guardianspatrol

[guardianspatrol]

Bonus story!!

Just a short lil’ something sweet.

Quill keeps calling Yondu “dad” and he’s not sure how to take it.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15984176/chapters/100053984

[guardianspatrol]

Feeling really pissy about the fact that I lost the majority of the first chapter && outline of BLOODHOUND 😋 I had so much of it done on my old phone and now that I want to come back to finish it , I can’t 💔

[guardianspatrol]

Can you do Nightmare from Yondu's perspective for the ask game thing please?

Sure! (original here)

Send me a scene from one of my fics along with a character that appears in that scene and I’ll rewrite the scene from their perspective

Word Count: 1,420

A soft sound, a quiet whimpering, roused Yondu from a fitful sleep on the cold floor of the old shed he had decided would make decent enough shelter until daybreak.

He glanced around blearily, sleep clouding his senses, until his sleepy gaze fell on you just a few feet from him, curled on the floor and evidently the source of the muffled cries.

"Hey- what's that?" Yondu sat up a bit, trying to shake off sleep. Were you actually crying? He was almost certain he'd never seen you cry before, so why were you now? Had you fallen sick? Had Gef's cooking from the previous day finally gotten to you? A bit louder he asked, "What's the matter with ya?"

You didn't answer, your muffled cries only continued.

Yondu frowned. Were you ignoring him? He scooted closer. Were you hurt? You shouldn't be, the two of you hadn't gotten in so much as a tousle with anybody the whole time you had been searching for the latest score.

Closer inspection revealed that your lack of response was seemingly due to you apparently being fast asleep... yet you were still most definitely crying.

Well, it wouldn't be good to just leave you like that.

He reached out a hand and shook you by the shoulder to wake you.

The action had clearly startled you a bit, as you jolted by the rousing, but Yondu ignored it.

"What'ya cryin' for?"

You peered back at him, confusion clear in your eyes. "What?"

"Ya was cryin' in yer sleep. What's that about?"

You were quiet for a moment, and Yondu wondered if it was due to only being half awake, or embarrassment. He decided it was likely both.

“It’s nothing, just a nightmare,” came your answer finally, quietly.

Yondu narrowed his eyes at you. “‘Just’ a nightmare. Right. If it was just a nightmare then why were ya crying in your sleep?”

In the dim light he can see you bring your gaze down, refusing to meet his eyes. Further evidence that you were embarrassed about whatever it was, he thought.

“Look, it’s nothing. Like I said. Just a bad dream. You can go back to sleep now.”

Yondu rolled his eyes. 'Course you were gonna clam up. He couldn't say he blamed you, though. If he had been caught crying by his captain, he'd probably be embarrassed about it too. Actually, he knew he would be because it had happened before, just once not long after Stakar had freed him from the Kree battle slave barracks.

Everything had been new, there had been so much to take in- too much. One day he found himself too overwhelmed, and slipped away into a cargo hold and hid himself in a small space among the containers where he willed himself to breathe deeply and keep it in.

It hadn't worked.

Stakar found him there, hand over his mouth and eyes wet as he tried to choke back sobs. He could have melted into the floor then. In the barracks crying was weakness and weakness was shame. Part of him had expected to be disciplined for showing such weakness, just as he would have been back with the Kree. Beaten at worst, scolded at best.

But Stakar didn't.

Instead, he had talked Yondu through it. They discussed what was overwhelming him, what fears ailed him, what anxieties plagued him. Stakar listened, he heard, and he did his best to try and make it better.

And that's what Yondu resolved to do with you now. He wasn’t going to let it go. He didn’t think he had ever seen you cry before, and here you were now doing it in your sleep. Didn’t seem right to just ignore it. He also figured if you didn’t get it off your chest he figured you’d likely wake him again in the same manor when you fell back into whatever dream had been haunting you. That wouldn't be good for either of you.

He sat up straighter. “Well I’m up now. Might as well talk about it. Maybe you’ll sleep better if ya do.” Yondu leaned back against the wall of the abandoned shed.

He watched you sort-of curl into yourself in the dark. Chin on your knees, back also against the wall of the shed. However, you didn't speak.

“Ya really gonna try giving your captain the silent treatment now? Seems mighty rude. Would hate to have to assign extra chores for insubordination…” he trailed his sentence off. Pulling rank usually worked. Hell, who was he kidding? He was the captain. It always worked.

You finally looked up at him and sighed. “Look, it’s dumb. It’s really nothing-”

“Cut that bullshit.” he interrupted. “People don’t cry over nothin’, an’ I don’t think I’ve ever seen ya cry before, so spill it.”

Your back straightened as you rested against the wall. “It just- I had a dream about home,” you finally responded, a hint a defeat in your voice.

“Oh. Yer gettin’ homesick?” He supposed that made sense. Homesick wasn’t necessarily a sentiment he knew well, but he knew that Quill sometimes got homesick too, though he had pretty much grown grown out of it by now. He left Terra much younger than you had. You had had more time to get attached to your home world, so he wasn’t totally surprised.

“Not exactly,” you reply.

Yondu raised an eyebrow. That wasn’t quite the answer he had been expecting. “No?”

“No. You see, I um… I didn’t exactly have the… best life back home. My… my dad… he would- um… he-”

Your voice was starting to get that thick edge to it as you danced around telling him about just how bad of a relationship you had had with your father. He didn't like that sound.

Yondu cut you off when he heard your voice begin to crack. “I see. Ya ain’t gotta talk about yer daddy none if you don’t wanna. I think I already get the picture.” He already figured the dream was bad, but he hadn’t expected it to be that kinda bad.

In the dark he sees you nod your head gratefully and your posture relax a bit.

The two of you sat in silence a little bit before Yondu noticed you starting to shiver a little in the cool night air. He silently sighed and took off his duster before tossing it at you.

It hit you in the shoulder and after taking a moment to realize what it was you looked at him with widened, confused, eyes.

“Ya look cold. You’ll sleep better warm.” Yondu stated flatly.

“But you-”

“I’ll be fine.” With that he began to lay back down, his gaze towards the ceiling. “I run hot anyways. You get to sleep now. We got a long walk back to the ship in the mornin’.” That bit about running hot wasn't completely true. He was a little bit chilly if he was honest, but he still figured you needed the jacket more than him right then. And as long as you got the hint that this rare act of kindness was to never leave this shed, he'd deal with it. Last thing he needed was for his crew to think he'd gone soft.

“I- um- ok, sir,” you reply, sounding surprised. You laid back down on the floor of the shed, now with his duster as a blanket.

Yondu lay awake for a bit, well after the sound of your breathing deepened, indicating you had fallen back asleep. He couldn't help thinking about what had just taken place. Clearly, you were better off as part of his crew than back on Terra, especially if your memories of your life on Terra gave you nightmares.

The thought of a parent willfully harming their child made his blood boil. He couldn’t understand how a parent could ever hurt their kid. What kind of parents could beat on their kid? Or neglect them? Or use them as a battery… Or could even sell their own little baby into slavery… He shook his head to will those thoughts away.

In his mind it was settled. If your father was enough of a piece of shit that you didn’t even miss home, then he was gonna be your daddy now. Not like you’d be the first Terran he’d come to take as his own kid. Hell, might not even be the last.

He’d be better than you or Peter’s fathers would ever be. He was sure of that.

[guardianspatrol]

Cookie Dough & Comfort

Pairing: Jane x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers

Summary: As a newcomer to Doom Manor you and Jane get along really well, but when Jane and The Underground are going through a rough time can you help them through it?

Warnings: Some swearing, Jane might be a bit OOC, Reader is gender-neutral, Season one doom patrol spoilers, Jane/The Underground gets upset and has mental breakdowns

Word Count: ~1,500

A/N: This is my first time writing Jane so hopefully it’s alright. Also, I don’t have DID so if anything in here is incorrect please tell me so I can fix it. Anyways I hope you enjoy the fic!

Keep reading

[guardianspatrol]

I want to kill you like they do in the movies | part 1

I want to fuck you like a foreign film, no subtitles to get your through this; I'm a country you never, ever, ever want to visit again.

You're a former student of Dr. Otto Octavius. As he descends into partial insanity, your unassuming, quiet form lingers in the dregs of his mind just like your shadow used to linger in the back of the class. As they say, still waters run deep...

for the inspiration, I want to thank @burrowingdweller and their art! mwah 💋

Otto's shit eating grin, the mecha tentacles, his cigar, blackout glasses & more leather and metal than in a German porno. Ock's mouthy, thick in all the right places and his penchant for frivolously peeling all the layers off you knows no bounds! Soft!Dark!Otto my beloved.

4,1k words. This part is suggestive, so 16+. Second part will come out sometime during Christmas - it got out of hand and grew too long. This is just pure suspense.

You were woken up by the unfamiliar sensation of a cool breeze on your leg. Not the one to risk keeping a window open at night while living in the not-so-good neighborhood of your city, the sudden change of temperature jolted you out of slumber. As you hastily peeled your eyes open, fitfully blinking away the sleep, the fine hair on your nape stood up.

There was someone in your bedroom.

Your muscles clenched and released, hot lead spreading through your limbs at an alarming pace. The breath you were holding in shuddered, getting stuck midway between your mouth and your lungs.

"Hello, darling," the intruder spoke, not even giving you a moment's chance to gather enough oxygen to scream.

His voice was strikingly familiar; your noise of distress died down in your throat before it even started and you turned your head in the direction of the man, squinting, puzzled and bewildered at the sight of your former professor's unmistakable, towering form.

"Doctor Octavius?" You felt stupid asking of the obvious, but for some reason, your brain could not come up with a better way to attempt to gain insight on the matter of your former nuclear physics teacher breaking into your bedroom in the middle of the night.

A metal appendage glowed orange and red in the dark as it neared you, hovering a couple feet away from your face.

Right. The whole Doctor Octopus situation.

"I have found myself thinking about you recently," the man stated calmly, almost jovially, as if he didn't just commit a crime for the sake of a late night chit-chat. "And I can't seem to get you off my mind," he continued. "It seems like I will need you to accompany me for the time being."

In no way it is phrased as an invitation or even a request; despite the pleasant tone, Otto's words leave no room for consideration. He sat on the large chair in the darkest corner of your room, the clothes you'd dumped on it the previous day neatly moved to the table beside it, gloved fingers tapping on the wooden surface next to a framed photo of your family.

You swallowed, drawing the blankets closer toward your chest in a gesture entirely subconscious. He noticed this, of course, and the corners of his mouth fell, but other than that, he offered no acknowledgment of your obvious discomfort. The content, slightly teasing expression you came to know during your college days was replaced by one of absent amusement.

"What... What for?" Despite the fear gnawing at the edges of your mind, you somehow quickly had come to a realization that he would not hurt you, unless absolutely necessary, of course. He wasn't the warm, welcoming goofball you remembered him as, but neither was he demanding and deranged; silently, you decided it would be in your best interests to placate him for the time being. "I'm nothing special," you offered him a tidbit of honesty in return for his innocuousness.

The mechanical appendage closest to you is joined by another just one like it; slowly, they glided closer and closer, as if trying not to spook you. The smell of iron and motor oil filled the air around you.

Otto smirked. "Oh, but you are," you couldn't see his eyes behind the oval blackout glasses but you felt the force of his stare weighing down on your face. "But you wouldn't know that, would you, darling?" The corners of his mouth tilted upward again. "The mirror is a worthless invention. The only way to truly see yourself is in the reflection of someone else's eyes." (*)

The repeated use of the pet name sparked a feeling you'd long forgotten, left behind in the back rows of his classes. You'd rationalized yourself out of the harmless little crush the day you found out he was married; no amount of personal gratification was enough to outweigh the label of being a homewrecker. He was a handsome older man, a cliché in every textbook, and you preferred to stay far away from both of these complicated situations.

Looking straight at the disgraced scientist, you felt a sense of pity creep in, diluting the fear that previously occupied your mind. Still, you could not find any words to express the cacophony of feelings that turned words into useless poutpourri.

Under his piercing stare, you allowed yourself to be talked through packing a bag and leaving a note for the landlord and your loved ones. Otto had retained at least some of his patience and love for teaching: he was nothing but sweet and courteous in helping you stage an escape from your life as you knew it. Dr. Octavius had always come off as a deeply intelligent, well-spoken man; shedding the burden of morality made his intellect stand out more than ever.

Sometimes, letting go wasn't the hardest part; neither was the foreboding future with promises held unclear. It was the moment as it remained, striking and heavy, that blurred the finest, thickest lines of reason into a rapid current descending into mayhem and disorder.

You had serious doubts anybody would go looking for you any time soon.

After a short, fast run, being held close to his chest and rushed through the night-time city, you found yourself in a spaceous loft. Engineering tools and various machines in different stages of development littered several massive wooden desks, but aside from that, Otto's place was impeccably tidy. The décor was tasteful, most of the furniture solid and antique.

Standing in the middle of the room, still wearing your silly pajamas and clutching your duffle bag, you felt stark naked and fully on display. The loft was cold, courtesy of the fully open window you'd been carried inside through, and you couldn't help but shiver.

"That way," one of the mechanic appendages pointed towards a door. Otto's voice and demeanor had grown noticeably more relaxed once he saw you were not freaking out.

The room was nice, if a little dusty. The absurdity of the situation set in when you sat down on the bed, at a total loss, and a soft knock sounded out just a second before a servo opened the wooden door and Otto himself walked in with a tray laden with soft biscuits and a steaming mug of herbal liquid.

"Something to help you go back to sleep," he explained, seeing your confusion. His eyebrows knitted together. "We will talk in the morning."

"Is it drugged?" You asked bluntly, sensing a nearing bout of tears and hysteria leaving you teethering on the razor's edge as your brain finally, finally made an attempt at processing the situation.

The change in him was as quick as it was terrifying. "I would do no such thing!" He barked, forcing you to recall just how loud and deep his voice could be. "That is absolutely laughable. You should know better."

You couldn't help it, your bottom lip trembled and tears threatened to spill from the corners of your eyes. You're no wilting flower, far from it, actually, but something about Dr. Octavius' sudden anger and subsequent disappointment made your throat tighten and your eyes water.

His lips moved but no sound actually came out, he must have been talking to himself, so you patiently waited for him to make up his mind, solve his internal conflict and leave. One of his servos floated near your face yet again and you almost managed to suppress the flinch; granted, it shrunk back upon sensing your apprehension.

Sooner rather than later, he came to his own conclusions, but not without fueling your bewilderment even more. His smile, a little bit shameless around the edges, returned when he reached out to draw back the comforter and usher you under it.

Stupefied, you followed the silent instructions.

"This place could use some warmth. A fireplace, maybe?" He rambled, tucking the corners of the softest blanket you've felt in your entire life around you. "Nonsense. It's an unnecessary fire hazard. I'm a physicist, I can figure out a heat source both safe and aesthetically pleasing," the smile never left his lips but the vacant expression under it rushed back.

He cycled through his faces so rapidly, so forcefully. Like a madman.

"Good night, darling," his hand slid over your hair once, before you could even attempt to pull away, and Otto's whistling accompanied his quiet footsteps on his way out.

Your eyes were glued to the wall. They stayed there throughout most of the night, senselessly tracing the patterns on the wallpaper: each and every swirl of the delicately painted flowers was carefully examined and documented as your fingertips kneaded into the thick covers, leaving fold lines on the previously pristine fabric.

Save for the massive bed and a sturdy desk and chair, the room was empty. The plant that stood in the furthest corner looked days away from dying. It's leaves were mostly yellow and the soil looked barren and dusty.

Memories of Dr. Octavius' personal lab flooded your brain. It was neat and the multitude of plants in it were always watered; your mind drifted back to his wife. She must've been the one to take care of the plants. The Daily Bugle had reported her being dead as a result of an explosion in Otto's lab: you didn't need to be a genius to form a logical chain of events.

It explained a lot, if not all of Otto's odd behaviour, now that you had the time to think about it.

Otto, as your professor, had never expressed any untoward interest towards you. He oftentimes asked you and other capable students for small favours like helping with some calculations or giving a fresh eye to the barely comprehensible equations, keeping the relationship strictly professional. It wasn't anything special: at the time, you were elbow-deep into the subject and eager to learn.

Otto's favourite student, one Peter Parker, most certainly had tons of knowledge and experience on you.

And yet, you'd been the one who stayed on the doctor's mind. The speculation remained at the forefront of your attention, keeping your consciousness on high alert even as, come morning, you slipped into a restless, uneasy sleep.

Little by little, over the course of several days, the alarm and unease receded. You were kept appropriately occupied at most times, scribbling notes and inputting data into several computers that calculated results far beyond your understanding.

You made coffee and food, coaxed into it after seeing Doc's terrible habits of skipping meals and sustaining himself on ramen noodles. It wasn't anything unexpected: even before... Before the terrible things that happened to him, Otto often displayed classic mad scientist behaviours. Most of the faculty members did, including yourself.

This Otto, this towering, sneering, mechanised, menace of a man hardly resembled the Otto Octavius you knew. And yet, you couldn't help the shy smile that inched onto your face as he thanked you for your efforts. For some fleeting moments, no more than second or three at a time, the cold flames in his eyes changed to genuine warmth and appreciation, and even as the large, monstrous actuators crawled from behind his back, the fear that you were supposed to feel faded into delicate curiosity.

"Doesn't that hurt?" You'd spent the last two hours bent over paperwork, numbers and letters a fading background for the attempts to gather your courage to inquire about his extra appendages.

"What, exactly?" Eloquent as always, Dr. Octavius turned toward you, thick eyebrows raised in expectation.

"The actuators," you awkwardly cleared your throat. "They look heavy."

"They're titanium, practically indestructible," his chest swelled with rightful pride. "It's not exactly monkey metal. But I've adapted," Otto's hand waved about, as if he was attempting to dismiss you.

One of the tentacles turned it's red-eyed head to stare at you while the rest of them kept up the pretense of being occupied. Coffee was spilled and schematics were ruined, invoking an irritated growl out of the scientist as he hurried to save what he could.

The lack of a clear answer made your eyes linger on the harness connecting the arms themselves to his back. It appeared to be fused with Otto's flesh; a thick metal and leather belt encircled his mid-section, and while you were sure it did wonders for his posture, there had to be no way it was comfortable to wear 24/7.

The more you looked, the more obvious his discomfort became. Otto's broad palm traveled up his shoulders to rub at his neck, thumb digging into the flesh as he let out a barely-audible sigh of relief. The skin where his palm had previously rested was reddened, white half-moon indentations left by his fingernails stood out.

Dr. Octavius cleared his throat, and the next thing you were able to focus on was his condescending smirk.

Feeling your face flood with heat, your defiance reared it's ugly head: having been shamefully caught ogling your captor, there was no turning point back.

Otto's hand came up to rest just under his jaw. "Ask," it was an order.

You had no idea what to ask. Any possible questions you might have, you were far too anxious to voice: setting off his short fuse was a prospect most terrifying. The actuators tended to react violently to his mood swings and you had no doubt: one day, instead of a coffee cup or a piece of machinery, it would be your limp body flying towards the wall.

"I can rub your shoulders?" You blurted out, inwardly cringing as soon as the words left your lips.

Briefly, you thought you saw a flash of suprise on Otto's face; his fingers twitched and lips began to stretch into that teasing, cruel grin you had come to associate with Dr. Octopus, Otto's cruel side.

"Why, darling, I didn't know you cared," his hands dropped, neatly folded over his lap. "Come over here."

Standing on shaky legs, you complied, looking at the floor under your feet as you neared the doctor's back. The actuators retracted, but not by much. The bottom ones remained uncomfortably close to your body, their visors trained on the top part of the spine harness.

"I won't hurt you," his words came out soft, almost gentle.

Otto briefly raised his hand to take hold of your smaller one, callouses and scars dragging over your gentle skin as he placed you palm right over a hard, rounded spot just at the crook of his neck.

Dr. Octavius was hot to touch, almost scalding, small hairs tickling the pads of your fingers. Being this close to him was a novelty: under the smells of leather and metal emerged a hint of tobacco and expensive liquor. Truly, the scent worthy of a world-class criminal.

Silently, you dug your fingertips into the hard spot, sight still preoccupied by the patterns of the hardwood floor. You senses were dialed to eleven; you felt, not saw, the actuators twitch and sway as Otto's shoulders slowly dropped and content little sighs departed from his moist lips. The wound trapezius relaxed bit by bit under your patient ministrations.

"Shit," you heard his groan of approval and your face flared even more - something you just had thought impossible.

Your hand froze and you hastily tried to peel it off Otto's back, nearly succeeding, but only managing to jump when his own hand closed right over it, securing it where it was.

"Doc?" You asked, following a pregnant silence that was far too loud.

Otto squeezed your hand; securely, tenderly, with a sigh that made the entirety of his body sag and fold in on itself like a crumpled paper bag. "Thank you," his eyes met yours over the rim of his glasses. "You've always been a good girl. Glad to see that hasn't changed," if not for the crooked tilt of his lips, you would have considered the gesture to be sweet.

The words echoed in your head as heat crawled down your neck and into your blouse.

It wasn't as if Otto was oblivious to the effects his words had on you, but he was courteous enough to settle for a smug smirk and a flick of his wrist, effectively sending you back to your own desk. You were hot all over, eyelashes fluttering as your eyes struggled to focus on the paper in front of you.

"I have some business to attend to tonight," he began, conversationally, as the clock neared your bedtime. The time he usually insisted you go to bed. "Would you like me to bring you something?"

The question put your tried brain in a stupor as absolutely unhinged images of Doctor Octopus in a McDonald's drive through window flooded your thoughts. "Um, a cheeseburger?"

Doc halted in his steps, all four tentacles tilting to the side as if examining you for your own version of insanity. You smiled, sheepishly, wanting to play it off as a bad joke, but the man briskly came over to stand right in front of you, commandeering your attention with a single tap of his foot.

Finding the slow upturn of your head unsatisfactory, Doc's single gloved hand lifted your chin up to meet his pitch-black eyes. "I could give you any trinket this god-forsaken city has, and you ask for something so... Trivial?" He sounded puzzled.

You swallowed audibly. "In my defense, I've never worked for a big-time criminal before."

Doc barked out a terse laugh. "Feisty little thing. Always so clever with your words," his gloved thumb carefully stroked your chin, gliding along your jaw, tracing the shell of your ear. "Don't worry, you'll have your junk food," as if he'd only noticed the path his hand had traced upon your face, it was quickly withdrawn and stuffed in the pocket of his trousers.

Several hours past your bedtime, the loft stood eerily quiet and still. The dust in your room had settled, somewhat, but specks of it glistened in the pale moonlight from time to time; you made out shapes of willowy smoke and ghostly creatures in it, wove a web with the power of your imagination.

Otto wasn't overly fond of seeing a strip of light coming from under your door when you were supposed to be asleep. For someone who had himself permanently fused to a machine, Doc was a little too insistent on cultivating healthy habits in his assistant. Regular breaks, meals, eight hours of sleep...

You felt his eyes on your curled up body when you sat on the spacious windowsill, next to an open window that overlooked rhe scurrying city. It was the most peaceful, being left to your own devices, lulled into tranquility by swarming cars, chattering people below and soft flow of wind.

It was cool and airy in the room; your eyes slid shut, your heartbeat slowed down. The soft breeze you can almost taste in your mouth is but a figment of your imagination; that doesn't stop your lips from parting, trying to fit as much of the perceived freedom in your lungs to conserve it, preserved for the moments you feel like drowning under Otto's heavy stare.

You're not afraid of him. Unstable and passionate, but never explicitly violent toward you. Teasing, impudent but never mocking.

The thought of him weighs you down like a boulder tied into the center of your soul; your very bones are afraid he'd drag you down with him. With the colorful entirety of NYC at the tips of his actuators, there's no trench quite deep enough for Otto.

Something clattered right behind your door.

Peaceful thoughts scattered like hares under a headlight and your heart thumped in your chest, uselessly beating against your ribs. Your ears eagerly listened for anything that pinpointed the source of the disturbance - Otto's muttering, the scrape of his metal arms against wood.

The floor is cold under your feet, soft rug doing nothing to protect you from the chill held in the very depths of the wooden boards under it. It creaks softly: the door was not the the one to betray you, as you thought it'd be, quietly opening it just enough to see inside the dimly lit main room.

A glowing red light flashed in your direction, the source of it obscured by the shadows holding the vast space hostage. The room seems stuffy and cold with the lights out.

The squeak you released registers at the same time as another actuator reached for the light switch.

Otto's back was turned towards you; endless stream of black leather absorbed some of the light, a glossy sheen to his trench coat, so supple, it looked oiled. It was a viscous drop of tar in the yellow splash of light of the overhang lamp.

"Didn't peg you for a scaredy cat," his voice was quiet, which did not stop him from commandeering your attention in the slightest.

The raspy undertone to it, the wide stance, you knew he was as far from being Otto as he could be. No, this was Doc Ock himself, in flesh and metal, bent over the schematics you'd worked on earlier in the day, planning something absolutely earth-shattering for the days to come.

"I heard a noise," you explained yourself, remaining mostly behind, in the safety of your room.

"Come here," the order came... Not unexpected, most certainly unwelcome.

Nonetheless, you obeyed, pulling the oversized shirt of your pyjamas down to cover your legs. A waft of thick smoke erupted from Doc, tainting the air with spices and tobacco. Several neatly folded packages, labeled "biohazard" littered the table; you recognised the symbol of a lab near the docks, you saw several blood stains on the paper wrapping.

A gloved finger poked at a set of numbers. "Tell me, what do you see?"

"An equation," you replied, swallowing the bile in your throat. "The amount of plutonium needed to achieve a stable reaction." Aside from you brief interest in the matter in college, you weren't all that familiar with nuclear physics.

A cloud of smoke enveloped your face, the acrid matter leaking out of Doc's satisfied smirk. "Atta girl," the cigar migrated into his hand, ashes falling all over the papers. "Now, where can we get the plutonium?" The hand came to rest on the arm he'd crossed over his torso. "Hmm?"

It took a moment to realise he was, in fact, addressing you and not asking a rhetorical question. You found it simultaneously insulting and flattering he thought you'd know where Doc could unleash his mayhem and steal himself the plutonium needed; all your jobs in the past years were pretty ordinary.

"I don't know," feeling stupid, you mumbled, playing with a torn cuticle on your thumb. In a shirt three sizes too big, standing clueless to the massive, stern man, there was no denying yourself you'd felt like a child.

Doc's snort stung unusually cruel. "It's a shame. I remember you being bright, talented," he turned toward you as you refused to meet his eyes, looking into the eye of a nearby actuator. "But you always lacked determination."

It stung, more than you expected it to. Reasoning with the words of a madman was fruitless, you knew it as clear as day, and yet you found yourself swallowing the retorts burning right at the tip of your tongue. They didn't need to be said, anyways, Doc was smart enough to see them plainly written on your face.

The shiny leather of his glove closed around the valley of your chin once more, but this time, the grip was firm; no trace of benevolent affection. His eyes were obscured by the dark of his glasses and you saw yourself in the reflection: pupils blown, lips parted and moist, patiently awaiting your judge, jury and executioner.

"You can do so much better," Doc cooed, blowing faint traces of smoke right into your parted mouth. "Perhaps you need motivation. We can help with that," reasoning for the odd choice of pronoun unclear, he was in no hurry to help you solve any riddles. Your confused expression egged him on, curling his lips into a contemplative grin.

The plush bottom of your lip bended to the gentle force of his thumb. Tangy, coppery and bitter flavours crawled down the tip of your tongue, teeth scraping softly over the worn leather; enthralled by the unfamiliar feel, your body leaned into the movement until only the very tips of your toes remained on the floor, foothold unsteady.

Too shaky, almost trembling and ravenously hungry for things you don't know of, your eyesight gave out, until Doc's face became little more than a blur with a pair of shiny voids in the middle; your wrist grasped his forearm in a featherlight hold as your vestibular system shorted out like a faulty fuse in Doc Ock's grasp.

"My, my. Luckily you're so eager to please," his voice creeped over the blood banging in your ears.

Taglist (please comment to be tagged in part 2): @slothspaghettiwrites @viva-asgardia @starkiller-queen

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(*) He's quoting Voltaire.

[guardianspatrol]

I’m in the slowest process of finally writing the first chapter of this ❗️❗️❗️❗️

BLOODHOUND — RAVAGERS X READER IDEA

I thought of this idea for a reader insert whilst in the shower and share it with you guys to see if there’s an interest for it. Tiny warning, I do talk about blood & slavery in this but other than it, it should be okay to read.

The Kree don’t let things go. They may lead you on to believe they’ve forgotten about what you’ve done to them but they never forget. And they especially do not forgive easily.

It’s been several months since Stakar & his clan freed Yondu Udonta from the hands of the Kree. And though none of them are stupid enough to let their guard down, they all begin to question if the Kree care enough to come after them. To come and punish them for taking what was unrightfully “theirs”.

It’s been several months since the escape but the Kree have finally decided what to do about it. Their punishment would be nothing less than death and their executioner? Their most prized weapon— the reader.

Capable of bending blood of all types— from old, dried up blood on the battlefield to hot, boiling blood coursing through their opponent’s body— the reader is practically a bloodhound. Regardless of whether they like it or not.

Unanimously agreeing with one another on the decision, The Kree send the reader & a fellow kree solider after Stakar’s clan. Possessing high hopes that their beloved solider and weapon will come back with Yondu Udonta and the wonderful news that all of the rest of them are dead. However, the reader does nothing of the sort and instead finds themselves questioning their own loyalties & planning their own escape.

Anyways ! That’s basically all I have for right now. The idea isn’t super fleshed out but, again, I wanted to see if anyone was even slightly interested in the idea because I throw myself into it. I’m pretty sure this would have to be a series if I do go through with this. It would also be pretty gruesome considering the reader’s abilities. Thank you in advance to anybody who gives me their opinions on this !

[guardianspatrol]

Yondu & reader for the prompts? :3 “I don’t wanna be weird, but, uh, it’s a thunderstorm, and it’s loud, and I just wanted to know if I could maybe, uh, sleep with you?”

Sure! * * * Yondu couldn't really say what had woken him, other than possibly intuition.

Someone was in his room.

He stayed there for a moment, laying on his side, just listening through the sounds of the storm outside, trying to determine if he was wrong, or if he needed to whistle.

Something shuffled in dark and he frowned. A quick whistle stopped the intruder in their path with a tiny squeak and he sat up calmly to flick on the light on his nightstand.

He raised an eyebrow at the sight of your frightened form standing stiff between his bed and the door with his arrow pointed between your eyes.

He called your name in confusion. "What the hell d'ya think you're doing?" He tossed back his blanket and stood, eyeing you suspiciously. You didn't answer, just stood there shaking and trying to gather your wits, eyes practically crossed staring at the arrow. Yondu's tone lowered as he got closer. "Tryin' to pull a mutiny? Come to steal somethin' from your captain? That's mighty bold..." His eyes narrowed and he stood in front of you, arms crossed. "Gotta admit, I never would've pegged ya for one to do that, but ya really should've known better than to try somethin' like that. Any idiot knows that's a one way ticket to a date with my arrow." A malicious grin cracked his face. "Did one of the boys put ya up to this? Or are ya acting alone?" You swallow, barely taking your eyes off his arrow. "It- it's nothing like that- I- I-" Yondu whistled a little tune and his arrow moved down to your throat. "Spit it out. Wha'd'ya gotta say?" Tears of fear pricked at your eyes. "Please- I- I-" You sniffed, causing Yondu to let a half chuckle at the state of his believed-to-be possible assassin. "I just- the storm- and- I- I- I don't like- it's loud- and I thought-" Yondu's stance visibly softened and he raised an eyebrow. "Sorry... what? Are ya tryin' to tell me ya came here cuz yer scared of a lil' storm?" He called his arrow back, still eyeing you as you stood trembling before him. Your face burning, your nod sheepishly. "Ya came... here... 'cause the storm scared ya..." Yondu was still trying to wrap his mind around this information. "Why in the stars would ya wanna do that?" You looked down to the floor. “I don’t wanna be weird, but, uh, it’s a thunderstorm, and it’s loud, and I just wanted to know if I could maybe, uh, sleep with you?” Yondu blinked. "Repeat that." Surely he had misheard? "I... don't like thunderstorms. Could I sleep in here with you? Maybe?" You couldn't meet his gaze, sure that you were about to be scolded. The request was ridiculous and you knew it. Instead of scolding, however, Yondu laughed. "Alright, ya got me! Quill put ya up to this, didn't he? Little shit..." Yondu's laughter started to die when he noticed you didn't let up the ruse. Instead, you sniffed and wrapped your arms around yourself. He raised an eyebrow and was about to ask you to clarify this was just one of Quill's pranks when a loud clap of thunder sounded, making you jump out of your skin and cover your face. "Huh... ya weren't kiddin'... were ya?" You sniffed again and softly shook your head. Yondu's eyebrows raised as he looked at the floor and rubbed the back of his head. "Well- Gotta be honest. This here's a new one for me." He half chuckled and shook his head. "Ain't never had anyone ask to come crawl into bed with me before. Well, I mean... not anyone asking 'cause they was scared, that is." [Truth be told, Peter had attempted once as a boy, but he didn't make it to Yondu's quarters before Kraglin stopped him and scolded him for roaming the halls. An explanation from Peter that he was scared was only met with Kraglin's response of, "If ya think this storm is scary, wait til cap'n eats ya for wakin' him up!" which had the desired effect of Peter scurrying back off to his own quarters.] Yondu looked at you inquisitively. "Why didn't ya ask to crawl in with one of the others?" You glance up briefly before answering, "Didn't want them to make fun of me..." Yondu barked a short laugh, looking at you incredulously.

"And ya thought ya'd have better luck coming to me? Your captain?" Just then another thunderclap sounded, louder than the first, and you actually let out a little shriek before clapping a hand over your mouth. Yondu sighed. It was clear that you were actually terrified. Well, one night wouldn't hurt. Just one. With a dramatic roll of his eyes he gestured to the bed. "Fine. Go on then." "Really?" You sniffed, looking up at Yondu with a mix of gratitude and surprise. "Yeah, before I change my mind." His mouth was half turned down in show of a grumpy frown. He turned to the bed but then looked back at you suddenly and added, "And ya better not be the type that snores. I'll boot yer ass on the floor." You blushed furiously. "I'm not! I swear." Yondu narrowed his eyes as if to say he was holding you to that promise and gestured with his head towards the bed again. "Come on. Ain't gonna stay up all night." He walks back to the bed and as an afterthought he says, "Ya know if anyone sees ya leave in the mornin' they're gonna talk..." "I swear I won't say anything. I don't want them to find out either." You look down. "I'd never live it down if they knew I came running to you like a scared little kid 'cause of some thunder." You look back up. "And I can leave early- before the others wake, or when the storm is passed. Whichever comes first." Yondu nods. "Probably fer the best..." He sits down on the bed, setting an early alarm so he can kick you out early. You timidly followed, pulling up the covers to crawl in on the other side. "Hey, um, thanks." You say shyly. "For this." "Don't mention it," he says, not looking at you as he goes to turn off the light. He stops himself halfway and turns to face you to reiterate, "I mean it. We never speak of this again. And this is the only time I'm lettin' this happen, ya hear?" He wanted to throw in a reason why he was even allowing it this time, but honestly he couldn't think of one other than he saw how frightened you were and wanted to help, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna admit that. You nod. "Yes, sir." He nods once, as if satisfied, flicks off the light and lays down on his side facing away from you. "And ya better not be the cuddly type neither. Might wake up with a black eye if ya try it." You settle down as well, laying on your back. "No, sir." "Good. Now go to sleep. I don't wanna hear that ya fell asleep on the job or somethin'. " Now there was good enough reason... He tacks on the end, "Only reason I'm allowin' it tonight. Can't have ya messin' jobs 'cause ya was too scared to sleep." Another clap of thunder. You jump, but manage a, "Yes, sir. "Good."

He doesn't say anything more for a few minutes and then you can hear him softly snoring. Eventually, now feeling much safer, you manage to fall asleep yourself. ***

You wake early in the morning to the sound of the low alarm Yondu had set the night before to ensure you left early. The storm had passed, and you make to sit up, but find you can't. Looking down, you find what's holding you captive is Yondu himself, one of his strong blue arms wrapped around you while he remains sleeping. Gently, you attempt to pry his arm away so you can leave, but this only results in him pulling you closer.

You'd have laughed if you didn't think you'd wake him and have to suffer the consequences of laughing at your captain for being a cuddly sleeper.

You wait a minute and try again, this time succeeding, and manage to crawl out of the bed without waking him.

It isn't until the door clicks open that Yondu stirs.

Luckily there isn't another appearance of his arrow this time, as he manages to remember in his groggy state why you were there in the first place. He squints at you and in a gruff grogginess, says, "Ya better get back to yer own bed. And I don't want any repeats of last night, understand? Only gonna happen once. Next time yer on your own,"

"Yes, sir... and... thanks."

Yondu just waves you off and turns back over, muttering something about needing to 'fix that lock.'

You smile softly as you close the door behind you.

You always knew he was a softie.

[guardianspatrol]

[guardianspatrol]

Michael Rooker as Savant in The Suicide Squad (2021)

[guardianspatrol]

Me, about to get out of my car to go into work: Flex Mentallo, give me strength.

[guardianspatrol]

Yondu

icons.

[guardianspatrol]

Getting new Yondu and Kraglin content on What If

[guardianspatrol]

every day I think about doom patrol s3

[guardianspatrol]

Getting caught in the rain:

Yondu Udonta, Merle Dixon, Clyde Dutton

I realize that I’ve made myself known for writing Daniel Craig characters, but after the amount of love my Yondu headcanons got… Can you blame me? I’ve recently gotten into Michael Rooker and - like Craig - he doesn’t get nearly enough love, so I hope you all like this! It’s not a lot, but it’s a start. I hope you all enjoy!

I did not reference race, gender, sexuality, or physical appearance. If I missed something, please let me know so I can change it!

Warnings: Merle Fucking Dixon

Masterlist:

Yondu Udonta:

- Since you’re in outer space, how much do you want to bet that it’s acid rain - the kind that melts skin? Or gives rashes? Maybe it’ll turn your skin yellow? 

- Yeah, Yondu isn’t about to potentially risk your life over some measly rain shower (he nearly learned the hard way with Peter). You are gonna stay inside the ship - or wherever you are - until it blows over and then some. 

- On the rare occasion that you really do have to go outside mid shower, he’s going to bundle you up so none of your skin is exposed and you can hardly breathe. 

- On the even rarer occasion that the rain won’t somehow permanently injure you, it’s kinda fun! At first you’re worried, because what if you loose all your hair or turn pink ? But when you turn to Yondu and he has that grin on his face, you know you’ll be fine. 

- He thinks it’s cute when you jump in the puddles or stick your tongue out to taste it (and excitedly exclaim that it tastes like lemonade). If you’re underdressed, he’ll give you his coat.

- Yondu swears up and down you’re not making him soft, but if he had to imagine what ‘soft’ felt like, it has to be similar to the feeling he gets when you grab his hand and pull it into your pocket so he doesn’t get cold. 

Keep reading

[guardianspatrol]

Imagine Rocket being the only one to understand you after The Blip:

"They think they failed."

You didn't think, you knew. You failed your family, your people, every single person was hurting because of you. Life had come to a screeching halt and you were the one to blame. Aim for the head, it's what you'd been taught, what you should have known, and yet you didn't. The smugness of his voice replayed in your head every waking moment. You'd wake up from nightmares, reliving that moment over and over again. Puny, that's what he'd called you, and weak. Pathetic. You couldn't do it, but he could. He took the lives of billions, throwing it in your face afterwards. You wanted to be one of them. You wanted that release, the ending that looked painless, but you didn't. You survived and now you were left with the guilt.

Rocket understood it better than anyone else. Words and cheesy sayings wouldn't get you anywhere. You truly believed it was only on your shoulders, and you were going to regardless of what they did. He wasn't going to force some false positivity, or tell you it was going to be okay because truthfully, he wasn't sure. His team was gone, the only family he'd ever had. Most of the time he wasn't up to cheering someone else up. So, you sat together in silence. He was the only one you could stand to be around because of it. The others looked at you like they were sorry, like all they could think when they saw you was how you should have gone for the head. . . .

[guardianspatrol]

Yondu Imagine #4

This one really made me happy while writing it, I hope you guys enjoy it too💙

idea: Yondu gets injured, and you see his soft side

Softer Than He Seems

“Can any of these Ravagers actually do their part and help dust every once in a while?”

You mumbled under your breath while dusting the inside of the ship. With these ravagers going in and out of the ship constantly it dragged in so much filth. It’s been a few hours since you started your little cleaning spree, and you had just gotten half way through the ship. This was probably going to be a two day job. You rinsed our you cleaning rag and duster, putting them up for the day.

“I’ll finish the rest up tomorrow-“

Just as you were finishing up, you could hear them all return from whatever mission they had to complete that day. Heading toward the entrance of the ship you looked for the captain, Yondu. Recently, Yondu has been acting nicer than usual to you. Usually he was kind but of course he would throw the usual cuss word or two in your direction. Though in the past few days he’s been much sweeter to you, and he would get onto the others if they ever made you uncomfortable or made fun of you in any way.

When you couldn’t find Yondu, you went straight to Kraglin. It took kraglin about a week to get used to you when you first joined the ravagers, but after that the two of you had become great friends. It was nice to have someone like him to talk to. Tapping on the taller guy’s shoulder he turned to face you.

“Hey Kraglin, it was wondering if you knew where Yondu went? I wanted to let him know that I’ll finish cleaning the ship tomorrow.”

Kraglin nodded and motioned down the hallway with his hand.

“Oh yeah, boss man should be in his room.”

You thanked him and headed down the hallway. Your boots lightly thudded against the floor of the ship as you made your way to the captain’s room. Once you stood at his door you raised your hand and lightly knocked. You waited for a few seconds but no response. You knocked again but still no response. Okay, now you were getting a little worried. Even the third time you knocked there was no answer. You grabbed the door handle and slowly opened his bedroom door.

“Yondu? Hey I’m sorry if I’m interrupting anything but I was just worried-“

When you walked in he wasn’t in his room, but you heard a pained growl in his bathroom. You cautiously made your way towards the door which was wide open. When you got to the door you saw Yondu slightly leaned over the sink with his shirt off and a big red gash on his shoulder. You gasped at the sight, loud enough for him to hear. He looked at you in the reflection of the mirror.

“What do you want?”

He snapped, looking at his injury in the mirror.

“I-..Yondu-..I mean-…sir, what happened?”

You were very concerned, hating to see him hurt. Yondu sighed and shook his head.

“Got into a damn fight-“

You stepped closer, hoping he wouldn’t mind. Your concern showed on your face, and it was clear as day. Gently you placed your hand on his shoulder, avoiding the injury so you wouldn’t hurt him. He flinched a bit when the feeling of you hand appeared on his shoulder. After inspecting his wound, your eyes met his.

“Sir, if you don’t mind, please let me help you with this? It would be horrible for you you too get an infection, plus it’s much easier than trying to do it yourself. Please?”

You tried convincing him, and surprisingly enough he agreed.

You were shocked but happy. Taking his hand, you led him to the bed sitting him down there. You left him for a few minutes to go grab some supplies. Once you returned, you sat down next to him. The bleeding seemed to have mostly stopped which was good. You cleaned up his wound, noticing he was trying his best to stay calm and not yell.

“Okay, now it’s time to stitch it up.”

Yondu looked at you strangely.

“Time to do what now?”

Lifting yo the needle and threw his eyes went wide for a second. You latter his back gently to reassure him that he would be ok.

“Don’t worry it’ll end soon.”

He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. You stated to stitch up his wound, getting the first stitch done.

“Don’t talk to me like that, I ain’t no damn child- fuck!!”

You held in a laugh as you finished the rest of the stitches. He handled the rest of them better than the first. Last but not least you bandaged his shoulder, having to bring the wraps across his chest to keep them in place.

“That’s got it. Now just get some rest and be careful what you do with that shoulder for a little while.”

Yondu stood up to go look in the mirror at the bandages. He looked back at you, but this time with a softness in his eyes. Wow, you’ve never seen that look from him before. He grabbed a clean shirt and slipped it on being careful of the bandages. You smiled as your face turned a light pink.

“Well um..I better get going, have a good evening sir-…oh-“

Before you could finish your sentence Yondu had pulled you in for a hug. w o a h. You weren’t expecting this at all- the hug was so gentle and kind..it was so sweet of him to do that.

“Thanks again, y/n, I really appreciate it.”

He let go and went to his door to let you out. As you went out into the hallway he caught your hand before you got too far.

“Oh also, ya can call me Yondu, no more of that sir stuff.”

You nodded and gave him a sweet smile as your blush returned. Finally getting to your room, you laid on your bed as your heart did backflips.

Yondu was much more of a softie than you thought.

[guardianspatrol]

Y’all hear about the new additional “what if..” episode featuring only Yondu Udonta? The title of the episode is supposedly gonna be called “what if Yondu and I kissed” 😍❗️✨