#but at the same time it did always feel dehumanizing to greet people all day and just get ignored

[dailymanners]

When entering any place of business, such as a store or restaurant, if a staff member greets you, then acknowledge them and greet them back.

Although for many jobs it's a required part of their job to greet you, especially retail workers, receptionists, and restaurant workers to name a few, that doesn't make it feel any less dehumanizing to say "Hello!" to another human being only for them to ignore you. Acknowledging staff members and greeting them back is important for acknowledging their humanity, they are, after all, a human being, and not an automated machine.

This is also important when going to check out at a store. If you approach the cash register, and the cashier greets you, you should acknowledge them and greet them back. Cashiers already have to deal with being dehumanized enough. The least you can do is help humanize them by acknowledging them when they greet you and speak to you.

[zehglitch]

The Fallen Angel

Ezephr's Backstory

— 2

Content Warnings: : Human experimentation, child experimentation, kidnapping, violence, toying with people, mentions of death, abuse/starvation, mentions of children killing each other, dehumanization, mentioned cannibalism, bullying

Chapter 2 — Bread

He wasn't sure how long they'd been in this place, but he eventually learned the word ‘cage’. That's where they all were, apparently. For the moment, X1 was huddled up in the corner with X4, attempting to stay hidden from their cellmates. He’d heard the people dressed strangely say that word when talking about them all. At least it wasn't too hard to figure out what was being said. So far, they were all being ignored--food was tossed inside randomly, and sleep was rare. Every time he tried to get rest, those people would close in on them.

That is to say…he’s been protecting X4, taking the hits for her, giving her some of his food so she wasn't hungry, and barely sleeping. He would've done more, but she’d already resisted him giving her all his food, so he was relenting. For now. It wasn't too hard to act as a shield though, seeing as she’d freed his wings when she woke up. Turns out she was just passed out, but not actually hurt that badly--X4 was awake later that night, confused and trying to hold him like she had earlier. While he'd been glad she was okay, he was forced to stop her to avoid extra attention.

He stared at the others present in the room, eyeing even his other two siblings. They, from the beginning, ended up crying and obeying their cellmates. Sometimes they acted like who they were, but every now and then those two would attempt whatever the older ones had taught them. X1 wasn't stupid, though. He paid attention when they were shown how to do something, watching from his corner. Everyone in here acted like they had to be mean and hit people to get anything…maybe they did. The only problem with that, is he was weak.

There was never a time that he’d been very athletic…he could clearly remember the day his father found out, the look he'd been given. It made him feel like a failure. He wasn't sure how to fix that though, was there some sort of trick to it? Maybe he could heal himself while being hit? He’d just run out of mana before they would stop attacking, he wasn't strong with his magic either. His eyes went to X4, who was sitting similarly to him and staring nowhere, having acted differently ever since they got here. Was he capable of protecting her?

While he was thinking, a person in one of those same dark outfits from that day went by all the cells, as silent as ever. This was a repetitive event he’d seen many times before…they were getting food. Well, he didn’t know if it counted as food compared to what he’d grown up with, but it kept him and X4 from starving. His eyes darted to the older kids when the cart got closer, worried about what they might do this time. The cart rattled as it passed, pieces of old, dry bread being chucked into their shared cage. Hurriedly, he shoved himself forward to grab two of them.

A sudden shift of mood had his body reacting on pure instinct as his feathers quivered and his wings moved to act as a shield. He was just in time, too, as a fist connected with one of the wings in place of his head. He grit his teeth and made no sound, trying to ignore how his now injured wing quivered in pain. He looked up to be greeted by an enraged face, but he still clung to the two precious pieces of bread he retrieved for himself and X4. She wasn’t the same anymore, but he wouldn’t let her starve either.

They sneered at him and went to kick him this time. In response, he curled up to let his wings fully hide him inside of them, tumbling from the impact but still remaining silent. “The fuck are you always needing two for?! You get one, you damn wimp. Get up!” He shook for a moment, saying nothing, but eventually peeking out of his wings at the violent older girl in front of him. Her sharpened teeth were bared at him, a striking contrast of ivory against onyx skin. He looked to her wire thin tail that lashed behind her with as much rage as her expression.

Well then. He stood up, letting his wings relax and brushing himself off before meeting her striking red eyes. “...I grabbed it, it’s mine.” In an instant, she filled the room with the same sound his mother made when everyone was taken away, her fist filling his vision. With no time to use his wings, he raised his arms in a desperate attempt to block the hit, only to fine the situation much worse than he previously believed. The moment her fist connected, he heard and felt a loud SNAP just before the force of the strike reached him.

He gasped as he got thrown back and the bread left his grip, but copied her expression and flared his hurting wings, stopping himself. X1 was scared, but he just ran right at her, trying to copy her attack, to learn from them. All she did was grab his hand, yank him closer, and ram her knee into his stomach. That one made him hit the low ceiling and crumple to the floor when he fell. He couldn't breathe. What was that? What did she do? Why couldn't he breathe? A white hot sensation bloomed behind his eyes while his mouth gaped, unable to give him the reprieve of air.

She didn't give him time to recover. Immediately, the female demon stomped over to the injured angel and kicked his side to flip him over. “Dumbass…you just don’t get how it works.” She slammed her foot down on his chest, causing X1 to lose any air he’d managed to regain with a strangled exhale. He was still trying to be quiet…he knew they liked it when his siblings made noise when hit. Her heel ground into him and he scrunched his face, eyes squeezing shut from the effort of silence. “I am the top. You obey what I want you to do or you get hurt.”

Apparently, his continued silence angered her, as she proceeded to make that weird, gravelly noise again and stomp a second time. “Look at me when I'm talking to you!” He didn't really react aside from a cough, but after a considerable few defiant seconds, he forced his eyes open. Without hesitation, he glared at her, his eyes possessing far too much hatred for a five year old, even for an angel. She initially stiffened, her own eyes widening ever so slightly, before she covered it by kicking his face from this angle and stepping away.

He bit his lip as his nose exploded with blood, but he still didn’t heal himself yet. Rather…he rolled over, trying to push himself up when she reached for the bread he dropped. No…she can't have it. That wasn't hers! Using a newfound burst of energy and disregarding how moving hurt, he threw himself at her. Mainly at her body in general…and he didn’t try to hit how she did. This time, he latched onto her leg, wrapping his limbs around it, before he bit, hard. Blood flowed into his mouth and she gave a short scream.

As expected, it didn’t take long before she was prying him off, her fist hitting his face repeatedly until he finally relented. She stumbled away from him in shock while he simply fell to the floor…then began to sit up. He looked her dead in the eye and with a grin uncharacteristic of a child, he displayed his bloodied teeth and…a chunk of her leg. “If I can’t have bread, I have to eat something else, right?” His off-set tone combined by his following head tilt had all of them experiencing the sensation of cold, dangerous fingers sliding down their spines.

She leaned back, then glanced at her leg, where the blood poured freely and stained her dark skin with evidence of his wrath. With a strangled sound, she scrambled away from him and shot a look of horror around the room. “You took a bit out of my leg?!” Her fearful reply was met with a blank look of confusion.

He blinked at her. “Yes? I thought I already said that.” His mind felt like it was rolling through sludge, unable to think through any of his actions. He couldn't truly process what he’d just done either, only understanding he’d finally gotten her. This state of mind, unfortunately, was exactly what this place wanted from the children.

The demon shook her head, backing away from him before chucking the bread at him…but only one piece. She wouldn’t risk giving both back, the others might call her weak and try to take over! “Then you don’t need food for two.” Try as she might, she couldn't bring herself to be quite as snappy as she had been previously. He was weak, he wasn't a threat…but he was certainly unsettling. She might have to beat him down again, but maybe later. She chose to back off…this time.

X1 stared dumbly at the bread when it hit him, then picked it up when it finally clicked what happened. He got the bread back. His feet were unsteady, so he stayed on his knees and crawled over to X4. Her shocked, empty stare was lost on him as he shoved the pitiful piece of bread at her hands. “I got your food…please eat, sister.” She hesitated, eventually reaching out and lightly touching his face. Her thin fingers traced where his skin had split, where bruises were already forming, and his possibly broken nose. She held the bread tighter.

He just smiled at her. X4 shook her head, but kept the food and looked away, her hand falling away from him as if she was giving up. The angel was unsure why she’d do that, she never did that. What did he do? Idly, he moved to sit beside her and wiped the blood around his mouth onto his bare arm. He froze, staring at the red smear over his skin with a rather baffled expression. How did that get there? His mind flowed slowly, but reminded him he had just been hit. Oh yeah…he was bleeding. He put a hand over his middle and began to heal himself, closing his eyes to get some rest.

☾︎☀︎︎☽︎

He had been observing the children for a week now, having chosen to follow through with his enjoyable plan of immediate exposure. So far? It was going swimmingly. He found himself grinning when there was a rather drastic change in their behaviors, especially X1. That one in particular adapted exceedingly fast to the change in situation, though it was regrettable that it tended to act only in defense of X4, of which he’d already designated as a failure. The elf had been interesting, but when moved all it did was cower, no real trace of what it almost became left behind.

Not much he could do about that, nor did he intend to. Rather, he centered his focus on X1, tapping his pen in thought while observing the live feed of their cell. From what he’d seen so far, the angel had picked up on their situation and readjusted to prevent getting hurt, whilst simultaneously stealing knowledge from the others present. He was enjoying the show and had begun to ignore the human ones…they failed their job anyway, all of them. He’d prefer to watch something far more exciting--the rise of a perfect test subject.

If the subject X1 managed to impress him any further, he may have to prepare the laboratory for their experiment. The wraith had undergone a few of their trial experimentations, but it still refused to kill, making it worthless. If it would kill he’d be a lot happier with it, but such is the stupidity of life.

While he was watching the screen, something else happened and he froze. Then the doctor launched to his feet, mouth stretching unnaturally as a manic grin overcame his expression. He was playing witness to a scene of pure, instinctive, desperate violence, that which held everything he’d been looking for. He stayed that way, observing the entire fight and finding his own emotions fluctuating as it went on. At first he was disappointed, seeing the angel lose, only to get a thrill of excitement over the retaliation the subject provided.

He kept watch over the following, interesting actions, coming to a few different conclusions. The angel…the boy certainly had a concussion, likely from that kick to the face. The wing and arm were broken…the nose was bleeding, but not enough for a true break. He grabbed a sheet and began to make notes of the injuries, eager to also see how he would recover from them just as much as seeing them be created. Black eyes, lip split several times over, possible broken ribs…that was a lot of exciting, useful damage. This was amazing.

How could a five year old already be this fascinating?! Sure, angels were among the top race when it came to speed of mental development, but the child was already capable of judging the situation and unleashing the same level of violence as was done to him. It was such a beautiful sight, witnessing a subject show such extreme response levels so early. The doctor tapped the pen again before adding a few additional comments on the side. Perhaps increases in stress would trigger X1 further…he needed to witness that. Maybe…he should reopen the pit.

☾︎☀︎︎☽︎

Ever since that…you couldn't even really call that incident a fight. Still, since then he’d been either left alone entirely…or hit with no warning. X4 hadn't been talking to him as often either…well he knew she didn't speak, but she was just sitting there now. In fact she wasn't arguing over their food from then on. That was good, but not like her. He didn't feel very great about it after the initial happiness over her accepting it. X1 hugged his knees tightly, deciding to just think about how long he'd been in the cage. The only way to tell time in here was to count how often he slept.

Once he'd actually stopped to think about it, he didn't have that hard of a time keeping track anymore. It was maybe seven days before he got hit. Okay, one week. It had been that much…maybe four times now? So around five weeks? They were being left here, weren't they. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes to think. Sometimes they would take two people and only one came back. That meant this place wasn't permanent, right? One person got out. He just had to be sure it was X4 who gets out if he's taken away with her. He looked at the silent, detached girl.

For the first time in a while, he scooted closer to her, leaning against her shoulder tentatively. “Are you okay, big sister?” She seemed to flinch, her hand twitching as her eyes went to him, finally gaining her attention. He'd tried to talk to her often, but he hadn't tried copying her comfort method before. “Are you going to admit it, or do I need to pout and poke you until you do?” There were some unhappy responses from their cellmates, but he carried on like he never heard it, even moving to set his head in her lap. “Well? You can't be sad, talk to me!” He reached up and poked her nose.

In the end, she gave a cautious smile and gently ran a hand over his head like she always did back home. He melted into the touch, ignoring it whenever her hand brushed over a painful area. It hadn't taken him long to heal, but they still hurt him whenever they want. X1 felt like he'd won right now though, considering he'd gotten X4 to at least pet him like she used to. Her smile was still no longer there, but…he was over the shock of being moved here now. He could start trying to help her too, right? He wanted to. Smiling up at her, he pretended that her eyes didn't start to fade into the distance.

His game of pretend didn't last long, as very soon someone came down the ‘hall’--a new word he'd learned recently. They hit the cages with something loud if anyone made noise and just kept walking by…until they stopped outside his. He sat up in a hurry, readjusting to hide X4 behind his wings. In the back of his mind he felt her fingers slip amongst his feathers, but he was too focused to pay attention to that. The person was opening the door for their cage and he didn't feel safe, so X4 wasn't safe either. He leaned further and further away when the door swung open.

It was the first time it had opened since he got here, and that alone was unsettling. He shivered when their covered eyes scanned the room, nervously glancing at a second person that seemed to have come out of nowhere. One was entering, the other was preventing any of them from leaving. Fantastic. He bristled when the person went straight for him, trying to make his angriest face. Didn't stop them from grabbing his arm and yanking him off the floor, leaving X4 alone and exposed…but they ignored her. She tried to reach for him, but they didn't even acknowledge that much.

He stretched his own hand out for hers, already knowing better than to fight these people. And yet…this time his hand didn't even touch hers. This made his heart feel like a vice, his lungs as if they were shrinking by the second. He squirmed, earning a smack to the head with something heavy and hard, being whisked out of the cage regardless of his opinion on the matter. X1 held onto the darkly dressed person and squeezed his eyes shut to drown out the world. Eventually, he heard something slide and hiss, before a voice echoed out. “Ah, welcome, X1.” Father?

—

Masterpost

Backstory Master

Previous Chapter

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—

Taglist: @nobodywritingao3 (if you want on the taglist, comment or send an ask)

[letstalkwhump]

Let's Talk Whump No.14

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump, a series of interviews that spotlight the amazing people in our whump community! I’m Malice and I’ll be your host. 

Today I’m talking whump with the wonderful @livelaughwhump!

Great to have you here! Let’s start with a fact or two about yourself!

Greetings! My name is Armin, I'm 19, and my pronouns are they/them! I work as a daycare attendant/assistant preschool teacher. I love crocheting, cross-stitching, and basically anything crafting-related

What does whump mean to you?

Wow, there's a lot I could say to answer this

I think whump is the only interest that I can say I've had for my entire life. I think I got into it when I was about seven-years old and it's one of my only interests that has not faded over time. I find it very freeing to be able to delve into the dark and disturbing parts of my brain instead of ignoring them.

And how did you find the whump community? What made you want to join?

I've been interested in whump for most of my life, but I haven't been a part of the tumblr whump community very long. In fact, I think I only joined in October of 2022. I believe I found some screenshots from whumpblr on pinterest, which led to me going on Tumblr and diving deeper into the content on here.

Has your view on whump changed since you joined? I think so. Before I knew what whump was, I always thought that there was something deeply wrong with me because I enjoyed torturing fictional characters so much. So, it was very relieving to find out there was not only a word for it, but also a community of people that enjoyed the same disturbing things I did. Other than my personal opinion on whump itself, I don't think my favourite tropes or anything really changed.

And your favourite whump tropes?

Oh god, there's so many, but I think my main favorites are captivity, pet whump, dehumanization, muzzles/gags, sensory deprivation, hurt/comfort, etc. There are plenty more but I don't think I can list all of them.

They’re all so good! Do you have a favourite piece or pieces that you've written? 

Oh god, I don't think I can pick a favorite. I love my whole Worthless series, but I think Chapter 12 is one of my all time favorites. My Birthday Gift drabble, my Strays drabble, and my Panic drabble also get an honorable mention.

These are so good! Do you have a regular writing routine or more when the inspiration strikes?

I don't really have a routine, I kind of just write whenever I'm feeling motivated. I usually write on my lunch breaks at work, or late into the night when I should be getting to bed.

What do you find easy to write? Is there anything you struggle with?

Dialogue is easily where I thrive. I'm not good at describing things or explaining actions, but I consider myself pretty good at writing convincing dialogue. Probably because I end up having conversations with myself as my characters, which makes finding natural dialogue pretty easy.

Anything you're working on at the moment?

I am currently working on chapter 16 of my Worthless series, but it's been at a standstill for a couple days. Making up the stories in my head is so much easier than actually writing them.

That last bit is very relatable…Is there any advice you’d like to share?

Write what you would want to read! Don't worry about pleasing everyone because that is literally not possible. Write for yourself and no one else!

Shoutout time! 

@whump-queen, @whumpsday, and @oddsconvert are my top three sources of inspiration. They are all awesome people and amazing writers and their stories have inspired me so much!!

Honorable mention to @rosekins6211 for being one of my biggest supporters!! Literally could not do it without her!!

Anything you'd like to add?

Thank you to everyone that has supported me and read my weird little stories! And thank you, Malice, for having me!

Show no mercy, and happy whumping, everyone!

THank you so much for joining us today, @livelaughwhump! 

And to all you folks at home, have a whump-derful day!

[blametheeditor]

Promise

Run Down: A case study of Scott and Vincent

Content Warnings: cursing, mentions of death, mentions of murder, mentions of the afterlife and cheating death, mentions of dehumanization, existentialism

We Are Blaming The Editor

________________________

“What if I couldn’t save you?”

Scott feels almost frozen at the words. Looks up from his desk covered in miscellaneous papers, all needing to be finished by the morning at the latest, yet Vincent is almost demanding his attention. Not just with his words, but with intense look stating this is an important question. 

So Scott doesn’t hesitate to set the paper and highlighter he had been holding off to the side. Gives his best friend an attentive yet confused look. “Where did this come from?”

The purple man gives a thoughtful hum. A habit he’s always had, though memories of it being a full tune as they unwound springlocks reminds Scott that’s yet another thing that changed. That despite still being by each other’s sides, they have both gone through so much. 

Vincent hasn’t really been a person for a long time. Gave it up to be the perfect machine for Afton. Follows Scott when inspections need to be conducted, but usually due to an order he’s to assist while keeping certain stubborn employees ‘in line’. Seeming almost...content most of the time. Like everything he could ever want is his. 

This? Second guessing their past? It’s a little terrifying. 

Amber eyes look him over. Seem as if this will be waved away, his best friend vanishing once again for who knows how long. 

“If you had the chance, would you leave me?” 

Not Afton. Not this living hell. Vincent. But asking if he’d leave Vincent is asking if he would take the chance to finally escape. 

“No.” 

“I think you’re lying, Scotty,” the purple man accuses. Though with a playful tone. Scott won’t be punished for telling the truth. 

“No,” he repeats. “Because I could’ve saved you. And I failed.” 

They had been walking back to Afton’s office when Vincent suddenly stopped. Which meant Scott walked directly through his best friend, gasping for air he can never breathe at the feeling of his very essence being pulled. Clutches at his chest despite no longer possessing a beating heart at the sudden and unwelcomed reminder of what it felt like when he died. 

He whirls around to yell at his best friend. Feels his anger dissipate at the look aimed toward him. 

Vincent suddenly can’t meet his eyes, looking everywhere but at Scott. Something so uncharacteristic, and yet so familiar. Making the ghost yet again think back to when they were sitting in parts and service. Both of them terrified one would reject the other. 

“What if I could’ve saved you?” 

Scott almost wants to ask they don’t talk about this. Because they can’t change the past, and he would much rather not think about ‘what ifs’ surrounding his own death. Not when even after twenty years, he still isn’t completely used to the fact he can only spectate the world around him. Can never greet an old friend if they came into town, or tell his sons how much he loves them. He can’t even erase the damn tapes that caused his death. Not even Afton knows he accompanies Vincent wherever the purple man goes. 

“What do you mean?” he asks instead. 

“I mean, if I got there in time, if I had saved you, would you still be by my side?” 

Scott stares at his best friend. Someone who most people see as a monster, and some days he’ll admit he thinks that too. Who also looks like the world might fall to the ground before shattering into a million pieces. That despite everything is still the same person who flashed a lopsided grin before declaring they won’t be leaving each other’s side anytime soon. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

Vincent gives him a piercing stare. “Because it was the least I could’ve done. They wouldn’t have killed you if it wasn’t for me.” 

Scott clenches his fists to try and ground himself, to not be thrown into the horrific memory of just what Vincent’s actions caused all over again. Feels something akin to regret for having agreed to a friendship. Because they both know it’s true, that he would be alive if not for the man in front of him. 

“I could just leave, you know,” Scott murmurs. “I...I felt it. The option to stay here or go. And I won’t lie, I wanted to go. But I saw you, Vince, and I decided to stay.” 

Because they are in this mess together. The other ‘what if’ that always comes to mind is if Scott failed Vincent. That he could’ve kept the purple man from going down the road that ended with them standing here, on a winter afternoon that can only be told by the calendar and the trees missing their leaves, one dead with the other held together by an endoskeleton and sheer will. That if he reached out, maybe they could’ve had a happy ending. 

“I don’t know if I earned that choice, Scotty.” 

“Then earn it. Give me a reason to stay.” 

There’s a reason Scott was given the official job of staying in parts and service whenever Vincent had to do the full-scale annual maintenance on the animatronics. He’s Fazbear’s head mechanic and knew each and every model inside and out, has even proven multiple times he can take apart an endoskeleton to rebuild essentially from scratch without needing any blueprints. The only issue is the long haired man can’t be trusted to remember to take care of himself during that grueling week. 

Case and point, Scott had been gone five minutes to get them lunch, and he comes back to Vincent tightening a screw while ignoring an alarmingly long gash on his arm. 

His entrance hadn’t even been noticed going based upon the surprised look as he yanks Vincent away from the table in order to have a proper look at it. Grumbles under his breath as he grabs the first aid kit to make sure his idiot of a best friend doesn’t die from infection. Thank God tinnitus shots are mandatory. 

“What would I do without you?” 

“Bleed out somewhere,” the shorter snaps. “Honestly, Vince, I was gone for five minutes. What the hell even happened!” 

“...I tried to lift Freddy up.” 

Vincent sputters as the nearest rag used to clean his hands of oil is thrown at his face, Scott not even having to pause his work on cleaning the wound to accomplish it. Teach the taller to try and lift the endoskeleton three times his weight without help. No, that rule of never doing such a dangerous task alone is apparently only for Scott. Despite the fact that it’s been proven time and time again to be a bad idea considering both the gash and the fact Freddy doesn’t look like he shifted so much as an inch. 

“You owe me.” 

Vincent leans over to rest his elbow on the table, fist propping his head up to watch Scott finish patching him up. Don’t think he doesn’t notice that’s the Toreador March being hummed. “What? The honor of making sure I don’t keel over isn’t enough?” 

Scott shows no remorse grabbing the shell to Freddy’s head and lobbing it at Vincent’s chest, turning away from his best friend’s fearful cry as the momentum sends his chair falling backwards, both man and head crashing onto the floor. “Nope.” 

“Scotty,” is wheezed from out of sight, said traitor happily eating his portion of pizza. “What the fuck. You’re supposed to save me, not stab me and leave me to die.” 

“Stop being dramatic.” 

Vincent ‘claws’ at the counter in order to lift himself off the ground, glaring up at the smug expression when he only succeeds in getting one arm up. “Not dramatic. That fucking hurt, asshole.” 

He’ll admit he’s being a little childish. Though it’s hard not to when you’re used to entertaining the hoards of children that come to the restaurants daily. But he’d rather have Vincent get the breath knocked out of him from falling out of a chair instead of possibly getting himself killed. Teach him this works both ways. Jayden and Brayden love their uncle too much just for him to disappear all because he couldn’t wait five minutes for help. 

And Scott could never imagine life without him. “I think it was well deserved.” 

There’s a dramatic fall before Vincent slowly stands back up. Looks at Scott with an unreadable expression. 

“Do you think we always find each other?” 

He didn’t know how long he waited to be freed from what could only be described as hell on earth. Trapped in the dark for almost twenty years, only able to tell how much time passed based on the muffled sounds from beyond the four walls he had been sealed inside. Left to rot away. Never letting himself contemplate death as being an option. 

Scott nearly gave in. The same day he heard a hammer pounding away at what had once been a door to the room for only employees and became the boarded entrance to his tomb. He was so far gone he hadn’t realized the stale air was trying to escape through an opening. One that was being blocked by a tall figure. 

“I can’t believe I finally found you.” 

Scott hears that. The voice of someone he had killed for. Died for. Opens his eyes to see Vincent looking him up and down with a mixture of despair and longing. 

He can’t hold himself back. Faintly remembers he doesn’t look like himself anymore, locked inside of Spring Bonnie. But Vincent is here, and he’s not going to let him go, ever. 

The long haired man looks confused as Scott moves, watches as terror appears, mouth opening to say something. Whatever it was, it becomes nothing more than a strangled noise as he gently grabs his best friend. Pulls the struggling form acting as if death itself is dragging him to hell into a protective hug. 

“Vince, you came.” 

There’s a long moment of silence. Vincent’s panicked breathing gradually slowing down. 

“Sc-Scotty?” 

He’ll admit he hadn’t realized there was confusion on who Vincent found. Now the reaction makes a little more sense. “Yeah, it’s me. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Scott feels a hand gently pushing against his chest. He obliges the request, opening his arms so the trembling figure can take a proper look at him. Chuckles at the fact he’s actually taller than Vincent now. Feels his heart drop at the sight of tears. 

“I thought you were dead! You left me! What- how did this-?” 

That’s all that could be said before arms are wrapping around him. Clinging. Scott unable to do anything but hold Vincent close as he sobs. 

“I won’t leave you again.” 

There wasn’t a single entity that would be able to answer how Scott managed to get paired up with something like Vincent. There has to be a reason. Because if there isn’t then he’s nothing more than a plaything. But at this point he’s unsure if even God would know the truth. 

And yet, he can’t imagine being anywhere else. 

“Would it have been better if we never met?” 

That was the same question as if it would be better if they were never born. 

Scott looks up to see Vincent staring out at nothing before tilting his head until their eyes meet. “If we hadn’t, you’d be dead, Vince.” 

No one else wanted to wear the Fredbear suit. Vincent would’ve been completely alone in the back room when Spring Bonnie started to unwind. Scott had barely managed to crank them back in on time. One second more, and the few scars where the springlocks had drew blood wouldn’t be reminders of the danger, but where fatal spokes would’ve been driven home. 

“...maybe that would’ve been for the best, Scotty.” 

Those words make it feel as if he’s being impaled by the very springlocks they’ve faced together. Every performance, well aware one wrong move could be the end for them. Make a pact that they’ll stay by each other’s sides come hell or highwater. 

He looks away. “And I would’ve been right behind you.” 

What they have, it’s not ‘friendship’. It’s too toxic to be good for either of them. For God’s sake, Scott is nothing more than a pet to the purple man. But the one thing Vincent did was give him a purpose. 

His best friend makes a soft sound in the back of his throat. “You don’t think your life would’ve been better without me in it?” 

It’s not an accusatory question, yet Scott despises it. 

“It wasn’t worth living before I met you.” His eyes burn as he hears rather than sees the taller sit down beside him. Doesn’t move away as he’s leaned against for silent support. “We all make mistakes. Apparently, you and I tend to always make the worst ones. But I wouldn’t have gotten this far if you weren’t there.” 

‘This far’ is far from a good life. Far from a happy one. It’s filled with terror, and desperation, and more than enough regrets. 

Vincent isn’t one of them. Letting his best friend stumble and fall to where they are right now is, but Vincent himself isn’t. Not the man who taught him that he was worth more than he originally thought. 

“And I clearly wouldn’t have without you.”

“Then tell me you’ll always be there,” Scott growls. Turns his head so they look each other in the eyes. “In every life, no matter what, we’re a team until the very end.”

For the first time in a long time, Vincent smiles. “I promise.” 

[lamppostss]

"Paper Cranes and Coffee" (Disc)

 

 The world of evil began right there. In the middle of our house. The overwhelming anxiety made my stomach drop as I awoke in my own room, its small, choking walls seemingly closing in on me every day. The irregular, baren walls, the lack of furniture, a single locked window, always seemingly out of reach. I got up from the floor and listened in, just like a sickly mouse listening for predators in the tall grass outside this city. Quiet. Using this moment, with quick and shaky footsteps, I moved through the hall, avoiding empty bottles and creaky floorboards, reaching for the exit door. A reprieve. It was a foggy, slightly chilly morning on an autumn day. People walked by. A faceless procession sloshing through the rainwater puddles, peacefully ignoring each other’s lowly existence. I could hear them greet each other, see them nod and bow, blink and breathe. Yet it all felt so lifeless, like everyone collectively has lost their lust for life. I escaped from the dark into the still. A world of apathy. As the rain was picking up again, I lowered my gaze, stuck my hands into my pockets and started walking. Submerged in warm rainwater and the gentle indifference of the world, I went on forward, passing all that this city district had to offer – cheap women, drunks, corrupt watchmen, tiny shops with dusty windows and bent signs. I tried to isolate myself from the gazes of the crowd, pretending to be someone else. Or nothing at all.

The neighboring districts met me with the same apathetic warmth as my own, albeit with a much neater wrapping paper. Muddy stone was seemingly cleaner, and both the people and the buildings seemed dandier and more proper. I slid into the back alley, trying my best to not retch at the horrible smells and sights. I scurried through the backdoor, entering “The Gilded Carafe”, a middle-of-the-road bathhouse brothel, where I quickly changed into my work clothes.

My job was to pour and serve drinks. Nothing more, nothing less. Wearing a simple off-white suit, with my hair tied in a ponytail, I was a simple callboy. They say to place the bottle – I place the bottle. They say to pour – I pour. More was not required of me. Some clients have attempted to make me join them in their acts, most often as an observer, yet I usually politely disappeared, unless another drink was ordered. This was what I did for most of my days, earning little money and sinking further into the grey abyss of dehumanization. However, it was still preferable to what was waiting for me back home. As I heard a quiet bell go off, I let out a barely noticeable sigh. This meant that it was time for my break. I slid behind the curtains in one of the rooms, entering the rooms reserved for the bathhouse workers. And there I would find the only thing in the entire world that would make me feel something resembling joy… A knock on the door and the subsequent opening of said door had yanked me away from my thoughts. The visage of the things long gone from my life was replaced with a murky window. The rain outside had died down and all I could see now was a reflection of my own pale and wary face. In my hands was a small book, so absorbing and gripping that I managed to completely forget about its existence and contents in less than five minutes. My robes and gloves were neatly folded next to me, alongside a heap of other books that I have kept with myself.

The neighboring districts met me with the same apathetic warmth as my own, albeit with a much neater wrapping paper. Muddy stone was seemingly cleaner, and both the people and the buildings seemed dandier and more proper. I slid into the back alley, trying my best to not retch at the horrible smells and sights. I scurried through the backdoor, entering “The Gilded Carafe”, a middle-of-the-road bathhouse brothel, where I quickly changed into my work clothes.

My job was to pour and serve drinks. Nothing more, nothing less. Wearing a simple off-white suit, with my hair tied in a ponytail, I was a simple callboy. They say to place the bottle – I place the bottle. They say to pour – I pour. More was not required of me. Some clients have attempted to make me join them in their acts, most often as an observer, yet I usually politely disappeared, unless another drink was ordered. This was what I did for most of my days, earning little money and sinking further into the grey abyss of dehumanization. However, it was still preferable to what was waiting for me back home. As I heard a quiet bell go off, I let out a barely noticeable sigh. This meant that it was time for my break. I slid behind the curtains in one of the rooms, entering the rooms reserved for the bathhouse workers. And there I would find the only thing in the entire world that would make me feel something resembling joy… A knock on the door and the subsequent opening of said door had yanked me away from my thoughts. The visage of the things long gone from my life was replaced with a murky window. The rain outside had died down and all I could see now was a reflection of my own pale and wary face. In my hands was a small book, so absorbing and gripping that I managed to completely forget about its existence and contents in less than five minutes. My robes and gloves were neatly folded next to me, alongside a heap of other books that I have kept with myself.

I could not help myself but let out a contained chuckle. It was on me. Should have specified my role from the start. - I was merely a bartender and a waiter. My services were different from what the woman downstairs had offered us. - Ooooh, I see. Well… She froze again, thinking. A naturally curious being, the rogue had struck gold. Her pensive excitement was rather… Cute. The movement of her eyes, the concerned, yet awed expression. I could feel the corner of my lips involuntarily warping into a half-smirk. - W-was it as bad as people say it is? Like with the… Well you know. - Well, it was not pleasant. But mixing drinks and watching drunken nobles stumble over themselves looking for another tit to grasp was better than what was waiting for me outside my work. And some of the workers there were surprisingly well spoken. Some of them even got me books to read. Or coffee. I lowered my head, awkwardly sticking my fingers into the waves of my bright hair. I felt… strange. Like an old wound was being torn open and cured with the most soothing of balsams at the same time. The dragonborn sat there, wide-eyed, thinking about what to ask about next. Caught there in the moment of personal weakness, I found myself entertaining someone in a way I had never done before. Despite the rather heavy subject of our discussion, I felt strange warmth emerge from within. A fleeting notion of comfort in sharing my own misery with someone else. I smirked again, realizing the absurdity of it all.

- Did they make you wear something revealing? - Not at all. It was a simple grey-ish white outfit. - And has someone ever tried to… hire you? I went quiet for a moment. - Yes. But I refused. This question stung for some reason. I could not point to “why” at the moment, so I just sighed. - And did you have any friends there? I could feel blood rush to the back of my head. The one beacon of light, the pearl in the sea of grey nothing, the only person I feel I could trust back in the day. I should’ve lied right there. Said I was a loner. Yet, for some reason, with a slightly shuddering voice, I answered truthfully, like something crawled out of my throat all by itself, without my control. - Y-yes. One of the courtesans my age. We used to spend our breaks together. We would read together sometimes. But most often we just made paper cranes and drank coffee. I could feel my breath flutter. It felt like I got stabbed and gutted, but not with any normal weapon. Like a cursed poison, slight shakes of long forgotten pains spread through my body.

I could not help myself but let out a contained chuckle. It was on me. Should have specified my role from the start. - I was merely a bartender and a waiter. My services were different from what the woman downstairs had offered us. - Ooooh, I see. Well… She froze again, thinking. A naturally curious being, the rogue had struck gold. Her pensive excitement was rather… Cute. The movement of her eyes, the concerned, yet awed expression. I could feel the corner of my lips involuntarily warping into a half-smirk. - W-was it as bad as people say it is? Like with the… Well you know. - Well, it was not pleasant. But mixing drinks and watching drunken nobles stumble over themselves looking for another tit to grasp was better than what was waiting for me outside my work. And some of the workers there were surprisingly well spoken. Some of them even got me books to read. Or coffee. I lowered my head, awkwardly sticking my fingers into the waves of my bright hair. I felt… strange. Like an old wound was being torn open and cured with the most soothing of balsams at the same time. The dragonborn sat there, wide-eyed, thinking about what to ask about next. Caught there in the moment of personal weakness, I found myself entertaining someone in a way I had never done before. Despite the rather heavy subject of our discussion, I felt strange warmth emerge from within. A fleeting notion of comfort in sharing my own misery with someone else. I smirked again, realizing the absurdity of it all.

- Did they make you wear something revealing? - Not at all. It was a simple grey-ish white outfit. - And has someone ever tried to… hire you? I went quiet for a moment. - Yes. But I refused. This question stung for some reason. I could not point to “why” at the moment, so I just sighed. - And did you have any friends there? I could feel blood rush to the back of my head. The one beacon of light, the pearl in the sea of grey nothing, the only person I feel I could trust back in the day. I should’ve lied right there. Said I was a loner. Yet, for some reason, with a slightly shuddering voice, I answered truthfully, like something crawled out of my throat all by itself, without my control. - Y-yes. One of the courtesans my age. We used to spend our breaks together. We would read together sometimes. But most often we just made paper cranes and drank coffee. I could feel my breath flutter. It felt like I got stabbed and gutted, but not with any normal weapon. Like a cursed poison, slight shakes of long forgotten pains spread through my body.

And go outside we did. Her and I, shrouded by the warm winds and silvery moonlight. She took me to the small pond right behind the bathhouse. The water here was mostly likely as dirty as any lawyer’s soul, but neither of us had a plan to swim. As I stared into the still water, hearing the croaking of the frogs and the sounds of a party from the building behind us, the young rogue managed to pull out two whole bottles of mildly cheap wine from a bush nearby. - Swiped those earlier when no one was looking. Was going to keep them to myself buuuut… Yeah, here you go. She handed the bottle to me with a proud look on her face. The sight made me smirk once more. - Much appreciated. I was never the one for drinking. Being drunk by myself was a depressing experience, while being even mildly intoxicated around others made me feel on edge, expecting a cruel joke or an unfortunate rumor the morning after. Yet, for some reason, those worries vanished as I heard Vallarys uncork her bottle with a dagger and take a mighty swig. I quietly pushed the cork out from the inside, using a primitive force spell, before also pouring the alcohol into myself. The bitterness of it did offset the tangy aftertaste of the cookies we both had earlier. And the sudden jump of alcohol in my blood made me bowl my fist and take a deep breath, like I was just jolted by a tiny lightning. We have spent a short while skipping stones, childlishly proud each time one of us got further than the other. It was a mindless affair, yet I couldn’t help myself but to enjoy it, simply bonding with a soul, which, just like myself, had also been unrightfully caged since birth. - You know, I wish I could tell interesting stories about myself. About the places I visited or strange people I met, but instead… Instead I got some shite. She picked up a pebble and chucked it into the water. I could see some anger in her movements. - Having a life be quiet does not diminish its worth. - Is it even a life if you sit in a gilded cage all day long, with no soul paying attention to you, no matter what? I was a… A decoration. A pet at best. - I felt much the same as I lived with the nobles later in my life. I understand what pains you, but if I had to choose between being afraid to sleep in my own bed or existing in a void – I would probably choose the latter. - Fuck choosing like that. Someone says shit like this to me – I’ll kick ‘em in the nuts. Or whatever there will be between their legs. I couldn’t help my chuckle at such a statement. Nor could I disagree with such an outlook. - Actually, I change my mind. I like your option the most.

- Of course you do. It’s the only true way after all. We then stood there, quietly drinking and staring into the water. As it was starting to rain and as our bottles were emptied, I suddenly realized just how trivial all of this was. Drinking myself half to sleep, throwing rocks into some dirty, stale pond, giggling about the idea of kicking someone in the privates. All of my life had led to this single moment. Standing in the rain, drunk, feeling all emotions at once. I probably looked like a genuine cretin from the side. Maybe I even was one. I could not help myself. As the rainwater started slowly pouring down on us, I dropped the empty bottle to the ground and started snickering to myself. At first it was a contained chuckle, with my hand covering my mouth, but as my hand move over my eyes and my face looked up, it was actually a proper, albeit quiet, laugh. - What’s so funny? Right. Right. I was not there alone. And that fact, once again, had brought warmth to my insides. I could hear that the rogue was also snickering, most likely from the unexpected mood change from my side. I moved my hand away, looking at her. She stood there, smiling, with her shoulders relaxed and one hand on the curve of her hip. I felt a strange carnal desire to press my lips against hers, something I have never considered doing with anyone else. Such a simple, yet intimate act. I waved it away in my head. I would not ruin this moment by following the primitive whispers of my ego. I smiled again, cocking my head to the side. - Nothing, just… Feels strange, being alive, doesn’t it? - Oh, fuck me, you are drunk. What’cha gonna say next? That water is made up? That the sky is actually a painting, draped over us all? She was chuckling at her own hypotheticals, not less intoxicated than I. As the rain intensified, I found myself finally relaxed, after all those years. - I am happy I have met you, lady Ra’anir. - Likewise, Sol, likewise. We slowly stumbled back inside and upstairs. Our group was nowhere to be found, so we made a logical assumption that they had gone to sleep and decided to follow their example. As we were parting ways at the doorstep of her room, giggling to each other for no reason, I gently held her hand by the middle and ring fingers and planted a polite peck on it. - Thank you for the evening. Have a good night. I could see the surprise on her face. I wish I was not as intoxicated as not to be able to differentiate between pleasant amusement and shocked disgust, but judging by the fact that instead of a loud slap on the face I was rewarded with a playful smirk and a “Thank you too” – it went over rather well. After that was over with, I walked into my own room, closed the door and closed my eyes. I awoke next morning rather parched and with a mild headache pressing on the temples of my head. Part of me still felt the warmth of yesterday, while my brain was already explaining to me that it was all but a strange dream. As I raised my head, I spotted something on the windowsill something that had removed my doubts and made the warmth inside me burn with twice the fervor. A cup of white coffee and a small paper crane with a letter “V” scribbled onto its tiny wing. Here it was again. The thing that made me feel like my life was worth living. Paper cranes and coffee.

[whumpshaped]

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trigger warnings: abandonment issues, conditioned whumpee, broken bones, beating, dehumanization, captivity, mention of human trafficking, messed up thought process, stockholm syndrome

Craven earned himself a few days of quiet and peace to let his leg heal a little, and Master came to check on him every single morning. They never stayed for too long, just taking a look at the bandages and then sending in a nurse to take care of changing them, but it was enough for Craven to feel like he wasn’t abandoned. He knew he wasn’t up for any task Master could’ve given him, he couldn’t even kneel with all the gauze and stitches in his thigh, and he was afraid that while he was recovering Master would forget about him entirely.

He wasn’t sleeping too well, the stress and the pain wouldn’t really let him, so he was usually awake by the time he heard the footsteps from the hall. And every single day he waited for the door to open and his master to walk in and greet him, so he could be sure they weren’t getting bored of waiting for him to heal. He was even considering letting Master know that he was feeling much better, and he could do things for them now, and they didn’t need to wait anymore, but he never got a chance to do that.

The next morning while he was waiting and debating what would be the best way to go about this, they heard something… unusual. He didn’t realize at first, but when he thought about it a little longer, he realized he’d never heard several people coming down to the cells at the same time before. This wasn’t just Master, or maybe Master wasn’t even with these people.

Craven sat up, not really knowing what he wanted to achieve with that. He couldn’t run with his ruined leg, and even if he could’ve, once someone stood in that doorway, there was no way out. He listened for the footsteps, his heart beating faster and faster as he heard them approach the door.

The sturdy piece of metal swung open with a loud creak, and the lights were turned on, temporarily blinding Craven. He was able to make out three silhouettes in total, one of which he quickly realized was his master. But who were the other two?

“Oh, you’re already up. Wonderful.” Master closed the door and leaned back against it, and the two walked over to where Craven was sitting. He recognized one of them as the man who brought him back to his cell and dropped him on the floor after his blood transfusion, but the other one was a complete stranger - although equally as bulky as his partner. They yanked him up by the arms, and Craven whimpered, trying to place most of his weight on his good leg.

“M-Master?” He didn’t struggle against them, of course he didn’t, it wouldn’t have done anything anyway. Both of them were twice his size. But apart from that he was also afraid. Master had never brought anyone with them when they came to visit him. Was this a late punishment for disobeying the nurses? They said they wouldn’t do anything to him, but maybe they’d changed their mind, maybe this was it-

“I want to preface this by saying this is not a punishment.” They pushed themself away from the door and walked up to him, and for the first time, Craven realized they were slightly shorter than him. Up until this moment he’d never actually stood in front of his owner like this, he was either kneeling on the floor, or lying down, but this time they were face to face, and this little realization distracted him for just a moment before Master spoke again. “This is something that happens to every single captive of mine. It helps to advertise.”

Advertise?

He probably looked confused, because his Master tilted his head slightly to the side with that same amused look they always had on their face whenever Craven was being stupid. “You didn’t think I was taking this many captives for the fun of it, did you?”

“I…” Craven’s thoughts were still racing in his head, and he needed a good few seconds before it finally clicked in his head. Of course. They were taking these captives, training the defiance out of them, advertising… Master was selling them off. “No…” he said quietly, tugging on his arm. The man was holding him firmly, it didn’t even seem like he noticed. “No, please, I- I d-don’t want to leave, please-”

Master covered his mouth with their hand, cutting him off, and only adding to his panic. “As I was saying, this happens to every captive. I will take a few photos of you, and you’re going to stay good and still so they won’t be blurry.” They took their hand away, looking at Craven expectantly.

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want his master to give him away.

But what if the photos did end up blurry? Master wouldn’t be able to put them anywhere. Maybe this was something they could only do with the captives that were already compliant enough to have their photos taken, maybe only the obedient ones were sold off…

“No,” he said bluntly. Talking back to Master felt horrifying, but his fear of abandonment was even greater.

Master didn’t even bat an eye. “So you won’t stay still for me?” Craven shook his head in response, and they stepped away from them. “You were willing to do so much for me of your own volition, and you start refusing because of a photo shoot? Normally, I’d ask you what’s going on in your head, but these gentlemen don’t have the time for that.” They nodded to the two men that were holding him, and Craven suddenly regretted this whole thing,

Before he could’ve said anything, one of the men took both of his arms and wrenched them behind his back, holding him in place with ease, and next thing Craven knew, the other one punched him in the face, sending his glasses flying across the room. They were miraculously still intact until now, but somehow Craven doubted he would get them back in one piece after this.

The blows kept coming, mostly targeting his body after that, probably because they couldn’t ruin his face too much because of the photo shoot. He was crying, begging the man to stop, begging his master to do something, but it didn’t seem like anyone was listening. He was beaten until he felt like he couldn’t stand anymore, and even after he was let go of and he collapsed to the ground, one of the men stomped on his back and knocked the air out of his lungs, the sickening crack also assuring him that at least one of his ribs was definitely broken.

He struggled to get enough air into his system, wheezing and coughing as he tried. His vision was blurry without the glasses, but he could pick out Master’s shoes as they walked over to him and turned him over onto his back before they crouched down.

“What do you think? Can you stay still for a photo shoot now?” they asked, and Craven wished he would’ve had the strength to answer. Thankfully, Master took his silence as a yes, and they stepped back to take some photos of his battered body.

So that was it. The photos had been taken anyway, and he was going to be sold off to someone who probably wasn’t going to be as kind to him as his master had been. The thought made him cry even more, his aching body shaking with each of his sobs. He wanted to stay here. He thought he could live with this situation at first, but now he wasn’t just halfway content with it, he desperately wanted to stay.

After the men left, Master stayed behind, and even closed the door, indicating they were going to stay a while. They just lingered, listening to Craven’s laboured breathing, then picked up something from the ground. “I’ll get you new glasses later, if you behave” they said, and the sudden promise of yet another reward made Craven feel even more miserable. His new owner definitely wasn’t going to be as nice.

Master pocketed the remains of his glasses before making their way back over to him. He looked up at them, trying and failing to properly focus on their face. His eyesight had been bad since childhood, and it deteriorated so much over time that now he was basically blind without some form of help.

“Why did you refuse?” they asked, and Craven looked away from them. He knew he was acting like a stubborn kid, but that didn’t stop him. Well, until Master decided to kick him in the side to get an answer to their question. “I’ve been nice to you, since you’ve earned it. But as I’ve said before, that can change.” Craven whimpered and looked back at them, finally giving up on the act.

“I- I thought that without th-the photos, I… I c-couldn’t be sold o-off…” he muttered, and as he said it out loud, his pathetic wailing gained new momentum. “I d-don’t want t-to leave, I- I like it here, p-please… I-If only disobedient captives g-get to stay, then… then-”

Master abruptly burst out laughing, and it probably wouldn’t have made him flinch had he seen their smile as he kept talking. “You continue to be my only source of entertainment in this boring job.” They sighed and turned around, ready to leave Craven alone with his own mixed feelings about their reaction. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

That was the last thing Craven heard before the lights had been turned off and the door slammed shut. He wished he could’ve gone to the nurses to get his injuries treated, but he understood all too well that misbehaving captives didn’t deserve that. So instead he just lay there, completely motionless to try and minimize the pain.

He lay there like that, replaying the last conversation in his head until he eventually fell asleep, his master’s parting words following him even to his dreams.

[whump-a-la-mode]

Uhhh. Ok so I don’t know what this is. It’s certainly not very good. It’s different than what I usually write. I’ll get back to normal stuff soon. I just thought this would be fun.

CW//Pet whump, lab whump, wing whump, medical exams, cages, dehumanization, needle mentions, implied past abuse

Signal hated waiting.

They hated a lot of things. They hated Dr. Natalie Sampson, for one thing.

Actually, that was most of the things they hated. Everything to do with Dr. Sampson. Their lab, their stupid experiments, their exams, or whatever the hell they spent all their time doing. Staring at those screens and hemming and hawing like an idiot.

Signal hated Dr. Sampson, more than anything. And, right at the moment, that was connected very closely to why they hated waiting. As, at the moment, they were specifically waiting for one of the doctor’s medical exams.

They had told them the night before that they were due for another one. Not that it was on a regular schedule or anything, the doctor had simply decided it was time again to shine lights in their eyes and take their blood.

Stupid doctor. Stupid medical exams.

In some small part, Signal wished they didn’t know the exam was coming. Of course, they would have preferred that it didn’t happen at all, but at least then they wouldn’t have to anticipate it. They had spent the whole night trying, without avail, to get some sleep.

They couldn’t stop thinking about what was to come. Being forced onto the exam table and poked and prodded and stuck with needles.

Stupid goddamn doctor!

The thoughts refused to stop overwhelming her, and they knew that there was no point to trying to sleep, then. They got up from her position on the floor, moving to a sitting position, sliding back against the wall. The bars dug into their spine.

That was another thing they hated, they thought, blinking open heavy-lidded eyes.

They hated their cage.

Dr. Sampson always insisted on calling it their ‘room.’ As if it was a cute little bedroom where normal humans got to sleep.

It was a cage. Bedrooms didn’t sit in the corner of laboratories. Bedrooms didn’t have walls made of close-spaced metal bars. Bedrooms didn’t have plastic floors. Even with the padded material covering said floor, it was never exactly comfortable.

Hell, bedrooms had beds! The cage had no such thing, just the mattress-like floor covering. At the very least, the cell had a sort of hiding box, in the corner. That was where Signal sat at the moment-- it was where they generally slept. The only place where the doctor could not see them easily.

Right now, though, the doctor was not here. The lights in the lab had been turned off for the night, leaving Signal feeling safe enough to get up, making their way out of their hiding space, and into the wider cage.

Not that it was exactly big. Ten paces by six, if that. The rest of it was occupied, as well. A sort of modified water fountain in one corner, with the food slot next to it.

In the other corner, Signal had thrown all her ‘toys,’ doing their very best to bury them under the mattress flooring. They didn’t need toys. They were human being, at least partly.

They were human at first glance, at the very least. Two arms, two legs, human face, the works. Hell, they had been a human, at one point. It had been great! They remembered with a sickly sort of nostalgia, how it felt to walk down the street, in public, with other people. Other normal people.

But, then, they had become a ‘specially designated class of protected persons.’ In less fancy words, a human lab rat.

That’s what they were. A lab rat. It was a wonder that Dr. Sampson hadn’t thought to put a hamster wheel in here, too.

The way they looked around the lab, checking for activity, was almost instinctual. They quickly confirmed that there was none-- besides the whirring of computers, running their overnight calculations.

They were safe.

With an aching pain of pins and needles, they shrugged off their outer jacket. Their outer downy feathers pricked up at the sudden change in temperature.

Rolling their shoulders, they let their wings fall from her back. They crackled a moment as they stretched them to their whole length-- a length enough to take up the whole of their cage, if they really tried.

They were a mess. Their wings. Not that they actually belonged to them-- they were just stupid things that had been stuck onto their back one day. Or, grown out of their back. It didn’t matter. Whichever way, they took no ownership of them. They were why they were stuck in here in the first place.

That didn’t mean they couldn’t bemoan the state that had befallen them. At some point, they had started molting, leaving clumps of loose feathers barely hanging on by their tips, crowded out by freshly-grown ones. That didn’t even take into account the dirt, or the fact that her flight feathers were all crutheyd together from having been compressed for so long.

They would clean them if they cared to. But they didn’t. Cleaning their wings wouldn’t get them out of this cage, out of this prison. Out of this lab.

Even though they still ached from prolonged cramps, Signal drew the feathered limbs back into themself. They didn’t want to look at them. By all accounts, they would have been far happier if they would just fall off.

Maybe they could arrange th-

The thought got no time, no chance to continue. The creak of the lab door felt like a gong, striking Signal’s rib cage, followed quickly by the burst of light that burned their corneas.

In a moment, they were back in her hiding spot, as far back in the corner as they could manage. With no gentleness, this time, they snapped her wings to their back.

Their face fell as they peered out of the box, seeing their jacket strewn across the center of the cage. It was the only thing that helped them forget the stupid feathery things stuck onto their back, but there was no way they was going out to get it, now. Dr. Sampson might see them.

“Good morning, Signal.” That stupid cajoling voice sounded, alongside the telltale sound of the doctor slipping on her lab coat. Had the whole night passed already?

Signal did not reply to the greeting. Stupid doctor. They fucking hated them, why would they talk to them?

“Hm.” The doctor hummed in disappointment. “You left your jacket. And a lot of feathers... Signal, are you molting?”

They turned to face the corner of their hiding box, digging their head down into the soft flooring as deep as it could go.

“You must be. Well, let’s get this exam started as soon as possible, then.”

Signal’s stomach dropped to her feet. They shouldn’t have let out their wings, shouldn’t have left the stupid jacket, should have cleaned up their feathers. They could already practically feel the prodding, poking touch, latex gloves jabbing at every inch of their body.

Touching their wings.

There were a few blissful, or perhaps stomach-churning moments, where Dr. Sampson did not speak. Instead, their footsteps sounded, moving about the lab. Picking up and setting down objects. Preparing to torture their little lab rat.

Whether the wait was nice or terrifying, Signal did not know, but they knew exactly when it was over. The sound of a key pushing into a padlock was all it took to make their feathers stand on end. No no no no no-

The door to their cage creaked open. They tried to wipe their tears on the mattress-like floor-- when had they started crying?

As if it mattered.

“Signal. Come here, bud. It’s time for your exam. I told you last night, remember?”

Signal buried their head deeper, nearly cutting off their own breathing.

“Signal.” The doctor’s voice was firmer, this time. Their heart skipped in their chest. “Come here, now.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Their words were muffled, but must have still been clear enough to be heard.

Dr. Sampson let out a sharp sigh.

“I don’t know why you insist on acting this way, Signal. I don’t want to hurt you, you know that. Just because they hurt you doesn’t mean I will.”

“Shut up shut up shut up!”

Another sigh.

“I understand you’re upset. This exam is happening whether you want it to or not, and I’m sorry about that. I know you don’t like it. But you know I can’t get you out of there by myself, and Dr. Crane hates to be interrupt-”

Signal was at the cage door in under a second. They moved quickly enough that they nearly lost her footing, but managed to retain it.

Dr. Sampson smiled.

“That’s more like it. Come on, then.”

Despite their cheery tone, Signal knew they had no choice, especially as the slip leash was pulled over their head and made taut about their neck. Not that the leash was really necessary-- just because they’d tried to escape two dozen times before didn’t mean they’d do it again.

Stupid leash and all, Dr. Sampson led them to the exam table in the middle of the room. A cold, metal thing, with a sort of pole sticking up out of its side. The end of the pole was marked with a hook-- a hook which the slip lead’s end was secured to as Signal climbed onto the table, legs dangling off the side.

It may have been the worst part of the whole ordeal, the stupid metal pole that stopped them from lowering their head.

“Let’s get started, then.” The doctor clapped their hands with far too much cheeriness. “How have you been feeling?”

“I feel like I want to rip your face off.”

“That’s- Unfortunate.” Their lips pursed together. “Let’s try that again. Physically, how are you feeling?”

“Fine. Is that it?” They strained against the leash a moment. “Can I go now?”

“Hm? Oh, no. This exam is going to take at least an hour, honey.”

Signal’s stomach twisted.

“I’ll start with your wings, so we can talk a bit.”

Somehow, those words made them feel even sicker than before. Still, they didn’t resist as latex-clad hands took up one of their wings, unfurling it until it took up half the lab. The touch made them shiver.

“Your flight feathers are coming back in well. It’s terrible, to think that they clipped them like that...”

“As if you wouldn’t do the same.”

“Of course I wouldn’t.” Dr. Sampson spoke through gritted teeth. Signal’s words were getting to them-- at least that was good news. “Signal, why are you upset?”

“That’s pretty vague.”

“You’ve been so stressed out since you got here. I have tried to make you comfortable, but I must say I’m at my wits end.” A touch to a particularly sensitive feather made the winged lab rat flinch. “Are you bored? I can always get you more toys...”

“I don’t want more toys.”

“Are you sick?”

“I’m not sick.”

Signal placed their hands on their legs, gripping them until their fingers went numb.

“Then what is it?”

They hadn’t decided on the best snippy answer to that one, but they did not have to come up with one. Instead, the air was filled with the sound of the door again creaking open.

Signal snapped their wings closed, and began desperately scratching at the slip lead around their neck.

“Oh, Dr. Crane. How are you this morning?”

[delimeful]

not always what they seem

finished g/t space au commission for @legendsgates ! it was super fun to work on, i hope everyone enjoys!

warnings: dehumanization, treating people like animals, abduction, miscommunication, remus being remus, deceit, misguided but good intentioned light sides

-

“Hey, kid, wake up.” 

Virgil groaned, shifting to his side. It was still dark, why was someone bothering him? 

“There you go. It’s a great day outside, open your eyes already.” 

Wait. He lived alone. Who was talking to him?

Visions of chatty burglars or insane door to door salesmen breaking and entering flashed before his eyes, and he jerked upright with a gasp, eyes flying open. 

Darkness. He couldn’t see a thing. “What?” 

Virgil nearly poked himself in the eye in his haste to check his face for a blindfold. He should be able to see plenty; there was an annoying streetlamp just under his apartment window. Had he spontaneously gone blind? Had he been kidnapped? Was he in a trunk, slowly suffocating to death? 

“Hey, calm down. Everything’s going to be fine, don’t pass out on us now.” 

A burst of unhinged, echoing laughter nearly cut off the end of the sentence, and chills ran down Virgil’s spine. “Oh god. Look, I take terrible care of my body, you don’t want my organs, I promise.”

There was an aggrieved sigh nearby. Virgil hesitantly reached his hands out to feel the space around him. It didn’t feel like a car trunk. He was sitting up just fine. 

“I don’t think we’re being trafficked, but if we were, you’d be pleading your case to the wrong guy. I’m in the same situation as you.” A dull knocking accompanied the words. “Unfortunately.”

Virgil carefully turned his body to face the direction of the voice, squinting in case he could make out any sign of an attack. “...Right, sure. Care to fill me in on what-- what exactly that situation is?” 

The stranger only seemed sardonically amused at the bite in his voice. “We’re trapped in a room. There’s glass walls dividing the room into sections. There’s a little bit of light coming in through the roof, your eyes will adjust soon. That’s all I’ve got. Remember anything from before you woke up?” 

 Virgil shoved down the rising panic, rising to a tentative crouch with his arms outstretched for balance. He’d been… What had he been doing? “I… I don’t know.”  

Another sigh. “Yes, I assumed so.” The outline of a silhouette seemed to be coming into focus. Unless Virgil was just imagining things. “Thank you so much for being helpful.”   

He bristled at the tone, but before he could respond, another giggling laugh reverberated around them. 

“Don’t fret so much, figments,” a new, somewhat nasally voice said cheerily. “I’m sure your terrible and inevitably gory deaths will only hurt for as long as the dream lasts.” 

Virgil took a long, shaky inhale. “What the fuck.” 

“‘The fuck’ is Remus, the third occupant in our room. As far as I can tell, he believes this is all a hallucination brought on by sleep paralysis. Best to just ignore him,” the first stranger advised dryly. 

“I’m still ignoring you back,” ‘Remus’ returned in a singsong. Virgil almost couldn’t blame him. He’d really rather wake up and realize this was all a dream, too. 

He wasn’t going to bet on it, though. He stumbled forwards, feeling the walls for a door, a switch, anything. 

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” the unnamed stranger scorned. “I’ve already checked everything that could be checked. Nothing’s going to happen--” 

His voice was cut off by three quick, consecutive beeps from somewhere above their heads. Virgil turned his head this way and that, searching for an intercom or mechanical device nearby. “What’s that?” 

Neither stranger answered, and Virgil realized that this was something new just as one side of the room began to slide upwards like a garage door. He raised a hand as bright light poured into the room, backing up as far as he could. In the corner of his vision, another person was doing much the same.

Something large moved outside the room, its shadow falling on them and making it a little less difficult to see. 

Unfortunately, what he was seeing was impossibly horrifying enough to be real.

A huge figure, like a giant from a children’s fairytale, was visible from the torso up. It was wearing something close to a full body hazmat suit, its inhuman face visible behind a pane of red-tinted glass. Piercing red eyes were placed just slightly too far apart, and a shiny black shell covered the bottom of its face like a curved medical mask.

It leaned closer, and Virgil recoiled harshly enough to slam his back into the corner of the room. The eyes settled on him for a moment, before flicking over to the other occupants. Adrenaline surged through him, but there was nowhere to channel it. He couldn’t flee, and there was no way he could fight. He was helpless.

In the section next to Virgil, a short man dressed in formal wear stood carefully still. He was meeting eyes with the monster, his expression neutral and still. Where Virgil had felt like a deer in the headlights, this man acted more like a snake assessing prey. The only sign that he was unsettled was the white knuckled fists at his sides.

The monster made an unsettling sound, like a hum interspersed with clicks, and then turned its attention to the only human still laying on the ground, presumably Remus. A few rigid plates along its forehead twitched downward, and it chittered at Remus. 

Virgil caught what looked like mandibles protruding from under its face plate, and felt lightheaded. 

“Remus, I suggest you look alive,” the snakelike man muttered, attention still locked on the huge creature. Remus didn’t respond, though whether it was because of the monster or because he was still ignoring them was anyone’s guess.

A moment later, the monster reached up with a limb, the suit glove doing nothing to conceal the creature’s spindly, clawed fingers, arranged like an osprey’s talons. It tapped the glass between them, and Virgil was abruptly reminded of a child at an aquarium. The ‘room’ they were captive in was a mere box to this being. An enclosure.

Remus finally sat up, stretching lanky arms as though it was a normal morning. He cocked his head at the monster, squinting. “What are you looking at, you big bitch?” 

Virgil inhaled sharply through his teeth, but the monster didn’t react beyond its forehead plates shifting back up, and before long, it was looking down at a strange grey cube, flicking talons along its surface like it was a touchscreen. 

In his section, Remus had unfolded to his ridiculous full height, and was ambling up to the wall separating them. He smiled, something about it vaguely unhinged. “Hmm, hallucinations aren’t supposed to be this expansive! It’s almost like we’re actually here, captured by giant monsters that are probably going to stick us in a blender for a morning smoothie!” 

The snakelike man rubbed his temples, still holding onto his composure. He didn’t dignify the gory statement with a response, but Virgil was more than happy to. 

“Hey, it was Remus, right?” Virgil asked, and he saw the man nodding enthusiastically in the corner of his vision. “Please shut the hell up.” 

“Never been very good at that!” 

—-

Roman glanced up from the data sheet, watching as the new specimens wandered about and made little noises at each other. He couldn’t help but hum a bit at the sight; the little animals were so charming. 

“Roman!” a familiar voice trilled, and he turned to the lab’s entrance, clicking in greeting at the sight of his partners. Though he’d been uncertain about working with beings from other quadrants at first, they’d managed to overcome most of their original hurdles and now worked smoothly together. There was nobody he’d rather have as his research team, even with the disapproving twitch in Logan’s ears. 

“Dear friends,” he returned, gesturing widely and making all the specimens freeze up again. “I swear I haven’t opened a single sect, only gazed upon our newest finds. You’re going to love them Patton, they have the strangest little noises.” 

The Nilh wasted no time in scampering forwards, just barely prevented from bumping the enclosure by Logan’s tail tugging him back slightly. “Oh, they’ve already started communicating with each other? What about body language, did you have the vidfeed on?”

“Yes, and of course,” Roman gestured with a pointed flourish, “I have also followed procedures and had the cam on since I entered the lab, treasured nerds.”

Logan’s hand flicked in an exasperated gesture, but his ears were no longer angled down, so Roman counted it as a win. Patton tugged the Glanrim closer by the tail, using his multitude of hands to push him into his spot. “Look, Lo! I think this one is threat displaying at me! They’re all acting so differently, it’s going to be so exciting to figure out what sort of sounds they use!” 

Despite his professional demeanor, Logan’s eyes all widened with excitement as he bent slightly to inspect their samples. “There’s quite a variety in patterns and sizes as well,” he observed, voice low and resonant. The little creatures all seemed to stiffen at it. “I would almost believe them different species entirely if not for the similar body structure.” 

“They’ve even got little primitive outfits, see?” Roman pointed towards the calm one in the middle, eyeing the seams. “There must be a bonding purpose for it, like how some mammalian animals will use pigment-dyes for enhancing appearance to attract mates. The real question is, how did they all end up looking so different? Which one is closest to the traits that make one desirable?” 

“I don’t see any reason we can’t find out!” Patton responded brightly. “We’ve got three samples, one for each of us, so what say we each get started on recording all the information we can!”

“We only have three specimens, so it’s important that we don’t push too far with any of them. This is only preliminary work,” Logan cautioned. “That said, I agree. The sooner we begin, the better.” 

“I’ll take the yellow one!” Roman immediately chimed in, his wings vibrating slightly inside his suit. 

—

“There’s three of us, and three of them, so of course they’re going to eat us.” Remus remained blithely oblivious to Virgil’s glower. “It’s lucky there’s not one more, otherwise we’d have to rock-paper-scissors on who gets torn in half.” 

Of course, this was the moment that the monsters stopped their odd, chitter-click-buzz noises to turn back to the container, and the first monster, the red one, began to fiddle with the side of the glass. Virgil started to breathe heavily as there was mechanical clicking around them, and then the ground under their feet shifted slightly. 

Without another second of suspense, Red reached under the box and slid the middle section out like a book from a shelf. The man in formalwear went with it, stumbling slightly and pressing against the glass for balance. 

“Oh hey, you got the freaky insect one,” Remus said, waving cheerily. “Hope your death is really cool and gory! Try not to make it cooler or gorier than mine though!” 

“Very helpful,” the man hissed through gritted teeth, his eyes slightly panicked. Virgil stumbled forwards to the front of his section as though he could reach the other human through the glass, terror chilling him. It was a pointless gesture, but as he was carried out of sight, the man offered him a nod anyways. 

Remus seemed to be unfortunately correct about them being split up, since next the one with the six arms and rocky skin pried the tall man’s section out and left with it as well. That left Virgil with the last one, a monster whose face was covered in neat fur and long whiskers. It looked at him with way too many eerie slitted pupils, and Virgil couldn’t help but compare it to a predatory big cat. Maybe several predatory big cats.

Its gaze was nothing compared to its size, of course, and Virgil couldn’t help but drop to a crouch, curling in on himself as gloved hands curled around the glass box he was stuck in and lifted it with ease.  

The floor of the box was transparent, and he stared at the dizzying drop to the floor the whole transferring process. When there was finally solid ground beneath him again, he looked up and found that his box had been placed on a sterile, shining counter. 

Before he could get much of a read on his surroundings, a shadow darkened the floor around him, and he barely got to flinch before cool fingers were descending on him, lifting him from the box. 

The hold was firm and clinical; his arms pinned to his sides, and a finger under his chin to prevent biting. The pressure on his throat was just slightly too much, and Virgil let out a choked cough, struggling to breathe through his panic. 

Thankfully, it only lasted for a moment. In the next, he was released, and his hands and knees met a solid surface. He scrambled to his feet, glancing around. 

The bad news was that he was out of the relative safety of the glass box. The worse news was that he appeared to be in a warped version of a hedge maze, walls and corners twisting around him. The worst news was that the monster was still present, and now it was manipulating some kind of square device. 

A heartbeat later, the walls around him started to buzz ominously, making the hair on the back of his neck rise up as he pictured every Saw movie he’d ever seen. 

“Fuuuuck this,” he muttered, shifting to his feet and starting down the nearest path. He alternated between making sure he didn’t get too close to the walls and making sure the monster hadn’t moved or otherwise acted suspiciously. The creature was watching him unerringly every time he looked up, and having all those eyes on him didn’t help his increasing unease at all.

As he turned a corner, he was faced with something new, and automatically ducked away in case it was going to start shooting at him. The small orb continued to sit in the middle of the path innocently, at just the right height to take out someone’s achilles heel. 

Virgil shuddered and turned around, backtracking to the last fork in the path. He wasn’t messing with monster traps, no fucking way. 

Above him, the monster seemed to sigh slightly.

—-

“... just too timid,” Logan was saying when Patton re-entered the main area of the lab. “The specimen didn’t engage in a single puzzle during our session, not even one.” 

“What a puzzling situation!” Patton chimed in, carefully slotting his own specimen unit back into the container. Inside, the little creature continued to make a bizarre assortment of calls, not even in Patton’s direction. 

Logan exhaled shortly. “Am I to assume that your insistence on wordplay means that you had greater successes than us?”

“Well, you could go with that, but you know what they say about assuming!” he replied, tucking a pair of arms behind his back as he wandered over to the others. “The little guy seemed pretty aggressive, so I tried to see if there were any specific threat calls I could make out, but… it almost never repeated. Either they have very complex body language that I’m missing or my little friend is a few sticks short of a tree!”

The other two looked disheartened, and the linguist glanced over at Roman. “You two didn’t have any luck, either?” 

“No. My specimen barely participated in the trials I set up, and so I haven’t discerned what level of intelligence we are working with yet,” Logan gritted out, ears flat.

Patton tilted his head slightly. “Not even the treat ball? Most sentient life forms have no trouble with that one.” 

“No, no interaction at all. It may be worth looking for more compelling bait…” 

Roman cut in, antennae flicking in displeasure. “Anyways, mine was uncooperative too! I was trying to get a few samples of their outer shells to see what the fabric is constructed of, but it was so resistant after just one layer that I started getting worried that maybe removing any more would actually harm it.” 

“Good. Better not to risk damaging them.” Logan turned to the units, nose twitching as he thought. “There are other non-invasive tests we can try, but results might shift if we try different samples for different tests.” 

Roman click-buzzed in complaint. “That could take forever, though! We’re supposed to be coming up with significant research, not trading specimens around!” 

“Maybe, instead, we could observe all of them at the same time,” Patton suggested, getting both of his teammates’ attention. “After all, isn’t controlled engagement with multiple specimens one of the tests?”

Roman and Logan exchanged a look, before the latter inclined his chin, slowly. “It’s worth an attempt, at least. Just watch carefully for any signs of aggression. They can’t harm us, but they could certainly harm each other.”

---

By the time the monsters finally decided to put them all in a penned-in space with each other, Virgil was almost too exhausted to be worried. Almost.

He shuffled away from where the three bizarre creatures were looming over them, but carefully remained out of grabbing distance from the other two humans. He wasn’t stupid; he barely knew these people.

“Aliens,” Remus greeted them, holding his hands up in an exaggerated pose. “I’ve totally cracked it.” 

“You’ve totally cracked,” Virgil shot back, but most of his attention was on the well-dressed man. Or, formerly well-dressed, since now he appeared to have had all top layers except his undershirt removed. “Hey, what happened?” 

“Oh, is it not obvious?” the man hissed, arms crossed tightly. “I’ve been robbed. Clearly, this must all have been an elaborate mugging for my blazer and button up.”

Remus cackled. “Yeah right! That suit is cheap as hell!”

The man rolled his eyes, and Virgil couldn’t help but notice the way he was shaking. It didn’t seem like a fear shake, not with this man’s demeanor. “Okay, but are you okay? You seem, uh, cold.” 

“Of course I’m not cold. Why ever would a half-dressed, anemic man in a glass box be cold?” the man snapped. One of the aliens moved slightly, and their gazes all flickered up for a moment. 

Once it became clear no grabbing was happening, Virgil sighed lowly, pulling at his zipper and shifting the sleeves of his hoodie off. “You’re kind of a bitch, huh?” 

The man snapped his head around, opening his mouth to deliver a scathing retort, but Virgil interrupted him by tossing the hoodie at his face. “Excuse m-- oof!”

“Don’t spill anything on it,” Virgil muttered, ignoring the man’s perplexed stare. “You can pay me back with your name.” 

“... It’s Dee.”

---

“Did you see that?” Patton bounced on his toes, tugging at Roman’s talons. “It gave away it’s covering!” 

“Astonishing,” Roman replied, not tearing his eyes away. “Is it a social hierarchy thing? Did you see any familiar dominance displays?” 

“I… didn’t, actually,” Patton replied, face scrunching in perplexion. “Maybe this one is less attached?” 

“No.” They both turned to Logan, whose eyes had gone wide. “It was an act of assistance. The yellow specimen was shaking, likely from temperature exposure due to losing some of it’s covering. It was… kindness.” 

“Woah, what?” Roman clicked, antennae perking up. “But that would mean--” 

“Look!” 

At Patton’s cry, they all watched as the other specimen seemed to attack, almost jumping forwards to intervene. At the last moment, Patton’s arms pulled them back. “No, wait!” 

Though the small, gangly creature had flopped onto the shorter one, the action seemed to elicit no pained cry or battle screech, only mild grumbles as the two readjusted in their impromptu pile. The one that had given away its covering made a face before carefully folding into a sitting position as well, a seat that kept it between the aliens and the other specimens. 

“These specimens were all pulled from different locations,” Logan half-stated, half-asked. Roman nodded, eyes wide. “They can’t be nestmates. What in the galaxy is this?”

“They’re sapient,” Patton blurted, a hand pressed to his mouth. “The sounds, they’re too complex because they’re not calls, they’re words. Language.”

“Language? But, the planet was said to only contain primitive lifeforms!” Roman protested, wings flaring up in agitation. “You’re telling me… Oh man.” 

“The heat sharing, the communication, even the extreme caution shown in unfamiliar circumstances,” Logan spoke slowly, as though warming up to the idea. “It… does seem to be a potential explanation.”

They all looked back to the tiny bipeds, now seeing their every action in a new light. 

“Well, there’s only one way to be sure,” Patton said, lifting up a hand and waving it slowly in a generic friendly gesture. “We’ll just have to figure it out for ourselves, using our own judgement.” 

After a long moment, one of the specimens-- no, aliens-- waved back. 

[nanagoswife]

For You? Always.

Chapter Nineteen

Summary: The two of you see each other for the first time since that tough night, then some more happens both in, and outside the office.

W/C: 4.2k (some things go down okay?)

Warnings: angst, physical and emotional harassment, physical violence, serious injury, mentions of blood, mention of past trauma, basically, it faces some difficult topics, oh and swearing and slight dehumanization?

-A/N at the bottom-

It was another week before you went back to work. You knew that rumours were being spread. It was apparent by the sad and pitying stares you got as you walked to your office. This is not even mentioning how some turned to whisper to someone close.

What these rumours were, you didn’t know. There was a part of you that didn’t want to know. You didn’t want to know how they twisted the tale of your personal life.

What you did know that Ben had apparently not gone back to finish the trial. Siara had replaced him. Also, he was at the office.

Thankfully, Paisley didn’t bring anything up. She acted as if this was a normal work day and that there were no other outside influences. You were grateful as all you wanted to do was get back to work and forget about everything that had recently been bringing you down.

She especially helped you forget about the fact that Sadie’s funeral just happened over the weekend.

Her parents had taken you in for those days. Their hugs comforted you along with your own parents as they were also close with Sadie and her parents. Together you all remembered her life.

When you saw your parents, you were also glad they didn’t ask why Ben wasn’t there. They probably assumed he was still tied up with work.

The only thing that seemed to be keeping you from breaking was the dogs. Sure, it hurt when you thought about the reason you had them, but they still helped you feel better. There was no way you couldn’t laugh at their silly antics.

What you couldn’t help but wonder was if Ben would come and try to take one of them. He wouldn’t though. He couldn’t choose then, he wouldn’t choose now. Besides, he didn’t even pester you about his own belongings and he would never do that to anybody. He would never do that to you.

“Y/N?” A voice said, breaking your thoughts and made you slightly jump. Looking up, you saw Derek. Trying your best to be genuine, you smiled.

“Hi, Derek. How are you?”

“I’m fine.” He paused. There was a glint of worry in his eyes. “Y/N, go home. There’s no reason that you need to be here. Take some more time.” Derek’s voice had the genuineness you failed to have, and was also tinted with worry.

“Paisley said something, didn’t she?”

Knowing the joke, he huffed in laughter. “Actually, it was someone else that expressed their concern for you.”

Now you were confused. Who else would be concerned? Siara would if she knew you were back at work. In the end, you shrugged it off. “Derek, I can stay. I need something to keep me busy.”

Derek only nodded as he knew he wouldn’t win even before he even started. Like how it usually was.

“Alright. If you need to, just go home. No need to worry about it.”

“Okay. Thank you,” you said with a genuine smile before he left you to work.

After that, some more time went by before another knock sounded at your door.

-

Ben tried his best to stay away. Not only for your sake, but for his own as well. If he were being honest, he was just staying away from everyone.

Ever since this all happened, rumours have spread like a wildfire. All of them painted him as a cheater, a liar, a breaker of trust. If the rumours didn’t hurt, everything else sure did.

Nearly everyone in the office became hostile towards him. Each area guaranteed some sort of dirty look or harsh words. With each passing day, it brought on new harsh looks, new insults, new threats. Eventually, some bumps and shoves had started.

As a result, it was almost as if he regressed back to his days in highschool. Always cowering away from everyone with the fear that someone would actually throw a punch. With every insult, he’d flinch. It was a fear that was never felt since before he moved to the same school as you. Sure, he still faced some criticism, but it wasn’t sending him to the hospital.

This time, he was in the same school with you, but you weren’t there to help him. To save him from the threats of the other students. Not physically, not mentally, and not with your smile.

Yes, he tried to stay away so he wouldn’t cause you more pain. He refused to let himself try and gain back your protection. He didn’t want you to have the burden of knowing how hostile it’s gotten.

It had worked until duty called that he couldn’t hand off to someone else. He had to oversee this one himself. Thankfully, it wouldn’t take long at all. A signature. This would cause you less pain than it would if it were more collaborative.

For a moment, he hated how he contemplated handing it to Paisley so that she could give it to you. No, he thought, he needed to face this. Plus, it was just work. That should warrant a safe pass, right?

Even though he hadn’t seen you since that night, he still knew that you were probably having troubles. Siara had also told him how the funeral had just happened.

He asked Derek if he could check in on you. If you found out he was the one who asked, you’d probably think he was trying to get you to leave for his sake. Which was not the reason. He didn’t want you to see the hostility towards him, but he wanted you to feel comfortable. He knew you well enough that you were probably not doing as well as you said you were.

Now, here he was at your door. For a moment, he stood there with racing thoughts. He was frozen at the thought of seeing you. It had been a while.

Paisley broke him out of it when she placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay. She can separate work from personal life,” she said quietly.

“I know. It’s if I can separate the two that’s the problem.”

Ben was thankful that people like Paisley and Siara knew the truth. At least they showed him some kindness in this place.

Finally, with a deep breath, he knocked. There was no going back now.

-

You would’ve been surprised to see Ben at your door if your job didn’t require your constant partnership.

Meeting his eyes, he seemed nervous. Not like the first time he came to your office with Siara. It sent a small jolt of guilt through you that he was like this.

“All that’s needed is a signature,” he said quietly.

Your heart hurt. It was like highschool again. You, the popular girl that was liked by most, and him, the quiet boy who hardly talked and waited for danger around every corner. For the first time since then, as well, his shoulders were shrugged up and he looked so scared and tense.

Nodding, he then hesitantly stepped forward to bring the paper over. Wanting to spare him of his discomfort, you quickly signed it.

The pain in your heart only grew when he paused before he quickly walked out of your office and closed the door. This was the first time he had ever come to your office and didn’t stay and talk.

That’s when the first prominent flicker of doubt started to fill your mind.

-

It was another few weeks before you heard what the rumours really were. Not only that, but how Ben was being treated by so many. It made you sick hearing what was going on. Now you knew why he was so tense when he came into your office.

It pained you to think that he felt like he would receive the same treatment from you. Usually, he relaxed once he saw you.

Siara was the one who told you this when she had come back. Apparently, he had been confiding in both Brian and Siara with everything. No wonder why he had been basically hiding in his office all these weeks.

Sitting on the couch with Cody and Boga curled up close to you on the couch and floor, you started to think. You let every feeling of doubt swirl your mind.

Looking back, you noticed everything he had done for you. Everything that he left up to you, never asking for anything in return. Nothing except asking for your love.

The times he spent in your office just so he could talk with you. The times he gave you his coat when you got cold. The times that he made your bad situations good ones. The times that he would greet your parents with such kindness. The times he only simply asked for you to say that you loved him. How he showed you how things weren’t always your fault. How he left every big step up to you.

Then, you looked back to those days that your first feeling of doubt about his love came in. He was always disappointed when told he had to leave. The glints in his eyes, you now realize, was sad and not telling of something traitorous to your relationship. The amount of times he would just send a simple heart emoji during the day. Then, his hair was almost always disheveled as you knew he spent countless nights without a second of sleep. How, even after you got mad, he came to you. Just like he had so many times.

Sure, Carla sleeping in his bed was still a kick in the gut, but you knew how he was. He was so kind. So generous and he was just extending that kindness to a coworker. Someone that he only saw as a friend. Someone he ignored because he only wanted to see your face every night.

Had he been desperate, he would’ve just come home to you. Even then, you told him to stay. That was something he listened to. He listened because he would never think of going against what you say.

Ben would’ve come to you, had you not insisted that he stay. Insist that he stayed so that it would be done sooner.

Then, in the aftermath of days of very few exchanged words, you never even gave him a chance to speak, to explain. Instead, you took advantage of his unwavering kindness and eagerness to just listen to you and didn’t grant him the same.

“Oh, Obi-Wan,” you muttered to yourself. Tears started to build up thinking of how selfish and cruel you had been to this kind man. To the man that loves you. To the man that you love.

Had it not been so late, you would’ve gone to see him and try and make things right. This was not something to settle over a phone. Instead, you would go to the park and think things over some more with the benefit of fresh air. Think over how you should never have pushed him away. Especially when you were grieving and you didn’t even tell him.

Walking through the night, he didn’t have any determined path of travel. All he knew was that he needed to just walk in the frigid night air. He needed to wonder as he tried to alleviate some of the suffering he’s been going through.

It wasn’t tapering off after this month. If anything, it got worse.

Now, he was in an alley by the office. It was quiet and comforting. A perfect area that allowed him to think about you. It allowed him a more private space to let his tears quietly fall. A safe space to think of everything he could’ve done differently that would’ve prevented this.

The sound of his steps along with the slight dragging of his feet was the only sound. Occasionally, it would be accompanied by sniffles that accompanied his tears. That is, until he heard many more.

At first, he didn’t acknowledge them. He just assumed it was a group passing by to go do whatever activity awaited them. Instead, they stopped and the talking he had heard that accompanied them stopped.

Looking up, he saw three guys from the office. They made eye-contact with him and gave menacing glances. Then, they started walking his way. All of them walked with a fury that he hadn’t been on the other of in so long.

“You fucker. You’ll pay, Kenobi,” one snarled before drawing his fist up. Ben couldn’t react fast enough to try and dodge it.

“There’s no one here to help you, you fucking cheater!” another yelled as he threw his own punch.

The second punch sent more pain through him as it landed in the same place as the first. They only chuckled as they watched him stumble into the brick wall of one of the buildings.

“Big shot Ben Kenobi is nothing but a defenseless wimp,” one said before a punch connected to the opposite side of his face. This one almost made him fall, but one of the three caught him and stood him back up.

This turned out to be for the benefit for the to start to land brutal blows to his ribs and abdomen. They didn’t stop until he was choking on air.

That’s when they finally let him fall to the ground, watching him struggle for air.

After a few moments, he finally gasped on air. His coughs were painful and the air stung his lungs as each breath was taken in. For a minute, they let him breathe normally, laughing at the way he was curled on the ground. It didn’t last long.

Pain shot through him, his breath was once again knocked from his lungs.

The worst part about this is that he wasn’t trying to fight back or even protect himself. He just let them kick and beat him to their heart’s content.

In a way, he even let the first punch happen. He saw it. He easily could’ve dodged it, but he didn’t. There wasn’t even any shock factor that these people would do this. Ben had known too many two-faced people to be surprised.

He deserved this. There was no fighting back. This, he thought, was what he deserved. Even though he didn’t do what they thought he did, he caused you pain. He had caused you unbearable amounts of hurt that then left you alone when you needed someone the most.

So, right now, he had a reason to let this happen. This is what he deserved and it was given to him.

When he was young, he tried to fight against it. There was no reason he should’ve been hit. He didn’t deserve it. Now, he had that reason. It was his fault.

So, he practically welcomed each punch, each kick, every little thing feeling of pain. He welcomed every bit of it even when he was blinded by his own blood and one eye had swollen shut. Then, everything went black from some sort of contact to the back of his head. The last feeling of pain before he blacked out.

-

“Y/N!” you heard Siara yell from outside your office door. She burst in not long after.

“Is everything alright?” you asked.

“Have you seen Ben? He never came back to the house last night.” Her voice was filled with worry that was mirrored across her face.

Your own worry filled you. He wasn’t one to not come back without saying anything.

“No, I-”

Paisley burst in then. For a moment she paused, gauging what she was interrupting before saying, “You’re going to want to see this.”

She quickly made her way to your computer and started to type something in. A news article popped up with a video.

“No,” you said quietly. The name in the article appeared for a moment before Paisley clicked and played the video that was security camera footage.

You recognized the three men from the office. What pained you more was that they were attacking Ben. Something that made it worse, he was just taking it. He didn’t bring a hand up to block anything. Especially once he fell to the ground, he just let them beat him to a pulp. There was no resistance. You couldn’t watch it for long after he fell. You were surprised you hadn’t looked away sooner.

For a few moments, you didn’t know why he wouldn’t try to at least defend himself. Then you knew, and you felt horrible.

“Why did he not do anything?” Siara eventually asked Paisley.

“Because he thinks he deserved it,” you said quietly with your back turned to the other two. “He thinks it’s his fault.”

Tears were brimming your eyes. You didn’t want to turn around and see the other girls’ faces. It wouldn’t help.

“Siara,” your voice was close to failing you, “can you please take me to the hospital?”

Now, you turned. Siara nodded and quickly led you out. Fear filled you at just how injured he could be. You just needed to know that he was okay.

-

“He’s in very rough shape. Multiple fractured ribs, broken wrist, black eye, some minor cuts on his scalp with a few more serious ones on his face, and a concussion. Right now, he is sleeping and may be out for a few days so his body can heal,” the doctor said as she brought you to Ben.

When you arrived at his room, your tears started to fall when you saw him. The bandages, heart monitor, IV, the cast, the swollen black eye, it all made you feel sick to your stomach. This all happened because of you. Because he loves you, and you love him. Because you pushed him away and people were ill-informed and acted on rumours.

“Nurses will come in a few times a day to check on him and clean his eye. Other than that, it will just be the two of you,” the doctor said. “When he wakes up, let us know as soon as you can.” She knew that you would need a moment when he awoke. She had made it apparent in the way she didn’t say to tell them right away.

“I will. Thank you,” you said quietly.

With that, she left you. You waisted almost no time as you were by his side, holding his uninjured hand. Letting your tears fall, you pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

“I’m so sorry, Obi,” you said against his knuckles and pressed another kiss to his hand.

-

Two days had gone by. The day before, his mother came to visit him. Thankfully, she didn’t know what happened between the two of you. Either that, or she wasn’t mad. Amelia was always the gentle and unjudging sort.

Now, you once again sat with his good hand pressed to your forehead in your hands. The doctor had said he was making good progress. To you, you wouldn’t believe it until he opened his eyes. Well, possibly still the one. The swelling may have gone down, but they couldn’t tell how much.

Those two days had been the longest ones you’ve ever had. Always just waiting to see the amazingly blue eyes meet yours once again. It was all you wished for as you constantly whispered so many apologies as he slept.

You would quietly apologize to him and tell him how much you loved him until his cerulean blues looked at you again. Hopefully, without fear or pain.

Until then, you held his hand and relished in the small contact.

This was how you stayed for two very long and painful days of listening to the almost silence of the hospital room.

You had begun to doze before you heard a difference in his breath. Then, his hand started to move. At first, your heart was starting to feel pain as he moved as if he was going to pull away, but he stopped. Instead, he tightened his hand around yours which sent a wave of relief through your entire body. It released every bit of tension and stress that you’ve been carrying for so long.

Then, his eyes slowly opened. Both of them, but his black eye was still partially closed. The eyes you had missed so much met yours. For the first time in months, there wasn’t any type of hurt in his eyes. No loneliness, no heartbreak.

“Y/N,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“Hi,” you said softly, tears of happiness gathering in your eyes as a smile grew on your face.

He moved his hand from yours and placed it on your cheek. His thumb wiped away the tear that fell.

“Obi, I’m so sorry,” you said while leaning into his hand and placing your hand over his to feel more of his gentle touch.

“Shh, it’s not your fault.”

“Did you ever think that it wasn’t your fault, either?” you said back. One thing that you were now returning, making it known that not everything was his fault either.

He smirked and his eyes grew softer.

“No,” he slightly chuckled but winced in pain, “no I didn’t think about that.”

“Well, let me show you how it wasn’t your fault.” Carefully, you leaned towards him all while making sure you didn’t cause him any pain. “If you’ll let me.”

Ben kept his hand on your cheek the entire way. All the way until he nodded and your lips met his. Then, he moved his hand to your hair.

You kissed him with every bit of love you had and have for him. Every unheard apology laced into the simple action.

He returned it with the same intensity. It was only broken when he winced.

“I-I’m sorry, did I-”

“It wasn’t you, darling,” he replied comfortingly.

You could tell he was desperately holding back a chuckle. Still, you let out a sigh of relief as you rested your head to his after making sure it wouldn’t hurt him.

For a moment, you relished the feeling of his skin against yours once again. Then, everything came rushing back. He may say it wasn’t your fault, but it was. This wouldn’t have happened if you had just let him say something.

“Obi, I really am sorry. I never even let you explain anything. Then I pushed you away because of actions that weren’t your own and I had no real evidence of.”

Then, you let everything else come out. Voicing everything that you realized he had done for you. What he always did for you. Every moment that he always put you over himself and how you interpreted every action of his wrong.

Like he always did and always will, he listened to everything you had to say. Somehow memorising every word you say like you’re the only movie he watches. The whole time, he didn’t interrupt a single moment of the scene. All he did was watch your eyes, hold your hand in his, and listen.

“And because I pushed you away, you’re now here. I’m the reason that it’s like highschool all over again.” Tears were once again building up. His black eye only punctuated what you said as you saw the glimmer of his blue through the slight swell.

Once again, he lifted his hand to your cheek, “Darling, I’m not here because of you. They didn’t have to act like that based on a rumour. It was their decision. Not yours.”

“Then why did you not fight back? It wasn’t your fault they did that.” Your voice was starting to take on a desperate plea for him to see how it wasn’t because of him either.

For a moment, you watched as he considered this. While he did, he took his eyes off of you for the first time since he had opened them.

“I felt like I deserved it,” he said gravely. “Not necessarily because I felt that it was my fault, but because of the way I made you feel. How I brought up something from the past that I strived not to conjure up,” he replied finally.

Putting your hand over his on your cheek, you shook your head. “No,” you said. “No you deserve to not have to be afraid of everyone you pass. You never should have. And, definitely, not anymore. Those feelings should never have been conjured back up. Especially not because of me.”

Ben gently pulled you towards him so that he could kiss you. “It wasn’t your fault, darling. Other than that, I will believe anything you tell me.”

Before anything more happened, you were disrupted by someone clearing their throat.

It was the doctor, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need to check on him.”

You nodded, but you saw that Ben was hesitant. Leaning back towards him, you whispered, “It’s okay. There’s no need to hide anything.”

This was something that was a result of his many trips to the hospital. The doctors hadn’t been good to him and treated him improperly because one was the parent of the kid that led the beatings and bullying. This happened until his mom found out. So, since then, he had been pretty distrusting of doctors treating him.

With your words of encouragement, he nodded and you pulled away after pressing a kiss to the birthmark under his right eye.

A/N: So, this was another tough one. Although I've never actually been physically assaulted, I have faced some similar circumstances and felt like I deserved everything bad that happened. So, it kinda hit close to home but at the same time it just broke me to put these characters through this again. So, I immediately felt huge relief from the hospital scene 😅 Anyways, as always, I hope you enjoyed and just a reminder that if you would like to be apart of the taglist, message me, comment, send an ask, whatever you feel most comfortable. Also, if you want to talk, I'm always happy to hear from anyone so feel free.

Anyways, that's my little rant. Hope you all enjoy this as much as I do.

@stardancerluv @jaydenwoo @madmax2003 @where-fantasy-meets-reality @hopeladybug @wintersoldiersthings

[ticklikeabomb]

Grouch - Part 1

Pairing : Bucky x Plus Size Reader ; Avengers x Plus Size Reader

Warning : Language ; Bucky being a Jerk

Word Count : 2.3k

Summary : You feel like Bucky hates you. Actually, you know he does since he’s made it clear several times. Why? That’s the question you ask yourself all the time. One day you both get assigned to a mission together and it’s the last straw for you. Bucky’s words will break much more than just your heart.

A/N : I doubt Bucky would be like this but it’s only for the story. 

Disclaimer : I do not own the characters, nor the universe where they were created and interact in. This series/fiction is only for entertainment purposes.

You were in the common room discussing with Wanda, Natasha and Pepper about your respective New Year Eve’s attire when Sam, Steve and the one and only Bucky Barnes entered the room. As soon as his eyes locked with your, his smile faltered in a cold firm line. Your presence being enough to trigger his grumpy self. You had no idea why Bucky hated you so much.

When you first joined the Avengers two years ago just right after everyone managed to fix the Accords fiasco, everyone welcomed you with open arms except him. Steve warned you that it would be more complicated to bound with him since he was still trying to adapt to people being kind to him. You could completely understand him, considering his Winter Soldier’s past. So, you kept your distances while still being professional and polite with him, treating him like everyone else on the team. Even so, the soldier was an iceberg regarding you. You could handle the coldness but what you couldn’t handle was when he began dropping hurtful comments and implying you shouldn’t be part of the team. “Why is she here again? She’s useless Steve.”, you heard him once say when he thought he was alone with Steve in the common room.

After a while, you returned him his coldness and there’s when things escalated. You began barking at each other at every possible occasion, rude and petty comments going back and forth like a boomerang. It began to affect the whole team, who tried all their best to organize your schedules in order to keep you both from bumping into each other. But it wasn’t always easy, just like now.

You didn’t pay him attention and continued the conversation with the girls, when Pepper asked you what you would wear. “I was planning on wearing an elegant long black dress I found a couple of months ago”, you answered. “The one we bought together?”, asked Wanda to which you nodded. “You going to make heads turn with that one dear”, she added. At that part Bucky scoffed. You turned towards him a frown on your face, “Something you have to say Barnes.” “Actually yes. You could wear anything you’d want, it could still not cover this”, he said while motioning up and down to you. Shocked that he would go so far and low in dehumanizing you in front of the others with that comment regarding your figure, you stood up and left the room, rage and shame burning your whole being. 

“What the Fuck Barnes”, said Sam while Steve gave him one of his menacing looks. “You’re a real asshole, you know that”, added Natasha. He lifted his arms up, “What? She asked and I told the truth.” One by one, they left the common room not believing he would say something like that. Bucky gulped harshly when Wanda’s eyes landed on him and after she spoke to him with her mind. “Keep going on and you’ll lose her for real. You may be able to fool everyone but not me. And one more thing, you talk to her like that one more time and I’ll hurt you so badly that you will beg me to just kill you right away.”

31st December 2018

Today was the last day of 2017. Even if it’s a common thing to say after each year, that year has been a particular difficult one. All that tension between you and Bucky was getting on your nerves most of the time but mostly, it was getting to you emotionally. It was going so far to the point you started questioning your abilities on the team and what you could bring to them. The whole bickering was draining you mentally, so you decided to make a truce with the enemy as a New Year’s resolution.

You arrived at the party, feeling confident and determined. He wouldn’t ruin your last night with his comments and it seemed that on his side, he must have thought the same thing, since he was avoiding your presence. Even when it occurred of you both being around the team at the same time, he kept whatever he was thinking to himself. ‘Maybe this could actually work’, you thought to yourself. The evening continued and everyone gathered on the balcony to watch the fireworks. Whenever it was faith or a simple coincidence, you stood next to Bucky when the clock ticked midnight. Looking beside you, you noticed his gaze was already fixed at you and you took the opportunity to tell him you wanted to make peace. You faced him and when you were about to open your mouth, he cut you off by saying “I don’t care if it’s tradition and that you seem to be the only available one standing next to me. I’d rather die than kiss you.” His words felt like a knife was being plunged and twisted deeply in your entrails. You bowed your head while leaving a light chuckle in order for him to not see how much it hurt before leaving his side and going up to your room.

For the next two days, you didn’t leave your room telling some of the team members you caught a cold and needed some rest. The only time you would get out of your room was when everybody was asleep to get something to eat. Even so, you could always feel that you weren’t alone in the kitchen. What was supposed to feel like home was trapping you between four walls and you didn’t like it, bad memories resurfacing. You couldn’t fake the cold anymore and on the third day, you left your room. “Hey Y/N, you feeling better?”, Steve greeted you with a side hug. You nodded and assured him you did. “Good because there’s a meeting in 10 minutes.” “Alright, let me just grab a cup of coffee and I’ll be right there.” He nodded before leaving you making his way to the conference room. You felt shivers crossing your skin when you entered and saw Bucky already seated on his usual spot. You left your and took a seat at the far opposite of his, making Steve and Tony frown. “Where are the others?”, you asked perplexed. “This mission only regards both of you. You’ll be paired up i-“ “I refuse”, you immediately said while Bucky responded at the same time “Absolutely not.”

“Look I know there has been some tension”, began Steve while glaring at Bucky, “but you’re the best operatives for this mission.” “I’m sure you can find someone more qualified for me to team up with”, spat Bucky. You rolled your eyes and took a deep breath in order to calm yourself. “That’s enough Bucky. You’ll work together on this mission and that’s an ORDER”, replied Steve in a firm tone. “Is there really no other way?”, you asked. “I’m afraid not”, commented Tony. “That’s a fucking joke”, you heard Bucky mumble to himself. “Asshole”, you did the same well aware of his super soldier hearing. Steve and Tony went through the details of the mission and as soon as they were done, Bucky stormed out of the room fuming. Since it was planned for you to leave as soon as the meeting was done, you quickly went to your room to pack some clothes in a duffel bag as long as your suit and weapons before walking to the Quinjet. Ignoring everyone, Bucky sat down on the pilot seat and started the engine off. Steve and Tony watched the engine fly away with a little apprehension. “I hope your little plan of them getting along will work”, commented Tony. “I hope so too”, mumbled Steve back.  

Besides of the airplane, there was no noise heard. No words or even looks exchanged between each other. The atmosphere colder than the Arctic. After two long hours, you finally arrived at the hotel room the team booked for your staying and you swear you could have killed the little joker that ordered it. You were the first one to enter the room and discover there was only one bed and a couch. “I’m gonna kill them”, you said. Confused Bucky’s gaze landed on what made you stop dead on your track. “Not if I kill them first”, he replied. ‘Oh he speaks’, was the first thing that popped into your head. An awkward silence followed before he spoke up “How do you wanna do this?” You rolled your eyes so hard you were sure you would get a massive headache after. “I’m not sleeping in the same bed as you that’s for sure. I’ll take the couch”, you replied bitterly.

At your words, he tensed up but you didn’t pay attention to it, grabbing your bag instead and locking yourself in the bathroom. You took a long shower before wearing you’re a sweatpants and shirt and returning to the room. Without sparing him a single look, you took some spare sheets from the closet and laid down on the couch, going a final time through the details for the mission. He came out of the shower anger radiating his body and said through greeted teeth, “You took all the warm water.” A small smile crept on your face and faked remorse, “Sorrrry.” A pillow crashed on your head with full force making you whine in pain, “Ouch.” “Sorrrry”, chanted Bucky to whom you gave a deadly look. You prayed for the mission to end quickly.

“Y/N? Y/N stay here, alright Sweety. Let’s play hide and seek. You know the rules, don’t you?” “Alright, I’ll count to 50 and you will only get out if you hear Mommy and Daddy. No one else! Do you understand?” “Y/N? Y/N?”

“Y/N for God’s sake wake up!”, Bucky wiggled you out of your dream. You gasped, looking around you, his concerned look above you. You tried to regulate your breathing when you noticed his hand on your shoulder. You shook it from its place and apologized for waking him up. Standing up, you grabbed your jacket and shoes and went outside to catch some fresh air. You forgot how much you hated that dream. It would hunt you several times during the year. It felt so real it was disturbing. You didn’t recognize the voices and the strangest part was that you never played hide and seek with your parents, at least that’s always been their answer when you’d ask. You returned back to the room an hour and half later. Bucky’s back was facing you but you knew he was still awake even if he pretended not to be. You just hoped everything would go as planned.

--

“HEY, hey that’s enough now!”, Steve’s voice echoed in room like a sharp knife.” “Everybody just calm down”, said Tony. You and Bucky, both too stubborn and proud to concede the other, were fuming with rage. “She compromised the whole mission. If I wasn’t there, she would be dead by now.” “I did my part. No one asked you to intervene, I had it covered”, you bitterly replied back. “Covered my ass”, he spat. You slid the Flashdrive on the table making everyone quiet down. “Like I said, I did my part. That can’t be said for you. You let Hydra’s main lead get away.” “Probably because I was too busy to handle your sorry ass.” “Guys”, alerted Tony. Standing up, you slightly winced but firmly marched in front of Bucky. Taking your gun you placed it on his metal hand, pointing it on your chest. His eyes widened. “Do it!” “Wha-“ “Fucking do it. If I’m such a burden to you and my presence makes you wanna die, why don’t you get those balls out and do it yourself?”, you told him. “Y/N”, the other two Avengers whispered while slowly stepping towards you. You pressed the hold of Bucky’s hand tighter and closed the gap. Looking him straight in the eyes, you calmly repeated, “Do it!” He didn’t move. It was like he got stuck on the floor, shocked at what you were requesting him. Like he would actually even consider doing that. For him it was just words. Hurtful ones but necessary ones. You had to hate him. “That’s what I thought. You bark a lot but do shit”, you told him before leaving the room.

Entering your room, you asked F.R.I.D.A.Y to deny all access to it. You took your shirt out and winced once more at the gun wound on your rib. You got the first aid kit out and began cleaning it before stitching it, biting on a towel to prevent any noise. You laid in bed, everything from the past hours, days, months of your life and decided you couldn’t keep going on like that. Grabbing the necessary, you made your bag and decided to leave when everybody was asleep.

2 Years Later

“Hello Avengers, thank you for coming so quickly”, said Fury before taking a seat. “No problem. What’s going on?”, asked Natasha. “Why do you think there’s something wrong Agent Romanoff?”, he chuckled. “Because I know you”, she simply stated. His smile slowly faded away and he gave her a slow nod. “Well, I convoked you because one of my agents went missing a year ago”, he started but was quickly cut off. “A year and you’re only telling us now?”, said Sam. “Is there a problem with the system?”, asked Tony confused. “The system works just fine. There is are no traces because the undercover mission was too risky to put the Agent through the system. After she didn’t send her report, I immediately knew there was something wrong. I’m afraid she might have been discovered by the enemy.” “The enemy?”, asked Wanda. “Hydra. If they found out, she’s probably dead by now or worst”, he said before fixing his gaze on Bucky who felt uncomfortable all of a sudden. “Who’s the Agent?”

“It’s Y/N.”

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[illshowyourhurricanes]

Flash: Zoom (Part one)

Sometimes, there’s this thing that happens and a request grows a mind of it’s own, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. This is what happened here, and the culprit is @something-tofightfor, who snatched up this image prompt and made a request before anyone else had the chance:

This one is something a little differently than I’ve done before, and with that being said, it’s quite the ride, but a fun one! Here, we see Billy as a Marine, and over a decade later, as a TBI patient. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy-- there’s a lot more to come in this one!

Image prompt 7: Billy Russo x reader

Rating: R for language; possible trigger warning in mentions of crime and mental health

Word count: 3530

Tag list: @obscurilicious @the-blind-assassin-12 @something-tofightfor @logan-deloss @lexxierave @madamrogers @yannii04 @gollyderek @carlaangel86 @maydayfigment @vetseras @thisisparadisemylove @malionnes @thesandbeneathmytoes @crushed-pink-petals-writes​ @delos-destinations @luminex3 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @tenhargreeves @witchygagirl @fific7

As always, if you’d like to be added to or removed from my tag list, just shoot me an ask or DM!

Billy smiled like he’d never seen the atrocities of war. He grinned, and he showcased perfectly straight, unnaturally white teeth. His expression always reached his eyes, dark eyelashes framing his lids and accentuating the slight upturning of the corner of each, the left and the right. His jaw, strong and angular, could cut glass. Billy Russo was so organically gorgeous, so naturally photogenic, it was frustrating. 

“People spend all of their money and years of their lives to maybe get photographed for a damn JC Penney catalog, yet here you are putting zero effort forth and looking like this.” You stopped fanning the instant Polaroid, took one more look, and rolled your eyes, offering the photograph to Billy. “Take a look, George Clooney.”

Billy smirked and plucked the photo from your fingers, giving it a quick glance before handing it back. “Imagine how much better they’d come out if you let me buy you a real camera. What’s your brand, Y/N? Nikon? Canon?” Billy turned toward you, his palms skimming down the length of your arms. “You want somethin’ digital?” 

You cocked your head at Billy. His hands had dropped to your hips. “Polaroid. Classic. I’m all about instant gratification, Russo.”

Billy laughed in a deep timbre, pulling you closer and into a lingering hug. “One day,” he spoke into your hair. “When you grow into having patience… patience waiting for me until that next time I come home… I’m buying you that camera.” His New York accent was coming through strong, and that tended to happen when Billy really believed in something. You tightened your arms that were circled around his middle and pressed your cheek to Billy’s chest, listening for his heartbeat. 

As you listened to that rhythm, your face fell and your posture deflated with your exhale. You slumped your shoulders and your arms dropped from Billy’s midsection, but you continued to linger in his arms. He always made sure to speak as if coming back was a guarantee; as if fighting on the front lines in Kandahar was just a normal trip overseas. You swallowed past a lump that had formed in your throat. You wouldn’t succumb to it in front of Billy. Not yet. 

He was attuned to your posture, however small the shift in the way you carried yourself may be. Billy was attentive— he knew things about you, little nuances, unconscious mannerisms or habits, why you hated steak fries but loved waffle fries. There was a file in his brain, one specifically dedicated to you. He cared about you, your well-being and your happiness… your life. And he was a part of it, an essential part, whether he knew it or not. When he was gone, across oceans and continents and hemispheres, he took that essential part of your life with him. 

It wasn’t lost on you that you were long past the falling head-over-heels, missing meals because your thoughts were all- consuming, dreamy-eyed and irrevocably smitten phase of what you had with Billy. You cared about him a lot, maybe more than he cared about you. The two of you had never exchanged “I love you”s; it was very rare and circumstantial the handful of times you or Billy talked about the future. And he’d made nods toward that precarious, never guaranteed place twice in just the last 10 minutes. 

Lifting your head, you looked up at him, that woozy feeling of being drunk with one look into his darkened eyes very akin to that intoxicating feeling that came with love. “I’m holding you to that, Lieutenant.” 

                                                     *****     *****

You’d snagged a job with a popular psychiatric publication, and you chalked it all up to luck. Between your blog, business cards, spending all of your free time (and money) advertising, and networking with anyone who’d pay the smallest bit of attention, your name had been mentioned to a person with serious media connections. A random, brief phone call during a leisurely shoot one afternoon in the park resulted in a request for a viewing of your portfolio. Deemed “supremely impressive”, you were hired for a very specific field job.

That was how you ended up at Sacred Saints Hospital, deep in the heart of New York City.

New York was home, yet you’d been away for a good amount of time, traveling to build up your portfolio. The health facility you were to feature in the job you’d be hired for was a well-known facility. Sacred Saints was expansive, offering physical health services—surgery and recovery, intensive care, extensive stay— as well as mental health services and rehabilitation. Your goal for the piece was to photograph a host of mental health-centered techniques and options while still presenting patients as “normal” human beings, human beings that were not untouchable and should not be stigmatized. 

The challenge was going to be finding a balance between clear, clinical photos and those of therapy at work versus the personal aspect of mental health care. Whatever got written wasn’t up to you, but one of your niches was getting shots of moments that captured emotion: someone throwing their head back in laughter, a person staring blankly, eyes full with tears of grief. You could only hope those shots would provoke receptive emotions in their viewers. Photography was deeply personal work when allowed to be. It was also a matter of legality in many situations, and this was one of them. 

You needed clearance. The publication had kicked things off by securing permissions from the hospital-- you’d been issued a temporary badge for security issues, identification and such, and being cleared to enter the wards. The rest of what was required was consent from patients being photographed. The latter was much trickier given certain mental disabilities and the quick unpredictability that came with some personality disorders and brain injuries, but it was necessary, no exception. Day 1 was mostly dedicated to obtaining patient consent. 

You treaded lightly. These people were still mothers, sons, sisters, uncles, still human… still people. They had the right of integrity, and you weren’t there to take that from them; you were there to bring awareness to the public, to remind everyone on the outside that the people inside of this facility were no different than those that read the magazine… that humanity is something every person deserves and should be given. 

You were satisfied with your work for the afternoon, which had been surprisingly productive. A small stack of patient consent forms had been signed, and if you could get one to two more, you could start with your favorite part of the job-- the actual photography-- the next day. 

Not merely content but happy, you walked along the tile floor of the main corridor with your camera hanging around your neck. The glint of artificial light reflecting off something shiny grabbed your attention; it was a badge on a policeman’s uniform, just above his left chest pocket. You felt a sudden surge of adrenaline. Another deputy appeared from the threshold of what appeared to be the same room and your footsteps quickened, your shoulders and head held higher as you approached them. As far as you’d seen, there were no other rooms guarded by any sort of law enforcement official on the ward. Your mouth was dry in anticipation; you knew you had to get into that room, to do all you could to coerce the patient to be photographed. It was blatantly obvious they had something no one else at Sacred Saints did, and that something needed to be captured on film. With a professional nod and a smile, you greeted the policemen, showing them your temporary badge of secured access and offering a short summary of what your goal was. 

“I did notice you’re the only two officials on the ward,” you added, coming toward the end of your hopefully successful allowed entry of the room to your right. You’d only gotten one quick glance through the square-paned window set in the patient’s door and the only thing you could make out was dark hair, cropped close to the skull. 

One of the deputies, a short and stocky male with a no-nonsense expression, eyed you with one raised brow. “We ain’t here for fun, lady. He’s convicted of multiple felonies, including several counts of murder for starters. This ain’t the circus… though the asshole looks like a sideshow freak.” He elbowed his partner in a jovial manner, the two of them snickering.

You narrowed your eyes at both officials, a total lack of any sort of amusement apparent on your face. You were seriously doubting this level of holding guard was necessary, as if these two clowns were serving a purpose standing outside of this person’s room dehumanizing him to a stranger. 

“I understand he’s a felon, officer, but the two of you seem like competent individuals.” Taking a long stride to peek more closely into the patient’s room, the taller of the guards stepped in front of you. Holding up your hand, you continued to speak. “It seems he’s restrained to the bed, his arms and legs are strapped like he’s in a straight-jacket. What harm can he possibly do in such a position?” 

The steeled look you’d been given by the cop attempting to block you from entering softened marginally as you stated the obvious. The patient couldn’t move from the bed, convicted felon or not. He was utterly powerless.

“You ain’t gonna get nothin’, lady,” the first man you’d encountered piped up. “He claims he got no clue why he’s in here, don’t remember, nothin’.” This policeman’s thick Brooklyn accent gave you some sort of uneasy deja vu, but you couldn’t put together the pieces, what it was a reminder of. 

“I just want to ask if I can take his picture. No coercion, a simple yes or no question. It won’t take longer than five minutes, if that long, and you can see the entire interaction if you open those blinds.” There were windows the length of the room on either side, though the view was obstructed by cheap, plastic blinds, drawn so no outside view was available.

Both officers looked extremely bored, ready for you to get out of their hair and scamper away in defeat. You weren’t giving in, and you stood even with them, brows raised just a fraction in anticipation. The cops shared an exasperated glance, and the one standing in your way moved to the side. “We can see all we need through the door, ma’am.” 

Of course you can, you thought to yourself bitterly. This man doesn’t have the freedom to move anything more than his head.

“You’re wastin’ your time even askin’.” You turned your head to look blankly to the cop from Brooklyn, his increasingly stupid, know-it-all commentary really starting to irk you. 

“It’s my time to waste, officer.” You managed to plaster a forced smile on your face, taking another step toward the door. “I’ll take it from here, thank you.” You spoke to the less obnoxious deputy only. Your hand already on the doorknob, you stepped inside the room within half a second, closing the door with a soft click behind you.

                                                   *****       *****

He hated being strapped to this goddamn bed. He hated that his goddamn face hurt. He hated that he couldn’t fucking sleep because of those fucking dreams, and he hated every goddamn thing about this fucking place. The cops guarding his room twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week; the nurses who tiptoed around his room, terrified; that stupid bitch of a doctor who wanted him to finger-paint like he was in kindergarten; that woman who was always at the foot of his bed, just standing there and staring with a self-righteous smirk of contempt and satisfaction. All of it was a living hell, but he hated nothing more than to be strapped to this goddamn bed.

He could hear voices outside his room; the useless cops, no doubt, and also the voice of a female. Everything was muted, words muffled; he couldn't hear actual words, but he could hear sound and tone. Who was the woman this time? Was it Dr. Dumont? The mystery woman who watched him sleep? A nurse, perhaps? Whoever it was, Billy didn’t want to be bothered or provoked… but maybe whoever it was would unstrap him. He could ask Dr. Dumont, or scare a nurse into asking for him. God, he wanted to walk, he wanted to go to the fucking gym, he wanted to look outside. Anything but these same four, drab walls, the smells and sights and sounds of Sacred Saints hospital.

With a click of his door opening, in walked a woman he’d not seen before. Who is this? Billy was in thought immediately, but the question he’d asked himself  didn’t unnerve him that much anymore. People were always in and out; some repeat offenders, some he’d never seen before and would probably never see again, if he had any luck in his new joke of a life. But the one person that should have been there, that was never there, was Frank-- his best friend, his brother, the only family he’d ever had. Where is Frank? 

Nobody ever answered him. He just continued to wonder, to ask, to hope. Desperately, he attempted to push the question from his mind, peering at the woman who had just entered his room. At least she ain’t a repeat offender. 

He’d never seen her before, and through his suspicion and wariness, he didn’t fail to notice that that she was extremely attractive. In another life, he’d stride over to her, get her number, and her legs would be wrapped around him that same night. She’d be writing beneath him, screaming his name. In another life, Billy, he thought bitterly. In another life.

                                                   *****        *****

There was already a small pit of sympathy that had settled deep down in your chest. This man had obviously done some terrible things, but who knew what had been haunting his mind then, what was haunting it now. There were no excuses that needed to be made for him, but to be talked about and ridiculed by men of the law that stood just outside his door… that would be dehumanizing for anyone. 

As you opened the door cautiously, stepping inside in the same fashion, you kept a shadow of a smile on your face and somehow kept it from faltering. Not because he was confined, strapped to his bed— you'd seen that through that small excuse of a window paned with plastic in his door— but because there wasn’t a man looking at you as you’d expected; it was a phantom.

A stark white, generic plastic mask was pulled down over his face, and all you could see that reminded you that this was indeed a human being were his short spikes of black hair. And as you got closer, you felt your heart quicken at the stark contrast of inky black and blinding white between eyes and mask. 

You kept your wits about you, but couldn’t help but think how badly you wanted those cops to be wrong, how badly you wanted and needed a photo of this man— how this was what you felt deep in your soul that you were trying to convey. This opportunity was fated; nothing this perfect happened by chance.

Just as you spoke a hello, a loud rapping at the door interrupted your pending introduction and in walked an older woman, wearing scrubs, clogs on her feet that squeaked over the flooring with each step. She held a small paper medicine cup in one hand, a drink of water in the other. She set both down on a bedside table. 

“Time to get you out of this.” She reached out and roughly tugged at the restraints, a deafening sound of the pulling back of more Velcro than you’d ever seen in your lifetime. The man in the bed pushed himself up, still not saying a word as he was given medication. “The Tylenol you requested.” With a turning of his head, the man lifted his mask just enough for a quick swallowing of the pills, still revealing nothing. As he turned back to face you, he rolled his neck to the right, then the left. You briefly wondered what the mask meant to the patient as the nurse took his trash. Nodding at you briskly, she quickly left the room, leaving the two of you alone. 

The stranger in front of you was tall, the length of the bed he lay in, and rail thin— skeletal, even. There was nothing imposing about him, no danger or peril in the air. From the little you’d seen, you couldn’t imagine this man as being dangerous at all, much less a felon, a murderer. But he was quiet— so quiet. Not one utterance, one word, one sound since you’d entered the room. You wondered if this was a tactic, a technique, or a result of his TBI. 

Greeting him again, you got down to business by introducing yourself, explaining why you were there. “I’m Y/N, and I’m a photographer. I was assigned to take photographs for a periodical, and wanted to ask if you’d mind if I took a few pictures.” You spoke in a professional manner, kept your voice amicable, and spoke at a volume just shy of what you considered “normal”. You felt the need to keep the patient placated, at ease, and you wanted the cops to hear nothing you said.

“I have a release form, I’d just need your name and signature, and if you choose, your photo won’t have to be captioned and your name never mentioned. I only need the information for your release. Nothing more.” You gestured to the clipboard you held, the thin stack of release forms secured there, and tried not to look as hopeful as you felt. 

This could be it— the photo, the one that would give you more exposure, and more importantly, the one that would evoke emotion and draw readers in. The humanity and recognition for these patients that you were initially working to capture could very well be debunked by this one photo of a man who was desperately trying to shroud his humanness. Then again, the obvious contrast could be striking. That, however, was ultimately left up to the writer.

Your attention was captured as the man in the bed slowly tilted his head to the side, regarding you through the cut-out eye holes of the plastic mask. The color of his eyes were jarring, almost black, and they bored into you with a type of intensity you’d never encountered before. Your pulse quickened and you could feel the pounding of your heart against your chest. He’s convicted of multiple felonies, including several murders for starters. You remembered the policeman with the Brooklyn accent, his warning, and just as you felt a cold, creeping fear crawling up your spine, you remembered the rest of what had been said: This ain’t the circus, even though the asshole looks like a circus freak.  Your fear twisted into determination, and you didn’t shy away from his stare; in fact, your posture shifted as you stood up straighter, never looking away from this masked man. 

“You got a pen?” The voice was muffled by the barrier of his mask, the tone was deep and rough from disuse. He also had somewhat of a Brooklyn accent and his voice sounded vaguely familiar… you rationalized that you didn’t know this person, and perhaps the voice just reminded you of that arrogant prick of a cop you’d had the pleasure of meeting just outside. In response to his question, however, your triumph skyrocketed. You knew your emphatic nod was eager. 

“Yes, right here.” You calmly took the few steps to his bedside, keeping in mind to not ambush a TBI patient with sudden movement. Holding out the clipboard, you referenced points of the release to be filled in with the pen he’d asked for. “All I need is your name, printed here, today’s date, and your signature here. This second box can be checked, stating you do not want to be identified as the subject of this photo at any time.” 

He took the pen and clipboard and you began to toy with your camera, adjusting the focus, the drive mode, and the aperture. Your fingers were quick, working deftly, and you peeked once through the viewfinder for verification. In the silence of the room, you heard the faint sound of pen scratching over paper, and then, the clipboard was raised, pen laid on top. Holding back a beaming smile was difficult, but you managed as you were given back the clipboard, this time with a signed release. 

“Thank you, Mr—“ You glanced down at the information he’d given you, and your heart seized in your chest. William Russo. It was there in clear print, block letters you recognized from your past, a signature so familiar you’d know it  anywhere... the certain curving of the R and perfect circle of the O. Your stomach lurched and a wave of nausea washed over you, and then, your voice was stolen and replaced with his own as he finished for you. 

“Russo.”

[severalspoons]

Liveblog: Rewatching Trigun, Episode 19

I like this episode even though the villains here are a real letdown after the Gung Ho Guns. I’m sure none of you are surprised.

Poor Meryl is still having nightmares about the hole in the fifth moon. It’s affecting her performance at work.

Of course Meryl’s obnoxious coworker’s name is Karen. 

There’s a very 1990s contrast between our smart, brave, somewhat androgynous looking heroine and this Barbie-doll-pretty, makeup and high-heels wearing, and of course much taller lady. “That attitude gets all the dangerous jobs...there’s no way you’ll ever achieve womanly happiness.” Just pretend to be incompetent and then you’ll get a man and be happy ever after. ::retches into the closest receptacle:: 

“How did it make you feel?” ...Really?

Millie sounds so excited about being punished by cleaning the window. I’m telling you, she’s a literal ray of sunshine.

Late 20 times in a row? Millie must have the worst case of ADHD and no way of waking herself up in the morning. Someone get that girl an alarm clock.

Meryl, your fake anger is even less convincing than usual. 

Karen: “It’s no use...there’s just some girls who’d risk their lives.” What’s it to her? Does she actually want to “help” Meryl, or just act superior?

Wolfwood is awful at desert travel. Vash was either brave or suicidal to journey with him. Wolfwood blames Vash, of course. 

Okay, I can see why @badwolferosewrites​ thinks they’re fighting like siblings. If said siblings were on a synchronized swimming team or something. Great comic relief.

Vash says he wants to go to a different town than their ultimate destination. A town where trouble is about to be brewing. This is why I think Vash has the plant equivalent of a “spidey sense” for trouble. How? Headcanons welcome.

Meryl sounds almost proud of Vash and his reputation.

“That’s ridiculous! When I saw him, he was weeping and eating piles of donuts at the same time.” Classic line. Vash must have been miserable. Why was he eating his feelings this time?

The radio announcer sounds like Vash did when he was trying to run everyone out of town a few episodes back.

“It’s not like it’s anything new, this kind of thing happens all the time. Even the most peaceful folk take up arms all the time if someone happens to threaten or kill a family member.” Wolfwood describes Gunsmoke in a nutshell. Being only human, he just accepts it and moves on with life. Considering that this happens in every town, pretty much all the time, and Vash takes responsibility for all of it, how does he decide where to intervene, and how does he make peace with the fact he can’t be in multiple places at once? (Or does he?).

“I’ve always had my suspicions you were no mere mortal, but I never imagined you were actually...a cat.” XD And of course Vash runs off and leaves Wolfwood with the tab. Rude.

“Let’s enjoy the peace while it lasts.” Famous last words. Millie knows it. But even for dramatic irony, that was fast.

Vash is such a sweetheart that even the Grumpiest Old Man is glad to see him. <3

I love how everyone gathers around the site of the sandsteamer crash and hostage situation as if they couldn’t be pelted by stray bullets any time. As if it were just a show to them. Wonder how often they’ve observed scenes like this?

lol at Wolfwood still eating that pasta he couldn’t afford, and yes he 100% deserved that punch in the head.

Did Meryl just shoot Millie’s gun with her foot?! Badass. When/where/how did she learn how to do that? Now there’s a fic I would read.

I love this SpiderVash moment:

Vash certainly hasn’t skipped working out his back muscles. 0.o

I love how utterly blase Vash’s voice sounds while singing about an ocean of blood and genocide. It’s more intimidating than if he were screaming and growling about it.

...OK Wolfwood, you can eat that noodle now. 

Nice rocket launcher, but don’t you think that’s overkill?

Best Wolfwood quote. Actually, one of the best quotes in the anime. I think he’s right. That said, this only supports Vash’s idea that we shouldn’t be the ones to decide who lives or dies.

You know Wolfwood’s troubled by the way he looks like he’s smoking, but the cigarette just dangles out of his mouth. We saw him do this in Episode 11 while deciding whether to go after Milly and the runaways.

“You people aren’t human!” That sounds like Steve... (Even on Earth, dehumanizing people like this is one of the most common ways we justify killing people, or locking them away permanently).

TBH, I don’t think Vash is very convincing. No moral or emotional arguments, just pleading. And letting himself be beaten up. I don’t get it, why does that work?

“You could never understand how I feel?” Wanna bet? In some sense, Vash feels responsible for everyone on Gunsmoke almost as if they were his children, and he watches them kill each other every day.

“The twelve idiots, myself included, were set free.” Ha.

“You’ve got to learn to take care of yourselves. Luck and persistence won’t last forever.” Then you’d be pleased to know how the insurance girls got themselves out of trouble this time. As for Vash, he additionally relies on cleverness, reflexes, using his reputation to manipulate people, and gunslinging skills.

...Um, Wolfwood, surely your mission isn’t over. Where are you going?

Aw, Meryl actually being nice to Vash for once. The ensuing conversation is pretty awkward, though. Not even a friendly greeting? Poor Meryl.  There continues to be 0 visible chemistry between them.

[xadoheandterra]

Series: The Burning of Solheim Title: Brother, Oh Brother, What Fools May We Be Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Chapters: I | II | III | IV Characters: Somnus Lucis Caelum | The Mystic, Etras | Lady Tenebrae | Original Female Character Tags: Fantasy Racism, differing ideologies, before Ardyn and Somnus great breakup, dehumanization, different ideologies, Lucis Caelum Oaths and Bullshittery Summary: Somnus is left to handle Civitas Lucii without Ardyn, and no one is telling him anything about his brother. This, predictably, is a problem.

Somnus woke to the sound of his door being opened. He groaned at the thought of facing the day and rolled himself deeper into the sheets and goose down pillows—all the decadence that House Caelum of Civitas Lucii were afforded. He could feel the tell-tale absence of the warmth that often permeated his bed in these moments, and for a second mourned the loss of his bed partner. Bastard could be as silent as the grave when he wanted, so Somnus doubted it was Gil at his door even as he mumbled words into the pillow tiredly.

“’M not gettin’ up,” Somnus said, although whether whomever entered his room could understand him remained debatable.

A sigh, and then soft tones greeted Somnus’ ear enough to coax him to turn his head to glance at the speaker, surprised at the intrusion into his room. “Lord Somnus my sorrow to bring you forth, but the one I seek I cannot find. Where has my Brother gone if not to your bed?”

“Etras?” Somnus mumbled, surprised. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and sat up abruptly, sheets dropped to pool around his waist. “Shit.” Etras stared at him from beneath the dark hood of her head wrapping, equally dark eyes seeking answers to the questions she asked. “Shit.” Somnus blinked and tried to get his brain to return to some form of functionality, enough that he stumbled through a stuttered, “Uh, Gil’s not—not here. Why would he be here?”

Etras looked at him long, and with a blank expression she said a short, “Indeed, why would I aim to seek out my Brother within your bed?”

“Y-Yeah. Ridiculous idea, right?” Somnus laughed, a fake and stuttered thing that fooled no one, least of all Etras who had the same uncanny ability to see right through him that Gilgamesh did.

“Foolish, more like,” Etras spoke plainly. “One who aims to cover their Truth in Lies is not one whom can be trusted, is that not so?”

“I—” Somnus faltered, and then looked away with the faintest flush to his cheeks. “Gil’s not here, Etras.”

“I can see this plainly,” Etras replied. “Perchance you know to where my Brother has traversed?”

Somnus rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “You know how quiet a bastard he can be,” Somnus said, somewhat bitterly. At Etras still blank look Somnus gestured to the bed with a tired, “The sheets are cold, Etras. He left hours ago.”

Etras pressed her lips together; her dark skin seemed to grow even darker with the growing shadows in the room. Somnus shivered, and darted his gaze about before he glanced to Etras and then stood to his feet sharply. Etras turned away and immediately the room lightened.

“Dress yourself, Lord Somnus,” Etras said sharply and started for the door. “Captain Aegaeus has returned with news of Lord Ardyn.”

“What, wait—they found him?” Somnus said, and the sluggishness vanished with word that they found his brother. He couldn’t wait to remind the asshole just how much he hated being left in charge with no warning—the impending need to find a marriage gift or not Somnus didn’t care. He also didn’t care for being bribed with Gilgamesh’s favor, either—although he didn’t mind Gilgamesh’s favor at the same time, he hated to think it was at his own brother’s behest.

“Not found,” Etras uttered, “but traced.” She left the room without further word, and left Somnus to scramble for clothes to chase after her.

Somnus hopped out of the door in a struggle with his pants as he shouted, “Traced where!?” after Etras. “He’s been missing for weeks, already—the check in was practically a month ago—what trace has been found?” Somnus caught up to Etras with a bit of difficulty—she had long legs and towered over him easily with a stride that practically doubled his and a part of him hated it—and with a hand he reached out to grab her and force her to still from the motion.

Half-a-second later Somnus jerked his hand back with a hiss at the cold that permeated from her skin quite suddenly. He tugged at a bit of elemental fire to burn away the bite of hoarfrost and glared up at Etras who stared down coldly at him.

“Do not touch so familiarly, Lord Somnus,” Etras warned, and Somnus scoffed.

“I will do as I please,” he spat back, then sighed and looked away. Somnus refused to apologize—Ardyn would have made him apologize by this point and he hated that thought—and instead focused on his questions. “Tell me what you know. Gil’s been worried—and he won’t even tell me why which is utter nonsense. This is Ardyn.”

Etras started once more down the hall and Somnus followed her; thankfully she kept a slower pace so he could talk and gesture to his leisure. “More than likely he’s gotten caught up in healing some plague-ridden town that won’t do anything in the long run and completely forgotten to check in to things.” Somnus scowled. “No, the fact that Gil’s keeping silent is one thing. He’s Oathbound to my brother and Bonded to keep his secrets. Fine. It is the fact that Aera has gone utterly prayer happy and remains in the Crystal Chamber begging answers from the Gods that spikes my concern.”

The answers Aera sought Somnus doubted would be given as he already knew them as well as she. She dressed her worry up as petty concerns over whom the Gods have Chosen to be King when they both know that it is Ardyn, really. Ardyn who would rather flounder off and play at being Healer than to handle matters at the heart and home, than to protect the borders of Civitas Lucii from destruction by the Plague that threatens the lands surrounding them. Somnus didn’t like it, but he understood it—the people loved Ardyn for his gentle and smiling ways all without knowing how utterly capricious the elder of them really could be.

Somnus clenched his fists tightly and tried to push the thoughts out of mind. Ardyn missed a check in and that wasn’t normal.

“Tell me, did they find a trace of that Solheim construct he insists on treating human?” Somnus asked, tone edged on this side of bitter.

Etras stopped still and turned to look at him. She said a short, “No,” before she began to walk again. “It is why I seek Gilgamesh.”

Somnus muttered a short, “Good riddance,” and ticked off at least one of Aera’s worries from the list. “Means the thing didn’t kill him, at least. Our Oracle will be pleased to know that.” Yet Somnus couldn’t fathom Ardyn being without the thing, either—his brother wouldn’t abandon it. He had a penchant for keeping things close to him even if they were patently poor for his health. “But—wait. That thing is why you are seeking out Gil?”

“Yes,” Etras said plainly and Somnus reached out for her again. This time she didn’t fight the touch, let him spin her around as he stared at her with wide eyes in surprise.

“You—know something,” Somnus said. “Etras—what—what are they not telling me?”

Etras pressed her lips together and ducked her head. “Forgive me, Lord Somnus,” she uttered, “but the truth of it is not certain.” Somnus stared at her, and waited, and Etras continued. “I seek Brother as you know his Gifts are more tuned than mine own. He shall call forth from the Gate, and then we will know.”

Somnus felt his heart go numb at the implication. His breath stalled in his chest. He uttered a short, “You—you think Ardyn—”

“Apologies, Lord Somnus.”

Somnus ripped himself away from Etras. He curled his hands into fists even as his eyes went wide, even as his heart stuttered in his chest as his blood turned cold like ice. “Ardyn wouldn’t! You must be wrong—he wouldn’t!”

“Brother will Call from the Gate, and we will know,” Etras said, and Somnus swallowed tightly and his lips pulled back into a snarl.

Somnus ground out, “Fine,” and tore down the hall to find Aera. If Gilgamesh were to Summon like how Etras wanted, then Aera must be present as Witness, and Somnus would be damned if they kept anything further from him about this entire mess as well. Hang what Ardyn wanted—hang ‘keeping him safe’ from some cock and bull malarkey that they’ve cooked up in their little minds. Ardyn was his brother and while Somnus may not always be happy with that—or happy with the fact that Ardyn would soon be King with his wandering, foolhardy ways—that didn’t stop Ardyn from being HIS.

They Swore to each other, after all, and House Caelum was nothing if not possessive of those to whom they have Bonded.

[anthracenes]

Passion-Based Learning | Chapter 1

Tags/Trigger Warnings: Non-Con/Rape, Hypnosis, Hypnotism, Abuse of Authority, Conditioning, Dehumanization, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Dom/sub, Brainwashing

[read on AO3 here]

He had first spotted it on his Chemistry Department's bulletin a week ago—set apart from the rest as being the one with the least art, the least color, and the most unassuming font to ever grace an ad. Isaac was just heading back to his dorm from having gotten his third D- in the class when he saw the stark flash of white from the corner of his eye.

A nondescript little flyer, advertising for some home-based, one-on-one tutoring off-campus.

He'd never admit it to his parents, but Isaac thinks he prefers it like that: learning with a real person on the other end. His first and only experience with it was on campus, with the student mentors he had the pleasure of working with last semester, but it was enough to open his eyes to it and never look back. His positive experiences that semester—being heard, listened to, treated as an average person and not another bottom line to satisfy—had made Isaac wonder for the first time whether there was more to learning than what he’s been led to believe all his life: whether classes, academics did not have to be the chores that they were—but something that could be appreciated with others, for their own sake.

He shudders to think what they would say to him now, if only they knew what he was up to. Mingling with everyday folk, and even learning a thing or two from them. But that was what college was all about, wasn’t it? Learning and trying all sorts of things a parent would never approve of, all on your own.

That’s what Isaac is doing now at least, in the passenger’s seat of a cab. It was unfortunate that the student mentors he so loved were unavailable this time around—mainly due to both popular demand and the sheer intensity of classes this semester. Still, all that meant was that he had to expand his search a little more. The two tutors from the flyer had offered help for an impressive breadth of STEM subjects: ranging from Calculus and Physics, General and Organic Chemistry, even to four different branches of biology. He had called the number provided and scheduled for a session for 3:00PM today, for help on Organic Chemistry, and is now on his way to meet them for the very first time. It’s not as if he’s sneaking around doing something awful, and yet Isaac feels a bit of a thrill in this—for being in control of at least one aspect of his life, for the first time.

As he skims the address plaques from the window of the cab, Isaac can't help but wonder about all sorts of things of his new tutors. How old are they? What relationship do the two have with each other? What inspired them both to take on this job? He wonders the reason for their preference to work from a house in the suburbs, as opposed to the luxury of a more established organization. The voice he had heard on the other end of the call last week was Wilfred’s: Caucasian, friendly, probably well in his late forties or fifties. Isaac wonders if it's him who will be tutoring him or the other tutor, Alexander.

Either way, he’s excited to meet them both.

“.. Oh, right here please. Thank you.”

He tips the driver and steps out of the vehicle with his belongings. Walking up to the welcome mat laid neatly under the white wooden door, he rings the doorbell and waits.

The neighborhood here is nice. It’s a quiet little cul-de-sac: a modest row of brownstone houses all lined up one after another, like a looping trail of dominoes. Instead of sprawling green lawns, many of the houses here have small gardens dotting along their front porches—a few morning glories here, rhododendron bushes there, even a plant growing little red chili peppers from across the street. This house in particular had pink, rose-like flowers he’s never seen before, adorning the entrance of the house in hanging baskets affixed to the ceiling.

Isaac hears footsteps approaching from the inside before the door finally opens. To his surprise, out steps a young man: dark hair and dimples, and barely any older than Isaac himself. The young man extended a hand to greet him, smiling.

“Welcome! You must be Isaac?”

He nods, shaking the outstretched hand.

“You can call me Alex,” the young man says. “I’m the other tutor here, along with Wilfred. It’s great to finally meet you, Isaac; please, come on in!”

Alex walks with him through the foyer, down the hall, and into the living room of the house—where all their tutoring sessions will be held. All the while, he’s all smiles as he goes over with Isaac the specifics of their arrangement.

“Tutoring usually lasts an hour, though we can always extend it if need be. It’s just us two for now, so we’re pretty flexible with our scheduling. You mentioned you preferred once a week on Thursdays to prep for your Friday exams, correct?”

”Yes, that’s correct,” he replied, grimacing slightly as he recounts the three awful ones he’s already been handed back so far. He has got to turn that around, and he’s sure he could with the help of this tutoring.

“Alright! Just let us know if that day no longer works for you for any reason, or if you want to add any more sessions in the future. Wilfred and I are happy to be of help, in any way we can.”

When they finally reach the living room at the end of the hall, the young man walks him to the brown leather couch right in the middle.

“Wilfred is in the kitchen right now, making snacks for the session. I’ll let him know you’re here so that we can get started right away. In the meantime, though,” he waves his hand, motioning for Isaac to sit before he heads to the kitchen, “Please, make yourself right at home here.”

Isaac sets his bag down next to his feet as he sits. He’s thrilled to have the privilege of studying with such wonderful people, and in such an inviting environment. The house is unique, welcoming, and charmingly eclectic in its furnishings; he feels he could identify at least five distinct styles and periods from the various things in the living room alone—all married together nicely to provide the overall personal, comforting atmosphere of the house. On the coffee table in front of him was a glass vase, filled with the same, swirling pink flowers he had seen from the hanging baskets outside.

But what catches his attention the most in the living room was not the flowers, or any of the other furnishings, but what sits across from it: all on its own, separated from anything else in the room.

There, positioned against the wall opposite him, stood a magnificent, cherry-red grandfather clock. Isaac's gaze is helplessly drawn to the structure: the swing of its shiny brass pendulum from behind the glass, to and fro and to and fro, with each movement accompanied by the monotonous, dull ticking of each second marching by. Isaac finds himself oddly relaxing to it as he stares on—sinking back into the soft cushions of the couch, letting each of the muscles in his body slowly unwind and let go of the tension he didn’t know he was even carrying with each heavy swing. His thoughts scatter away from him the more he watches the bob of the pendulum until there remains nothing else to pry him away from the hypnotic pull of the clock, lulling him deeper and deeper in unawares.

It was only when Wilfred himself appeared in front of him, setting down a tray of warm cookies on the table and blocking the clock from his direct line of sight, that Isaac was finally able to snap out of his strange reverie.

“Oh—! I… I’m so sorry,” he apologized, frowning. Isaac straightens up immediately, sitting up on the edge of the couch. “You haven’t been waiting long for me there, have you? I have no idea what’s gotten into me…”

“Oh, no; not at all,” The older tutor smiles, dismissing the notion with a wave of his hand. “I don’t mind it, really. I'm just glad you're able to find it so relaxing here."

After setting the tray down, the man extends a large hand out to shake his.

“It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Isaac. Alex had probably told you already, but my name is Wilfred. We both look forward to working with you as your tutors from here on out.”

[cibokilley]

Consider This: Cat Edition

Also: How to Improve Relations With Your Cat

So, I’ve got a bit of a rant to make about how to better your friendship with your pet cat. I’m gonna outline some of the obvious stuff first before moving on to My Opinion™, which means I’m not an expert but probably better than the average layman when it comes to dispensing experiential wisdom.

Here we go~!

As a cat owner myself, I’ve sought out a ton of anecdotal advice as well as expert advice on the raising and treatment of pet cats. Some advice I’ve had to ignore, while others made life so much easier for me and my cat. Along the way, I subconsciously developed a set of standards for my interaction with my cat, which I feel like might benefit cat owners across the board, new or experienced.

Also, please be aware that this is MY take on this subject. Not all cats are the same. Nonetheless, accept the challenge of getting to you know your cat better by remembering these important rules:

(That said, I’m gonna address cats as ‘her’ because ‘it’ tends to create distance by dehumanizing or Othering others, not just your cat).

1. You can judge a (hu)man by the way he treats the help, children, and animals.

How well do you treat service people? How do you treat your children? Or better yet, how do you treat other people in general? Think about that, and then apply it to your cat. You may be guilty of treating your cat like shit, despite good intentions. Ignorance is your enemy here. So, here are some tips on how to respect your cat:

2. Cats aren’t dogs. Stop expecting her to behave like one.

3. Cats aren’t humans. Stop projecting. Cats have cat needs.

4. Wash their feed and water bowls frequently. Just because your cat is willing to eat off the floor doesn’t mean they should tolerate a filthy dish. Doing so will keep your cat free of bacterial infections, gut problems, and disease. If the bowl has a pink or blue rime in it, WASH IT with SOAP. If it’s got a nice green or black colony stain, pitch the bowl if it’s plastic, WASH WITH SOAP if it’s glass or metal. Wash OFTEN.

Same goes for food! Don’t leave food rotting in the bowl. Pitch it when it gets horrid, clean the dish, serve fresh. Also, don’t starve your cat just because she doesn’t like the food you bought for her. Don’t punish your cat like that. Would you do that to a child or a friend? No? Then don’t do it to your cat.

5. If your cat is sitting on your lap or is being carried in your arms, do not suddenly drop or dump your cat onto the floor. I see this all the goddamn time and it drives me nuts. How would you like it if you were suddenly shoved off the couch? Or if someone picks you up and then just drops you without warning? Just because cats usually land on their feet doesn’t mean they should. Heavy landings can stress joints or cause joint and muscle injury, especially if your cat is heavy-set or elderly.

6. Pet your cat nicely. I always see people petting their cats like they would a dog, that is, with a heavy slap on the back of the head followed by a hard stroke along the spine. How would you like it if someone just slammed a hand onto your head and then tried to push you down to the floor? Yeah. Pet her nicely. Stop being rough with your cat. (The exception is playtime, coz then your cat is expecting it.) She’ll probably just keep avoiding you if you pet her like a maniac.

7. Stop punishing your cat after the fact. Unless she is rebuked the very second she does a Bad, your cat will not understand why you’re punishing her. Cats don’t make that connection. It makes you look inconsistent and unpredictable, and she will not trust you as easily. Example: My mother, who is not a cat person, tried to punish my cat for scratching her. This meant ignoring my cat for days. My cat did not know why she was being ignored, and just spent most of the time hiding. My mother was convinced that my cat was sulking because she felt guilty, and that ignoring her would be effective in getting my cat to understand what she had done wrong. I had to explain to my mother that cats don’t operate like that; cats are not like children. Also: stop projecting onto your cat. 

8. LISTEN to your cat. The only reason cats meow is to communicate with humans. Cats have evolved especially to sound like babies in order to get our attention.* Mothers will meow to kittens and kittens will mew in return, but when a cat is making noises at you, it wants your attention. Also, pay attention to the tone of meow she makes.She may be expressing displeasure (which will be followed up by a scratch or a bite!), fear, or she may be alerting you to something (like a fire, or if something in the current environment changes abruptly). If your cat gives you a warning noise, then abstain from whatever you’re doing. Do this, and your cat will make a better habit of warning you before she strikes. Cats that strike without talking have usually skipped the warning because they fully expect to be ignored. 

9. CLEAN THE GODDAMN LITTERBOX. If the smell is offensive to you, imagine what it’s like for your cat, who has a much more sensitive nose than you do. Not only that, but would you use a toilet full of mounds of crap that hasn’t been cleaned, ever? When your cat stops using her litterbox because it’s full, absolutely do not punish her for peeing on the carpet. This is YOUR fault. Clean the damn box.

Advanced Level: 

10. Imagine things from your cat’s perspective. You are a soft, small creature in a giant’s world. Everything is bigger than you: trees, cars, dogs, and especially humans. And most of the time, dumbass humans are not paying attention to anything. All you have are your teeny claws and a bacterial bite to defend yourself with. None of these things will save you if a human suddenly decides to grab you or if you get hit by a car. So, if your cat seems tense or easily startled, understand that she’s a small cat in a human’s world. 

That said, if you accidentally frighten your cat, you CAN go and find her and pet her gently until she’s not so scared anymore. Many people just shrug and leave their cat alone, and assume that she’ll just get over it. That’s not the case -- your cat CAN experience trauma even from domestic events (like turning on the vacuum cleaner or because the washer makes a loud noise), but her paranoia can be abated if you seek her out and reassure her that you’re not mad at her, and that the scary thing is gone now. When you do this, be gentle. Approach from an angle where she can see you, or make a little noise to let her know you’re nearby.

Also try to understand when your cat is suffering. Is she ill? Is she cold? Overheating? Is she sore, or in pain? Cats hide when they’re feeling under the weather, so if she’s suddenly not present or as playful, and if her tail is down, then take her to the vet asap. Don’t let things escalate. If it was your own kid who suddenly came down sick, wouldn’t you take it to see a doctor straight away? 

 Your cat is a thinking, feeling being just like you. Show her some respect. Be the person your cat deserves.

Super Advanced Level: 

Consider the life of your cat. All she’s ever known prior to meeting you was probably her own mother, or if she was rescued or separated too young, then she only knows that she gets passed around, and nobody talks to her. But when you finally come into the picture, either when she’s still a kitten or as a rescue much later on, YOU become her universe. Her entire day revolves around you: Getting up in the morning, breakfast, disappearing off to work for the day, coming home, dinner, then going to bed. Now, imagine: if every single one of your interactions with your cat is a positive one -- for example, petting and greeting and offering treats, or talking to her making eye contact, etc -- then that’s all your cat will know. And having your cat know only joy when she’s with you is something you want for her, right? If you’re always mean to her, or when you shove her away or ignore her, then she’ll think you’re weird and unpredictable and a little scary, and not very nice to be with at all. You’re all she has in life -- so please, make your cat’s life a happy one.

Epilogue:

If you want to develop a close bond with your cat, just spend time with her. Sit down with her, rub her belly (if she lets you, lol), pet her and talk to her, play with her, find out what she likes. Find out what her meow tones are, observe her body language, see what she looks like when she’s hungry or bored or playful or tetchy. Watch that tail, watch those ears. Feel bad about never making time for your cat? Don’t get another cat because you think she’s lonely. She wants to be with YOU, not some other cat. 

Does your cat talk to you a lot? Good, because it means you’re communicating. That’s what friends do. Don’t treat your cat like you would a stranger. YOU are her entire world. Don’t be a shitty world to your cat. 

Bonus: The Tail Code

Tail up -- happy

Tail down -- sad, in pain, scared, angry

Tail tucked -- insecure, nervous

Tail in a question mark -- playful, curious

Tail at medium, neither high or low -- meh, bored.

Tail puffed -- frightened, agitated, startled. Also accompanied by fur raising on end, arched back, ears back, hissing. May also walk sideways on her toes, looks super weird.

Tail down and switching from side to side, ‘whipping’ -- pissy. May strike or bite.

Tail up and wagging, ‘swishing’ -- very happy, content, focused.

Tail up and trembling -- super excited.

Tail wrapped around another cat, or your arm -- friendly, like an arm around the shoulder.

[itsthwippingtime]

what if peter was captured by thaddeus ross (bc ross is a dick) and sent to the raft, and they did experiments on him to try and recreate wanda's powers in him?? also. dehumanization. yeet

my kink you guys always insist on hurting my babe and i’m not really sure why

assuming this is separate from WS Peter

The Avengers & Co go awf on Ross. ofc they have no proof cause Ross is a dick but he’s not stupid; he knows how to cover his tracks, who to pay off, all that bullshit. but they know it’s him. so they go. awf. Tony leading them and they all march to wherever he is and it has the same energy as “i’m not looking for forgiveness and i’m way past asking for permission” (or whatever the quote is) but more, bigger BDE like ugh

and it’s painful. it’s excruciatingly painful for peter. sure the enhanced senses help a little but they don’t really and his spidey sense keeps going off so he’s constantly on edge, on the verge of a panic attack if not currently having one

and he doesn’t want to give up hope. he doesn’t. Tony will find him. they’ll all find him. but he can’t see the sun, he’s been drifting in and out of consciousness, he doesn’t know how many days it’s been; maybe a week, maybe four. he doesn’t know and he’s not sure if he wants to know. he doesn’t know where he is, he doesn’t know if Tony even believes he’s still alive. he doesn’t know what’s happening, if he’ll escape, what happens when they’re done expirnenting, he’s not even sure who captured him.

he doesn’t know where his spidey suit is but, judging by the way the people around him work, they deactivated the tracker before they even started transporting peter to his current location.

he hasn’t spoken to anyone in days; they don’t even look at him. they don’t acknowledge his pressence or existence at all. it’s disheartening, he wants to give up he really does. he wishes they’d just kill him already, end the suffering.

he’s strapped to the same chair for who knows how long, before they finally take him to a different room. theirs a mirror on one wall - peter believes to be a two way mirror - a table in the middle of the room, and a “bed” in the corner. the walls are white and the flourescant light instantly gives peter a headache. there’s no windows.

energy - no that’s not the right word, but he doesn’t know what the right word is - courses through his body. he can feel it all the way from his toes to his finger tips.

they chain his ankle to one of the bed legs, with just enough room on the chain to make it to the chair on one side of the table. it’s absolutely humiliating, being chained up like a dog. peter wants to fight, to scream and yell and rip off the chain and fight his way out. buts he’s just so fucking tired

peter wakes up to a man opening the door and walking in. he’s never seen this man before; he’s wearing a suit and carrying a file. he sits on one side of the table. peter stands, the man gestures to the seat in front of him, indicating that he wishes peter to sit as well. when he doesn’t, the man sighs and begins to speak anyways.

he doesn’t offer a greeting or an introduction, he doesn’t give peter an explanation as to where he is or what’s happening. he begins reading off names. it starts off light. names peter recognizes as teachers, kids from school, Mr. Delmar, Flash. but then it’s heavy. Tony. May. MJ, Ned, Happy, Pepper. All the people peter loves and cares about and it shouldn’t bother him the way it did but imprisonment for an unknown about of days and painful torture do things to a mans brain. he screams, begs the man to stop and he doesn’t.

he leaves peter, a broken image of the man he used to be, sobbing on the floor.

the next day he lists off places. coney island. germany. titan. peter reacts the same way, almost as if it’s against his will. he’s left the same way as the day before.

this happens for multiple days, names and places and triggers listed off with no explanation, no reasoning. just the same man with the same file. they’re trying to break him, peter knows. they’re succeeding, if they haven’t already.

the energy courses through his body, stronger than ever now that the man with the file hasn’t returned in multiple days, leaving peter an anxious worried mess, dreading every minute of his existence.

the next time the man comes in, he starts the same way as always. peter begs him to stop. pleads for mercy. peter slams his fist on the table and it seems like everything exploded. peter is knocked against the wall, the man with the file against the opposite. the man looks shocked but pleased, quickly leaves the room, and peters knows he gave them exactly what they wanted.