a mutilated body in your hands. The fiery explosion disappeared in a haze of black smoke. After the initial shock of being covered in blood and guts, you were lowering yourself out in front of the bank. Your hands were still clinging to dead pieces of the perp, hostages were exiting the double doors behind you and sprinting into the safety of police officers and EMS.

"Phoenix!" Soldier Boy barreled out of the bank, nearly destroying the doors and pushing aside an innocent woman that was in his way. He cupped your cheeks and held you there, staring down at you, investigating you for any injuries.

"Soldier Boy, I'm fine!" You ground out, grabbing his wrists and prying yourself from his clutches.

"Don't ever do that again! Do you understand?!" He pointed an admonishing finger in your face, snarling at you.

"What?! It's not like I felt anything, I'm fine, okay? I saved everyone."

"You didn't communicate at all?!"

"There was no time to!" You chuckled in disbelief, palming your face. "Besides, you're the one over here not giving two shits about the hostages."

"You didn't actually think I was going to let those fuckers hurt them." He cocked his head at you, the corner of his lip tilted up in a charming smirk before he rolled his eyes. "Seriously, I would never allow that."

"Well, this isn't the first time." You elbowed his shoulder, then looked to the crowd. Aside from the officers and the hostages, news reporters were bursting at the seams to cross that tape and rush to Soldier Boy and you for an interview. They were already taking photos, despite the hefty distance, shouting your hero names. "I'm leaving." He grabbed your wrist, tethering you to the earth.

"Now hold on a sec, why don't we go get a drink? Unwind."

"I'm covered in blood..." You tore yourself away. "And the last thing I want is to be anywhere near you." He frowned, tonguing the inside of his cheek. The wind whistled as you ascended into the sky at full speed and disappeared into the clouds. His brilliant eyes followed after you.

Meanwhile, you were drifting through the bank doors, watching every aspect of these dreams that were swirling in your head. Soldier Boy faced you, he looked directly at you, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion and you looked behind you.

"You." He spat, taking those few steps till he was within arms reach. The space that separated you both burned, your head began to throb.

"Me?"

"Yes. You." His strong jaw clenched and his eyes darted up and down your figure. "You can't trust them." He muttered under his breath, "They're lying to you."

"What are you talking about? What do you mean?"

"Wake up..." His words bounced inside your skull, you were hunching forward, clutching your head. "Wake the fuck up..."

Everything surged toward you, a heavy breath filled your lunges and you were jolting upright on a metal examination table. You were struggling to catch your breath, a palm naturally finding purchase at your chest to ease the pressure.

"Phoenix." Your eyes darted in the direction of the voice, Vogelbaum and a nurse were standing a safe distance away at the corner of the room. "Calm yourself." He smiled, it turned your stomach. "Everything is okay."

"W-What-" You were wearing a hospital gown. Your double vision focused until you were staring at Vogelbaum again. You blinked at him, eyes drifting shut, out of your control. "What happened?" You groaned, he turned his back to you.

"A gas valve went off in your penthouse. It's making headlines right now. You missed Soldier Boy's celebration of life."

"Gas valve?" You sat up straighter, weakly so, glancing around the room. It was all white, a lab of sorts, familiar to you from experiences that you had ages ago. You tried to prop yourself up on an elbow. "Soldier Boy?" You wiped your hand down your face. "W-What?"

"The blast knocked you unconscious." He turned to you, then started placing a bunch of stickies on your body, starting with your temple, then your collarbones, then your wrists and onward.

"What's going on?" Your voice trembled.

"Stay calm." Vogelbaum expressed, he cupped your cheek when he was done and smiled at you. "You're safe. This isn't like when you were sick."

"But how did I get knocked out? I-I-I've taken countless explosions."

"Well, you're getting old. It's normal to experience some wear and tear."

"Hmm..." You dropped your head into a palm and sighed. "I missed Soldier Boy's celebration?"

"Yes," He grabbed a clipboard, the nurse that was with him began clipping on a bunch of wires to the circular stickies, they were attached to a machine on a rolling cart. "Do you uh-remember him?"

"Soldier Boy." You propped your chin under your fist and nodded your head, a vision came over you and you were staring off into nothingness. "Yes." You gulped, shaking your head.

"Could you..." He waved two fingers at you. "Describe the day he died to me?" As you tried to collect yourself, flashes of lights and blurs filled your head.

"I uh-" Your eyebrows furrowed, the nurse flipped a switch and a short whizzing noise sounded. "Only recall bits and pieces." You shook your head, narrowed your eyes on him. "Why does that matter?"

"You were comatose for several days. You experienced a concussion," He dismissed. "I'm making sure that your brain is functioning to it's fullest capacity." He pulled up a stool and plopped down in front of you. "Phoenix, tell me what you remember about that day."

"Um..." You bit your tongue, itched your temple. "Soldier Boy and I went on a team-up. One of the Nuclear Power plants in Ohio. We saved as many people as we could. Ben told me to..." You felt a lump form in your throat. "He told me to go on ahead. The plant exploded and when I found him, he was a shell of himself. He died in my arms."

"Fascinating..." Vogelbaum mumbled, head buried in the clipboard as he scribbled notes. You glared at him and he got the message.

"What I mean is..." He tapped his pen at the paper. "It's fascinating that your brain recovered so much from the incident." You blinked at him, confused by whatever he was trying to hide. You knew he was lying to you, you could feel it. You just couldn't figure out why. "When you were under, your brain activity was off the charts. What was going on?"

"I-" You inhaled a deep breath. "I was dreaming about the past, I guess..." You snorted, shaking your head, eyes widening. "But it was like I was looking in, I wasn't apart of those memories."

"Interesting." His pen raced across the clipboard as he jotted down his thoughts.

"Look. I don't want to be here. When can I leave." He stood up, patted you on the shoulder.

"Sadly, we'll have to keep you under observation for a few more days." The nurse turned the machine off, it powered down with that same whizzing sound.

"I'll break out of here, then." Vogelbaum held his hand up, it did little to keep you from getting off of the metal table.

"Now, there's no need for that Phoenix. What's a few days to make sure that you're okay?" You sent him an uneasy grimace, then crossed your arms.

"Fine, but only a few. I'm not staying here longer than a week." You began unclipping the wires, "Scratch that. You've got two days."

"Okay," Vogelbaum nodded, scribbling something on his clipboard again. "I can do two days. Mind if I run a few more tests?" You collected the wires in your fist and tossed them to the nurse, who fumbled catching them all as they hit her chest.

"Not at all. I love being violated in every which way." Vogelbaum snorted, you sent him a sardonic look. His chest rose and fell with a deep breath, he waved at the nurse.

"Jenny, would you give us a moment." As Vogelbaum passed you, you caught a reflection of yourself in the mirrored glass; two way, you were being watched. Nothing you were new to, you had been in this same position before. The metal door creaked as Jenny rolled the machine out of the room. It made a resounding thump when it shut behind her. The door must had been heavy, inches thick even. For something so minor as a bump to the head, Vought was taking some serious precautions.

"Phoenix, let's talk. Just you and me."

"This another test?" You itched the side of your neck, your fingers catching on one of the stickies on your skin. You began to peel it off, feigning a calm and collected outward appearance. Inside, your body was screaming, your head was pounding, you could feel a weight heavy in your chest. Your anxiety was getting worse with each passing second and you couldn't figure out why.

"Perhaps." He sat on the stool again, clipboard forgotten in the crook of his arm. "I know it's been a tough year-"

"Okay, we're done here." You rose to your bare feet, about to take your leave, removing stickies aggressively as you went.

"I'm trying to help you, but you have to work with me." You stopped at the metal door, with your back to him, you squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head.

"I'm tired."

"I know." You rested your forehead to the metal. "The depression hasn't gotten better, I'm assuming." You turned to him, arms crossed in a defensive stance, then shook your head. "I've created something that might help." He reached into the pocket of his lab coat and procured a bottle of pills.

"Don't you know by now that medicine doesn't work on me." You said lowly, eyeing the orange bottle.

"This will. It's more potent than any drug you've ever taken, I tuned it specifically to you." He offered it toward you, "And I guarantee, it's going to make you feel very, very relaxed." You accepted the bottle, looking between his all too friendly smile and his creation raveled in your vice grip. "Try. For me?"

"Okay..." You bit your bottom lip. "I'll try."

Return to Master list

#soldier boy x reader #reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy #payback #oc hero name #mindstorm #gunpowder #the boys #crimson countess #vought international #tnt twins #black noir

[mlmxreader]

FILM QUOTE PROMPTS!

usual rules tbh - this prompt list was made ONLY for requests to be sent to @mlmxreader

READ MY RULES AND GUIDELINES BEFORE YOU REQUEST PLEASE

HORROR FILMS (25)

Films quoted: Cabin Fever, Red Dragon, American Psycho, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, My Bloody Valentine (1981), An American Werewolf In London

“I don't want any of us getting sick, but you two fuckin' fuckers insist on touching her, now she's bleeding all over both you guys! So you two can fuckin rot, but not me, no fuckin way not me!”

“I made it! I made it! I knew I'd make it! I fucking made it!”

“That guy asked for our help. We lit him on fire. You'll understand if I'm not in a particularly social mood.”

“When you've known someone a long time, you just want to kiss them just to see if they're a good kisser. There's nothing wrong with that, right?”

“I thought you might enjoy the challenge. Find out if you're smarter than the person I'm looking for.”

“Dammit, man, you must have some advice. You caught him. What was your trick?”

“Why are there copies of the style section all over the place, d-do you have a dog? A little chow or something?”

“Duct tape. I need it for... taping something.”

“Not if you want to keep your spleen.”

“I wouldn't want you to lose your willpower.” “That's okay. I'm not very good at controlling it anyway.”

“I'm leaving. I've assessed the situation, and I'm going.”

“I think I might hurt you. You don't want to get hurt, do you?”

“If you don't shut your fucking mouth, I will kill you.”

“Pumpkin, you're dating an asshole.”

“What's that stench?”

“Look, give me a chance! If you still want me to go away I will. But I have to tell you that I love you and want you back!”

Roses are red, violets are blue, one is dead, and so are you.”

“Beware of what you make fun of, you little asshole!”

“From the heart comes a warning, filled with bloody good cheer, remember what happened as the 14th draws near!”

“The undead surround me. Have you ever talked to a corpse? It's boring! I'm lonely!”

“On the moors, we were attacked by a lycanthrope, a werewolf. I was murdered, an unnatural death, and now I walk the earth in limbo until the werewolf's curse is lifted.”

“Hurting your feelings? Has it occurred to you that it might be unsettling to see you arise from the grave to visit me?”

“Yeah, be rational, sure. I'm a fucking werewolf!”

“I'm certain if there were a monster roaming around northern England, we'd have seen it on the telly.”

“I'm torn between feeling very sorry for you and finding you terribly attractive.”

ROMANCE FILMS (25)

Films quoted: Moulin Rouge, Shakespeare in Love, Atonement, Pretty Woman

“The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.”

“But I know about art and love, if only because I long for it with every fibre of my being.”

“Come what may, I will love you until my dying day.”

“I can't carry on without you.”

“You have so much to give.”

“Why does my heart cry? Feelings I can't fight... you're free to leave me, but just don't deceive me, and please believe me when I say I love you!”

“Hurt him to save him. There is no other way.”

“I couldn't! I couldn't go through with it! I saw you there and I felt differently! I couldn't pretend!”

“As long as we have each other. We have each other.”

“His eyes upon your face. His hand upon your hand. His lips caress your skin. It's more than I can stand!”

“You will never age for me, nor fade, nor die.”

“Like a sickness - and its cure, together.”

“You never spoke so well of him.”

“Can you love a fool?”

“Yes, you were deceived, for I did not know how much I loved you.”

“Love knows nothing of rank, or riverbank. It will spark between a Queen and the poor vagabond who plays the King - and their love should be minded by each, for love denied blights the soul”

“Then kiss me again for I am not mistook.”

“The tide waits for no man, but I swear it would wait for you.”

“How can you understand the emptiness that seeks a soulmate?”

“I love you. I'll wait for you. Come back. Come back to me.”

“If all we have rests in a few moments in a library three and a half years ago, then I don't know... I don't…”

“Impossible relationships. My special gift is impossible relationships.”

“I'd like you to spend the week with me.”

“You gotta be joking.”

“Wow, great view. I bet you can see all the way to the ocean from out here.”

PERIOD DRAMAS (25)

Films quoted: Testament of Youth, War Horse, Benediction, 1917

“All of us are surrounded by ghosts. Now we need to learn how to live with them.”

“Can I find the courage to accept there might be another way? Perhaps their deaths have meaning only if we stand together now and say, "No!" No to killing. No to war. No to the endless cycle of revenge. I say no more of it. No more.”

“They'll want to forget you. They'll want me to forget. But I can't. I won't. This is my promise to you now. All of you.”

“I might hate you more, but I'll never love you less.”

“Be brave! Be brave!”

“You are not alone in that respect.”

“I'd give everything I possess to have him stay just one more hour. One more minute. Quick to tears, slow to love.”

“How could I be such a snob? He really is a lovely man.”

“Pain is not the only terror. There are many more.”

“I think he's still in love with you.”

“The moment passes, but the hurt remains.”

“If I was selfish enough, I'd ask you to marry me.” “If I were foolish enough, I'd accept.”

“Friends may come, friends may go. Enemies are always faithful.”

“I hoped today might be a good day. Hope is a dangerous thing.”

“That's it for now, then next week, Command will send a different message. Attack at dawn. There is only one way this war ends. Last man standing.”

“Shut up. We've fought and died over every inch of this fucking place, now they suddenly give us miles? It's a trap.”

“None of us were right. This idiot thought it was Tuesday.”

“Even their rats are bigger than ours.”

“I'm sorry about your friend. May I tell you something you probably already know. It doesn't do to dwell on it.”

“Straight ahead to the left, past the dead horses, there's a gap directly behind them. Useful, because if its dark you follow the stench. When you get to the second wire, look out for the bowing chap. There's a small break beside him. The German line is 150 odd yards after that. Watch out for the craters. They're deeper than they look. If you fall in, there's no getting out.”

“There is nothing here. There is nothing for you. Please.”

“Look, it's just a bit of bloody tin. It doesn't make you special. It doesn't make any difference to anyone.”

“The sub-trench was blown to hell weeks ago. Its full of bodies anyway. Your best bet is to pop over here. If you do get shot, try to make it back to the wire. We won't come after you until its dark. If by some fucking miracle you do make it, send up a flare.”

“We lost an officer and three men, two nights ago. They were shot to bits patching up wire. We dragged two of them back here.”

“I do hate losing, so when they start shooting at you, could you be so kind as to throw it back when you get shot.”

READ MY RULES AND GUIDELINES BEFORE YOU REQUEST PLEASE

[quirkle2]

PLEASE PLEASE TALK ABOUT THE LEGENDS ARCEUS AU I'M SO NORMAL ABOUT IT <- LYING I AM NOT NORMAL

HI WE'LL BOTH BE NORMAL TOGETHER

(uhm warning for injury/blood/whump, parental death, uhhhhhhhhh fire? a lot happens (also idk if the read more thing has been fixed so let's pray. i refuse to smack these long ass paragraphs in front of innocent bystanders (this is so long. im so sorry)))

ok so reigen is the professor of the galaxy expedition team and u may be wondering how he got that job: lying :)! he claims he knows everything abt pokemon and that he's been studying them his whole life when in reality he's not even totally sure how many pkmn types there are. granted, the rest of the team doesn't either, so his ability to bluff himself out of any given situation is massively helped by their cluelessness

he just wants to sleep in a bed with blankets and eat food to survive and lying into the professor position was the quickest way he saw to get there. he'd been wandering in the wilderness for a while since coming to hisui before that and it kinda sucked. bro just wants a house in this crippling economy

mob n ritsu were originally from another village! they don't meet reigen until mob is 9 (ritsu 8). there's no powers in this au but mob's whole shtick is that he takes the,, extreme pacifist route i guess? he thinks pokemon r to be respected and loved and Not Bothered and he's against the use of pokeballs to store them and commanding them to battle each other, etc. essentially if he were in a modern era he'd think the way present-time people treat pkmn is, for the most part, cruel

anyway their hometown gets attacked by pkmn and the village is destroyed. their parents die protecting them, so 9-year-old mob was left to fend for himself n his little brother alone. they travel together kinda aimlessly for 7ish months until they get remarkably (unknowingly) close to jubilife village and come across that giant fuckin rapidash before the bridge

it's their first alpha pkmn encounter. neither of them have pkmn to defend themselves with (mob's reason: he ain't like that. ritsu's reason: He Is Eight and Scared). mob has always been able to empathize w pkmn a lot and sorta get a read on what they're thinking, so the vibes comin off that rapidash were rancid and he was worried abt it. mob has never been afraid of pkmn, not even the rly big and scary looking ones. so he approaches it with the intention of calming it down, seeing what's hurting it. he makes ritsu stay back in case things go bad

he's kicked in the head. if u forgot how big that rapidash is just google it. the hooves r the size of ur player character's head and ur player character is like 15. mob is 9. the fact that he doesn't die immediately upon impact is a miracle. the fact that he survives longer than 5 seconds after the fact is basically divine intervention

the doodle i made in the top left corner of ritsu screaming is this ^ encounter. he watches it happen, and then watches in horror more as the rapidash panics at ritsu's scream and rolls a flame wheel over his brother's limp form. ritsu manages to dive for him and run, but the kid is thoroughly terrified and traumatized

i'll spare u the horrid bits but long story short ritsu finds a cave to settle in and while he's rly inexperienced with medical treatment he does his best. his best isn't very good in the grand scheme of things but him being 8 is a pretty damn good excuse. he camps out there for Three Whole Days waiting for his brother to wake up or respond to literally anything but it isn't happening and the longer this goes on for the more terrified ritsu gets

mob's taught him how to survive pretty well all things considered, but ritsu is a lot more worried abt mob than taking care of himself and he ends up neglecting his own needs pretty fiercely. he feels too sick w guilt/fear to eat. he tries to stay up as long as he can in case mob stirs. by the end of it he's pretty worse for wear too

reigen finds them while out in the field doing research (wasting time). he sees a little kid half stuck in a bush looking for berries and when reigen tries to get his attention ritsu, who is extremely on edge and sleep deprived and scared, just straight up screams at him. reigen sees his dirty clothes and skinny arms and flushed face (fever. definitely fever) and alarm bells ring in his head to not let the kid go no matter what cuz he Will lose him otherwise

once ritsu gets his bearings and realizes this is a human (first one other than mob he's seen in forever) and not a pokemon coming to kill him he starts crying to him abt his brother and reigen feels his heart drop to his stomach bc if This kid is worried about a brother who is supposedly worse off,,, dear god

ritsu leads reigen to mob. the dressings around his arm where he was burnt are completely incorrect and most definitely horribly infected and ritsu didn't rly do Anything for the head injury other than clean the blood away bc well. again. he's 8. idek if eight year olds know what concussions are

reigen BOOKS it back to jubilife faster than he's ever ran and halfway through he realizes ritsu has passed out in his arms too (kid's probably exhausted beyond belief. reigen has no idea how long they've been like this but he guesses a while) everybody in the village is kinda horrified when the professor comes back with two hurt kids, one of which is on death's door. the medical team there does everything they can

it takes a while for mob to wake up, but thankfully he does in the end. reigen finds out thru ritsu that they've been alone for "a long time" (ritsu doesn't know. doesn't rly remember. reigen asks mob when he wakes up and mob says he stopped counting somewhere after day 140)

even though mob still isn't quite back to his old self and is still generally confused and Slightly Off, the doctors say he'll be okay after a few weeks and reigen has unintentionally gotten very attached to these kids. ritsu had told him their parents died during the attack on their village. they have nowhere else to go, and like hell is Any member of this village gonna be happy with simply throwing them out into the wilderness again. so reigen takes them in

anyway that's how they meet <3 GVEYAI mob is back to his normal self (the occasional Moment of Confusion comes around from the brain injury, but they taper off after a while) and reigen is very much surprised to see that mob, as ritsu has described to him, still very much loves every pkmn he comes across. he gets a bit nervous around rapidashes in particular, but other than that, mob is still just as caring and just as respectful as ritsu described him to be. ritsu is scared of bigger pkmn like any other kid is. mob is an exception, even after that experience.

reigen waits about a year so that they have time to settle and recover (and so that he has time to observe), and then he gives them each a pokemon. this might seem odd, but mob has never expressed any ill will toward Any pkmn, and ritsu still smiles at the smaller ones

he gives them a choice between the pla starters that have been hanging around his office. mob picks cyndaquil and names her cindy. ritsu picks rowlet and doesn't name him at all (this gives reigen pause, but ritsu seems to have a new fire in his eyes, so he brushes the worry away)

when they're of age (mob waits for ritsu to reach 13. they do everything together) they both join the survery corps, and mob ends up becoming reigen's assistant :]! reigen is admittedly a little worried abt this development, about his kids going out into the wild, but they both seem ready for it (ritsu seems ... a little Too ready for it considering his past) so he relents

mob has made his opinions about pkmn clear, especially to reigen, and reigen has ended up adopting some of his ideals since he met him bc they,, well thwy sound reasonable. they sound nice. mob doesn't ever put cindy in a pokeball, and cindy had never once been in a battle other than play fights with rowlet. mob treats cindy like any other normal pet, like a friend. he looks at those boxes of pokeballs in reigen's office with a frown. he finds the idea of fighting pkmn in the wild for sport despicable. he openly scratches out the pokedex tasks like "defeat 10 times" with disdain. reigen starts seeing another world that he never rly considered before, with mob

this is where reigen senses some,,, tension, between the boys. ritsu evolves his rowlet into a dartrix remarkably quickly since joining the survey corps, and not even a few weeks later he's a got decidueye on his side. ritsu catches pokemon left and right and if they're "not strong enough" he keeps them in pokeballs until he remembers they exist again. he works on building a team with no weaknesses, or as few weaknesses as possible. bro invents competitive pkmn

obviously, mob sees this and ,,, doesn't like it. he doesn't like how Distant ritsu is with his pokemon, with creatures that he wholeheartedly believes should be treated as friends or family. he doesn't name any of them, he spends nearly all his earned money from the survey corps on items that boost their strength, but almost no money toward items for comfort, or even treats, or toys. ritsu treats his team like they're tools. the relationship between ritsu and his pkmn is,, strained. mob can sense they aren't nearly as happy as they could be

but mob knows that he can't just,, police ritsu on how he should handle his own pokemon. he may not agree with how ritsu approaches the subject, or with how ritsu's first instinct for anything pkmn is usually "fight it," but mob knows ritsu Does like pkmn. ritsu's never hated pkmn, he's just,,, scared of them, sometimes. he thinks maybe this is his way of making himself feel protected. mob doesn't like the idea of taking that away from him, no matter how much seeing ritsu refrain from giving his team a break grinds on his soul

little does he know, ritsu's strictness with his pkmn isn't born out of a fear for himself at all. he's building a dependable team to protect his brother. that's the whole reason he's doing this, the whole reason he didn't name rowlet when he first got him. ritsu knew that if he were to do this, he couldn't get attached to them, bc losing pokemon in fights is a very real possibility. it's been drilled into each and every one of his pkmn's heads that they r to protect mob at all costs. if there's a repeat of That incident, ritsu doesn't think he can handle it (>:])

WOW THIS IS ALREADY SO LONG i haven't even gotten to the kleavor part yet. fuck. if ur still reading this can i have ur hand in marriage /silly

OKAY SO . The Game's Plot comes in, finally. took long enough. reigen starts getting reports of frenzied nobles and he's most worried abt kleavor bc it's rather close to them, and the village could very well be in danger if kleavor decides to say fuck you in particular. so reigen goes Hey This is an Actual Threat That Needs My Attention I Have to be Competent For a Sec and spends the next few weeks tirelessly searching for an answer for this kleavor. some of the staff have already gotten mauled by it. reigen cannot ignore this and put it on somebody else like he usually does

the whole town is getting antsy, and mob most definitely notices. ritsu's jumpy all the time anymore, like he expects kleavor to rampage through the streets any second now. reigen looks tired and worn down, and he's been coming home later and later. mob watches as reigen makes plans to use force against kleavor with a sour taste in his mouth. he tries to tell reigen that force isn't the answer here. reigen, bless him, doesn't know how to tell a kid that friendship and rainbows isn't always the answer

after another week or so, mob's had enough. they've gotten nowhere closer to calming kleavor and more people have gotten injured, so mob quietly writes a note and leaves it on his bed, makes sure he doesn't wake up ritsu or cindy, and leaves the house before reigen comes home. he sneaks out over the fence so the guards at the gate don't catch him. he sets off to go see kleavor

he fully and truly believes that force is not the answer. he fully and truly believes that if he goes up to kleavor with no pokemon to fight it with, no weapons or spears pointed at it, and just a calm voice and peaceful demeanor, kleavor will see there is no danger. the galaxy team's previous attempts have all centered around violence and scare tactics. nobody has recently come up to its territory without posing a threat. mob genuinely just thinks that kleavor needs calm

reigen finds the note. freaks the fuck out. immediately rounds up every person in the village that's capable of fighting and they march out of the village to save a kid who's in way over his head. reigen makes ritsu Promise him that he will not leave the village. he can see it in ritsu's eyes, the way he wants nothing more than the come with them, but reigen gives the argument that ritsu is their strongest soldier back home and they still need to protect the village from anything else while everybody's gone. it takes all of ritsu's self-control to not go against him (he's fully set on coming with them until reigen Grips him by the arms and says "i can't lose both of you.")

mob's plan does end up working in the end, but not quite perfectly and not at all in a good way. he steps into kleavor's territory and has it calm at first, but smth changes in kleavor's eyes and whatever Force that's corrupting it surges and kleavor snaps.

mob gets Fucked Up by that thing. sliced and thrown and clawed until he can barely stand up to run away, but it's the last blow that matters. kleavor comes down on him with a chop right to his middle and everything stops. there's a sizeable gash that cuts through mob's side horizontally and kleavor's axe is stuck in the flesh there, but once mob isn't moving anymore and nothing is making kleavor afraid, the fog in its brain clears and it sees what it's done

it also sees that mob is still awake, and despite everything kleavor did to him, he's still looking at it like he knows its capacity for gentleness. even through the pain mob looks at kleavor like he Knows this isn't what it's rly like. and as soon as mob sees the light return to kleavor's eyes he smiles, blood gurgling in his throat

kleavor hears shouts from the forest, sees torchlight and panicked yells for mob. it doesn't know what to do, don't like what it sees, what it Did to this poor kid. it winces when it has to slide its axe out from the gash in mob's side—the squelch it makes and the Noise mob lets out is the last thing kleavor needs to book it

u can only imagine how fuckin hysterical reigen feels when he sees mob on the ground like that. they brought half of the medical team just in case and reigen is rly glad they did bc if they didn't there's a good chance mob would've bled out right there within a few minutes.

he's in rly rly bad shape and is barely conscious by the time reigen grabs his face and tells him itll be okay. they bring him back to the village at record pace and every minute they take he looks paler. reigen is so scared the kid's going to die in his arms before they even get there

when they get to the gates someone from the medical team takes him from reigen's arms. reigen hears ritsu scream. the kid's shoving people away who're trying to comfort him and beelining his way to mob, but reigen catches him before he can fully see the damage bc he does Not want that bloody mess to be in ritsu's nightmares for the rest of his life

ritsu fights him and pushes him and shoves him away, screaming that he just wants to see his brother, but reigen holds him back and he ends up pulling ritsu close when the kid loses steam and just starts sobbing into his chest

to ritsu, he's failed again. to reigen, he's failed them both. to mob, despite holding onto the living world by a thread, he succeeded.

anyway that's the story so far VGEAYVUA I HAVEN'T .. FIGURED OUT TERU YET. or dimple. i know the gist of i how i want teru and mob's meeting to go tho. teru is just like ritsu but like . Worse when it comes to pokemon. uses them as tools and doesn't even rly think of them as sentient at all. until he meets mob that is :]

i'm thinkin he's the warden of sneasler! and yaknow what, just for shits n giggles and bc i love ingo too much to get rid of him, what if ingo is teru's unofficial teacher. what if. wouldn't that be fuckin hilarious and completely ruin any sense of consistency here. what if (it's happening)

i'm also pretty set on making dimple one of the wisps from the spiritomb quest that ends up following mob around. that's fitting i think

#qktalks #asterleavess #okay but like . i Just now thought of ingo and teru being teacher & student and it's kinda hilarious #ingo would be so fed up with his bullshit. i think ingo meeting mob would be like ''please make my student not an asshole'' #''he's good at heart i know he is. he's a very good kid. but god he's so obnoxious'' #that's gold. fuck it it's happening #putting two blorbos from different fandoms into a blender and watching it spin #i thought abt it as a joke and then 2 minutes later it was no longer a joke #bald best friends ?????????????????????????????? #i hate that tag i want to delete it GVEYIAGVA #im hoping y'all aren't waiting for a conclusion that ends with the actual plot of pla cuz .ihaven't thought abt the legendaries at all <3 #this is just me beating up the main cast. mostly mob. okay it's just mob but im beating the others up emotionally

[gravedigest]

Attempt at writing Jeb.

“How did you end up in this wretched business?”

“I dunno, how’d you become an evil wizard?”

Jebediah regards the boy for a moment, a scruffy thing puffing on a cigarette, adjusting his grip on his firearm. He’s needed to pause here and there, acting as if he’s checking his malfunctioning communication system while Jeb can clearly see the fresh blood under his jacket, the way he only just favors a stance that keeps his arm from his ribs.

“What could I have possibly done that would make me evil?” Deimos’ laid-back manner of speaking has Jeb giving the man only a slim margin of leeway to not be stung by the label. He’s vulgar, but the stream of consciousness Jeb has been listening to gives the impression that Deimos rarely stops to think about what he’s saying.

So, he can entertain it while they remain on the same side.

“You keep ganking Hank.”

Even if that side may chafe like sandpaper.

“I really don’t think that counts.”

“Nah, the evil part of that is how I gotta go be the guy that gets his giblets stuffed in a bag,” Deimos kicks off the wall he was resting against, dropping the cigarette to stomp it out. “You know how gross that is?”

What a simple line of thought.

“I can imagine.”

They only move another forty feet forward before the boy is distracted by another filing cabinet, taking every opportunity to snoop through Jeb’s old workplace.

He’s surprised by how little he feels about watching someone digging through the old secrets, only sparking the vague interest here and there when he catches his own name on a document, a little flutter of remembrance, thoughts about a different life.

“You notice how all you scientists kinda turned into freaky wizards?”

“I don’t think I follow.”

Deimos waves around a document. “This guy was in the sewers spewing glitter on everything, kept poofing around.”

Jeb takes the paper when offered, adjusting his sunglasses to see in the low light, something that makes the boy snicker obviously.

Is he getting old?

“… Ah. Him.”

“Coworker?”

“Nuisance.”

“Welp. He’s dead, I think. Smooshed by the big bad.”

Crackpot died?

…

Crackpot was alive?

… In the grand scheme of things, it seems like it hadn’t mattered one way or another.

“You look like you just read the newspaper funnies.”

Jeb sets the document on top of the file cabinet, pushing his sunglasses back into their proper position. “I’m surprised you know what those are.”

Deimos only offers a shrug, his quota for wasting time reaching the limit.

He’s a strange man, at once lackadaisical and… Jeb wouldn’t say focused, but aware of how much he can get away with.

Like in their next encounter, while Jeb falls into the habitual use of dissonance, he watches Deimos operate with honed speed and a vicious accuracy, but leaving his back open with the clear assumption that Jeb will fill in the missing spots. He’s used to cooperation, where Jeb is not.

What an odd person to be in this world.

Or, perhaps that’s what this world is creating now, individuals that forfeit self-reliance for the strength of a team- a faction.

But by the powers that be, does the boy have such a foul mouth.

Between the heckling and self-amusement is a curse, when a weapon he grabs has more kick than he expects, he pops out a swear. When Jeb flicks his fingers to turn a man into a little smear on the wall as they’d attempted to take the opening Deimos left, the boy lets off a “Fuckin’ sick!” with more enthusiasm than horror.

It’s really not Jeb’s place to dictate what others might say in the middle of a life-or-death situation, but there could be a little more class.

He would’ve at least expected some from Doc’s people.

He would assume Doc is making due with what he has, but Deimos continues to prove himself more than capable time and time again.

Just different.

It nags at the back of his mind, the thought over what happens when their goals diverge again.

It makes Doc seem more dangerous, having different in his repertoire.

He hopes their paths don’t cross for some time after this.

He doesn’t mind Deimos. Watching him operate the robutler with an air of pride at getting to show his idea. It would be a shame to have to kill someone that may have been a promising young pupil, in a different life.

… But only if he would wash his mouth out with soap.

#You know when a person has to pull their glasses down a little #And then they sort of squint their eyes and tilt their head back #In order to read something that’s close up #I think that’s how Jeb has to read stuff. #In a different universe Doc heckles Jeb like an episode of the Golden Girls #No Hofnarr #He’s upset because they keep changing the taste of Coke #Drabble

[azzydoesstuff]

ultrakill update review!!!!

SPOILERS AHEAD SPOILERS AHEAD SPOILERS AHEAD SPOILERS AHEAD

IF YOU HAVEN'T PLAYED THE UPDATE YET FUCKIN' DO THAT NOW

okey now for the review:

7-1: GARDEN OF FORKING PATHS

i mean, it was fine. pretty good i guess. the atmosphere was wonderful, sure, but on my first try i spent 90% of the time tryna figure out what i was meant to do. i mean, i get that its SUPPOSED to be like a maze, but when actually gets you lost it kinda goes from "cool and lore accurate" to "lore accuracy at the cost of mild inconvenience". the second half of the level w/ the minotaur was sick, though. i will admit, i DID rage the first time i fought the minotaur cause its kinda not obvious what you're supposed to do to hit him (that stomach hitbox is the size of a fuckin hair) but after you get the hang of it, its a neat fight. i do feel like the railroad situation was kinda wasted by only bringing in 2 trams with enemies and then starting the bossfight with the third one. it woulda been cool to see many trams come and go with enemies on 'em, but oh well. also, jumpscare warning, thanks. very funny hakita. cool joke cool prank there. you got me with that one

7-2: LIGHT UP THE NIGHT

good level. i loved that war aesthetic and shit. the subway station area was a bit mid, and the hook platforming was kinda boring, but not that big of a deal. it introduced my favorite enemy of the update, which is a plus. *cough cough* guess which enemy i'm talking about *cough cough* gutterman *cough*. the challenge was actually pretty creative. wasn't easy to figure out, but also didn't take me like an hour. the archive area where you had to take the correct path was cool, the area just looked cool in general.

7-3: NO SOUND, NO MEMORY

imo: best level aesthetically, kinda mid gameplay-wise. i will admit i may or may not have shat pant when scary flashlight intro. in general, the level layout is spirally at best and messy and confusing at worst, but it's made up for with the amazing cherry blossom trees scenery. the blood tree thing mechanic was actually a really cool idea (also the trees are pretty) but i feel it was executed kinda badly. the whole blood monsters thing just feels weird. i think it'd have been better if it was just normal enemies whose blood fed the tree. the final area was really cool though, nice to see the dual wield powerup back in action. the whole infighting mechanic was also neat, with the way it gets wat harder if you mark yourself for death and disable it.

7-4: ...LIKE ANTENNAS TO HEAVEN

this level is just... mwah! climbing up a colossal machine was awesome, the idol shield area was cool with the time limit and stuff, the escape sequence at the end was awesome (i love escaping from crumbling/soon-to-detonate buildings in games). everything about this level was absolute perfection... except for the bossfight itself. both of the bossfights, actually. look, the defense system had a cramped arena with lackluster attacks and the whole fight was generally really boring and stupid. did not have fun at all. just move around in a circle to dodge the laser while you attack the turrets, ooooooohhhh thrilling... and don't even get me started on the core fight. absolutely idiotic. i hated it. the spinning laser walls felt awkward and the idol shields were infuriating. it sucks so bad that one of the laser walls is at an awkward height that requires you to dash mid-air to move at its level. the whole level was great but the bossfight ruins it for me, really.

ENEMY REVIEWS

MANNEQUIN:

honestly, not a big fan. the design and lore are good, but the attacks are just... annoying. its like a fly that pisses you off from afar. just buzzing around, making itself your problem. they really felt the need to give them prime boss-style combo melees and mindflayer's horrid homing projectiles, huh?

GUTTERMAN:

easily my favorite enemy of the update. i love it when enemies are easy to parry/style on. so satisfying and dopamine-inducing. when i saw the teaser i thought their machine gunning would be annoying, but surprisingly they're only really a virtue-level threat if you ignore them for too long and that's about it. very nice enemy

GUTTERTANK:

easily my LEAST favorite enemy of the update. super inconsistent, fast moving makes it hard to follow, random explosions everywhere with me having no idea where they're coming form, AND you can't even get close to them to heal because they just fly-swat you right away with an unparryable smack. the terminal says to bait out the attack, but the cooldown is so small that they can just do it twice. better off just dash-boosting through the hit to ignore it.

MINOTAUR:

hated at first, but now grew fond of it once i've mastered its patterns. it was like fighting the ferryman all over again, really. i felt cheated and as though it was unfair at first, but once you get the hang of him he's really not that difficult to deal with. also, really sad lore. sorry minotaur.

EARTHMOVER:

i mean what's there to say about it. i already talked about the fight in the 7-4 section what's there even to say here. cool design, i guess?? nice lore entry...?

BIG JOHNINATOR:

big johninator

NEW FEATURE REVIEWS

sharpening of some pixelated textures:

they made the projectile and maurice charging laser sprites less pixel-ey. i'm not too happy with this change, actually. i thought it looked fine, now it just looks... weird.

charged freezeframe rockets:

if you hold a rocket frozen for a second, it'll turn blue and "supercharged", causing its explosion to be WAYYY bigger when shot. this allows for INSANE new nuke tech, it's unbelievable. compare the size of the previous biggest possible explosion (shotgun core + malicious railcannon) and the one you get now with charged rocket + malicious railcannon, it's unreal. literally the size of the cybergrind arena. this changes EVERYTHING. i'm like 90% sure this massive explosion size is unintentional and is getting nerfed within a week.

dying mindflayer knuckleblasting:

when a midflayer is doing its death animation, you can punch it with the knuckleblaster to make it go flying and firing its laser everywhere and exploding after a bit. it's actually fucking hilarious but has zero use in-game because of how situational and difficult to pull off it is.

#ultrakill #ultrakill violence #ultrakill layer 7 #ultrakill act 3 #ultrakill review #review

[majycka]

PURE SALT UNDER THE CUT

Im so SICK seeing these antis always reducing our damn ship to “ulqui abused her!!11” failing to recognizes the nuances of it all like hell fucking yes i damn recognize that ulqui psychologically abused her to break her damn spirit AND YOU KNOW WHAT ORIHIME FUCKING DID?? YOU KNOW WHAT SHE FUCKING DID!!??

SHE REFUSED AND STOOD HER FUCKIN GROUND NEVER LETTING ULQUI BREAK HER LIKE THAT. SHE DIDNT TAKE ANY OF HIS BULLSHIT ON HIM SHITTING ON HER FRIENDS AND BITCHSLAPPED HIM. SHE DIDNT GAVE IN WHEN HE SAIF SHES LIKELY TO DIE ALL ALONE. SHE IS A FIGHTER WHO PUTS THROUGH IT ALL NOT JUST IN HUECO MUNDO BUT ALL THROUGHOUT HER LIFE WITH HER BROTHER DEATHS AND FAMILY SITUATION. SHE IS A STRONG WILLED PERSON!!!

MEANWHILE THERES ULQUI WHO JUST CANT FIGURE HER OUT CUZ HES A DAMN HOLLOW WITH ZERO UNDERSTANDING IN HUMANS. BUT STILL IN HIS VERY OWN FUCKED UP WAY HE TRIED TO UNDERSTAND AND IS VERY CURIOUS ON WHY ORI JUST CANT BREAK and KEEPS ON HAVING THIS DEBATES WITH ORIHIME (where he loses all the damn time!!)

THERE’S THIS OBVIOUS CONFLICT GOING ON BETWEEN ULQUIORRA AND ORIHIME WHICH MAKES IT VERY MUCH INTERESTING. CRAFTING CONFLICT IN MOVIES MEDIA SHOWS WHATEVER MOVES THE STORY THAT KEEP PPL ENGAGED. ITS ONE OF THE IMPORTANT ASPECTS OF STORY TELLING. CONFLICT MAKES US INVESTED IN THE CHARACTERS IN HOW TF WILL THEY FIGURE SHIT OUT.

SO ITS NO FUCKING WONDER PPL TOOK INTEREST IN ULQUIHIME LIKE OH MY FUCKING GODDDD

WELL YEAH YES PPL CAN SHIP WHATEVER AND ALSO DISLIKE SHIP FOR THEIR PERSONAL REASONS BUT COMING INTO MY HOUSE, BASHING MY SHIP/SHAMING SHIPPERS WITH ZERO READING COMPREHENSION AND IGNORING FACTS IS ASKING FOR MY PURE RAGE.

For UH shippers, not ANY ANTI EVER CAN TAKE AWAY HOW KUBO DID BOMBASS WRITING ON ULQUIHIME.

NOT ANY OF THEM CAN TAKE AWAY HOW THESE CHARACTERS WERE SO IMPORTANT TO SHOWCASING ONE OF BLEACH’s MAIN THEMES IN UNDERSTANDING THE HEART.

NO ONE CANT TAKE AWAY THE FACT THAT KUBO MADE ONE OF WELL WRITTEN BLEACH ANTAG ULQUIORRA REVOLVED AROUND HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH ORIHIME THAT PUTS HIM THE PATH OF REDEMPTION.

NO ONE CAN TAKE AWAY THE THOUGHTFUL DETAIL OF WRITING KUBO DID IN ULQUIHIME BEING THE PART OF THE BIGGER PICTURE IN LUST ARC. THE SAME ARC THATS A VERY ICONIC PART OF THE WHOLE BLEACH SERIES.

#ulquihime #salt #im having my aggretsuko karaoke moment

[cillianshearts]

Tommy Shelby X Reader

Sick

Summary: Your staying over at Arrow house with Thomas for a few days when you suddenly come down with a fever. You’ve been hesitant to tell him, not wanting to distract him, until you finally tell him one evening and he’s worried sick.

Warnings: None! Just pure fluff 😊

-January 3rd-

You shivered as you walked into Tommy's large room. With Lizzie away, you was staying for the week with only the maids being aware. They knew what was going on between Tommy and the 20 year old girl he kept so close in his company but they would never question any of it, and knew better.

You walked into his office in your little nightgown, yawning and shivering like crazy. You looked like death itself. Tommy looked up from his notes immediately and his face softened with worry as he saw his little, secret angel stumbling into his office, tissues in hand and nightgown at her calves. He took his glasses off setting them down on the desk and placed his notes down too.

"Sweetheart, I was just coming in the snug to check on you. Are you okay?" He said. You walked round to the side of his desk.

"Don't feel well Tommy" you whined softly.

Tommy swivelled round in his hair to face you. His face dropped to one of immediate worry.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He said with a confused expression. "Come er'e princess" he beckoned with one finger. You shuffled over closer to him as he put one hand on your shoulders and put one hand on your forehead. "Your fookin freezing but burning up on your head" he half chuckled. "It's a cold darlin"

"Mmmm" you grumbled in discomfort, leaning and nestling your head into his chest. You snuggled your head into his warm body and inhaled the scent of his signature cologne.

"Want cuddles?" He whispered.

You smiled a little smile into his chest and nodded intently. "Okay then, cuddles it is. Come on my sick little angel."

Tommy always fathered you when you was sick. Always.

It was something he loved to do and it almost felt like instinct to do so.

You smiled happily as he picked you up, and you wrapped your legs round his waist, burying your head in his neck as he carried you to his bedroom. Tommy passed two maids on the way and put a finger to his lips as he walked by them, to which they just nodded at in response, knowing not to ask any questions.

Lizzie didn't know about you.

It was a complicated situation and if Lizzie came asking any questions Tommy truthfully didn't know what he would of said, because he truly loved you with every ounce of your being...

He walked into his room where the maids had taken note of your sickness, the bed was already warmed and a fire was roaring, Tommy lay your half limp body down gently on the covers. He walked over to the window making sure the curtains were drawn and then back to the door to shut it.

"Are you staying?" Your eyes lit up as did your face as you sat half up in the bed, you had expected him to just put you to bed, as you know his trouble with sleeping now days.

"Of course I am" he said genuinely, taking his suit and white shirt off leaving him in nothing but his pants and tattoos. You smiled happily, your eyes sparkling.

"Arms up" he said. You did as you was told and he gently took off your nightgown pulling it over your head followed by your bra. "Beautiful girl" he said, kissing your shoulder and then climbing in next to you. You was already lying down as he propped himself up slightly so your head met his chest to which he patted.

"Come er'e you, snuggle in er'e" he said, his gruff voice your source of comfort in the room. That and his warm body and scent. You snuggled into Tommy's chest as you groaned.

"I don't feel well Tommy" you whined just wanting him and to feel better again.

You whined softly.

"I know my girl... I know. Shhhhh you just lay there." He engulfed your tiny body in his big strong arms and you sighed with happiness as he did...

"Love you so much, I fuckin hate it when your sick" he sighed, rubbing his hand up and down your arm.

"Will you stay all night?" You said softly, staring up into his ocean eyes.

"All night" he smiled softly.

You put your head back down happily. "And mornin, I'm taking that off too."

"What!" You said in shock.

"I ain't going anywhere, not if your sick. Your my main priority alright?" You smiled up at him in pure disbelief that he was really saying that.

"Oh my Tommy..."  you sighed, your head still pounding slightly.

"All yours" he kissed your head.

"What if you get sick too?"

"Then we'll be sick together"

"But the company and- and your work-"

"Shhh shhh shh, I'm not getting sick, I'm not going anywhere. I'm holding you in these arms all night long. You just sleep my angel"

You sighed in pure happiness.

"I love you Tommy" you said, looking up at his lips and then at him. To which he followed up by leaning down to you in the bed and connecting his lips to yours. You melted into the kiss, slow and happily. You pulled away for air.

"Well if your not sick your definitely going to get sick now!" You gasped. Tommy shook his head and smiled.

"Go to sleep" he whispered, softly.

"Okay, goodnight Tommy."

#cillian murphy #fanfic #fiction #peaky blinders #tommy shelby

[creepling]

hole o’ the toon / mark renton x fem!reader

a/n: as a scottish person i am legally obliged to write fanfic about scottish ppl in scots dialect. (note: im not from edinburgh so the dialect might be off a little). sorry if you can’t understand a word of this lmaoo i’m just experimenting

summary: begbie does something out of order to reader and rent boy’s there to (kinda) comfort n make a plan.

cw: written in scots dialect, usual trainspotting stuff, drug ment, swearing, injury, hurt/comfort, reader has not ‘chosen life’ so to say, begbie’s an arsehole.

— How dare ye fucken waltz in here. Begbie hid said, starein fucken daggers it ye.

Naw yer right tae be in their turf, efter awh the shite ye dae. But whit kin ye dae? Free country n awh att. Didnae seem free whin Begbie wis anywhere in ae perimeter. Ye make yer way tae the bog, fixin yer eyes on anything thit wisnt att cunts face.

When ye come oot he’s right er, snooker pole in haun, in a stance thit made it oot as if he wis aboot tae whack it o’er yer heed. ‘Ah’ll nivir lay a haun oan a wummun’ he wance said, load a shite. Ye seen the skelpers oan his misses. Ye ken he’d dae it tae yersel if he wanted.

— Skaggin’ in er a bet. Fucken skaggin’ skank! Begbie sneered. Poison in his spit as it volleyed oot his mooth n ontae yer face.

Ye staggered back, face scrunched up in cringe. A heavy huff a air left yer nostrils n ye glared at ‘um. — Fucken Prick!

Ye lunged at ae cunt, grabbin at ae snooker pole n geid him a Glesga kiss; like yer auld man taught ye. Then a knee tae ae baws, ae moustache cunt yelled. He stepped back, clutching his crotch, his free haun gaun fur his glass boatle. Ye shimmied yer fingers, gesturing ‘Mon en’. Bein aff the skag n oan the uppers meant ye thought ye wur baw-jaws half ae time. Naw even Begbie frightened ye anymore. Ye’d been frew too much noo. N nae cunt kenned aboot it.

Ae reality wis, Begbie coulda killt ye right er if awh the lads nivir hawded um back. Rents, Sick Boy, even Spud wae his gammy arms. Lads at the bar starin, dumbfoonded.

— Entertainin, like? Ye fancy watchin a man threatin a wummun? Sae much fur fuckin hard men, like. Yer words wur steamin oot ye.

— You’re wanten a death wish, ats wit! Sick Boy shouted. He hid the fucken cheek tae talk. Awh ye could dae wiz laugh it ae pansy.

— If a see yer whorin’ face anywhur again, yer deid hen, YER DEID. Begbie tried going fur ye again, slidin oot the guy’s airms. Ae intensity of ae situation goat a haud ah ye and ye bolted oot the door, flashing a finger tae the hot-heided cunt before disappearing intae an alley.

*

— Your off yer head. Mark Renton hid said. N ae cunt wis right.

Ye sat in his manky bed as ae bandaged ye up. A slit near ae eye n a kisser ae a bruise aroon yer eye. Begbie caught ye red-handed. Leathered intae yer heed when ye least expected it. He hid em golden rings oan which split yer cheek open. Fuckin cunt, ye tried naw tae cry. It hurt a belter. Ye wish Rents wis lighter wae his hauns. He wis treatin yer wound like a heavy-handed mechanic. Ye winced as he scraped ae bloody cloth o’er yer gash and he silently apologized.

— Sicka iss toon. Ye hid said, staring aff intae space. — Am gonnae run away.

Renton jist stared it ye, trying tae make oot yer coopin. Wur ye serious?

— Ur ye gonnae dae it or just talkin shite? Renton challenged. Ye turned tae um.

— Mon wae meh. Ye wondered if ye meant it. Rents wis a pal, but ye nivir admitted it. Canny be saying shite like att when yer a junkie. Nae cunts ya pal. But Renton is. Rents’s ya pal.

— Wull go tae yer flat in London. Ur fuckitt, git a new wan. Nae danger. Ye began tae ramble. Withoot ye knowin, Renton thought aboot goin aff a loat. Thought aboot gettin tae fuck ootta Leith, the shitehole it wis.

— Ats it then. Me n you. We’ll go away together. Renton said, putting ae last bandage oan yer scar.

— Ye serious, like? Ye wur astonished he agreed. You n him, goin away. Ye thought yeez hid too much history fur him tae be wae ye anymer. Mibbe he still hid feelings fur ye. Ye hoped, fuck ye hoped.

Ye embraced him intae yer arms, mindin ae cut oan yer cheek as ye burried yer face intae his neck. He smelled like shite. Like shite, pish n cough medicine awh in ae wanner. Ye couldnae gee a fuck tho.

— We’ll jist need tae get money somewhere, then we’ll head aff. Renton said, feeling him get awh tense. Ye jist smiled n nodded. There wiz money in mind, like. Mibbe ye kin stash some tapes n sell em like usual. While ye thought of yer petty thefts, Renton seen ae biggur picture n minded the drug deal wae the Russian skag, n if he wiz willing tae drag ye intae the deal.

#trainspotting #trainspotting fanfic #mark renton #mark renton x reader #rent boy #rent boy x reader #ewan mcgregor

[kingcunny]

any headcanons about how female viserys would work out?

i think its interesting that f&b says that aegon i was expected to marry visenya out of duty, (i might be mandela’ing myself again, i cant find context for this, but wasnt that so elder female siblings would retain their birthright?) but after them i dont think theres another elder woman x younger male targ relationship. cause hindsight 20/20, but it seems like rhaenys x viserys or even rhaenyra x aegon ii wouldve been thr obvious answers to the succession crises, but in each situation thats not what happened.

all this to give context to the idea,, that while it might seem obvious if viserys was a girl to marry her to daemon, theres precedence for that NOT to happen. and after the deaths of both alyssa and his sister viserra, baelon, riddled with guilt, might not force his daughtet viserra to marry. and instead let her choose. shes a girl anyway, not like it Really matters :)

and she picks the very saft option of otto hightower, old and Noble house so no one can object, but still second son fuckin nobody Who??? daemon is hotheaded and impulsive and he would also challenge her in a way she doesnt want to face. just like her male version, she cant fully accept daemon but she cant let him go either. so viserra continues stringing him along their entire lives.

she still claims balerion, he still dies, and she still eventually gets Sick. though not so severely. (stress plays a big part in chronic illness, and expectationless viserra would do better than king viserys) she has maybe 2-3 children before that point, all of them daemons. otto knows but doesnt say anything. silently just tries to take it out on daemon. who Never marries.

viserra knows about the rivalry between her husband and brother, and she pretends not to like it, but doesnt do anything to try and stop it. she secretly likes the attention. likes feeling important.

#my posts #asks #female manipulator viserys

[sneakyfordethklok]

Intro and Request Rules/Masterlist

Hey y'all! My name is Maggot or Michael (he/they/it). I am a huge fan of Metalocalypse, and also love writing and drawing. This secondary blog was specifically for me to post my writings about Dethklok.

MINORS DNI

Rules

I write headcanons, one-shots, and other such writings with the members of Dethklok. I will do:

Inter-romance between members of Dethklok

Dethklok x Reader

Charles Offdensen x Reader

If you would like Magnus, Knubbler, Rockzo, or other side characters I may not accept the request, depending on what you are asking for. However, I may be able to arrange it if I am not busy with other requests.

Unless otherwise specified, I will use gender neutral language, with an AFAB body architype. Gender identity, race, creed, sexuality, disability or lack thereof, body type, and brief descriptions of the Reader are all open for tweaking if so requested! :)

Examples of Accepted Scenarios and Asks:

Fluff

Angst

Major character death

Major injury/hospitalization

Unrequited love (within reason)

Smut (more on this later)

Pregnancy / Childcare

Poly romantic situations

Comfort for sickness, mental health, trauma, etc.

Examples of What I Will NOT Accept:

Any smut requests submitted by a minor (I WILL check)

Direct non-consensual smut. Dub-con and non-con specifically within the confines of consensual BDSM/Kink are acceptable, but are required to include aftercare.

Any Kinks including feet, scat, watersports, excessive gore, sounding, feeding, vore, inflation are all strictly disallowed. I will not make concessions on this.

Any asks depicting active abuse will not be allowed. Spousal, sexual, verbal, child, etc. Asks requesting comfort for past trauma borne from abuse are perfectly acceptable.

Any asks requesting age-play, age-regression, ABDL, etc will be denied and result in a blocking. No exceptions.

Incest, bestiality, and other illegal grossness is not allowed. Fuckin' obviously.

Some Accepted Kinks for Smut Requests:

BDSM/Kink in just about every form, except age-play (see above)

Pet-play, Master/sub, impact-play, bondage/shibari, doll-play, primal-play, training/discipline

Alpha/Beta/Omega (with exceptions)

Breeding / fixation on semen

Body worship

Oral fixation

Exhibitionism / humiliation

Voyeurism (CONSENSUAL)

Tentacles (If you can think of how to make this work with an au or something.. fucking good for you, do it). Also includes monster fucking, oviposition, etc.

Erotic asphyxiation (Choking)

Edging / denial

Roleplay

Wax-play

Happy requesting~!

William Murderface Headcanons

#metalocalypse #dethklok #masterlist #blog rules #ask blog #ask #send asks #answered #request #reqs open #requests open #taking requests #metal #adult swim