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thefanficmonster · 4 years ago

Text

Rumors

Corpse Husband x Bimbo!Reader (Female)

Warnings: Mentions of Slut Shaming, Swearing

Genre: Fluff, Tiniest bit of Angst, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: When some rumors start floating around, every content creator does their best to either ignore them or defuse the situation. However, sometimes, the fans attempt to do the defusing themselves which only leads to a worse disaster. That’s the case for Corpse whose fans were quick to jump to his protection of some ‘false’ rumors.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your request, it was a joy to write. I’m sorry for how long it has taken me to complete and post the fic but here it finally is and I hope you enjoy reading it at least half as much as I enjoyed writing it! Love, Vy ❤

Corpse cracks his knuckles, then his shoulders, then his collarbone, then the his neck. He clenches his jaw as he breathes steadily and rhythmically, trying to control an overwhelming wave of anger that he has never felt before. This is a situation he’s never had to deal with nor did he ever think he’d have to deal with and address on a fucking livestream on top of all, but here he is now, doing his best to count to ten and not go on a Twitter responding spree, calling people out on their bullshit. He wanted to do so, he still wants to, but he was stopped in his intentions and brought to a calm mindset where he was swayed into dealing with this the civil way and not by roasting the fuck out of any and every foul-mouthed person he’s seen on his Twitter timeline.

He can’t really guarantee and civility during the stream either, he’s aware his tolerance is as thin as a stretched out, old rubber band and is a slight tug away from snapping and allowing him to unleash hell on these people because of who he’s been seeing red these past few days.

Let’s not risk a misunderstanding here - Corpse absolutely loves and adores his fans, but seeing this behavior from them is quite upsetting and disappointing. When he uses the terms like ‘assholes’, ‘jerks’ and ‘rude motherfuckers’ he isn’t referring to them. He knows they are good people, but are using the completely wrong tactic of defending him, not to mention he doesn’t even need defending. Even if he did, he’s more than capable of doing it on his own and not getting other people involved.

“Hello everyone, hope you’re doing well.“ He finally settles on saying, officially kicking off the stream. If there’s any indicator of the serious nature of this stream, it’s probably the lack of lo-fi and the lack of even attempted playfulness and cheeriness in his voice. That’s how you know shit isn’t to be messed around about. “I just realized I didn’t specify what I’ll be doing in the Tweet, but I’ll tell you now, so those who aren’t interested in the subject or want to steer clear of the drama can leave. However, I wouldn’t advise clicking off considering this will be an overall, how do I say this, rant, of sorts? It’s meant to knock some sense in the people who have been spreading hate for a specific person on all social media platforms she’s active on.“

The majority of the viewers are already familiar with the subject, some even guilty of spreading the hate Corpse mentioned, but there are a few that are completely clueless - the ones actually not interested in online drama, not just saying they ‘hate drama’. With those people in mind, Corpse takes to addressing the issue from its very beginning.

“So, for a month now, me and this streamer, who’s also a TikTok star, by the name of Y/N have been interacting a lot on social media. She’s an incredibly sweet girl that a lot of people have prejudice towards. She’s very misjudged and misunderstood because people see he solely as her content, if that makes sense. They only know she’s that streamer who wears revealing clothes on her streams and posts risqué pictures on her Instagram. Like, no.“ Corpse cannot even fully believe he has to address this and that slut-shaming people is still a thing in the twenty-first century. He closes his eyes for a moment, fist tightening and his knuckles turning white, “I don’t understand how so many people can be so shallow and just plain jerks towards her in general, but then again - this is especially for my fans, the members of my fandom - I don’t understand the need you guys feel to put Y/N down to defend me from some ridiculous rumors as if it’s the first time I’ve had to deal with people talking shit for attention or to get someone canceled.“ He sighs, reminding himself to slow his roll as to not confuse any viewers who still don’t know the full story, “Anyway, back to the timeline of events. So, considering we’ve never interacted before, all the replying to comments, retweeting, liking posts and whatever sparked some dating rumors. Isn’t that just fucking hilarious - you see two people interacting on social media and the first thing that comes to mind is that they’re in a romantic relationship. Where did the friendship go? Does no one value or consider friendships to be a valid type of human relation anymore?“ He runs a hand through his hair, making another pause to clear his mind and prevent his frustration from overflowing. He promised he wouldn’t lose his cool and would remain calm and collected, but the more he talks about it the tighter he clenches his fist and the faster his heartrate is. His neck and ears are red from the tension he feels all over, almost like he’s physically restraining a raging wild animal and not just his own thoughts and emotions.

There’s layers to his anger, the lower ones - aka the ones he’s yet to get to - will be a nightmarish test of his self-control, he already knows it. Judging by how much of a toll this rant has already taken on him, his patience and control growing thinner and thinner, he’s not sure how he’ll power through the last layers without his voice raising awfully high in volume and his fists searching for some object to punch. To an ignorant eye, his reaction would seem exaggerated and overboard, but little does that ignorant eye know...

“When some of my fans saw those rumors, they reacted very badly. It was quite disappointing to see. Guys, I appreciate you standing up for me even though you shouldn’t do that - I can defend myself, not that this was a matter I needed defending from to begin with. But just the way some of you went about it was horrifically wrong and quite upsetting, to me but especially to Y/N herself.“ He can feel it, the aggravation growing, bubbling up in his chest, “What I saw disgusted me, I’m not gonna sugarcoat it. The things some of you were saying...I couldn’t believe you are in fact the same people who are my fans, my lovely fans who I’ve always thought so highly of. Never did I think you could be able of slut-shaming so vulgarly and grossly, I couldn’t believe what I was reading.“

He has every right to be upset - the things being said about Y/N were truly awful and a lot of things being said were meant to defend Corpse and defuse the rumors, doing so while stomping all over Y/N and her content. Rightfully so, many of her fans were outraged and quick to jump to her defense but were unfortunately outnumbered, leading Corpse to believe not many of her fans are actually real or as dedicated as his which only fueled his fury further.

Anyway, let’s take a look at Y/N’s point of view. Being a content creator for as long as she has, refusing to change her style no matter how many people disagreed and insulted her about it, she’s grown quite used to people spitting insults at her on every social media possible. It’s sad how throughout the majority of her content creating career she’s only had haters, creeps and fake fans watching her videos and streams. Rare are those in her fandom who’d actually stick up for her and defend her in ‘scandals’ such as this one. However, no amount of experience with dealing with hate could have prepared her for this outpour of some of the meanest shit she’s ever heard and been called in her life.

Y/N likes the content she makes, she’s comfortable in her skin and loves her body. She loves showing it off too and nor she nor anyone who wants that deserves to be shamed for who they are and what they do, especially when they aren’t hurting anyone and their content is still appropriate. People have always bashed her for all elements of who she is: her appearance, her clothing style, her streams, her gaming skills, her voice on occasion. She can count the instances when she’s received positive feedback on the fingers of her hands which would depress anyone else but not her. She’s always created content for her own amusement and entertainment so people’s opinions never really bothered her. Until now, until this very drama that has hit a specific nerve, an insecurity of hers she’s never talked about. The comments such as:

(Vy Speaking: Comments containing slut-shaming ahead, go to ### if you want to skip)

“Corpse would never date a slut like her“

“Corpse dating this thot? Please internet stop being ridiculous“

“Corpse ain’t a pimp, y’all need to chill“

“Even if they datin they gon break up soon - whore stays a whore“

###

bothered her far more than she’d like to admit. She has no one to open up about it either, she knows what she’ll get in response if she does - she’ll be told it’s her fault. Her fault because of the way she dresses, the way she talks and acts, because she chose this career to begin with. All her fault. The only person she can turn to she refuses to because she doesn’t want to be a bother - not after so many people confirmed her worries that she’s not good enough for him already anyway, the least she can do is avoid bothering him the best she can.

And that is exactly why this has upset Corpse so much.

“Here’s a little message specifically meant for those who claimed I’d never date someone like Y/N or specifically Y/N. You better listen carefully: Don’t you ever, and I mean EVER slut-shame my girlfriend or any other person ever. I cannot believe I have to explicitly remind you that your behavior isn’t ok. You should fucking know that your behavior isn’t right and that you’re a massive piece of shit for saying those awful things about others you judge solely on appearance and clothing. Does it surprise you that I am, in fact, dating Y/N? If you say yes for the reason you think she’s not good enough for me or that I deserve better, please get the fuck out of my fandom. No one disrespects my girl and gets away with it. That’s final!“

Though still under the influence of a flurry of negative emotions, overhearing Corpse literally telling people to exclude themselves from his fandom for being mean to her, Y/N’s taking a step towards emotional recovery knowing her boyfriend will always have her back. He’ll always be there to prove people wrong, defend her and stand by her. He’ll be there to catch her when the hate knocks her off her feet.

But most importantly: he’ll never ask her to change. Not her style, not her clothes, not her personality, nothing. He fell for her the way she is and for who she is, and he will never allow anyone to try to change her either. For someone who’s never had much support all her life, a single speck of support overpowers all the hate within the blink of an eye. Corpse will always be her knight in shining armor, the knight who defeated all the hateful demons by just entering her life. And though she’s still struggling with the ‘Am I good enough for someone so wonderful?’ and ‘He deserves better, doesn’t he?’ questions, with his hand holding hers, she’ll never let those doubts and insecurities overpower her.

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cinnamonest · 3 years ago

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I am loving all these "Bitter Albedo getting revenge and doing as he wants with the reader"— but also, equally as bitter Creator! Reader growing resentful towards Albedo and wanting to do to him what he's done to her, or even _worse_. Anything to take him out of her life, so she half bakes a plan to "finetune" later, first starting off by building up some trust to get on Albedo's good side, she "gives in", plays nice and gets to work on alchemy with him.

She follows this routine, playing the loving glorified "housepet". But all the while, she's been fine-tuning her escape plan. It would either put him in an equal disadvantage to him, or it might kill her. At this point, either outcome would be mercy. She tells him there's still things from the Art of Khemia she hadn't taught him.

Things she'd learned in her travels while experimenting, not long after they'd gone their separate ways.

It starts out with gathering ingredients for tamer recipes, and just like she'd promised

New techniques, new creations and new knowledge was gained.

She makes him believe that she's adapting to his existence, maybe even tolerating him, but he didn't expect for her to only grow more and more bitter as time went on. The only thing growing in her heart was the resentment she harbored for him, any sort of admiration or genuine adoration she held for her creation all but crushed. She wanted nothing of him ever again, he had gone too far, miscalculated even, in his theory that reluctant "love" would follow his treatment.

Over the course of a few weeks, she has him carefully wrapped around his finger, unknown to him that she would show him just how much mercy she showed him when she sent him his own separate way. He was suspicious at first, of course, but in his moment of weakness, in his need for the approval she had been "showering" him in, he pushes the thoughts aside when he sees that her claims seem to be "valid enough".

He follows her instructions, and each time he gains new information on old, or even lost, techniques. Raging from little things she'd kept to herself so that he wouldn't have to interact with him when they worked together, To combinations only a mad woman who's challenged nature would dare think up.

and one day, she's telling him that she thinks he's ready to try the last thing she had managed to research on her own. He mixes the ingredients according to her instructions, everything seems to be going fine until he adds the last thing— and it's immediately reacted in a messy blast.

Albedo finds himself blinded by the fallout, as well as finding a surprising lack of digits on where his hands should be. His ears are ringing, obviously, such a blast would deafen anyone.

It's the creator's way of getting her own vengeance for the position he's put her in, at least this way, maybe, _maybe_, she can have a chance to finally put her failed created behind her. After all, he was always her most _disappointing_ creation.

AHHHHHH anon that took me aback at the last bit I was not expecting that. Poor little thing, how could master be so cruel...?

After the obvious resulting chaos (and agony), he'd be quiet for a long time. He ties you to the bed with what's left of his hands, having to use his mouth to tie the knot, and... leaves. Usually he's good about leaving you food when he goes out for the day, but not this time. He doesn't say a word as he leaves, even if you call out to him.

And he's gone for several days. You're starving, but even when he comes back, he doesn't say a word at first. Doesn't acknowledge your presence, no matter how many times you call out to him. It goes on like that for hours until eventually, without prompting, after you've given up calling for him, he just simply states a few thoughts.

He was... too kind. He understands that now. You didn't deserve it. You didn't appreciate it properly. So now, you will earn your way back to the way things were.

For starters, he takes the legs off at the scar. No real reason other than to hurt you. To see your horror when you fully wake up, pain, having to adjust. He pulls the same shit where he makes you beg for anesthetic and painkiller, but it's infinitely more painful this time. He keeps you just a little bit awake for the whole thing, even if you beg enough to be given some anesthetic during the procedure.

And after that, he stops talking to you. For good.

He himself is learning to adjust, having been given a prosthetics for fingers (literally Fullmetal Alchemist lmao) that he can make do with. You can learn how to adjust, too. Having *no* legs is actually different than just having numb ones, and learning to live without them is harder than you thought it would be -- your center of gravity and sense of balance changes, you have to avoid certain positions or risk a sharp shooting pain, etc. But even when you stumble and fall, and call out for help... nothing happens. You have to fix it on your own, or, if stuck too far to move, wait until he comes by up to hours later and silently sets you upright. If you call out in what sounds like high distress, he might come running over to make sure you're not in immediate danger, but after looking you up and down and ascertaining you're just uncomfortable and/or stuck, he slowly turns back, deciding he'll help you when he feels like it later.

You don't eat together anymore. He feeds you in a bowl on the ground. The first time, you turn your nose up and fold your arms in disgust... even though you haven't eaten the entire time he was gone. You're just that stubborn. No matter. Eventually, you cave, maybe the second day, maybe the third or fourth. He doesn't say anything the whole time, just takes the food when you make it clear you won't eat it, and puts it out each night, until you give in.

You sleep on the floor. Chained by the neck to the bedpost. You understand the message without needing to be asked out loud. You hated him so much, didn't you? You'd much rather be on the cold, hard floor than in bed, since he's in it, wouldn't you? Since you hate him so much?

And still, he doesn't talk. Somehow, that hurts the most. He was never very talkative, but he'd comment every now and then, ask you for your thoughts on something, but he now acts like you're not even there. No matter how many times you call out to him, he acts like he doesn't hear it.

It goes on like that for a month or so until you finally break down. Latch onto his leg and sob and plead. You feel like you're going insane, you say. You just want him to acknowledge you exist again.

...But why should he, he asks? It's the first thing he's said to you since the leg removal. He won't turn his head or eyes to look at you. What does he get from talking to you? You were so mean. For the few months leading up to the incident, you were so, so, so mean. He tried to be nice and get you adjusted, and you fought him every step (well... not that you were taking many literal steps) of the way. Remember? You were mean from the moment you woke up then. And then, when you were finally nice -- when he trusted you -- you went and did what you did. What reason does he have to acknowledge you? You'll either be mean to him or plot against him again. And that's all he's willing to say.

A few more weeks. A few more breakdowns. You know the intention -- he wants to truly, completely break you in a way that he never could when he was showing you any kindness. And, you hate it, but it's working. You find yourself begging. Sobbing. Rocking back and forth and clinging to his legs. Utterly pathetic, pitiful, humiliating displays of neediness and weakness. It breaks you down until he finally deems you complete, and one day finally makes eye contact with you for the first time in months.

There's not much left of "you" per se, though. The nasty attitude you had back before is almost completely gone. You're finally happy when he talks to you -- something that, after so many months of going insane from silence, you consider a privilege. After so many breakdowns and humiliation, you don't have much pride left to get in the way of begging, no shame about anything you do. It's perfect.

Not that it doesn't come back, sometimes. Sometimes, when you're having good days, you get a bit too comfortable, you forget what a privilege it is to be like this together, and you almost get mean again. But it's fairly easy to shut down with a very specific look that shuts you up immediately.

Oh, and he finds a way to fix himself, in the end. Being an artificial creation, he has a different compositional makeup than a person, so there are... ways to adjust and repair the body he has. In fact, he might even find one that would work on even an organic human, a miracle regenerative formula.

Not that he'd give it to you. But he makes sure to tell you all about it, showing off just how perfectly it regenerated his hands... just to see the look on your face.

#tw: violence #lena's asks #q #.al #.creator

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christ0pher-evans · 4 years ago

Text

Shattered Heart

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader Warnings: Angst / Cheating / Mentions of Sex Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: I never usually write RPF angst fics, only fluff or smut, but I was drowning in many of my drafted smutty stories (not a bad thing) and I felt like I needed to clear my head with something different. I had this idea and Chris was the best fit. If you don’t feel comfortable reading RPF then please don’t! Based on ‘I love you’ by Billie Eilish. Please reblog and like🖤

♡

PRESENT DAY Laying in bed, wrapped tightly in Chris’ arms and listening to his soft snores over your shoulder was your confirmation that it was the weekend. Any other day you would be waking up alone, Chris already long gone and busy working. You shifted carefully before sliding out of his gentle grip, putting on your oversized jumper which was discarded on the floor from last night.

Once you were downstairs and waiting for the pot of coffee to finish, your gaze lingered on the big garden to your home; the hammock that held a blanket from summer evening cuddles, Dodger’s toys flung carelessly from energetic play dates and the makeshift bar that you had built together for the parties you always hosted. All things that highlight the life that you and Chris had started together seven years ago. Smiling to yourself and caught in your memories, you didn’t even hear Chris coming down the stairs. You only realised his presence across the kitchen once you turned around. Taking him in quickly, you noticed a look of anguish fixed on his face.

“It’s not true, tell me I’ve been lied to”

“Babe, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Upon trying to approach him, to check he was alright, he hastily stepped away as if he was frightened from your touch. Looking away from you, he stayed silent.

“Chris?”

Now, you were airing on the edge of nervous, genuinely worried something bad had happened but something was also telling you to stay put, to not move closer to him. You kept your distance, leaning against the breakfast bar for support against the unknown.

“Y/N, I… I have to tell you something.”

Sick rushed to your throat at the tone of his voice; coarse and frightened. You stayed quiet, too scared to ask him to continue.

“Last night..” he took a deep breath, “last night, at the work dinner, before I came home; I kissed someone else.”

Chris took another deep breath before he looked up. You were already looking at him, tears building in your eyes. Gripping the edge of the counter, you bit your lip and took a shaky breath, too afraid to do anything else incase you collapsed from the utter heartbreak washing over you.

“Y/N, please say something.”

The sound of Chris speaking startled you, suddenly conscious of how long you’d been frozen, practically in suspended animation. Your ethereal bubble of love and adoration abruptly shattered, even the sound of his voice was making you shudder.

Deep down, you were burning with rage, but your voice only came out as a whisper, “Tell me it’s not true, tell me you’re lying.”

You pleaded, praying and begging that this was some horrible practical joke that he wanted to play on you.

“I - I’m not lying..”

“So, just to be clear, you went to a work dinner when you knew that I would be spending the fifth night in a row, in our home, eating alone-?”

Chris went to interrupt but you weren’t finished. You were determined to get your point across before you crumbled.

“-You went out and kissed someone that wasn’t me and then came home to me, sat and had wine with me and then made love to me but didn’t have the respect for me to tell me the truth the second you walked in the door last night?!” Staring at Chris, you felt the first tears drop onto your flushed cheeks. You didn’t mean to sound so harsh but when everything was fracturing around you, your emotions were the last thing you were trying to control.

“Up all night on another red eye, I wish we never learned to fly”

THREE YEARS AGO “Chris, I thought you said you were going to be home this week? It’s our four year anniversary!” You sighed into your wine as you sat eating dinner with him one Sunday evening.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry but they want to squeeze in a week of location shooting, it was a last minute decision.”

You flicked the contents of your dinner round your plate, sad at the thought of another week at home alone. As an editor for a fashion magazine, you could do a lot of work from your home office therefore you’d already told your boss that you were working at home all week to spend time with Chris. In these situations you were so grateful to have an understanding and flexible job but frustrated to have such an in-demand and famous boyfriend. Sitting in silence with Chris, you couldn’t help but feel like this was another nail in the proverbial coffin that was your relationship.

“Come with me!” Chris blurted out nervously. “You were working from home this week anyway, why not just work from London?”

Your heart felt warm suddenly. The idea of spending a week in London with Chris was exciting and the sense of feeling wanted squashed your previous anxiety.

“Of course I’ll come with you, if you want me there?”

Chris leaned forward, reaching out and pulling your face to his, lips gently brushing against yours as he whispered, “There is nowhere that I could be in this world where I wouldn’t want you by my side, ever.” With that, he caught your lips in a bruising kiss.

SIX MONTHS AGO “Chris..” you sigh, holding your phone away from your ear so he doesn’t hear the sob that escapes your lips. “I just don’t think that flying me halfway across the country will fix these problems!”

You were exhausted with fighting a losing battle. You played with the loose tendrils of hair that had fallen around your face, waiting for his reply, wondering if he understood your hidden rejection of his offer.

“Y/N, you can’t tell me that you want to see me and sort our problems out in person but moan when I offer a perfectly valid solution! I know I’m away a lot at the moment, but your job is so flexible, I don’t understand why you wouldn’t just come with me in the first place!”

You involuntarily groan, irked by what Chris had thought was a perfectly acceptable compromise. He had missed the point completely. Flying from state to state, hell even country to country for the past six months just to get an iota of time with your husband was taxing, it was also forcing you to surrender your own life to follow his. All you wanted was for Chris to understand the sacrifice you’d been making.

“Okay Chris, I’ll book my flights now. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You sighed, disconnecting the phone call and slamming your phone on the sofa in frustration.

Reflecting back on the past few years, you felt ashamed at your naivety with Chris. You had taken everything with a pinch of salt because you could only imagine how difficult it was for Chris to uphold a relationship, let alone a marriage, with his career, so you were happy to make a small sacrifice if it resulted in spending time with Chris but now you realised, you were sacrificing everything for his happiness, not yours.

“Cryin' isn’t like you”

PRESENT DAY The words you had spoken hung over the room like a dark cloud. You knew you were being heinous before you’d given him a chance to explain but you were heartbroken. Your fingers skimmed your lips, disgusted that they’d entwined with Chris’s after he had kissed another woman, disgusted that they had begged him for release as you made love after he had kissed another woman.

As you wiped your own tears from your eyes, you noticed tears spilling from Chris’s eyes. Your body went rigid - you had only seen Chris cry a handful of times. The feeling of sympathy and guilt should have been foreign to you in this situation but you felt pain from his misery. You could see the torment in his eyes, and you knew that he was angry with himself for hurting you; maybe, just maybe you could sort this out and salvage your marriage.

“Shouldn’t I be the one that’s crying?” You tried to make light of the problem but recoiled at the distastefulness of your question.

Moving to the now well-brewed pot of coffee, you poured two mugs before placing one at the other side of the breakfast bar for Chris, a symbolic waving of the white flag. You sat down, anxiously waiting to see if Chris would follow, hoping that you could sort this out like adults and maybe try to recover your trust and your marriage. That’s what you wanted, right?

“Maybe we should just try, to tell ourselves a good lie”

You took the first sip of your second cup of coffee, still sitting in silence. You had been pondering with how to start the conversation but was admittedly hoping Chris would instigate it. Looking like that wasn’t going to happen, you tore off the bandaid and asked the question you had been dreading finding out the answer to.

“So, can you start from the beginning and tell me what happened? I think I need to understand what transpired before we move forward.” You spoke calmly, channelling your nerves into picking at your nail varnish. Distracted by the chipped pattern on your nails, you were startled when Chris spoke up.

“So, um, obviously you and me, we’ve been dealing with what feels like a long distance relationship; even though we live in the same house.” Chris paused from a moment, and you thought he was going to start crying again. You had to look down into your coffee, scared that if you started crying also, you wouldn’t stop.

“Not that we haven’t handled that before, but this time it felt different, it felt worse. I know it’s not your fault Y/N and it’s not mine either, our jobs are so demanding but I was just feeling so alone.”

Your heart was shattered at Chris’ confession. Knowing that you were both hurting from the same issue but keeping it to yourselves, it seemed absurd.

“She was always there. I saw her every day at work, definitely for many more hours than I was seeing you each day, and she is nice. She became my friend and my comfort.”

Now you felt like you’d been stabbed through the heart. Hearing Chris talk about another woman being everything you thought you were to him crushed you. How could you ever trust him again when he chose another woman to confide in?

“We get on really well, and um, whilst we were waiting outside the restaurant for our taxis, it just sort of.. happened.”

The rest of the conversation passed by like a bad dream. Remembering snippets of trying to stay calm as Chris told you he made the first move, screaming at Chris when he told you he would still see her at work every day and crying into his shoulder when you admitted you wasn’t sure if this marriage had a future.

Chris had left hours ago to stay at a friends house to give you some space. You glanced at the tissues surrounding you - reminders of the tortuous day - as if you were looking for the answers among them. Wiping your puffy eyes for the final time, you waited for something, or someone, to make the decision for you.

Now, it felt like the quiet at the end of a storm. Like your nightmare had come full circle. You sat in the same spot, alone.

Part Two: Troubled Heart

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans angst #fanfiction #rpf

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i-make-fun-of-spn-characters · 3 years ago

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I feel like you've given most spn related things some lil spice but I always love the spice on this : hot spicy take on the "Dean is the most horrible character and ruins everyone's life and Sam and Cas are poor little meow meows who only do bad things sometimes because tyran Dean farted in their direction" takes that are not really only said by anti-Dean peeps ? Obsessed with that incredible thesis and would love the added spice ❤

SPICY HOT HOT GHOST PEPPERS CAROLINA REAPERS HELP I'M BURNING

I really try to respect other people’s opinions, and I believe there are a wealth of ways to interpret a story, and I think that’s a deeply beautiful thing. This applies to interpretations I don't agree with and outright dislike as well. That said, some opinions are simply and objectively bad, dishonest, and/or demonstrably false, and I truly do not believe you can sit down and honestly watch through the show with an open mind about all the characters, truly pay attention to what they do, say, and believe, and come to the conclusion that this show is about an evil manipulative abusive man terrorizing his pure and sinless brother and friend. It is an interpretation built from cherry picking facts to suit an ugly, miserable theory, making Mount Everest out of a bunch of the tiny mole hills, making the worst possible presumptions of feelings and intentions, and holding characters to completely different standards in order to neatly divide them into "abused" and "abuser" in a way that, frankly, fetishizes the abused person. I despise this interpretation of the story with every fiber of my being, and I have absolutely no respect for the opinion of anyone who peddles it, regardless of who they cast as villain/victim (because people have also done this with the others—it’s just more “popular” to do it with Dean... I mean... does anyone else remember how people were shitting on Sam after his emotional reaction in 14.12? Calling him an evil abuser? Because I do).

The thing that always gets me about this take isn't just how dishonest, unfair, mean-spirited, and compassionless it is in its treatment of Dean’s feelings, circumstances, and intentions... but how deeply reductive and offensive it is toward Sam and Castiel, sucking away their identities to turn them into effigies to mourn for their sad, Stockholm syndrome-esque attachment to their "abuser". Further, it grips the heart of the show—the relationship between Sam and Dean, and then the relationship among TFW as a whole—in a tight, uncompromising fist and pulverizes it. It literally rips out the heart of the show (the RELATIONSHIPS) and replaces it with something unprepossessing of any merit: A miserable, 15 years long story about a malicious abuser getting away with terrorizing those closest to him for his entire life, while his poor abuse victims suffer through until they die for him/happy to be reunited with him because they “don’t know any better” and never ever learned better, I guess. What a stupid, sad sack of a story.

Castiel is a thousands of years old celestial being who has literally beaten Dean into the pavement under no form of mind control, and has shown over and over again that he will do whatever the hell he wants, regardless of whatever Dean thinks about being sidelined. If he thinks whatever he is doing is in Dean's best interest, he literally does not care how Dean feels about it. He will nod and smile and then fly off and swallow thousands of souls with Dean begging him not to, shove Dean out of the way to attack the big bad, leave Dean alone in Purgatory, refuse to come out of Purgatory so he can self-flagellate, fly off with the angel tablet, help Sam with the Book of the Damned, let Lucifer possess him without anyone's knowledge or agreement, come into Dean's room under the guise of apologizing for ghosting him so that he can steal The Colt out from under his pillow and murder someone, decide not to murder that person and still prevent Sam and Dean from helping by knocking them both unconscious, get himself killed, make a deal to trade his life for Jack's and never tell anyone, hide information and worries and ignore phone calls, ghost Sam and Dean, and bicker and fight with Dean as if they are a married couple. Love sickness and feelings of worthlessness (which Cas has a wealth of reasons to feel—many of which aren’t even related to Dean but to his heavenly family) are reinterpreted as the result of some sort of constant, terrorizing emotional abuse. Power and authority that Dean does not actually have is forced into his hands by these fans. Maybe listen when Cas says, “Hey—not everything is your fault.” Maybe listen when he says “I loved the whole world because of you”, calls Dean a role model, says he enjoys their conversations, offers to die with him and dies for him multiple times. Maybe treat these feelings as genuine and valid and HIS and not as the delusions of some poor manipulated baby.

Sam is framed this way even more often than Cas, and it's a damn shame, because what I typically see is this: Sam’s development into a mediator and peacemaker is twisted and reinterpreted as coming from a place of weakness and/or fear. Rationality, maturity, wisdom, and compassion are not the traits of a scared, powerless child. They are the traits of a mature adult, who has been beaten down by life, and fought and raged against his circumstances, and somehow come out of it with more kindness and understanding and strength instead of less. He has made his own decisions whenever it was possible, within the set of circumstances doled out to him. From telling his dad to go fuck himself and going to college, to getting back into hunting to avenge Jess (NOT because of Dean—Dean took him home without complaint at the end of the woman in white case), to continuing to hunt after their father died because he wanted to feel close to him (Dean was actually weirded out and sort of disgusted by this), raging and fighting to save Dean from his deal against Dean’s wishes, continuing to hunt and working with Ruby (directly against Dean’s dying wish), drinking demon blood, jumping in the cage, leaving hunting to go be with Amelia, coming back to hunting to save Kevin, fighting with Dean over what he had with Amelia and threatening to leave if Dean didn't shut his mouth, leaving Amelia to go back to hunting (Dean ultimately suggests he go back to her—Sam chooses to stay), trying to kill Benny, demanding to be the one to do The Trials and saying he is going to SURVIVE them—that being the ENTIRE POINT, losing that resolve in a fit of depression but choosing to drop the knife, demanding space from Dean (and being given it), fighting to save Demon Dean who didn’t want to be found or saved, using the Book of the Damned against Dean’s wishes, telling Charlie that this is what he wants—that he used to want normal but now all he wants is to hunt with Dean and that he doesn’t know what he’ll do if he can’t have that, unleashing the Darkness in his desperation to keep Dean with him and even saying, “I would do it again” in the aftermath, saving the town being destroyed by Amara, getting into The Cage with Lucifer, leading a team against the British Men of Letters, nurturing Jack, punching Dean in the face when he was going to sacrifice himself, leading more hunters, wielding a gun against Chuck... and that’s just some highlights. Sam Fucking Winchester does not need your bullshit about him being some sad, scared, helpless baby lorded over by mean old Dean who has never let him do anything he wants.

Yes, in the text itself, there is jealousy and resentment at times, and there is legitimate and righteous anger on Sam’s part on a few occasions. There is blame cast on Dean by Sam for some of these choices/circumstances. Some of those moments where Dean is blamed are legitimate, and some of them... frankly, are not. Within the framework of the fucked up dynamics of the way they were raised, Sam and some fans bristle when they feel Dean is casting himself as the parent he is not, but Sam also has been guilty in the past of trying to reframe himself as Dean’s child when things got tough. Neither of them is responsible for the origin of that dynamic, but they BOTH have responsibility to change it, and they both, ultimately, succeed in doing so. For Sam, his part comes in recognizing and learning to fully own his own choices. Recognizing that he is not a child, and he is certainly not Dean’s child, and it isn’t just “Mummy—loosen the grip”, but Sam has to too—not claim independence only to blame Dean for his choices when his own decisions have an ultimate outcome he is unhappy with. That is a legitimate arc that Sam goes through imo, but he comes out the other side of it, and he and Dean relate to each other much better as peers from then on—and I’d like to note that throughout the entire series, when they don’t relate as perfect peers and teammates, it isn’t always Dean “bossing Sam around”, but Sam also trying to sideline Dean and yes—boss him around. And when they lied and hurt each other and yes, even manipulated each other, Dean most certainly wasn't always the one doing the lying and hurting and manipulating. Always, always, ALWAYS, they both had an understandable point of view, and it was complex, and you could understand why they made the choices they did, even if you thought of those choices as being wrong ones.

I also would like to point out (because this is basically what I see all of the time) that Dean being hurt by someone or simply voicing his feelings or opinion is in no way abusive or manipulative. Dean is certainly charismatic and loved and his returning love and respect is often deeply desired, but he is not an actual siren, who bends people to his will simply by speaking or being. People are, in fact, able to tell him “no”, and frequently FREQUENTLY do. Further more, no one is owed his affection, his unwavering loyalty, or his trust. He has a right to his boundaries, regardless of if it makes some poor sad sap feel deprived of the “wellspring of coveted love” while he works through things. He can be hurt and angry, and he can wear his heart on his sleeve at times, and he can be flawed, and broken. [Insert Castiel's speech from 15.18 here]. So can Sam. So can Cas. None of them are manipulating each other by virtue of getting angry, feeling hurt, being traumatized, needing space, or having differing opinions or feelings. Sam didn’t punch Dean in the face in 14.12 because he's a cruel, manipulative abuser trying to force Dean under his thumb. He didn’t work behind Dean’s back with Ruby, insist on doing The Trials, beg Dean to use Doc Benton’s alchemy, use the Book of the Damned to cure Dean, pump him full of blood to cure him of being a demon despite the fact that it might kill him, or scream at him and fight him for wanting to get in the Ma’lak box because he “doesn’t respect his autonomy” and “wants to control him” and “doesn’t respect his right to his own body”. He did it because he loves him desperately, and Dean could stand to fucking hate himself less, and he fiercely wanted Dean to live even when Dean didn’t want to or couldn’t picture what that could be like. He didn’t force Dean to do anything simply by opening his mouth to voice disagreement and swaying Dean when he did so. Now reverse that.

Cas didn't beat Dean into the ground in season 5 because he wanted to terrorize him into never going against Castiel ever again. He didn’t go behind his back dozens of times, sideline him, go MIA, all because he wanted to manipulate and control Dean and punish him. He didn’t throw sassy remarks at him to shatter his self-esteem. Now reverse that.

*Breathes*

Anyway, fuck "X is abusive” interpretations.

#being serious for 5 seconds #RANTING RANTING RANTING #spicy spicy ghost pepper extract #mail

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milfnearyou · 4 years ago

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𝐨𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐧: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥.

“𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮.”

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.4K | 𝐎𝐇 𝐒𝐄𝐇𝐔𝐍 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: ANGST. CHEATING. BETRAYAL. SUGGESTIVE. THATS PRETTY MUCH IT THIS TIME AROUND. NGL THIS ISN’T MY BEST WORK AND IS A SHORT ONE SHOT, SORRY! CLICK HEADER FOR HIGHER RESOLUTION BC TUMBLR IS STUPID.

VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

“So you just woke up one day and decided you loved me?!”

Your voice was painfully shrill, bouncing against the metal walls and echoing through the elevator shaft. If you hadn't been so furious, you would've cringed at the way you sounded. Considering your behaviour to be completely out of character and rather petty. But it was impossible to think straight. With all the sirens in your mind screaming 'Alert!' causing you to grow defensive. You saw everything as red, wrapped in a series of warning signs. Eager to protect yourself you grew aggressive, fury coursing through your veins and laced with disgust.

The disbelief was evident in your tone, accompanied by the extremely annoyed look plastered on your face. Your eyebrows were contorted together, lightly creasing your forehead as you anxiously chewed on your bottom lip. Your hands were balled into tight fists trembling at your sides as you fought the urge to beat the living crap out of him.

"Fucking answer me Sehun!" You exclaim, throwing your hands in the air. You didn't understand him, not taking any of his bullshit words seriously as a result. Had he been telling the truth, had he truly meant every word he said. Sehun wouldn't have just stood there in front of you with nothing to say. The silence he offered simply adding more fuel to the fire that raged inside of you.

"So now you're silent? You weren't this fucking quiet back when you were professing your so-called love to me?! What's gotten into you now?"

Again, nothing but silence. The tall man simply stands there in front of you with his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants as the elevator continues to rise higher and higher. With every floor, the elevator cabinet passed, the angrier you got and it didn't help that you lived in a high rise apartment. If he continued to act this way you'd be fuming, steam emitting from your body by the time you'd reach your floor.

“Do you even know what it means to love someone? Or do you just throw yourself in any direction that proves beneficial to your selfish well being?” The questions flew past your lips one after another. You weren’t going to hold back either. Pushing yourself towards him, forcing him to explain himself.

You didn't deserve the silence. You deserved proper answers, ones that were absent from the immature man in front of you.

"Answer me right now or I swear to god I'm cutting you off forever," Warning him, you take a step forward to face him closer. Invading his personal space as you stare at him, craning your neck upwards with your arms crossed.

Watching him like a hawk, you attentively wait. Noticing how he seems to take a slight step back, his broad chest heaving up and down slowly. He seems to be nervous or perhaps, flustered? It was hard for you to believe that with all the ways he could've handled the situation this was what he opted for.

Step by step, you get closer and closer towards Sehun until he's got his back pressed against the metal walls of the elevator. It was hard to believe that someone who looked dominant most of the time could be so cowardly.

"I'm not asking again," You state, pressing your index finger roughly against his chest. Physically pushing him around until he's finally had enough. His large hands pressing against your shoulders as he shoves you back, regaining his confidence. Finally, he refutes, silence no longer being an option for him.

“Fuck off! Do you want an answer? Fine, but you don't have to act like such an invasive bitch about things!"

Stunned your eyes widen. You can't tell if you should be offended or impressed with just how much you pushed him but you let him speak. Not saying anything even though he had just called you a bitch.

"No, I didn’t just wake up one morning and decide that I’d fall in love with you! It took me countless days and nights, essentially adding up into months of thinking about nothing except you! Do you know how painful it felt for me? Do you not understand how guilty I felt?!” The tone in his voice is dangerously low as he narrows his eyes at you. It's his turn to match your attitude, fixing his posture and standing tall.

"Oh really? So you only thought about how you felt and not how I would feel knowing about your feelings for me? Sehun, how selfish can you be? You aren't the only person on this godforsaken planet!"

"You don't think I knew that? I know you wouldn't be happy with this but you have to understand that had I kept everything to myself and continued to hang out around you; it would've been both disrespectful to you but also incredibly torturous to me. It was worth gambling my feelings and confessing with the consequence of potentially losing a friend instead of hiding it."

Taken aback, you feel yourself pause and you hate yourself for it. Sehun has a point, he's valid for being upfront about things but there was just one thing that didn't sit right with you. Despite wanting an answer and getting it you curse yourself for falling silent. The hypocrisy of your silence hitting you square in the face but you're not done. You still have one more thing to say.

"What about the fact that you're still dating my best friend? Did you think about how much this would hurt her? No, let me guess, I bet you haven't even mentioned anything to her," Bringing your best friend up seemed to be the major thing standing in between both of you.

Sehun stares at you like he's been frozen in time. His features completely poised and monotone as your eyes scan his face for any sign of emotion. It was still much too hard to accept his words, to trust them and understand that it came from the bottom of his heart. Your anger was now replaced with complete confusion, perhaps even denial as you scoff at him. He was crazy to think you'd ditch your best friend for a man like him.

Sehun only stood there with his shoulders pushed back, his posture relaxed. His orange tufts of hair making him look like a complete clown. His current demeanour was very different in comparison to how defensive he was earlier.

How could he be so hot and cold? None of it made sense with his face being completely unreadable, everything felt bland like a black and white movie. Sehun could scream as much as he wanted but his words would never get through, bouncing behind the screen, staying unheard from the crowd. All these things made it impossible to find the sincerity he had in his words represented in his body language.

The elevator came to a stop with a rather loud ding notifying you that it had arrived on your floor. You take one last look at Sehun battling with yourself on whether or not someone as selfish as him was worth entangling yourself with. But no matter how you thought of it you couldn't accept him. With Sehun came consequences, ones that you weren't willing to risk getting into and that being losing your best friend. Someone who was there for you through thick and thin could never be replaced with a man you'd only known for roughly a year.

He didn't mean anything to you and he wasn't allowed to have any meaning in your life, it just wasn't okay. Betrayal had a greater impact than love, you would be foolish to accept the latter.

Leaving him behind, you step outside of the elevator. Realizing just how much more breathable the air outside the shaft was in comparison to being back inside holed up with your worst nightmare. Your moment of freedom is cut short when you feel his lean arms wrap around your waist pulling you back inside.

He's clinging onto you like a child refusing to let go as he rests his head next to your shoulder. His hot breath brushing against your neck, making you uncomfortable for many reasons that were quite obvious. He just wasn't single nor available and you couldn't let yourself be the other girl.

“Please just—take a chance. I'm willing to cross oceans for you, tear apart anything that stands in my way because I love you. I'll break up with her, she's nothing like you. Why can't you see that I love you?” He rambles, his voice falling soft. Sehun sounds like he's about to fall apart as he speaks into the crook of your neck.

His voice vibrating against your skin, echoing through your mind. Despite his tone being no louder than a whisper, his message came loud and clear. Slowly his plump, soft lips make contact with your skin as you freeze in place watching as the elevator doors slam shut. Moving downwards again you feel like you're slowly descending to hell.

His actions gave you goosebumps as he peppered kisses against your neck. Using one hand to grasp your waist, holding you close to him. While the other cupped your cheek, tilting your head slightly so he could gain better access to your body, his kisses moving down south and landing onto your shoulder. Pushing your shirt slightly aside before gently biting down on your skin causing you to gasp.

Sehun's touch was electrifying and almost hypnotizing, you felt yourself growing dizzy and out of touch with your surrounding. As he continued using his lips to convey how much you meant to him against your screaming mind that yelled at you not to do this to your best friend. But like a fool, you melt into his touch. Lips falling apart, as your chest heaves up and down. The air feels intoxicating as he rotates your head towards him. His lips crashing against yours as you feel like you're about to pass out.

You can't give in, you can't betray your best friend and yet, you feel yourself kissing him back. Your tongue tangling with his, exchanging dirty, secretive kisses. Turning around to face him better you fall into all the places you knew weren't right and that was right into the arms of Sehun's. Intertwining your fingers with his, holding onto him tightly as if the only chance you'd have with him would be taken away.

Now you knew what it meant to be selfish and just how delicious it tasted.

The elevator is filled with the lewd, smacking of the shared kisses between you both. His body grinding into yours as you feel yourself growing heavy. Developing a strong heartbeat where your filthy desires lay. You felt yourself growing wet, shifting your thighs uncomfortably together. Feeling his hand snake down towards the waistline of your skirt, tugging on them.

"You just have to say the word and I'm dropping everything and everyone for you," He says in between kisses as you tilt your head back in pleasure when you feel his fingers slipping past your skirt. Hovering dangerously over your soaked heat. "Do you want to run away with me?" He asks.

You want to say yes. Your body having a mind of its own would rather speak for you but you just can't bring yourself to go through with it. The image of your best friend is hung up in your mind and even though the damage has already been done, you still don't think it's too late to stop.

“I can’t and you know I won’t,” You reply, wincing at how your voice cracks. You didn’t want to seem weak in front of him, you needed to show him you had control over how you felt. That you were sure you didn't want him but it was all a lie. A lie you told yourself and in return had the truth spoken out loud by the actions of your body.

Sehun knew of this and yet, his peppered kisses come to a halt. The grip he's got around you loosening as his hand slips out of your skirt. You step out of his grasp feeling ashamed, not daring to look at him. Turning around and staring at the doors instead. Fixing your shirt you crane your neck from side to side trying your best to calm down. Bringing a shaky hand towards the elevator buttons and clicking for your floor.

You can feel Sehun's gaze boring holes into the back of your head.

"I don't understand. Why can't you just let me love you? It's not that hard to just give me a shot. I can give you the world, give you all the happiness and security you need in life."

"--Let me be the man that protects you, that cherishes you. I know it's hard because of her but...don't we deserve to be happy?" He pleads, his voice wavering. If you had turned around to face him you'd see his lips quivering. His dark, brown eyes are glossy with tears threatening to escape from the tiny apertures of his tear ducts.

But currently, it's your turn to fall silent. All because you know that despite him falling at the seams, begging you to love him you know that he'll only go back to being the same once he's got you twirling around his dainty fingers. His norm being the same silent person as always, emotionally unavailable and confusing as always. Plus, who's to say he won't just ditch you like he's doing to your best friend?

"It's your turn to answer me," He pleads but you ignore him. Thanking the timing of the elevator for opening right at the end of his sentence.

Quickly stepping off you pray that he doesn't snake himself around you again because if he does, you don't know if you had the power inside to fight him off again and thankfully he doesn't. Sehun leaves you alone watching you get out of his view, the sound of your Chelsea boots clicking against the hallway floors until suddenly you're just gone. A wave of heartbreak washing over his feelings as he realizes that he just can't sit here and do nothing.

He won't go back to your best friend, he doesn't love her and in fact, he never did. It wasn't his choice to hurt her like this but he couldn't help but fall in love with the wrong person. So he chases you, chases the love of his life eager to satisfy his selfishness and have you by his side.

The consequence of dealing with your best friend could come later but first, he needed to convince you once and for all that he was the only good thing in his life. Your best friend was to be replaced.

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃: 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐅𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐔©︎

#this was ass: not proofread properly.#oh sehun x reader #sehun angst #sehun x reader #oh sehun angst #oh sehun suggestive #oh sehun smut #exo angst #exo fanfic #exo x reader #i don't know tags: bye!#lmk what you think.#solange is in the mountains: queue!#sehun smut #sehun suggestive

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imacowboy3 · 3 years ago

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Trigger warning for r@pe and abus3

Can we talk about how dc treats Damian's character so poorly? Actually not just dc but some of the fans too,I'm not talking about all of them,I'm referring to the ones (mostly adult men) who keep trashing him all the time and even say shit like how they wish the could beat him up (which, wtf is wrong with you? It doesn't matter how much of a brat he is according to you,that's still a child, a fucking 10 - 13 year old and you're saying you want to hurt him?) I seriously hope you never have a child of your own and if you do God forbid them of ever throwing a tantrum.

Now let's review some of the things basically everyone knows about Damian alright? Great

He is the son of Bruce Wayne (batman) and Talia al Ghul (daughter of the demon head of the league of assassins) the way this happened varies,in some versions they were together at the time of his conception and in others Talia r@pped Bruce,he was raised by Talia with the league since birth,where he learned from a very young age how to be an assassin and a proper heir the the demon head,all of this while Bruce had no idea of his existence,once he became 10 he was sent to live and to continue his training with his father (who still didn't knew about him) after Talia introduces him and Bruce (who's still, justifiable so, in shock) they have disagreements,they are both in very uncomfortable and unknown positions, and what does Bruce (and everyone around him) does with this child that is on a completely new ambient, with people he doesn't trust? They tell him that the way he was raised to view the world and the way he behaves are actually wrong and that he needs to change,but they do this in a safe way right? Like they show him he can trust on them and built a safe net to him and help him change gradually (which is the only way anyone who needs to change their entire life and worldview can do it cause we're not fucking machines who can just be rebooted when something goes wrong) and they try to give assistance to him in regards to his mental health that we can only assume is pretty damaged after all the abuse he certainly went through with the league right? NO, they just throw it at him that the way he behaves is wrong and has to change and the whole killing is wrong bs batman is always saying and leave it at that,let him figure it out how to change, give him some pep talks but when things get hard and he lashes out cause that's the only way he knows how to express what he's feeling you beat him up and you immediately show distrust in him the moment a corpse shows up,trust goes both ways,if you say to your kid that you trust them and immediately gets against them when something goes wrong you really expect them to trust,to believe in you? To feel safe with you? No wonder Damian went to that fucking competition he is in,what the hell does he have in Gotham to make him want to stay?

Now before I end my rant let's talk about the difference in how the fandom treats Cass in comparation to him, why do people keep treating her like a little uwu soft girl? Again,I'm not saying everyone does this,but I've seem it happen many times, she is a victim of trauma and she deserves respect,every person who has trauma is a fucking individual, they're not a trope,they're not edgy or quirky or baby🥺🥺 and they shouldn't be judged by the way they express themselves and their emotions after the shit they went through.

And don't tell me people don't judge characters like that cause they do,that's literally what this fandom does, they take those two kids who have similar backgrounds and because one of them manifests their trauma in a "quiet" way they're a uwu baby who must be protected and is better than the other one who manifests the trauma through fits of rage (who then becomes hated and viewed as a brat and nothing more).

What this people are doing is disgusting, it's like oppression/trauma Olympics but somehow worse,cause instead of the people who actually went through it competing to see who had it worse it's a lot of judgmental assholes deciding that one victim of trauma is better than the other cause the their behavior fits some sick narrative of how a "good" victim of trauma should act.

Now repeat after me kids:

Trauma isn't pretty and trauma isn't there to make you feel better about yourself (unless you went through a similar situation and that character offers some type of comfort to you,which is completely valid) and trauma is not the same to everyone (doesn't matter how similar the background and experiences of two people are) and there's no right or wrong way of behaving as a victim of trauma.

#batman #dc comics #robin #bruce wayne #dc #damian wayne #damian al ghul #league of assassins #batfamily #talia al ghul #ras al ghul #trauma #comics #comic books #cassandra cain #black bat

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littlefreya · 4 years ago

Text

The Way to Hell - Part 13

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escaped Ethan Hunt with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. Brooding as he is, August is unwilling to back down on his murderous agenda he plots to continue where he was stopped.

Series Completed: Previous Chapter | | Chapters Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) 🖤

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Mentions of sexual encounters, child neglect, betrayal, hinted physical abuse, foul language and lots of angst.

A/N: I thought chapter 13 will be the last one, but I didn’t want to rush the ending or have a chapter too long. So for those of you still waiting, hang in tight! Many thanks to @agniavateira who’s my muse and my editor, to @raspberrydreamclouds for this amazing cover and to those who’s been asking me about the chapter, means a lot to me. I am going into my usual Way to Hell posting panic attack. So bye for now.

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Please comment, review and reblog. 💖

Title: Paradise lost

There cannot be peace before first a great suffering. There cannot be love without first a great tragedy.

~*~

Opaline droplets of sweat form on his forehead. In his ears, a constant buzzing rings wretchedly as if an angry hornet is caged inside his skull. What was long buried abruptly awakens, stabbing at the back of his head. Red flashes sear through his eyes while images of Ingvild dissolving to ashes play in his mind, her bloodsoaked feathers crumbling to the ground.

“Why did you go?” August mutters under his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He crumples the little yellow note with sheer frustration before throwing it on the bed.

‘I told her not to go, I commanded her!’

The air in the room grows thick like the pit of a stygian forest. Tentacle-like branches appear behind his eyes creeping closer, clutching his limbs. Even though lost and abandoned in the thicket of his mind, her angelic scent still lingers on his skin, impossible to wash off. Sniffing at his biceps, he inhales the mixture of their union on his flesh; what begins as euphoric mirth quickly meets the sharp edge of rage and hatred.

She’s gone and it gnaws at the dark matter of his brain.

He hates it.

Hates her for being absent.

Frowning deeply, August reaches a rigid hand for his clothes, forcing himself to get dressed. The very first memory of her hinges on his mind: An icy woman with silver-moon eyes who refused his pursuit.

‘Did you think the two of you are going to ride toward the sunset together? That’s not you.’

Letting out heavy gasps, he shakes his head. “She’ll be fine,” he whispers dismissively, pulling on his trousers and hastily buckling his belt.

The new world order awaits, so close he can feel the fresh sun sitting on his open palm. It is his vision, his legacy: bigger than whatever it is Ingvild and him have together.

There was no her in his plan, to begin with.

The Devil never had a queen.

‘You know what they’ll do to her…’

Another ray of daytime terror cuts through his thoughts: her wings plucked from her back, threads of flesh tearing from her naked body. Her screams die in silence.

“She chose to leave, I asked her not to!” August yells into the empty room, frowning at no one but himself as he grabs the used shirt which hangs from the tall mirror. Turning to his reflection, he tenses at the sight of his body. Crimson valleys lead down his back, courtesy of her claws branding deep into soft tissue and toned muscles.

‘Do you know what is the probability of finding someone like her? A woman who wants to see the world burn with you? Who believes in your cause of building a new one?’

August swallows hard and combs his fingers through his hair with haste, attempting to act normal through the intensifying drumming in his ears. Being completely methodical, he pulls his long trench coat over his shoulders and collects his belongings into his black duffle bag on the bed. With a heavy painful breath, he forces his thoughts away, zipping the bag with urgency and reciting in his mind everything necessary for his trip. Time is scarce, the end and the new beginning are nigh; the smart thing to do is to forget her, erase her existence from the chambers of his heart.

He doesn’t have one anyway.

His hand secures the gun in its holster and harsh fingers lace around the black straps of his bag as he stretches himself straight, ready to leave this bedroom. That’s when his eyes fall again to the crumpled yellow note.

‘You’ll never see her in Kashmir, you’ll never see her again.’

~*~

‘Amazing,’ the silver-haired wolf muses while scratching his bristly jaw. For 13 years the evil spawn’s eyes remained exactly as they were the day he picked her from the orphanage. Grey crystal orbs so naive, clueless, and oh so hungry for validation. A child desperate to prove herself worthy to someone, anyone.

It was her single flaw and his greatest advantage.

Even now in the bloom of adulthood, the pale, scrawny thing standing before him is nothing but a lost little girl who wants someone to hold her bony hand.

‘How can someone be so smart yet at the same time so blind?’

The cheap motel room smells like mildew and rotten wood. Speckles of dust float between the handler and his prodigy, cascading over his glance that seems rather alien and naked as glass. It pierces through her muscles - this sudden sense of peculiarity and estrangement.

She chews the inside of her cheeks and sways slightly on her spot, arms hanging loose at her side. Ingvild lifts her chin to look at Liam, her eyes round with what can only be guilt. It makes her look like a child who broke an antique vase.

“Thank you for answering my call,” she begins, wrapping her fist around a disposable phone before throwing it on the tidy bed.

Liam scoffs and shakes his head, ridicule spreading on his face. “You’ve gotten yourself into trouble over a boy, child?” He stares up and down the young woman, noticing the obvious change in her posture.

‘So, she truly is a woman now; how did I not see this one coming with her constant chatter about how handsome he is when I handed her the dossier?’

“Please don’t tell me you need money to get an abortion.”

Ingvild frowns with disgust and shakes her head right away. “Never. No, it’s not what I’m here for.”

Displeased as always, Liam emits his usual grunt. He slowly shakes his head at his asset while running his fingers through his lanky grey hair. This is not how he imagined this mission to end. Her lack of emotions was a key element; Ingvild could have had a few good years running several missions for him, but what tipped the scale was for her to run into the wrong psychopath.

“Then tell me Ingvild, why should I listen to a failed assassin such as yourself? You’ve been weird about this mission since day one. Acting discreet, irresponsible, and reckless,” the old man’s Adam's apple bobs up and down in his throat as he speaks. Taking a small stride, he moves closer to get a better look of her diamond irises. So sharp and so strange, they’ve always irked him. As a child she downright looked like something out of a horror movie.

“You’ve had 445 successful missions, not even 30 years old. Yet here you are a failure, and for what? For a boy?”

Shame traps her tongue and her glance drops to the floor. Failure stings like a rod of hot iron piercing her beating heart. Yet her mind races to the night at the pit where August finally claimed her, the memory of his lips sets glowing embers through her veins. On her skin remains the evidence of his embrace. Microscopic cells, tinted by his DNA.

She doesn’t want this feeling to go away.

Liam clears his throat, tearing her away from memories that turn from tar to honey the longer she dwells on them.

“You know why your mother gave you away, Ingi?” Liam asks, giving her a ghastly sardonic smile while cocking one eyebrow.

‘Liam never smiles.’

A small frown sets creases above her freckled nose. “I asked you many times before and you always said you don’t know.”

The Dane scoffs at her, his smile widening, exposing cigarette-and-coffee-stained teeth. The rot around his gums makes her curl her nose slightly and flinch as he leans closer.

“You were a rape baby.”

The words send a pang through her muscles, like stepping on glass. She shakes her head with protest and steps back, yet Liam nods knowingly, standing in front of her.

“You’re lying.”

His small hazel eyes burn holes through her skull, his smile sinister and impish. “Your father was a savage, a rapist. He left your poor mother half-dead and impregnated in the forest you love so much. Who knows, maybe that’s why you kept going there as a child, reconnecting with your true nature.”

Refusing to listen, she shies from his piercing glare. Liam reaches a coarse hand to cup her jaw, forcing her face back to his. “Your mother hated you. Your very existence reminds her of the most terrible thing that ever happened to her.”

For a child with such a limited emotional range, Liam finds that the muscles of her face are capable of stretching thoughtfully with spite. Pent up hatred creases her brow, her silver eyes turning to hot, molten gold. She bites on her tongue, keeping a vow of silence but he can read her face just the way an assassin would.

“Nothing but a mistake, disowned by your own mother. So why would this man, this... mass murdering psychopath love you?” Liam shifts her head from side to side, inspecting the healing cuts and bruises that decorates her pale skin. “He saw an opportunity and seized it, used you…”

He pauses, moving away from a stare colder than icy lake water, “just like they will.”

Ingvild parts her lips with wonder, glaring at the person she knew all her life with disbelief. In the glossy reflection of Liam’s honey-brown eyes, she sees several black, long rifles pointed at her head.

Liam curls his thin lips with an utter lack of remorse and shrugs indifferently.

“She’s yours.”

*~*~

If colours had sound then the pale blinding white would be a continuous high-frequency hum. The tunes and shades of death. Like angry flies feasting on a corpse.

‘Is this Valhalla?’

A small groan escapes her mouth, her eyes hurting from the sickly radiance of the narrow fluorescent lamps hanging from the ceiling. Her wrists feel numb as they’re pulled behind her back in restraints.

“No,” she opens her mouth to speak, her throat burning, her voice a hoarse whisper. “Definitely not Valhalla...”

‘You need to be a hero to enter Valhalla, stupid girl.’

Stupid didn’t even begin to describe it. August would never let her hear the end of it.

Loud, angry steps tap on the white marble floor, growing louder as the person approaching enters the room. Ingvild blinks, peering at the silhouette when a smile of comfort paints her drowsy face. Like a god, her lover strides toward her with his usual confidence. His ocean-blue eyes beam at her sight, his palm spread open to embrace his tiny Valkyrie. She chuckles at the mischievous, charming grin on his face as it reminds her the day they first met.

Oh, she wishes to nibble his stupid chin right now and brush her fingers along his thick moustache.

But as she blinks again, large brown almond-shaped eyes replace the ocean-blue. A panther of a woman stands before her: confident, strong, and impossibly beautiful. Her dark, succulent lips are pressed together and concern shines through as she observes the small woman who has her arms cuffed behind her back and her feet shackled to the metal legs of the chair.

With her head still heavy, the assassin turns her face from side to side. She quickly observes the armed guards at the entrance, the tall, greying agent standing nonchalantly against the wall awaiting orders, and lastly the sickly-looking, lean man who is positioned at the fore of a metal desk with his fingers laced together. Anticipation is written all over his line-riddled face.

“Erica Sloane,” Ingvild calls knowingly, the ghost of a wicked smile dancing on her chapped lips as she turns her head to face the CIA director. Dressed in a black power suit and crimson pumps, the director is drenched with big dick energy.

“August told me so much about you, but he didn’t mention how fuckable you are.” Ingvild drawls, fluttering her lashes as she scans her from head to toe.

Tilting her head, Erica grabs a white plastic chair and places it in front of Ingvild. She then takes a seat, crossing her long smooth legs together. Kindness and motherly concern pours from her dark eyes, expressions Ingvild never received from anyone in her life.

“Poor child, I imagine August Walker filled your head with many stories.”

“No…” Ingvild swallows, trying to dampen her sore throat. Noticing her struggle, Erica snaps her fingers and the greying agent rushes to bring her a plastic cup of water like a loyal dog. Focusing on the translucent beads around the cup, Ingvild flicks her tongue over her lips. “August was too busy filling other parts of me.”

The intrepid woman begins to laugh at her own joke, her voice dragging groggily while Erica rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“I imagine so.” She answers and then carefully tilts the cup to Ingvild’s lips, offering the drink to the girl who sips with desperation as if she walked the desert. “August was my best agent,” she explains, watching the stream of water that rolls down Ingvild’s chin as she gulps with an incredible thirst, “a really proficient assassin, ranked high in every mission I sent him to. My golden boy. Even though that shit-eating attitude of him was something else...”

Withdrawing the cup, she looks into Ingvild’s cold silvery stare. “Those snarky, arrogant remarks and him going through the whole department like a fox in a hen coop I could overlook. But that fucker had us all fooled, Ingvild, as he fooled you.”

Ingvild flutters her dark lashes and tips her chin up. Her defined cheekbones sharpen even more as a snake-like arrogance poisons her face. “August told me what you did,” she utters sincerely, while Erica commands the agent to refill the plastic cup. Loathing melts her beautiful sullen glaciers as she focuses on Erica.

The CIA director narrows her eyes at her in return, and curls her lips downward as disdain fills her mouth. “I am not the one who made Walker murder Agent Hartmann, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“You deceived him,” Ingvild retorts calmly and sucks in her bottom lip, collecting the remaining droplets of water onto her tongue. “That’s what you and your little agencies do to people like us. Set up traps for predators and pretend to act surprised as they eat the bait.”

Holding the cup, Erica stares at the young woman thoughtfully, the burning hatred in her eyes reminding her so much of Agent Walker: An entitled spoiled brat, thinking he can wind the world to the direction only he sought to be right.

“You can’t blame a predator for following its nature, and you can’t expect him to behave otherwise.”

“Is that how you see yourself?” Erica asks, moving the cup away, though she can see the thirst on Ingvild’s gaping bottom lip. “August poisoned your mind but I assure you, you are not the monster he is. You never had the choice that he did.”

Erica’s voice suddenly becomes soft, and her big brown eyes become round with care that only a parent can express. But the only form of parent Ingvild ever had was Liam, and he was never much of a father, was he? It took less than a few hours for him to give her away.

She wonders how long it took for her real mother.

Her gaze drops, peering at Erica’s shiny crimson shoes as they counter the lifelessness of the floor like blood in the snow. Memories whisk her away again, a man in pursuit of a woman deep in an icy forest. She should have died that night and yet here she is, shackled to a chair. The voice of the man who saved her echoes through her head with a fair warning: ‘Liam never gave a flying fuck about you.’

Sharp as a needle, it pricks her heart.

“I know what Icarus did. Moulding you into the perfect assassin, depriving you of the childhood and the life you deserved.” Erica’s voice cuts into her trail of thoughts, making her raise her gaze back to the beautiful woman. “Now, I don’t know what twisted fantasies August may have offered but I can assure you, they are empty just like him. You read his file, you know what he’s capable of. Looking at your scars and bruises I assume he hurts you for his own sick pleasure, taking advantage of a woman who only wants to be loved.”

‘She doesn’t know him like I do, the way he drank my lips and called me his angel, the way his fingertips beat the warm blood in my arteries.’ Ingvild shuts her eyes, soaking in the remnants of his touch as it still ghosts across her body.

Erica’s kind, tepid hand wraps around the young woman’s jaw, lifting her pale face with the cautiousness of a human tending a wild creature. Grey and dark-brown collide at the seams as they share a silent stare.

“If you’ll give us his location, we can arrange for your freedom and protection.”

Ingvild breaks away from Erica’s grip, pushing herself back in the chair as much as she can. The screech of metal against marble makes the guards cringe. Slow and cold, a sardonic chuckle begins to burst from Ingvild’s lungs. The laughter echoes off the walls while she shakes her head with disbelief.

“Do I look like a dumb bitch to you? Even if this was true, do you think I’m willing to be a slave to another government? Kept ignorant and tabbed? I’d rather rot in this cell while my beautiful monster dismantles your old world order.”

Drops of water splash at her face as Erica squashes the plastic cup in front of her, sulking with fury. Her eyebrows knit together and she purses her lips as if this young woman is something sour on her tongue.

Evidently, Liam was right; the girl is far too gone, living in the little fantasy world August built for her.

“If you think he ever cared about you for a split second, then you are a dumb bitch. No matter how this plays out, you and August are never going to end up happily ever after.” Erica spits, holding her finger at Ingvild’s childlike frown. “He’s never going to come for you. You were nothing but a toy, a plaything for him to pass the time.”

Ingvild scoffs and rolls her eyes, refusing to let these words cut into the beating muscle in her chest.

`Stick and stones may break my bones...’

Solid, slender fingers wrap around her jaw, squeezing around her cheeks like a big spider. She is met with Erica’s long lashes, while those deep brown eyes slice into her soul.

“You might think you know him, but I’ve worked with August long enough to know that he never loved anything other than his precious ego. So I would consider this as your final chance little girl, because if you don’t talk right now - this nice fellow here...” Erica pauses and gestures her head to the scrawny man who begins to hum a blissful tune while cracking his knuckles. Twisted excitement shines through his beady eyes as he glances at the set of sharp surgical tools lying on the desk.

“He’s going to make you sing like the precious bird you are.”

Fear shies from Ingvild’s stoic, icy face. The well-lubricated gears in the labyrinth of her head begin to work, observing the possible escape options and scanning every cavity, crease, and man in Erica’s lovely torture chamber.

The door suddenly bursts open. A man in his mid thirties with bright red hair and a freckle-covered face rushes in, huffing heavily. His pink skin glistens with sweat, the strands of his fiery hair sticking on his large forehead while his hand holds onto his chest with distress.

“Sloane, there is something you need to see…” he opens his mouth breathlessly.

“Not now!” Sloane snaps at him, looking at Ingvild with contempt. There is nothing she wishes more than to avoid torturing a young woman, especially someone as misguided as this poor porcelain doll. All she needs is to make her see the truth, that August never cared for her, that she was just another pawn in his grand scheme.

“Director, I am sorry, but you really need to come and see this.”

Agitated, Erica snaps in her chair to look at him. “What is it, Agent Louis?”

“It’s John Lark’s manifesto, ma’am…” he sighs, shoulders slumping, “it’s… it’s everywhere.”

A shivering hiss escapes her mouth. The shiver that graces the rail of her spine is like a shower of icy water, making her slowly rise from her chair. August’s harmful “poetry” is released into the air like toxic gas, contaminating every fragile little mind in an already unstable world.

“Do you like my little surprise?” Ingvild asks, making the baffled woman turn to gaze at her. There’s a malicious little smile dancing across her eyes, her brows lifting with an arrogance that strongly resembles Agent Walker.

Swallowing hard, the CIA woman takes a step back, tugging her jacket straight and looking at the torturer who lifts a small hammer between his pliable fingers.

“Break her, until she talks.”

The harsh tapping of her heels dies down and her silhouette becomes smaller until it disappears behind the shutting door.

“Pretty girl...” The man’s voice is brittle and thin as he is, every word ending with a slight snake-like hiss. He moves to scrutinise her from head to toe, flicking his tongue over his bottom lip with a prying nature.

“You know August used to mock me…”

“I can see why,” she spits out, looking back at him with both fearlessness and utter disrespect. She killed men bigger than him, hell, August’s kneaded her to submission and his torture was nothing but sweet.

She can take him on, she can take all of them on.

The lean man beams at her, holding up the small shiny hammer and running his finger over the rim pervertedly. The dead skin around his nails rouses disgust in her gut, yet she rolls her eyes and fakes a yawn.

He chuckles at her theatrics and kneels in front of her with one unstable hand pressing onto her thigh. His revolting fingers scratch gently at her denim, making her shiver. If August knew another man was laying his finger on her…

But August is not here.

“Well… shall we begin, little bird?”

***

‘When this world ends and the new one begins, what will be of your little Valkyrie? Merely bones and rotting flesh laid in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere and mourned by no one. Won’t you be jealous of the insects feasting on her narcotic tissue?’

Cold air seeps through his nose as sharp bullets of hail hit the ground with the fury of angry gods, shattering onto the ruins of an old bridge with a loud, clattering noise. Sheltered from the rage of the heavens, August stands beneath the wreckage, facing the men who came to make the final exchange.

Blue and green ferns have grown over the decaying surroundings, climbing over rusted metal. Nature reclaiming its place over man’s occupied space. Justice and beauty in decadence and rot.

‘Memento mori.’

“The plutonium,” August demands, his thick brows shadowing his eyes in a battle to remain composed. Those same parasitic visions of sheer terror burden him like a daytime nightmare: pale as porcelain, she sinks to the bottom of a lake thick with blood. His hand reaches out for her, fingers trying to grasp whatever he can but she slips away.

‘How far do you think Erica will go this time?’

A rogue droplet of sweat glides languidly down his temple, crossing over a bulging tendon. Unfortunately quite apparent to the three men who scrutinise him with wonder: two well-paid bodyguards and a slimy-looking slug, wearing a dark business suit that does nothing but emphasize his fragile masculinity.

“The money first!” The businessman whines, attempting to make a tough face.

‘A cock and two balls.’ August jests and does his best to remain indifferent while anxiety threatens to claw its ugly talons in his throat. The seller’s receding hairline is thick with dandruff, his dull green eyes attempt to mimic confidence, as a beta male would do when facing a pure alpha, trying to compensate for lost dignity.

‘I don’t have time for this,’ August huffs, his chest puffing and the immense shoulders stretching even wider, exhuming his natural overpowering dominance. His patience runs brittle as a dry twig. A restless throb thunders between his ears like a scab, latched inside his brain.

The slug pries his mouth open to speak, yet his voice becomes dull as if the world just went underwater.

‘Do you think she’ll go as far as to let her men touch her? You know, not just the usual torture they put interrogated suspects through, but the type of touch only you are allowed to.’

‘She doesn’t have the balls, she won’t do that to another woman.’

‘Won’t she? It’s personal this time. Erica knows what you are capable of. And your Ingvild, she’s an apostle too now, an enemy of the world…’

Fever burns at his sweaty forehead and his lungs gradually collapse. Visions he can’t even bring himself to imagine attempt force their way into his mind. The yapping of the man who stands in front of him goes on and on; while August can feel himself speak in response, the words spouting from his lips are on autopilot.

All he can think of is her, stripped naked, torn to shreds by dark shadows.

‘She holds back a lot, but when she slips, aren’t her screams so beautiful? Her pleasant little voice, stretching so melodically, like skin over bone, thin and light.’

“Shut up!”

All eyes lift to August in silent bewilderment. His fists tighten, nails digging into his coarse palms as the will to rip someone to shreds beats through his blood. These men will be no more than a casualty.

“Do you know who I am?” He asks in a deep, menacing tone, his hand but a second from reaching his holster. By measured calculation, he already anticipates how quickly he would shoot them one by one without so much of a scratch on his cheek.

“I’m John, fucking, Lark. My apostles are awaiting orders this very instance,” he reaches for his phone, ignoring the flinch in their posture as he draws it from his pocket and shakes it in his hand on display, “and you want to stand here in this shit weather and measure dicks? Spoiler alert,” he takes a stride in front of the little man, careless of his bodyguards who reach for their weapons, “mine is far bigger.”

The seller peers at him silently, noticing the icy crust of rage in August’s glare. His pale eyes cut like diamonds while the shadow of his brooding figure falls upon the small man’s face.

“You will get your money once I get to see the plutonium and confirm it’s authenticity,” August calls out assertively, each word distinguished, each syllable emphasised and sharp as a blade. Death is no longer an enemy to August Walker but an old friend, and those trolls under the bridge are a mere joke to the inferno he’s been basking at his entire life.

‘Limb by limb, feather by feather, while you waste your time...’

‘She wanted me here, she wanted me to secure the plutonium. If I don’t do this, it will all be for nothing.’

‘So now you are doing this for her?’

Not saying another word, the seller nods and snaps his fingers. Agitation is evident on his face yet the violence emanating from August forces him to bite down his pride. One of his henchmen approaches with a suitcase and opens it up to show August the orbs.

Thunder rips through the sky and the hail turns into a symphony of wrath. Icicles break across the construction site above, splashing water everywhere around them. Staring at the platinum spheres, August sees his own reflection dulled by the dirty silver curve.

A dormant thing. But when set into motion, ever so deadly.

He presses the beryllium rod to test the authenticity of the material and a sigh of relief pipes itself through his nose at the sound of the radioactive note on his testing device. Celebration blooms in his weary heart but the festivity is deemed achingly empty and dies out right away.

‘Stop thinking about her, she’s gone. Focus on the cause, you’re almost there, just keep pushing through the doors.’

~*~

The blizzard melted into shy rain. The soft little drops dampen his hair, perming his large curls with the assistance of the cool winter breeze. Standing with the suitcase on the side of the rural road, August awaits his ride taking him to the helipad to proceed to Kashmir. It has been so long since he last met his true colleagues, since his departure from Lane in Norway. Avoiding any risks, contact was kept only necessary for the last stages of their tasks.

Doom’s day.

Securing the plutonium should have brought him relief, yet his chest continues to sink into his spine as if it’s being filled with coals. August Walker threaded through life alone, yet this sudden solitude is suddenly harrowing, making him feel like a gutted fish. Looking to his empty side he the ghost of her appears, giving him a bratty smirk.

“Go away,” he chides, refusing to think of her. Of that stupid mouth talking back, tormenting him with sweet saccharine and cinnamon-like kisses. In his reminiscences, the softness of her lips still hinges. Tenderness meeting the bristle of his neck as she lay gentle wet markings up his coarse jaw.

His fingers press to his mouth trying to harness the memory.

A large car drives into the side of the road, speeding up and braking right next to his legs, missing August’s foot by an inch. Frowning at the careless driver, he grunts and brushes his hair before opening the passenger door.

“Took you awhile,” he grunts as he slips into the seat and peers at the driver. A bulky man in his early 40s with dark short cropped curls and thin lips. He shoots August a glance and turns back to the steering wheel.

“Not my bad, you made a fucking mess, Lark.” The man answers and begins driving right away, careless of the fact that August didn’t put his seatbelt on and that he is holding radioactive material.

Throwing the seatbelt over himself and fastening it, August growls and carefully secures the case on the side of the driver seat, his index finger remaining on the brim. He gently caresses the hard black leather. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

The driver peers at him oddly before looking down the road, driving fast and passing a large log truck. “Releasing the manifesto. MI6 and the CIA are all over the place,” he says and turns the radio on, letting August hear the news on his own. “I get why you did it now, it’s brilliant to cause another distraction but you’ve made shit a bit harder with those cunts running around. They tracked it back from London and have been surveying the entire area.”

“I didn’t release the... “

August stills, his muscles shriveling up as realisation quickly hits him.

‘Oh angel, what have you done?’

Drawing out his mobile phone, August immediately begins to search the newsite, his eyes an ocean of panic, fluttering back and forth. It’s everywhere, news about an anarchist manifesto, spreading like a virus through every social media outlet, leaked by codename “Jane Lark”.

“Fuck,” he hisses, reading his own written word as he goes through an article posted on the BBC’s newsite. But she changed the last verse, added a little piece of her own:

“Valkyries mounted onto beasts, We will ride eternal to the sun. The blazes will sear us but we will not back down, United by our cause of just war, Unflinching we will scour the earth, Until humanity comes together in tranquil and harmony.”

‘She loves you, you see? The way she lets you bleed her, use her, spill all your pain inside her. The way she held onto you just a night ago, your name falling from her lips, her body pressing into yours to take all of you. She’s the only one. The only woman who did and ever will.

And you left her to die.’

________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible and August Walker

#henry cavill #august walker #henry cavill fanfiction #august walker fanfiction #littlefreya’s fiction #mission impossible fallout fanfiction #august walker x ofc #mission impossible fallout

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mysmegrace · 3 years ago

Note

can i pls request the rfa comforting mc bc she is really stressed because of school (they find her crying because something a teacher said to her)

hello anon! of course! we've all been there and i know how overwhelming it is. if this is happening to you and you wanna chat, i'm always open <3 btw i'm gonna write the mc as a college student because of the romantic nature of this fic. if you would like another fic that has all the rfa members together helping you platonically, feel free to ask! stay safe <3

RFA Comforting an MC that is Stressed because of School

---

yoosung kim:

today was a tough one to say the least.

you were up until 2am last night doing an excessive amount of homework only for the professor to put you down for a few questions you got wrong.

as you laid in your bed looking out the window besides you, your mind keep replaying the scene over and over again.

almost like it wanted to torture you.

the professor piercing through your soul with the rage he held in his eyes.

the degrading words he spewed at you, calling you every insult in the book.

and worst of all, he did it in front of everybody.

you have never felt so embarrassed.

these replaying memories made you cuddle up with your bundled blanket and simply start to sob.

you couldn't understand why people were so cruel sometimes.

little to your knowledge, yoosung was planning a date night out to celebrate your 100th day anniversary.

the professor had got you so upset that you forgot about the occasion.

so low and below, 15 minutes into your sob session was when yoosung came in unexpectedly.

the flowers he carried in his hand quickly dropped.

he ran to your sobbing figure and gave you an awkward hug from behind.

that was when you came to your senses and shot right up.

he looked at you like he had just seen a ghost.

his forehead written with concern.

your tired red eyes were a clear giveaway of your upset state.

there was no way you were covering this up.

yet you couldn't continue holding back your tears in front of him.

so he brought you to his chest as you sobbed for the second time tonight.

throughout your cries, you were explaining what the day has done to you.

how the professor belittled you to the point you had been on the verge of crying yourself to sleep.

yoosung listened closely, rubbing your back while you got it all out.

he decided that the date night could wait, and he would dedicate these nightly hours to comforting you.

he give you many reassurances throughout your time together.

he always validated your feelings.

he always looked at you with intense love and care.

he always told you how smart and stunning you are.

his actions made you cheer up a bit.

you were still on edge, but you knew it would get better eventually.

everything would turn out okay with this man by your side.

hyun ryu / zen:

you were only on the bus coming home, but your tears already started to flow.

the professor made a complete mockery out of you.

you felt hurt to your core.

he insulted everything about you, completely going off.

at first, you figured he had a bad day and was just finding someone to let it out on.

but as the insults kept spewing, they became incredibly more personal.

nothing was safe.

the way your nose crunched when you smiled was "ugly".

the sweet tone of your speaking was deemed "annoying".

the way your hair bounced when you walked was seen as "repulsive".

nobody had hurt you so much and your mind couldn't cope with it.

through silent tears on the bus, as you reached your stop you stopped them within an instant.

zen would be waiting for you at home.

the last thing you wanted to do was make him worried about you with the addition of his insanely busy day.

repressing the tears, you eventually made it to the front door of your now shared home.

the door sounded when you arrived, alerting zen as he went to meet you at the doorframe.

you pulled out your most convincing fake smile and greeted him.

but you could tell when the mix of confusion and concern flashed over his face.

apparently your eyes had given you away.

but you didn't remember them being puffy or red.

however, zen knows you like the back of his hand.

like the soulmate he was, he could read your soul through your eyes.

he embraced you and encouraged you to tell him what was wrong.

but you wouldn't budge.

he gently tried again, but to no avail.

lost on what to do, he embraced you again.

but this time, he wasn't letting go.

and that was enough to make the tears start pouring out.

you were both standing in silence.

the only sounds bouncing off the walls were those of your tearing cries.

once you had calmed down a bit, he calmly asked you what happened.

and when you explained, his body filled with rage.

who let the professor be so rude to you??

in true zen fashion, his first instinct was to reprimanded the teacher face to face.

the sound of your next cry made him rethink his protentional course of action.

you were right here in front of him, so broken and hurt.

you were his first priority, not mr. dumbfuck.

and out came the words that always made you feel so loved and protected.

he reminded you of your beauty and his love towards you.

he had seen you as a goddess for the time since he's met you.

your evening was very laidback after the ordeal.

tonight would be focused on you.

jaehee kang:

you had been sitting up at your computer with the event that tore you down so significantly in the back of your head.

you couldn't take it anymore.

how could a person be so rude because of a simple mistake?

however, you couldn't just cry right here right now.

your love was sitting beside you afterall.

so you ever so subtly left the room.

you felt so numb while walking to the only room the insured complete privacy in the apartment.

or so you thought.

closing the door behind you, you were met with the reflection of your face.

the one he had broke apart and shattered.

you started to cry uncontrollably.

you watched as your eyes turned visibly irritated, your mouth turned downwards ever so slightly.

you felt so numb inside, yet the gem-like tear that rolled down your cheek was a reminder of your living form.

the noise leaving your mouth wasn't loud.

but it wasn't quiet.

however, it was enough for jaehee to hear.

confused, she left her chair.

the sharp pain in her shoulder was a reminder for her to get up and stretch a bit.

following the tears, her feet met the bottom of the washroom door.

knocking softly, waiting for an answer.

yet nothing but the crying noises rang out.

so she tried again, calling your name in the softest tone she could produce.

you heard.

and you were now in a state of panic.

how would you explain this to her?

you didn't want to get her involved or worried over you.

but you knew you eventually had to come forward to her face to face.

hesitantly, you opened the door.

just a crack.

not enough to expose the entirety of your broken face, but enough to make subtle eye contact.

your efforts were short lived.

she took the door, moving it open to see you fully a few seconds later.

her first thought was to hug you, hence the tight embrace you quickly found yourself in.

you couldn't hold it back any longer.

so you remained in her arms crying for the next couple of minutes.

not long after, you started spilling out the entire story.

she was enraged alongside you.

but, being more rational, she knew there was nothing much she could do about it.

so she just listened and understood you.

she validated your emotions, making sure you knew you weren't going crazy and that it was okay to feel upset.

eventually, you find yourselves on the washroom floor.

sitting together, basking in each others love.

your worries were washed away by the woman you would continue to love as long as your life allowed you to.

jumin han:

your soon to be husband was waiting for your presence with a bottle of wine to share for the evening.

the only thing he was waiting to be finished was your class.

he felt at peace knowing his private driver would be picking you up safely.

what he hadn't expected however, was the message he was given by the driver.

on the way to jumin's penthouse, the driver had quickly sent jumin a text.

the text read "i'm texting to briefly let you aware of mc's status. mc appears to be healthy but in an emotional state. i suggest you have tissues prepared for her."

you, on the other hand, had been getting ready to hide your upset state.

you knew the man jumin was.

he would have the professor fired as soon as he heard of the disgusting things he had said to you.

you were never one to escalate things to that extent.

you would rather let both parties go on with their lives.

plus jumin's schedule was stressful enough already.

you didn't want to add onto that.

so with your lines to convince jumin that you were alright, you got out of the car, swiftly heading up to the penthouse.

he greeted you with a sad expression.

almost as if he was prepared to be upset with you.

you gave a confused look, trying to convince him that sadness wasn't even on your mind.

his hand reached out to you, containing a tissue.

you, still giving off the vibe of "i'm not upset", pushed his hand back gently.

now it was his turn to be confused.

only his was genuine.

the tears were building up in your eyes.

"fuck, not now" you thought.

his hand reached out again, questioning you.

you couldn't hold up anymore and gave up on hiding it.

taking the tissue, you started balling your eyes out.

rambling words about your feelings towards what the professor said.

how he had brought your very existence down to nothing but dirt.

jumin was listening, but planning what he could do to the professor at the same time.

this behaviour was simply unacceptable.

you couldn't convince him otherwise.

but in the meanwhile, he was determined to comfort the crying beauty in front of him.

much like everyone else, he reassured you of everything.

you would never hear the end of it from him when it came to how talented and gorgeous you were.

and it didn't matter what anyone else said.

as long as he was by your side, you would survive.

it would be okay.

the rest of the night consisted of the constant reminder of your worth.

from sun rise to sun set, he would never look at another woman the way he did you.

saeyoung choi:

in some ways, online classes were harder than in person.

sure, online you could get away with cheating easier (though you were never like that), you could take naps comfortably in between classes, you wouldn’t have to get dressed.

looking at it like that, it doesn’t seem so bad.

unfortunately that was not the case for you.

your professor used this as an opportunity to diminish you to your core.

he would send you private messages talking about how stupid you were, how you failed in every possible way.

even going as far as saying you were a waste of space in the classroom.

that someone much better could’ve taken your place.

and all of that made online learning incredibly hard for you.

you would participate in classes from the side of your bed.

saeyoung laying right besides you, listening in like the goof he is.

even going as far as to help you.

today though, the professor got extremely bold.

he had moved from sending private messages to spewing hatred in front of the entire class.

and saeyoung heard all of it.

he reached over to your laptop and exited out of the classroom.

he didn’t want to listen to you endure that any longer.

at first, it looked like his words didn’t bother you.

perhaps you were used to it at this point.

but once saeyoung asked if you were okay, you couldn’t control the tears starting to run down your face.

you were so tired of being treated like shit, and saeyoung completely understood.

he was baffled that a professor would say something so cruel out in the open.

you two laid there in silence, a peaceful silence.

you explained how this had been happening for a long time.

however, you just wanted to get over it.

you went on with your day, but saeyoung could tell that it still bothered you.

so he did what he does best.

with a little bit of this and a little bit of that, you meet a new professor the next day.

he announced how he was taking the place of the previous professor after he had lost his job.

you turned behind you with a shocked smile, and saw the man you loved smirking like a child.

god you loved him.

#mysticmessenger juminhan jumin mysmejumin #mysme headcanons #jaehee kang #hyun ryu #yoosung kim #saeyoung choi #mysme imagines

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kaito-is-baby · 4 years ago

Text

THH boys with a non-binary S/O who has come out to their parents and was rejected by them

This was requested by a beautiful anon for some comfort so here I have it! I have a big writer block so I have my three fav boys here for you and I will try to write the rest on a second part some day

2 part

Makoto Naegi

•You know, Makoto is a very common guy, he doesn't really understand how it is to have been rejected by your own parents

•He thinks about it and... they really need to be heartless to reject you for that, he wouldn't reject a friend for almost anything and even less for soemthing that isn't wrong

•He is not a boy who hates easily but the most near emotions to hate he has ever experienced are (the whole trial against junko) and this exact moment, against your parents

•What he surely understands us how you feel

•And he needs you to understand that you are completely valid

•He is not something especial and usually keeps thinking to himself that you could get someone better

•You were extremely unique, and you know how much Makoto craves that

•He loved how you embraced your real identity and show it to the world

•He was proud of you and tought you were the strongest person he had ever know

•And he knew you were failing now, you were trying to hide from everyone and come back to the closet, to the wrong pronouns hurting you everyday and to your dysphoria being intensified by it

•He wasn't going to let you do that

•"Baby, you're amazing, I don't care if they don't accept who you are, I do, our class do, just... I know they are your parents but you are much more loved than they might be making you feel now. I love you and I will never ever throw you aside" he said, doubting, as always, holding your hand timidly and wrapping his arms around you

•You had to admit that in his warmth you felt much better

Leon Kuwata

•I love this boy, I really do but he is not as sensitive as Makoto, yet he loves you with all he has and wants to make you happy

•And to be happy you have to accept yourself

•And the people around have to accept it as well

•And if they don't screw them

•That's exactly what he tells you

•"Babe, I don't care they are your parents they are two stupid shitheads and that's all. I-" He tried to calm his extremely anger issues for you "You deserve much better than that"

•You knew he was right but... they were your parents you couldn't just... stop loving them even if a part of you hated them for not accepting you... you didn't want to lose them, you wanted then to accept you

•"I... I know it must be hard..." he started to doubt of his words, screeching the back of his neck and looking to his side

•"But I promise I will be with you, at your side, all the time" he hurried up to you and cupped your face in his hands "we will make them understand you and accept you and if they don't then just... come to me, I will be with you all the time, my parents are cool, sure they may even let you stay and call you by your actual pronouns" you laughed at how he remarked those words with pure hate towards your parents in them

• "And if they don't accept you just.. screw them! You're perfect and I love you I don't want you to be scared or ashamed of your identity, so if they ver make you feel bad again come to me" he pampered your face with kisses "and I will make sure you remember how proud I am of you showing yourself"

Mondo Oowada

•ASSHOLES

•It's the first thing your boyfriend yells when he sees you crying

•"What shit did they say to you?" He says, full rage mode

•You explain to him the whole situation and his first reaction is to fight

•"I will make them understand with a good-"

•"Babe, no, please, I just... want my parents to love me back... Am I that disgusting?"

•His eyes open in fear and anger, an expression of wanting to protect you from the whole world, and this self hate feelings included

•"I... You are absolutely amazing" You know he isnt good with words, he always ends up screaming and cursing "and fuck those who find you disgusting you aren't, you are sweet and nice and always try to help everyone. Damn "he curses to himself "you make me smile every single day just reminding that you exist so never ever dare say you are disgusting again"

•He was almost mad when he kissed you

•You had expect a sweet loving kiss after those words

•But not it was an angry and passionate one

•When he finally pulled you out he looked at you with admiring eyes

•"Now let's go somewhere, we can give a ride alone or call some of your friends who actually respect you" He hugged your wrist with his arm and grabbed you to his motorbike "come on"

#danganronpa hc #danganronpa headcanons #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa #dr imagines #leon danganronpa #danganronpa x reader #makoto danganronpa #mondo danganronpa #mondo owada imagine #mondo owada x reader #leon kuwata x reader #leon kuwata imagine #leon kuwata #makoto naegi x reader #makoto naegi

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ourwrittenstories-arch · 3 years ago

Text

@felis-felicis continued from here

"What's the planet ever done for me anyway?" Mal was breathing heavily inside his helmet, his breath hot like wildfire. "Let it burn, it's what they deserve."

She was beautiful, ascendant, gorgeous like she always did. Mal wanted to collar her with stars and hold her leash tighter this time, so she would never leave again. They did this dance every hundred years or so and leveled a city, stripped a continent and killed thousands. Mal thought little for them and their plight. Mortals were animals, as more time passed the more he was validated in his belief. While the animals were rabid he did enjoy their baseless violence, their carnage. Clearly Ascella thought differently and Mal had been trying to get her to see it his way for centuries.

"You've lost." His eyes heated gold and he raised his hand, ready to end their fight. At least until next time. "Submit."

There was a part of her that agreed with him. It was always there, every single time they fought it was there. She could usually repress it, silence it with her own truths and feelings, but it was so loud now. Louder than it had ever been and she was struggling to silence it. She couldn’t tell if it was because the demon had weakened her too much or if it was from how often humanity ended up disappointing her. Every year, without fail, they seemed to fall further and further from her graces. They would quickly build themselves back up, give her an inch of hope that they were changing for the better, and then rip it away from her just as quickly. It hurt and she wasn’t so sure Mal was wrong anymore.

The blonde looked at the extended hand and smacked it away with the back of her own that was wielding the sword. Well. The hilt. The blade that was made up of her powers was gone, having retracted back into her weakened body, leaving behind the ornate golden handle. It felt heavy in her grasp, but as useless as a paperweight. Sure, she could do some blunt damage with it, but risking a crack to the forged metal could render it completely useless and she needed it. Without it her supernova could sink the entire galaxy into a black hole if she wasn’t careful.

There was a bloody laugh, wet and ragged, that fell from her lips as she slipped down to one knee. The physical pain was nothing compared to the battle that was raging between her heart and mind. Her body and soul were there as well, but were as good as fallen. “You know, if I believed a single fucking word you said-”

Ella turned her copper gaze towards his face while her glare burned hot with starlight. His face was hidden mostly from his helmet, the metal barely tarnished with age, but she could still see how deceptively handsome he was. “If I thought that maybe you cared about me. That you wanted me as more than some disgusting trophy to wave around and fuck into submission...” She shook her head, her golden curls somehow still perfectly in place despite the blood and sweat that should have frazzled them, and looked down at her hilt. It fell between her knees when she let it go and it felt like all of her hope, all of her fight, and all of her give had fallen with it.

“Why won’t you just kill me?”

#felis-felicis

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literarygetaway21 · 3 years ago

Note

20 for the starter lines with bughead 🤍

(What have you done @heytherejulietx?! Lovers to enemies to lovers again. Full cycle. This is part 1. Let me know if this is horseshit.)

"At least I'm not breaking any laws," He sneered as he slammed the SUV's door. He spent ten entire minutes parking his car, glancing and smirking at her shivering frame in rear-view mirrors.

"You're about to... Also exposing Stonewall's secret society was your idea and I'm more than happy to get the scoop. We need to get moving." She retorted, teeth chattering.

***

He met Betty Cooper at the trivia contest in which she completely trashed Bret Weston Wallis, his roommate, and rival, flashing her pristine triumph smile to press and cameras. A few days later, the media was flooded with Riverdale High scandal, Betty Cooper, the genius beauty was a cheat and the glint in Bret's eyes suggested more to the story. When Jughead got to Stonewall Prep, he was keen on making friends but his underprivileged upbringing excluded him. The barrier between his world and theirs was built with mistrust and prejudice. He was given an etiquette, trailer trash. He sought their validation but however impressed they secretly were by his stories, his etiquette remained the same, maybe was updated to the somewhat good writer but still trailer trash.

There were rumors about a secret society at Stonewall Prep. He thought it'd more like a book or chess club at which he'd never be a member. He stayed the weekends, in quasi-vacant dorms, with superfluous time to kill, doing what he did best, sleuthing. Over three decades, recurrent cases of missing students picked his curiosity. The said dropout-runaway students were never seen again around the town. He delved through the voluminous yearbooks, and all of them had a small quill-shaped pin on their blazers, just like the one ornamenting Bret's uniform.

The Ides of March came by, and the school threw a Midsummer-Night's-Dream-themed party in the woods. Nursing his punch, he considered retreating to his room as most of his classmates and their dates disappeared in the thick of the foliage for inebriated groping sessions. Before he spilled the remnant of his cup on the ground, Betty Cooper, the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen stood right before him. She was looking at him in a way that made him want to say something, anything to keep her close, to persuade her that he wasn't a complete washout, loser, that he could be as entertaining as the boyfriend she came with.

"Hey," she said, smiling as her trait traded the fiery competitiveness for an equally breathtaking softness.

"Hey," he said, mirroring her cheerful tone.

"Forsythe, right? I loved the short stories you wrote for your school's literary magazine."

"My friends call me Jughead."

He could feel himself loosen the metaphorical tight knot around his neck at her compliment. She didn't seem rushed to catch up with the boyfriend. He hung on her every word, concerned that she'd excuse herself once she'd glimpse her date passing by. To his relief, Betty said that she was third-wheeling a couple of friends, Archie and Veronica who emerged dramatically from the penumbra, ruffled and sweaty when Betty was typing her number on his phone.

They texted every day. They joked, shared memes, hilarious jokes which soon turned into virtual heart-to-hearts. He found that he wanted them to hang out again, the hazy memory of her face was fading and he needed to renew it, commit it to better quality and clarity, unshadowed by trees and wilting flames. She invited him over, a few weeks later. Her mom was out of town. A movie night, she said, and a large homemade pizza, does that work for you, Jones? He was sold. He paid little attention to the movie as he tried to conceal the sparse facts he knew about Betty into one image, but it wasn't enough. In a way, she was a complete stranger and a friend. She was a good listener and an amazing cook. She was driven and hardworking. When she asked him what plans he had made, he found that he didn't have any. She shook her head disapprovingly but kept quiet. The long silence had him rambling in an attempt to explain his lack of wants, of a future vision. He told her about his grandpa, a failed writer, his father, an alcoholic who both wanted nothing but to succeed, were blinded by their short-lived achievements only to hit the ground. They stayed down, forever. She wasn't having it. Betty showed up every weekend to edit his admission essays, forcing him to apply to several universities. They raided the vending machine, laughing and rambling about Betty's overbearing mother and Jughead's intrusive roommate.

"Bret is a total freak. Wait until you hear about Poe porn story he wrote for the seminar."

"Bret, as in Bret Weston Wallis? He's the creepy roommate?" She queried.

He nodded. She smiled. Most of her smiles were open-mouthed, delighted. But that one was a little like being told a secret. She bit on her bottom lip, and his mind just veered into She's so sexy territory. There was a shift in their texting dynamics, subtle flirting, and agonizingly slow seduction, which they were eager to carry on with whenever they met. He summoned enough courage and kissed her on a Sunday morning in her childhood bedroom. And so they were dating. He shared his childhood stories and she responded with questions about Bret. She visited him on Thanksgiving, spent the night as they were snowed in. They kissed on his bed and he thought that he'd never know Betty completely, she'd shown him facets of who she was, tender, flirty, and loving. She wasn't disgusted by his past, never seemed to care about his etiquette. She made love to him, bringing him even closer to whom she might be. Her words were measured but her face and touches imparted her nurturing self. At least, or so he thought back then because he woke up to Betty rummaging through Bret's drawers. He sucked in a breath and watched her unlock Bret's spare Laptop. She let out a frustrated sigh when she apparently didn't find what she came for.

At the breakfast table, Jughead just stared at his plate.

"Jug, you're not eating. Are you okay?"

"I saw you, Betty, this morning, going through Bret's stuff. Why?" He asked, eyes pleading for an answer.

She clenched her fists, looking away.

"Bret trashed my name, in my town. I won the trivia contest fair and square, but somehow he snuck the answers sheet into my desk. Damning evidence. This isn't the first time... Stonewall had always won, for years."

His mind was racing, throng of thoughts of what they'd shared flashed in fast. Rage tore through him.

"So this..whatever this is...", his finger made a quick back and forth motion between them, "was a ploy to expose Bret? To get an inside scoop?" He was gathering his thing, phone, and jacket.

"Jug, please, let me explain-"

"Don't bother," and he was gone.

#Bughead #ask game #let me know in comments if you want a part2

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buckyjustbelikethat · 4 years ago

Text

The Fiction of Fairytales: Chapter One

Title: The Fiction of Fairytales: Chapter One

Characters: Stucky x Reader

Summary: (a/b/o au that is non-cannon compliant) After being captured and forced to live as Brock Rumlow’s mate for years you are kidnapped by the Avengers. They plan to interrogate you for information on Hydra and Rumlow, but after Steve and Bucky realize they are your true mates, they realize that their kidnapping was more of an unexpected rescue.

Warnings: Mentions of assault, kidnapping, death, and abuse, and strong language.

Word Count: approx. 3000

A/N: Hello lovelies! 💕 I’m so sorry for the late update. Life has been really crazy both personally and globally. I hope the longer chapter makes up for the wait. Let me know if you want to be tagged or if you have any suggestions or comments!

Previous Chapter

You followed his instructions until they reached the tower. As you were driving you had the urge to cry passing by the buildings and civilization you had been kept from for so long. But the freedom was a placebo, a momentary feeling that reality is plotting to destroy. You knew you were trading one cage for another. One where you were trapped with a murderer and one when you are considered one. Tony Stark fought for good, and he proved that Brock had turned you into something only recognizable as bad.

They arrived at the tower and the moment you placed the car in park your hands were put into high tech handcuffs. Stark’s hand firmly gripped your arm, and though it was not soft, you breathed a sigh of relief when it felt nothing like the force of Brock’s hands. Stark led you to an elevator that seemed detached from the main part of the building. You hoped he didn’t feel the slight tremble of your body. You were used to the danger of being a captive of Brock, but here, you didn’t know what to expect. The floor you arrived at looked like a police station. There were containment rooms and what looked like interrogation rooms. There weren’t many others on the floor, but the guards scattered throughout looked at you in disgust as you entered. You knew that you did not participate in any of the violence hydra had committed, but being looked at as if you did made you feel dirty.

Stark led you into one of the interrogation rooms, and sat you down on an uncomfortable metal chair. He sat opposite of you and placed his feet on the table between you.

“So, are you also a mass murderer or do you just have a fetish for murders in cults?”

His question reminded you once again that he did not save you, you were considered his enemy. You didn’t know the use in arguing with him, you were unsure if they would ever really believe you, and whether the reality of the circumstance would really save you, or if you were considered damned.

“I’ve never killed anyone.” You stated with as much confidence in your voice as you could muster.

“A girl like you bonded with an evil person like that has to get her hands dirty a little once and awhile.”

You met his statement with silence. Staring at the metal table and wishing all of this would be over. When he realized you were not going to respond to his previous statement he placed photos down in front of you.

“Do you recognize any of these men?”

Your body involuntarily shivered as you had looked at the faces of men who had taken part in your torture. You recognized Pierce first, and other Hydra members that had brought you so much trauma.

“Yes.”

“Are they all still alive?”

“I don’t know.” It was your honest answer but it made you feel hopeless. Stark wasn’t going to trust you if you couldn’t tell him anything useful. You hadn’t seen a lot of them in a while, but you would never be informed of those kinds of details.

“So you’re telling me you recognize all these men and we are supposed to believe that you know nothing about hydra?” You didn’t have to look at his face to recognize the skepticism in his words.

As Steve and Bucky were walking into the interrogation room they were hit both with the most intoxicating smell, it smelled like warmth, like vanilla and caramel, and it reminded them of the cookies Steve’s mom used to make them when they were younger. Underneath the overwhelming scent was the unmistakable wave of distress. At first they didn’t understand where the scent could be coming from, or who. It didn’t take long for them to narrow down the fact that there was likely no one else nearby besides the Hydra member, who was also Brock’s omega, that Tony just brought in. They glanced at each other in apprehension before entering. They knew that whatever they were walking into it was not the happy meeting of their omega they had dreamed of, but their instincts were screaming at them to open the door.

Steve couldn’t ignore the protectiveness he was feeling towards Bucky in the moment. Whoever this omega was, they were somehow involved with the same people that had hurt Bucky. He was ignoring the protectiveness he felt towards the omega he had not even met yet, as far as he was concerned they did not deserve his protection, Bucky was his priority right now.

“Stark, Captain America and Sergeant Barnes request access to the room to aid interrogation.”

“Let them in, Friday.” Stark responds with a sigh, obviously frustrated he got nowhere on his own.

As the two men entered the room your heart stopped. Their scents felt like home. The dark haired man smelled like freshly brewed coffee, and the blonde haired man smelled like ginger and licorice. You knew without a question these two beautiful men in front of you were your alphas, your true mates. After your mind cleared from the fog that their presence brought you immediately diverted your eyes, cursing yourself for forgetting your position, if Brock was here he would have punished you for looking at an alpha, even if they are his enemy.

Bucky felt consumed by you. You were more beautiful than he ever could have pictured. He was hyper analyzing every frown, every tremor that your body was making, the way that you diverted your eyes from them. The distress and feeling of hopelessness that surrounded you suffocated him. He just hoped your emotions were not fueled by you missing your mate. Though he didn’t like the alternative. He could not win in this situation, and underneath his calculated demeanor, Steve could also feel the feeling of hopelessness Bucky tried to bury, he could not hide his emotions from his mate.

“We have reason to believe they are trying to capture and reactivate the winter soldier, what are their plans?” Stark spoke completely unaware of what was going on.

“The winter soldier?” You were thankful to be snapped back to the reality of the moment, but his questions once again made you feel useless.

“Me.” The dark haired man replied, or Sergeant Barnes as the AI called him.

Your face fell. Though you didn’t know whether to trust your true mates or not, you knew you had very little chance of gaining their love. Not only did you bond with someone else, but they were someone that obviously hurt one of them, and might be actively planning to do so again. You would be pissed if fate gave you you as well.It seemed fate cursed them and is turned your life into a farce.

“I don’t know.” You sounded like a broken record, and you knew with each repetition there will be dire consequences.

“How convenient, it seems you know nothing.”

“I’m sorry, I promise I’m telling the truth.”

Steve’s composure fell, he no longer could quiet his rage.

“Bullshit! What kind of sick joke is this? We are mated to an omega not only bonded with hydra, but obviously she has blatant allegiance to them as well.”

“Mate?” Stark questioned in shock.

“Steve...” Bucky interjected, still not as convinced as his mate was that you were lying and trying to get him to relax.

“No Buck! You deserve so much better than her, than this. And not only does she not have the decency to wait for her true mates, but she mates with a member of Hydra, and is actively covering for an evil organization.” Steve said, looking into Bucky’s eyes while ignoring Stark’s question.

“She’s your true mate?” Tony tried again.

“No.” Steve said, though the message behind his words was heard loud and clear by everyone in the room. He was rejecting her.

You felt like you couldn’t breath. You knew what was going to happen, but God, you didn’t know how you could live with it. You knew his words were the truth, he didn’t even know the full extent of how broken you were and he could already tell you would never measure up.

“I’m sorry.” You tried to show your honesty behind your words, but your voice was weak. You did not understand why you were mated either, but you knew they were good people, they were alpha’s sure, and there are parts of that that scare you, but you know that if you had met them before ever meeting Brock, they would be everything you had ever dreamed of. Your eyes remained diverted, but you could tell just from his voice, his love for Bucky. You felt like it was ripping you in two, all you had ever wanted was a fraction of that love, but the universe deemed you unworthy, adding validity to all of Brock’s claims.

While Steve was filled with protectiveness, Bucky wasn’t so sure of what to make of everything. The ways your eyes never met their own, the pain and fear he could detect though you tried to hide it, and the apology only filled him with questions. Your behavior reminded him of his own when he first got out of Hydra, part of him hoped this wasn’t the case. He would rather be mated to evil, than to be mated to someone that had to withstand the kind of pain he had to.

“What is it exactly you are sorry for?” Bucky asks, his voice still cool, but not laced with the anger Steve’s words were entangled with.

“For being mated with someone else…” you cut yourself off there, not sure if you should list all the reasons why you were sorry you ended up their mate. “And for not being able to help you all with the information you want.”

“Not being able to and not willing to are two different things.” He replied.

“I.. I know. I promise you if I knew I would help you. I understand you don’t like me or trust me. I would feel the same considering who Brock is, but please believe that more than anyone, I don’t want him to be able to hurt anyone ever again.”

“Then how the hell can you justify being with him? For not waiting for your true mates, for him?” Steve almost yells as he tries to keep his cool. He was hurt but he was masking it with anger. Bucky reaches out his hand and lays it on Steve’s shoulder, he gives him a look that pleads for his silence.

Bucky could see the tears pooling in your eyes as you fought them away, and his fear that his suspicions might be true was nagging at his mind.

“How long have you been with Brock?”

This was something that you had fought over the years to know the answer to. You weren’t sure of time when he first took you, the days blended together, but once he started giving you more freedom you decided to keep track of how long it had been.

“Eight years.” you said.

“Okay.” Bucky said, his voice calming. “We have no records of you before Hydra, so can you tell us how old you are?”

“25.” Your voice was still breathy and quiet, unsure his intentions behind his questions.

The fear nagging at Bucky became more pronounced when he learned that you weren’t even of age when you got together.

“How did you meet?”

He watched you as your body froze, panic entered your eyes and your breath became shorter. As you shrunk into your chair you winced at the metal pushing against your bruised body.

Steve started to sense the reasoning behind Bucky’s questions, especially when he saw your reaction. Things started to make sense to Tony too, especially when knowing how little you went out, and the way you looked for the cameras. He suspected you feared him and tried to find safety in knowing that Brock could see you in the surveillance footage, but now he was starting to think your fear was more of the cameras than him.

You didn’t know what to do, he asked about one of the worst days of your life, and you feared they would be disgusted by you if he understood. You saw Bucky move closer to you in an attempt to calm you down, his alpha instincts telling him to soothe the anxiety of his omega. But the closer he got to you the more you shrunk away from him. Trying to hide within the cold metal of your chair, as your pain became more pronounced.

“Hey, it’s okay, we want to help you, but we can’t do that if you don’t talk to us.”

His words calmed you and you cursed that he was able to have an effect on you. He knelt down beside your chair, trying to get a better view of your eyes, despite you doing everything in your power to hide your face behind your hair. You decided to rip the bandaid off, maybe if they understood then they would realize you were no use to them, and then maybe you could let you die on your own terms. You knew there was no other alternative. Brock would always find you, and you had no way of defending yourself, and you would not let yourself become a burden to them as an unwanted mate. You wouldn’t force them to deal with that, it would be wrong of you.

“He killed my parents and he was supposed to kill me too, but he took me as his mate instead.”

“He forced you to bond with him?” He was trying to suppress the rage overwhelming his body, he did not want to scare you away. Steve was still at a distance, now battling his own guilt from what he said to you.

“Yes, I promise, I meant nothing to him, I was just a body, everyone in Hydra viewed me the same. I promise they never discussed any information with me around, and if they did I would tell you, please believe me.” You spoke through your own tears.

“We believe you.” Tony spoke, laced with the same guilt Steve feels.

“Thank you... But they will find me, and what they will do to me is worse than death, I can’t go back, and I won’t be a burden to you, you both deserve to find an omega who is good enough. So please, I’m begging you to kill me.”

Steve and Bucky both started to growl. Unhappy with the words they are hearing from their omega.

“No!” Steve and Bucky both blurted out.

Your whole body was shaking, and it got worse knowing they wouldn’t allow you the kindness of a quick death. “Please, I know you don’t owe me anything but please. I can’t go back. Please.”

Bucky’s hand reached out to calm you, but he immediately realized it was a bad idea when you flinched away. Your face contorted in pain once again and Steve and Bucky wished more than anything that they could fix everything for you right then and there, no matter the cost. Bucky resigned his hand to himself, but Steve came up and knelt beside Bucky.

“No one is going to hurt you again. I promise you. We will protect you sweetheart. I’m so sorry we thought you were Hydra.” Steve spoke to you. His voice soft, and laced with pain for his mate.

“We are your Alpha’s and we will protect you.” Bucky said firmly, assuring you that they weren’t going anywhere despite what Steve had said earlier.

You calmed yourself enough to reply to their assertions.

“You don’t have to protect me,” you wiped your tears from your face with your still handcuffed hands. “I’ll be fine. Please, like you said earlier, you deserve better, and I understand that.”

“No, no. That is not true.” Steve said distressed at what his omega was saying to him.

“Honey, I was a captive of Hydra for years, they made me do horrible things, I understand what they are capable of, but that is not a reflection on you. Did you want to be there?”

“No.” You sniffled.

“Do you agree with the horrible things that they do?”

“No!” You stated, trying to convince them.

“Then there is nothing that could change our mind.”

You still felt unconvinced but Steve didn’t give you much time to reject what Bucky said.

“Are you hurt?” Steve asked, assessing as much of your body as he could.

You nodded. “I’ll be fine though, Brock wasn’t happy with me this morning.”

You could see Bucky and Steve’s body both tense up at your words.

“What happened?”

“It was my fault, I looked up at him.”

Both men started growling again, even Tony joined in already becoming protective over his teammates and friends’ omega.

“You did nothing wrong, sweetheart.” Bucky spoke to you.

“But I’m an omega.. and I shouldn’t have done that.”

Bucky wished he reached out and guided your chin up so you could look him in his eyes, but he was afraid of scaring you even more.

“Doesn’t matter if you are an omega, doll. You are not lesser than other people, especially not him.” Bucky said his voice caring.

“Can we take you to the medical wing to get you checked out?” Steve asked.

“S-sure.” You replied, still not knowing if you could trust them and their words, but the fantasy of their words of love was too enticing. You decided that even if this didn’t last, it was worth it to escape, even for just a moment, in fiction.

Next Chapter

Tags (open): @snakesonastarship @thanossucks @yomama-umbridge @grandluminaryearthquake @laughsandlivia @bloo-moon-freak @this-is-a-chilis-drive-thru @sergeantrosabellaswan

#stucky x reader #alpha stucky x reader #stucky #alpha bucky barnes #alpha steve rogers #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader

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rosaliehaley · 4 years ago

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Emmett and Rosalie headcannons

(because fuck smeyer, her opinion isn’t valid - this is me giving them the slowburn-relationship they deserve)

Rosalie was terrified when she watched Emmett go through the transformation, fearing that she was wrong again and fell for another monster. She realized that he would be the only man strong enough to hurt her and that truly scared her.

She prepared herself for Emmett being furious with her or even attacking her after waking up as a vampire - which of course wasn’t the case as he ended up being thrilled about his existence. Rosalie didn’t know how to feel about that as she was reliefed but kind of offended at the same time.

She went hunting with him shortly after. Emmett, being the chaotic goofball he is, ended up testing his newfound vampire powers, wrestling bears and jumping around the woods.

At first Rosalie was kind of annoyed about that, but Emmett asked her to join in and she did so, begrudgingly. What she didn’t anticipate was how much fun she’d have. For the first time since her assault and transformation, she was carefree and enjoyed herself. They made childish competitions about who could jump further, who could climb faster, who could hold their breath longer - that was also the day Rosalie called him first her “monkey man”. Rosalie had fun for the first time in a really long time and almost felt thankful to be alive, a feeling she thought she lost a really long time ago.

They’ve climbed to the top of the smokey mountains and had a conversation about their human lives, their interests, etc. They’ve learned that neither of them fitted their stereotypes: Rosalie, the beautiful blonde, was a mechanic and Emmett liked to paint. Rosalie also learned about Emmett’s large family of scottish and irish decent. She felt that it was very easy to talk to Emmett, but she wasn’t comfortable with sharing her trauma with him yet.

On their way home they played tag ... which ended badly when Emmett caught the scent of a human. Rosalie tried to stop him, but Emmett wasn’t able to resist, he gave into the monster inside of him. He pushed Rosalie to the ground, which reminded her of her assault. This resulted in a panic attack and Rosalie was immediately reminded that she’d never be able to be truly carefree and that she should stay away from Emmett for her own well-being.

They’ve spend a few days apart, which was hard because they essentially lived together now. After a few days they finally talked about what happened and made up. They’ve talked about Rosalie’s favourite book - which Emmett read to get to know her better ... and maybe (just maybe!) impress her a little. He also showed her one of his paintings, in which he processed “being a monster”. Rosalie realized that killing a human made Emmett feel worse than he first lead on and was there for him. This brought them a lot closer together.

Rosalie quickly learned about Emmett’s wild past - Edward warned her about it and Rosalie heared Emmett’s human family mentioning it when she brought them some of Carlisle’s money. This made her feel anxious - drinking and sleeping around was something she knew from Royce. She feared that they could be more similar than she thought, that maybe Emmett had a dark side like Royce did. She was wrong before so how could she be sure that history wouldn’t just repeat itself? She decided it would be best to hide her trauma for as long as she could.

Emmett was always so carefree with her, hugging and slightly touching her - which caused Rosalie to panic and push him away a lot of the time.

Over the weeks they became friends regardless - talked for hours and hours, went hunting together, Rosalie taught him how to repair cars and Emmett taught her how to paint. It was Emmett’s idea to start the baseball tradition - simply because he wanted to make Rosalie smile. He’d do anything to make her happy.

Later on Emmett admitted his feelings to Rosalie - she didn’t know how to react to that. Thinking about protecting herself, she pushed him away. She did so in a rather mean way - thinking it would be better to break his heart before he could end up breaking hers. She lied to him, telling him that he’d never be good enough for her.

She begged Carlisle to make Emmett leave, but the family has grown so used to him that they didn’t want him to leave. Emmett still left, sensing that he must’ve done something to hurt Rosalie and just wanting her to be happy again ... you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone because it was only then that Rosalie realized that she needed him and that she had feelings for him as well. So she chased him and convinced him to stay, telling him that she’s falling for him as well.

For the first time in her life Rosalie felt insecure - what if Emmett didn’t like her? If he wanted a physical relationship, which she felt like she couldn’t give him yet? What if she wasn’t good enough? Emmett felt similar - how could he, a boy from Tennessee, be possibly good enough for that extremely beautiful woman that he felt like could have whoever she wanted?

They’ve tried to have a couple of dates - some of them went well, others not so much because Rosalie felt constantly reminded of Royce. She realized that she had to tell him about her past if she wanted her relationship with Emmett to work.

She tried talking to him about her assault but then completely panicked. Not wanting Emmett to treat her differently and just see her as “the rape victim” or worst case, even judge her, she lied to him, telling him that she died by a car accident caused by her drunk fiancee.

Rosalie was to terrified to let Emmett in, so she decided it would be best for her to leave. She went to the airport, wanting to start over somewhere else but Emmett convinced her to stay. She decided to let her guard down and give him a chance.

They’ve had another date and ended up going to a bar - it was an open-mic-night and Rosalie made fun about some of the singers until Emmett dared her to sing something herself. She sang a love song for Emmett and he sang about her and that’s when they completely fell for each other. They came close to kissing, but neither of them dared to take the first step.

The decision was made for them later on when someone in the bar started bleeding - Emmett was about to lose his self-control again and Rosalie knew that she’d have to distract him. So she tried giving him the one thing that he might want more than the blood and kissed him.

It worked and they’ve quickly got out of there, couldn’t stop kissing each other once they’ve started. They went home and tried having sex - Rosalie knew that this wasn’t the best idea, but she just wanted to try being “normal” and taking the relationship to the next level. But eventually she completely panicked, feeling as if Royce and the others were there and torturing her again. She started to cry and scream and pushed Emmett away, who had no idea what was going on. She begged him to leave and he considered doing that, wanting her to feel comfortable ... but he decided to stay with her and help her.

After she calmed down a little, she was finally honest with him and told him about everything that happened with Royce. Emmett was shocked at first and started blaming himself for not being careful enough with her. She thought that he would be angry with her lying to him - or even worse, disgusted by her because of what happened - but none of that happened. He assured her that what happened to her wasn’t her fault and that it didn’t change the way he thinks about her. He felt so sad knowing that his angel had to go through something so vile and was glad when he learned that she took revenge.

They’ve talked about intimacy and Rosalie admitted that she wasn’t sure if she could ever have sex with him. Emmett assured her that that’s fine, that he’d wait for as long as she needed. While he’d like to get physical with her, he cared about her well-being much, much more and promised her, that even if they couldn’t get intimate, they’d still have a beautiful eternity. That was also the moment when he admitted to Rosalie that he loved her - shy at first, but once he said the words he was completely sure of how much he loved her. Rosalie couldn’t yet say it back and Emmett accepted that. They agreed that she needed to learn to love herself first.

They spend the entire night just holding hands and looking at each other. The next morning the decided that they were “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” from now on - something Rosalie thought was so pure. She’s never been someone’s girlfriend, just the “beautiful fiancee”.

Emmett of course was not able to hurt Royce and the others - but he needed a way to deal with the rage so he went to Rochester and destroyed their memorials. Rosalie considered that as kinda sweet.

After spending a few months together, Emmett proposed to her

They’ve had a very intimate wedding, only the other Cullens being there. Esme and Carlisle, once again having more money that they could possibly spend, bought them a castle in Scotland, where a part of Emmett’s human family was from. There they could spend their honeymoon

On their wedding night Rosalie and Emmett tried to have sex again - she began wanting to be intimate with him as well - but Rosalie panicked again. She was thinking about just “getting it over with”, but Emmett assured her that they’d wait until she feels comfortable. Instead they spend their wedding night playing board games. (They’ve shared a lot of wedding nights ever since ... but Rosalie and Emmett agree that this first one was the best of them all)

They managed to have sex a few days later and it was everything Rosalie dreamed of. She completely fell in love with the way Emmett touched her and slowly learned to love herself and her body again. She fell in love with having sex and the two of them rarely left the bed during their honeymoon - until it broke one day, of course. Not to mention that the castle was destroyed after a few weeks ... but they were happy. So happy.

Rosalie still dreamed of being human and having children with Emmett. But she loved him so much that she’d never sacrifice him. And Emmett promised her that someday - no matter how long it would take, 100 or 1000 years - one day they’d find a way to have a child.

#a really long one ... but this needed to be said #hope there aren't too many mistakes #not a native english speaker #rosalie hale #emmett cullen #emmett mccarty #twilight #twilight saga #twilight renaissance #twilight revival #rosalie x emmett #emmett x rosalie #emmalie #stephenie meyer can suck it #smeyer #midnight sun

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detroitbydark · 4 years ago

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Chapter 9

Characters: Commander Fox/Reader

Warning: None

A/N: I’m breaking this and the next part into two seperate pieces to keep them at a comfortable readable length. Strap into your seats babes it’s about to get bumpy.

“For the love of Fett-“ Fox shoves the datapad away in a fit of disgust. Three others sit nearby. He was missing something and he was starting to wonder if it wasn’t his mind.

There was a piece he just didn’t have. Rex hadn’t been able to provide it, only given him more questions.

It’s well past the end of his work day but Fox can’t let it rest. He drags a holopad back. This one contains footage, surveillance of the ARC trooper from before everything had come to a head. There had to be something he was meeting, someone somewhere in the background. A hint of anything to go off of.

But there wasn’t. He’d watched the same blurry, looped feed six times already and nothing new presented itself.

That was the definition of madness wasn’t it? Doing the same thing over and over yet expecting different results.

“Fox?” Mouse’s voice cuts through the noise on his head. “It’s getting late. Let it be for the day.”

He raises a brow at the order. Not her usual gentle question. He’s not feeling playful or amorous and she seems to mirror it in the way she stands across the room, her distance from him speaking volumes and making his stomach clench uncomfortably. He’d give anything right now just to lose himself in the soft plains of her body, let the sounds of their passion drown out the voices inside his head that said he was failing.

“Can’t.” He gruffs, pulling another datapad over and flipping through the screen. redacted black lines take up the entirety of it and any attempt to bypass is left with a flashing red ‘access denied’. He snarls lowly.

“Alverde?” the term throws him off. His Little Mouse didn’t speak any Mando’a. She offers a tiny smile to his bewildered expression.

“Wren taught me a few things.”

His stomach clenches again, sour and dispeptic. Had they talked about what he’d said in the heat of the moment? He couldn’t explain himself now. Couldn’t have the conversation if she wanted too. There was too much he needed to-

Mouse’s hand softly cradles his cheek. He flinches away. He hadn’t realized she’d moved so close. Maybe he was too tied up in his own thoughts. The look on her face is hurt. It’s the only way to describe it, like he hadn’t pulled away but in reality had slapped her.

He grabs for her hand quickly, grip tight at her wrist. He presses a firm kiss to the back of her hand and then more along her knuckles until he feels the muscles in her arm begin to relax. Mouse sighs tiredly. Yeah, he could understand that. She moves to perch on the edge of the desk.

“It’s been a long day but I need to figure this out.” He tries to explain.

“Is this about Captain Rex?” The 501st Officer had not left a good impression on Mouse if her eyes glaring daggers at his backside as he’d left had told the story.

“This is about us all.” Fox corrects, saying aloud for the first time what was truly at stake or, at least, what he’d come to believe. “The Jedi, the clones, my brothers-“

Mouse sits, looking away from him and to the datapad.

“You shouldn’t be looking at these.” He says after a minute, though he doesn’t move to close anything out. Mouse raises a brow at him before getting up to pull the chair from the other side of the desk around next to him. He’d rather she be in his lap. Even next to him feels too far away. He can’t bring himself to act on it.

“Why are all these about the ARC trooper?” She questions, not validating his assessment with a response. She knew as well as he did that this was far beyond any clearance she had.

Fox’s jaw clenches. He needed to tell her to go. This wasn’t for her to see but he can’t because he's weak for her. Having her near may flare some nerves but her presence alone calms so many others.

“You're looking at this like Fives was the lynchpin in whatever plot you’ve got brewing.” She traces the image of the clone softly and Fox feels a flare of something ugly in the soft brush of her fingers against the datapad. “He was young, fresh from ARC training. Where would he find someone to conspire with?” She makes a point.

Maybe he’d been looking at this wrong, ��so your saying, Fives wasn’t a conspirator, he just-“

“-got mixed up in it. Did the Captain say when they started noticing him acting strange?”

“After the clone Tup turned on his Jedi-“ Fox pauses for a minute. He’s already said too much so he decides, kriff it, and says it all “he was sick, they thought. Sent him to Kamino for- Rex said he wasn’t right after Tup died there.”

“But Fives didn’t think Tup was sick,” Mouse says quietly. Fox looks at her not for the first time and wishes he’d never laid a hand on her because now she was in this and he wanted her too kriffing to make her go. If this was high level stuff, something cooked up by higher military personnel than it was more dangerous than she’d ever know.

“Who do you think is responsible?”

Now that was the question of the hour. All the way to the top? Tarkin’s name comes to mind first and foremost. The man oozed hunger for power, latched onto any he could get and clung to it fiercely with thin skeletal fingers. Wulff Yularen was another probable candidate but he didn’t seem to stand out so much as Tarkin did. Maybe it was by design. Maybe Yularen has grown weary of being held at heel by the Jedi Order. Maybe he thought he could do better. It was a possibility but still it didn’t feel likely.

The Kaminoans had discouraged young clones from pacing, it was an inefficient use of metabolized energy and unnecessary for such high functioning merchandise. Fox found it to be the best way to think. The act of motion helped to center his thoughts, form them into something clear and concise instead of a tangled, jumbled mess. He rises to his feet and begins the short path back and forth across the office.

He needed access to the redacted files. His clearance- top secret- should have cleared all of that for him but it had barely scratched the surface of the files. They were utterly useless as they were now. He’d need them opened. If it was one of the admirals preparing for some sort of military coup he wouldn’t be able to go to them, while Yularen may comply with his request Tarkin thought too little of clones to agree even if he wasn’t implicitly involved. If they were working together any request would expose him to the full wrath they were capable of bringing down.

No. He needed to go higher. The Supreme Chancellor could get the files opened or at least find the one to order too. It was a matter of galactic security, even though Fox wasn’t a great fan of the Chancellor personally he trusted the man to do what was in the galaxies best interest. That was what he'd sworn an oath to do.

A warm hand slides over his. He startles. Again. He was too on edge for any of this. Mouse looks up with worried eyes.

“Fox-“

“I need you to go home.” He's brisk, erasing any tenderness from his voice. She does a good job of hiding the cringe at his words. He needed her to stop looking at him with those big, trusting eyes. Eyes that held all her faith in him. If she didn’t he wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to push her away again. Even now it hurt, felt like he was carving out a part of his heart with a dull vibroblade. He couldn’t drag her any further into this no matter how much he did- how much he did care for her.

He could not allow her to be in danger. If something happened to her… he just wouldn’t allow it to happen. Even if he had to be cold to do it. He’d make it up to her after the conspiracy had been laid to rest. When it was safe to have her at his side again. It physically hurts his head, his chest, and even down to the marrow of his bones to place what he wants (but now he’s more afraid that it’s moved on to a need) to the back burner for any reason.

“Mouse go home. Yours.” He clarifies before she can ask. “You can’t- I don’t need you here.” Fox is surprised he can lie so convincingly.

“Fox-“

“-No” his voice is sharp and Mouse flinches, he almost misses it as small as it is. All the same it’s like a punch to the gut. “Go home. I don’t want you here.” It’s amazing he’s able to get the words out. He’s never lied so completely in his entire decade of life. He feels like a hut’uun as Mouse turns away. She doesn’t fight him on it and he wants her too. He wants her to yell or rage. He wants her to fight to be with him.

His Mouse is smarter than that. She’s better than that. His cyar’ika knows him better than he knows himself he worries- he hopes- because the small sounds she’s making as she leaves the office sound like a broken heart.

——

It’s been a long time since you’ve been made to feel so small. You’d never handled rejection well. Your mother had been very cognizant of it and, after you’d lost her, the children’s home attendants had learned quickly. You’d always just been sensitive and any kind of harsh treatment made your mind push into shut down mode.

In a year working at Fox’s side he’d never so much as volleyed a cross word your way.

He hadn’t just then, your brain supplies helpfully.

That wasn’t how you felt. It was as if he’d slammed the door in your face. The sweetness he’d shown you over the last week was gone as if you’d only just come into his acquaintance. It kriffing hurt. That’s what it did. It hurt. Especially after your talk with Wren earlier in the day.

You wipe at your eyes as you take the elevator to the nearest speeder platform and wait for a taxi to loop around. A chill rises up from the lower levels and you shiver lightly. You think back to the previous night, the emotion that had bled through Fox’s words as he held you. The depth of what you’d felt when Wren had translated them earlier.

Forever.

That was the word that you let roll around in your head and your heart. But maybe that was just the heat of the moment falling from his lips? Of course you didn’t want forever.

This was too young, too new. Of course Fox didn’t mean it. Time away from one another would be good, breed perspective. You were drunk off the newness and the feeling of being wanted by such a strong individual. That was all. It was good to separate yourself from the situation. You needed to be alone so you could think clearly and reevaluate what you thought you knew.

By the time the door of the cab is popping open your brain has almost completely convinced your heart that it was in the wrong. Almost.

———-

Fox wakes at his desk, still on full armor with the exception of his helmet off to the side, at 0400. His back protests the first attempt to move into motion and he’s forced to stretch slowly before trying again. His vertebrae pop loudly in protest. He has to agree with them. Falling asleep draped over the duraplast was a rotten idea, certainly less inviting than other sleeping arrangements he’d made over the last week. He doesn’t allow himself to think of Mouse. Definitely, not the way she’d left him the night before.

There was too much riding on his time with the Supreme Chancellor today to allow anything to distract him. He needed more access, to reopen the case. To be given the freedom to investigate like he hadn’t had previously, like he hadn’t pushed for.

He makes his way down to the barracks, shucking his armor and blacks the second he’s clear of the door. The ‘fresher is his first stop. There’s barely an ounce of heat to the stream of water that pelts him. The cool blast wakes him faster than any cup of high-octane caf ever could. He’s efficient, clean and wrapped in a towel in no time flat like he’d been taught on Kamino.

Next, he runs a razor over his face. He doubted he’d be taking his bucket off but if it came to that, Chancellor Palpatine wouldn’t see anything other than the absolute pinnacle of military excellence. To complete the effect he takes the clippers, trimming the short hairs around his temple and back of his head back into regs. He pauses before he gets to the hair at his crown. It was getting longer, not yet floppy but more to the length than he’d traditionally allow.

Mouse had mentioned how she’d liked running her fingers through it as it had slowly grown over the last week. She liked the feel of it between her fingers and he couldn’t argue. He liked the feel of it between her fingers as well. He leaves it be and packs the razor and clippers away before retrieving clean blacks from his closet and fitting his armor back into place. He makes a point of shining the visor to a glossy mirror finish.

A yawn creeps past his lips and Fox takes a longing look at his bed but he knows if he lays back down now he’d be even worse for wear when he got up. No sleep was better than too much sleep as far as he was concerned. He had ways to fight the fatigue. Today was a day for caf and stims, maybe not in that order.

Like any good trooper, Fox kept half a dozen stims in a belt pocket for emergencies. On Coruscant they weren’t as likely to use them as the clones in off world war zones but they did get used from time to time. There was nearly no other feeling better than riding a stim high, comparable to a good night's sleep, three square meals, and a good hot shower. A single stim would make you feel ready to take on the world single-handedly. That’s what he needed today. He pops the little blue and red capsule dry, swallowing it down quick.

By the time he’s to the cafeteria Fox is already beginning to feel the effects of the stims in his system. He no longer has to focus to keep his feet from shuffling, his back feels straight and strong, and his focus is laser sharp. It doesn’t do much for the anxiety that’s been slowly eating at him since Rex showed up yesterday but it gives him the mental fortitude to pack every kriffing nerve and down, down, down burying it so deep below the surface that he can confidently pretend it doesn’t exist.

He downs a ration bar and a cup of caf without breaking his stride, the few clones already present and eating offer respectful greetings and Fox returns them with a quick nod. His vode. This is who he needed to get to the bottom of this for. He needed to keep them safe, make sure they had a future to work towards.

It's nearly 0630 by the time Fox is parking his speeder in the garage of the main senate complex. No matter what the time of day Coruscanti traffic, particularly around the Senate, was a nightmare. Not for the first time, Fox wonders what it might be like in another world, a place where the city isn’t a hodgepodge of thousands of levels dating back to who knew how many centuries past. What must it be like to see green pastures and vast waters, a place that was more scenic than scene?

His mind is firing on too many cylinders and he takes a moment and a deep breath to refocus. The stims are working their magic now and it was his job to focus it to precision, not let it run amok.

The clones at both security checkpoints entering into the building give him a thorough once over even as they recognize him as their Commander. He’s pleased. If they did this to him it meant they treated everyone entering the same, a possible threat until proven otherwise. The safety of the senators and their staff depended on his men.

His boots echo against the fine marble floor as he makes his way to the Supreme Chancellor’s offices. The turbo lift takes him to the top of the building and he encounters one last checkpoint before he’s able to enter. It’s nearly 0730.

Palpatine is busy at his desk when Fox enters. He waits at parade rest for a handful of minutes until the chancellor completes whatever task he’d been set on and looks up.

“Commander” he greets pleasantly, “your early. I wasn’t expecting you til at least the turn of the hour.”

“I can come back if I-“

Palpatine waves him off. “No, my young friend. Come closer. It will be nice to have the company before the business of the day begins.”

The informality makes Fox uncomfortable. He lowers himself into the seat he’s motioned too. “I’m afraid I do have some business for you this morning” Fox stares straight ahead, he’s glad he’s got his bucket on, even so, when the chancellor looks at him he feels as if the old man is looking through it.

“Well that is unfortunate but, part of the grand scheme of things I suppose. What is it? I did hope I’d hear more about the lady love I'd encouraged you to pursue our last meeting.”

The smile he gives makes Fox feel like squirming. His gaze is more assessing than friendly. Fox thinks of how precarious the situation is. His vode, the Jedi, Mouse.

“Any relationship would be wholly inappropriate given my standing within the GAR and the greater Republic, sir” it’s a deflective answer, neither admittance nor denial of what was going on. A brief flash of, what can only be annoyance, flashes across the chancellor’s face. Then it’s gone as if it had never existed.

“I’ve gathered new intel on the case of CT-5555.” That earns him a raised look, as the chancellor leans back in his seat.

“I see.”

Fox watches as the chancellor pushes up from his seat, he moves slowly. His weakness on display in the slight hitch in his gait, the way he holds a hand to the warm wood of his desk for a moment too long to maintain his balance. He moves to stand in front of the large transparisteel windows, turning his back to Fox as he looks out over Coruscant. “I was led to believe that all the pertinent information in that case had already been obtained. The case was closed last I was made aware.”

“And it still is” Fox leans forward in his seat, gloves planted against his knees, “some new information has come to light and, well, the case is so severely redacted I’m having trouble slotting it in or making any sense of it.”

“What kind of information?”

A dull throb, flares into existence at the base of Fox’s skull. Nothing as horrible as some of the headaches he’s endured previously but worrying all the same as the stims should have brought it to a screeching halt. He blinks once. Twice. It takes a moment to set his head straight.

“Captain Rex of the 501st-“

“Skywalker’s Captain?”

“Yes sir.” He hates the way the chancellor interrupts nearly as much as he hates the way his vode are spoken of as belonging to the Jedi. “Captain Rex has some insight into the clones behavior leading up to the incident. He says he filed a report but I’m unable to find any such thing in the case files.”

“The case is closed, my boy” the chancellor's tone has developed a chill. Fox wishes he could see his face but the old man doesn’t turn away from the window.

“You could have it opened. This is a matter of galactic importance.” Fox pushes, feeling desperation rising in his chest along with his heart rate but he can’t stop to think about that. He has to make the Chancellor understand. Now was not a time to hold back, “I believe there is a threat building within the GAR itself. A conspiracy to bring down the clone army and the Jedi.” The pressure in his head is increasing. It’s moving about, hopping from one point to another.

“The case is closed, Commander Fox.”

“Chancellor- I-“ he fights back a wave of nausea. The Chancellor’s voice is all around him. It’s in him, echoing off the insides of his skull.

“Commander Fox, you don’t want to look any further into this matter.”

Fox rises to his feet quickly. His head spins as he drags in a ragged breath. His lungs feel pressed tight as if they’d been placed in a vice, “I need to-“

“You do not need to continue to push this matter. The case is closed. You did a thorough review and found nothing.”

Fox cocks his head. The tension breaks with an awful clarity. The pressure eases, like the sky becoming clear after a late afternoon storm, “I did review the file. Nothing new was there.”

The Chancellor turns and offers him a grin. “You’re a good soldier, Commander Fox.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now, tell me, how much assistance did your precious secretary offer for your research?”

#commander fox/reader #commander fox #cc 1010 #commander fox x reader #tcw

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