#the headache: the handler

[thechaosjunkie]

Ye ole tag dump

[the-meme-monarch]

Do you think when Delilah made Ginger she took a huge ahh bite out of her bc of that bite mark on her

Like she looked at Ginger and she’s like “man. a ginger beard cookie sounds so good rn”

i think she was just drawn like that but i like to think delilah absolutely overthought it. “arthur was she bit. does it hurt. our child audience will want to know if she was bit and if it hurts.”

[empress-ghoul]

Rising Waters, part two

141 x witch!reader | old gods of appalachia au cw: supernatural elements, kidnapping, threats of violence

Unconsciousness was heavy. Your body was weighed down by an unseen force that seemed to tell you, do not wake up. You did not want to wake up. Even in this half aware, half not state, you knew the dangers of waking up. You remembered the hollow men chasing you and the fourth one, the one who appeared to be the handler, stomping you out with a steel-toed boot. 

So yes, unconsciousness was preferred, no matter how heavy it was.

Your dreams felt sticky. Like molasses poured over them, refusing to let anything through. Slow moving images of distant memories. Your mother, and the day you buried her. The kudzu, and the constant threat of being overtaken by it. The Green…

It reached out a vined hand and wrapped around your wrist, snaking the rough skin up your arm and pulling. You were letting It take you, letting It pull you down, when something pulled back. Something darker, more angry and hateful, wrapped around your throat and dragged you away from the soft warmth you’d grown to love.

Kicking and screaming. 

Being awake wasn’t much better than the heady feeling of unconsciousness. Your body was still heavy, but now it was accompanied by a pulsating pain in your skull and a deep ache in your body. The latter was most likely due to the previous night. 

It took you a while to get your bearings and figure out where exactly you were. Chained to a bed in a small room - in what appeared to be a cabin - with one window far above where you could reasonably climb out, with a man sitting in the corner. 

A gasp pulled itself from your throat, hoarse and burning as it came up. You remembered screaming and it appeared you were now paying the price for it. 

“Quiet,” the handler gruffed. “Already got a bloody headache from your shrieking.”

You pulled on your chains when he stood up, your eyes going wide as you frantically tried to kick him away from you. 

“Stop fuckin’ moving!” he snarled, grabbing your ankle. Your body went rigid. “Been a shit few weeks for us, and I’m not in the goddamn mood.”

Speaking wasn’t an option so you just stared, wide eyed and shaking, at the man. He threw your ankle back down on the bed and glared down at you. 

Like the hollow men he was burly. A mass of muscle that wore a flannel that was one size away from bursting at the seams. You could make out what used to be a finely kept beard but had now overgrown and turned wild. He sat down slowly, calming himself with a deep breath while flexing and relaxing his hands repeatedly.

Your words came out croaking and guttural. “You…you don’t sound like you’re from here.”

He turned to you, letting his hands go limp before shaking his head, not entertained by your attempt at conversation. It was hard to tell if he was angry at you or because of you, or if it was something else entirely. But his gaze was so dark, cruel, and utterly unforgiving. He looked ready to strike, ready to lunge and wrap his fingers around your throat and crush you beneath his calloused hands. 

A few tears escaped your eyes and you flinched when he shifted closer. It didn’t discourage him. 

“You should thank us,” he said. “We saved you from the flood.”

No, you wanted to say. No you didn’t. You saved yourself from the flood. You dragged your ass out the window and managed to swim through the creek before getting to land again. This man and his hollow men were the ones to chase you through the woods until you collapsed.

“Thank you,” was all you managed to get out. “Can I have your name?”

Now he smiled. A mocking, poor facsimile of a smile that made you want to recoil and scream. “Not getting my name, witch,” he scoffed. “Call me Price.”

He was smarter than you expected, but it made you nervous that he called you what you were. It wasn’t like you would give him your name, even if he knew what to do with it, but the fact that he knew what you were…

“Why did you call me that?” 

Price shrugged. “Call it as I see it. Not too hard to tell.”

How long had they been watching you? Two weeks at least. That was when the wild game had started to deplete. You recalled vegetables missing from your garden, a few preserves and jars of pickled vegetables vanishing from your stockpiles - stockpiles that were now long gone - and you shuddered. 

“You…you’ve been sending your hollow men to spy on me?” you asked, ignoring the burning in your throat.

At this, Price raised his eyebrows. Perhaps he didn’t know. He clearly wasn’t from the region and might not understand what was wrong with them. Then he laughed.

Full-belly, hearty, laughter. It was a few minutes of this until he wiped the tears from his eyes and caught his breath.

“Hollow men,” he chuckled. He said the term like he knew. “You think that’s what my men are? You think they’re the fuckers who’ve had their bodies emptied and souls ripped out? Almost, but not quite.”

You began to tremble. The only thing worse than believing someone was a hollow man, was learning that they weren’t. Price called for them and you were soon staring at the three men who had hunted you that night.

Looking upon them in the low lamplight was deeply upsetting, especially the one in the mask. You kept your eyes open, unblinking, locked on him in a terrified stare. There was too much hatred and anger behind his eyes for him to be hollow. Now that you could see him you realized if you could see his soul, you’d see something too stubborn to be ripped out and too ugly for anything to want to consume it. The other two seemed to be as equally stubborn and hateful

Perhaps it had been the hysteria of the night before that made you believe they were something else. Or perhaps they simply were. Not hollow men, but something else. You didn’t know what.

“Why are you here?” you croaked. Tears came to your eyes again. They were all in the room now, crowding around the bed you were chained to. 

“Big man fucked us over,” the one with the mohawk stated. “Told us to handle you. Didn’t bother t’mention what you were.”

Big man…these were company men. 

“You’re from Shepherd & Graves Co., aren’t you?” You couldn’t stop the shaking in your voice. “You came to kill me.”

“We did,” Price said. “But the boss didn’t tell us what we were walking into. Or that we’d drown trying to do it.”

You sucked in a shaking breath in an attempt to stop yourself from sobbing. “I don’t wanna die.”

It came out as a whimper and you hated how pathetic it sounded. Of course you didn’t want to die, no one wanted to die. But you didn’t want to die by the hands of these men. These horrible men— these dogs. 

None of them really reacted to you and you half expected them to start tearing your limbs off (or your clothes). Price just blinked. 

“Like Soap said,” he began, completely ignoring your plea for life, “the big man fucked us over, then left us to drown when the storm blew in.”

You didn’t care. If you were courageous, you would tell them that their grudges meant nothing to you. They should have meant nothing. Because the longer you looked at it, the more you came to realize that their fates were slowly being woven into yours. 

“You want to live, yeah?” Price asked. You nodded slowly, unsure what his definition of live was. “Then you’re gonna help us.”

[twinterrors29]

the Jedi gossip mill is literally a psychic network of projected observations and drama

it's also used by Jedi Shadows to make undetectable dead drops of information to their handlers who are on the other side of the planet, allowing them to avoid exposing themselves or their contacts

Anakin hates connecting to it, because he didn't grow up with it so it gives him a headache (the headache is at least partly because he refuses to learn to use it properly), so he doesn't know that literally every Jedi knows about his Secret Marriage

Palpatine and other Sith have learned to discreetly monitor it over the years to gather intel, but have to be very careful to avoid transmitting their own gossip in return or advertising their presence

Dooku uses it to keep tabs on Obi-Wan specifically, and uses it to make one last dead drop in the moments before his death on the Invisible Hand

since Anakin and Palpatine both can't (or won't) tap into the network as they make their escape, neither is aware that there's a Jedi Shadow lurking in Palpatine's office to make it look like there was one more commando droid that had been missed during the Senate Guard's sweep, cutting the head off the snake of the Sith

[delimeful]

a promise softly sung (1)

BTHB: Rendered Mute

Summary:

Stripped of both his ability to speak and his willingness to communicate, Logan has resigned himself to his new position as the latest hopeless case in the intergalactic version of a wildlife rehabilitation center. None of the staff has managed to identify him as a Human or even as sapient in general. It's not the easiest on his dignity, but in the interest of avoiding more pain, he'd like to keep it that way. Now, if only the strangest alien he'd ever met would stop trying to put enrichment in his enclosure.

warnings: severe dehumanization, miscommunication/assumptions, mentions of violence and injury, mentions of euthanasia, references to torture

-

Logan woke to the familiar buzz of the lighting system flicking on, illuminating the cell around him and agitating the other denizens of his current prison.

He didn’t bother trying to turn back over and go back to sleep; even if the other creatures around him miraculously settled down enough to allow it, the harsh noise of the lighting system was at just the right irritating pitch to keep him awake whether he liked it or not.

It probably wasn’t intentional— from what he’d heard and observed thus far, this facility wasn’t anything close to the first one he’d been kept in. There weren’t any training sessions or punishments for bad behavior, nor was he constantly eyed by speculative buyers.

During the first few weeks he’d been here, he’d frequently observed his neighbors through the thin window that ran along the front of the cell, and most of them didn’t show any signs of discomfort or even irritation at the noise, meaning that it likely wasn’t intended as a deterrent.

He felt fairly confident in his assessment. Early on, he’d gleaned that this was the intergalactic version of an animal shelter, and one that seemed to value proper care for its unwilling residents. He didn’t expect that the aliens running it were intentionally trying to agitate the fauna they were trying to adopt out or rehabilitate.

His daily headache arrived regardless, but it soothed what little remained of his temper to know that this particular suffering wasn’t inflicted purposefully, just to be cruel. Ignorance was hardly an excuse, but he’d found it was far preferable to intentional cruelty.

The thought made him snort as he slowly, painstakingly pushed himself up to a sitting position. The Logan of five years ago would never have been placated by knowing his captors were simply ignorant. If anything, it would have only made him more furious; how could anyone pretend to be fulfilling an animal’s needs without doing sufficient research to understand the animal?

Then again, the person he’d been five years ago wouldn’t have accepted the idea of being trapped in an alien animal shelter, seen as little more than a mindless beast. He would find his present self unrecognizable, unable to reconcile with the very idea of sitting sedately in the alien equivalent of a kennel, silently waiting for the start of a day that was virtually indistinguishable from yesterday or tomorrow.

Sometimes, Logan missed being that person. He’d been overwhelmingly naive back then, but even when things had been at their most painful, there had been a sort of thrilling vindication in seeing his handlers grow furious, a heady satisfaction in his own stubborn refusal to give in.

It had been pointless, of course, just as his nostalgia for that vivacious attitude was pointless. His pride had only earned him more pain.

He began his usual morning routine of simple stretches, keeping one ear on the ruckus around him. There likely hadn’t been any notable new arrivals overnight, but trying to guess which creatures were nearby by sound alone was one of the few sources of entertainment left to him.

Most of the closest noises were dog-like, growls or barks or heavy rumbling. Further away, the cacophony took a much higher pitch, full of the whining, squeaking, and whistling of smaller, less aggressive beasts. As always, Logan was glad for the distance. There may have been more daily variety— the more harmless creatures got adopted out much more frequently— but it wouldn’t have been worth upgrading his daily headache to a daily migraine.

He paused mid-stretch, finally picking out the source of his unease. There was a sound missing, no sign of the familiar rattle of the food and water dish being pulled through the bars and refilled. It was almost always the first thing the employees here did after the lights came on, and while inherently degrading, he had found the routine reassuring.

If they weren’t yet offering the morning meal, there were two prevalent possibilities as to why. Logan didn’t think any of the animals had injured itself or passed away overnight, since there was no urgent calling or somber conversation. That meant an alien had come in to adopt as soon as the facility had opened, a rare but not outstanding occurrence.

If he strained to hear past the growing noise levels, he could make out the mechanical chatter of a translator, confirming his suspicions.

To his surprise, the voices seemed to be coming closer. He shifted out of his stretch, drawing his knees up under him and adjusting the makeshift toga he’d created for himself from one of the provided linens. After being actively dehumanized for years, Logan had long since lost any sense of humiliation or modesty, but he still found some small comfort in clothing, and most aliens didn’t think much of it. There were apparently plenty of animals out there that created simple coverings or incorporated materials around them into fur or feathers.

(At one point, Logan had mistakenly believed that one of his neighbors had been another sapient creature after watching it meticulously tie shredded fabric into little strips and tuck it between feathers in a decorative display. He’d wasted a week attempting to communicate in various ways before realizing the futility, and had accidentally unnerved the poor creature enough to get his cell moved to a different part of the holding room.)

It was unusual that he saw a client approach this section of the shelter so quickly. He was well aware that this was the area designated for undesirables, higher-risk fauna that was more aggressive or feral, similar to how humans would take care to isolate dogs that had been rescued from fighting rings or cats that hadn’t ever been socialized. They didn’t often get visitors, and adoptions were even less frequent.

On his end, Logan hadn’t lashed out too severely at the staff or scared potential clients away like most of the others, but he’d still been relegated to this section. He knew why, of course. Suffice to say, his previous “adoption” had ended poorly.

His mood soured at the memories, and by the time footsteps reached his aisle, he’d shuffled to one corner of the cell and seated himself solidly on the floor, leaning his shoulder against the wall. It would be easier to focus on translating what he could of the conversation if he didn’t have to worry about a sudden headrush or the fatigue that occasionally swept over him after standing for too long.

“—great to hear!” The voice of a staff member trailed into proper hearing range, chirping a phrase used so frequently that Logan had no trouble parsing it out in accented Common.

They launched into a well-worn recitation of what Logan was assuming was standard information about the facility and its available fauna. He still didn’t know enough Common to keep up with the more complicated terms, and could only guess at the general meaning.

Frankly, his attention was diverted by the number of overlapping steps he could make out as they approached. Entire family units came in to look around occasionally, sure, but not to this section. Some of the creatures here were vicious enough to give children nightmares.

There was the clicking sound of a button, and Logan watched dully as the front wall of his cell slowly shifted from opaque to transparent, gradually revealing the muted colors of the narrow hallway outside the cell. Most of the staff used the small viewing windows to check in on them during meals, but when a prospective client came to look, they made sure everything was fully visible.

Two figures came into view as the wall turned almost entirely see-through, with only a faint grey tinge to the material. One was a staff member he’d seen often enough before: a small, feathery alien with big eyes, fluffy antennae, and a poncho that draped over most of its dust-colored form. The other was no species that he’d ever seen before.

It was built vaguely like a centaur, with four stubby legs, two upper limbs, and a long, prehensile tail. Nearly every inch of it was encased in a shining, thick layer of what Logan could only describe as goo. It was as though the alien was covered in an outer shell of vibrant radioactive green gelatin, with only indistinct shadowy shapes visible to indicate that there was any sort of underlying structure at all.

It had no mouth or nose, only two flat black eyes that didn’t blink, and a discolored gray spot below them that was uncannily reminiscent of a handlebar mustache. There were two large, shell-like protrusions on either side of its head, extending past the gelatin layer. From the crown of its head to the base of its spine, there was a stretch of brown plantlike tendrils that writhed subtly in place, looking like a horse’s mane if a horse’s mane was also made of rotting seaweed.

Logan’s interest sharpened despite himself. Most of the shine of being in space had worn off somewhere in the first two years of methodical torture, but occasionally he still felt a glint of that familiar curiosity.

The unknown alien watched him right back, taking in every detail of the small room. A thin pad with blankets piled on it in one corner, and Logan sitting slumped in the other. A few simple toys scattered on the floor, largely untouched.

It asked a question, and Logan noted the way it seemed to hum in different tones before the translator echoed its words. Vibrations produced by an internal organ? Unlike humans, it had no mouth to shape the noise with, so the language must have been composed of variations in the tonal humming itself.

The employee chirped back an affirmative, keeping their gaze averted from meeting Logan’s dull stare directly in the automatic way that he’d noticed in most aliens. The staff especially were careful about eye contact, presumably they received some sort of training to reduce agitation in the fauna they were looking after.

It was somehow refreshing, the way the new alien unabashedly locked eyes with him. He hadn’t realized how much one could miss simple things like eye contact until he was suddenly entirely deprived of it.

It couldn’t last, of course. Logan hadn’t followed most of the conversation thus far, mostly out of general disinterest, but he knew more than enough to recognize the phrase that always came up when he was spoken about.

“There are recorded violent incidents with multiple previous fosters,” the employee recited, the cadence of the phrase so familiar that Logan could have imitated it perfectly, if he was feeling masochistic.

Instead, he kept his mouth firmly closed and idly waited for the duo to move on to the next cage.

The new alien shifted slightly, the reflections of the overhead lights warping along its glossy body.

“What are its—,” it asked, the translator adding a questioning tone indicator. Logan didn’t recognize the last word, but the employee’s response cleared things up within a few sentences.

“Not good,” they answered, antennae angling back in a display of upset. “It’s already been here for a while. If we can’t find the source planet and nobody takes it in, we’ll have to put it down.”

Those weren’t the words exactly, of course. The employee was using a strange euphemism, but unlike most of the creatures here, Logan had more than enough memory retention and cognitive processing to notice just what inevitably happened to the creatures that were referred to as such.

He waited for the spike of panic, the natural response of his body to the threat of death, but it didn’t come. His heart rate may have jumped by a beat or three, but he mostly felt a strange sense of distance from it all.

What difference did it make? Could what he was doing now really be called ‘living’ by any stretch of the imagination?

Logan met the alien’s eyes plainly, still oddly numb to it all.

The alien hummed a long, toneless note, one that didn’t translate into any specific words, and then stepped forward and tapped on the clear material with one of its thick fingers. As though everything up to this point hadn’t been dehumanizing enough.

If things were different, maybe Logan would have tried to snap out a demand or insult to cover for his wounded pride. As it was, he only turned his head further into the wall and closed his eyes.

This didn’t remotely deter the alien. The resulting thunking noises continued to be loud and repetitive, and Logan gained a sudden and unhappy empathy for every fish he’d ever witnessed being pestered by a child in a pet store. Even the employee looked uncomfortable, feathers fluffing out slightly, though surprisingly enough they didn’t try to stop the stranger’s irritating behavior.

Finally, Logan turned back to it with a glare, letting his lips curl back to bare his teeth in an odd configuration, half-sneer and half-snarl. There, he’d confirmed it. He was scary and aggressive, nothing more than a beast waiting to be executed. Now, move along already.

The tail behind the stranger began to wag slightly, a rapid back-and-forth movement that was so reminiscent of a happy dog, it genuinely startled Logan for a moment. Not many species would react to a threat display with playful excitement. Surely, the matching body language was just a coincidence?

Without hesitation, the stranger turned and asked something that Logan heard almost daily, though never before about his own person.

“Can I go in and meet it?”

[hihomeghere]

Unspoken thing | Five Hargreeves / Reader

Word count : 1.7k Summary : Part 2 of One Bed, after that fateful night in the hotel room. Five has been avoiding you and now you're called into the Handler's office to take responsibility for the delay in exterminating the target. After a minor injury caused by the Handler, Five patches you up. You can no longer take the tension of the unspoken thing between the two of you. ( I do not own The Umbrella Academy or any of it's characters) Warnings / Tags : Allusions to smut, cursing, mentions of blood and surgery equipment, tension, use of y/n, Aged up!Five. Not requested. Part one here

“Impressive work, Y/n.” The handler said with a sickly sweet tone. She flipped through your completed files. You watched as she licked her finger before turning a page. You swallowed, fighting the urge to cower before her. “I see here that you suffered from a headache during your mission, is that correct?” She asked, cocking her head in false concern. It wasn’t just a headache. 

“Yes.” You answered, not daring to say anything more. Anything you said could and most likely would be held against you. She read the paper, her eyes flying from left to right.

“Hmm, yes it seems that this delayed your extermination of the target?” She phrased the statement as more of a question. Treating you as a child instead of an employee. She clicked her tongue leaning forward, clasping her hands. You bit the inside of your cheek. 

“No.” You tried to keep your voice steady, with no discernible tone. She raised her eyebrows, her fake smile falling.

What delayed the job was unforeseen circumstances, Five was looking for you instead of the target. You had split up, and he couldn’t find his way back to you. Which had then led to a very interesting night in a hotel room. 

You should have known that you would get called in for this instead of Five. Even though it had been both of your responsibilities to eliminate the target. But Five was one of the handlers favorites. 

“Hm.” She hummed, clicking her tongue, “You know Y/n if you let any of our trained scientists here poke around in that little brain of yours. We could figure out why you’re getting those headaches.” She pointed to your head with a well manicured red nail. You froze, all the air seemed to be sucked out of the room. You were transported back to that lab. The sounds of drilling, cold sterile instruments, the excruciating pain. Your screams echoing off the walls. The scientists with bloody gloves and masks.

“No. No one is going to ‘poke’ around anywhere.” You said quickly, shaking your head, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants. The handler smiled, pleased by your reaction. You sighed looking down at your lap. In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8. 

“Well, the offer remains if you change your mind.” She said standing up, you stood up as well. Glad this interrogation was over. “Although if you wish to stay Number Five’s partner, you’ll need to start pushing through your headaches to complete the mission.” She said false encouragement in her voice. Her hand gripped your shoulder as she led you out of her office, her sharp nails digging into your skin. You winced, pulling away from her. She cocked her head as though she was surprised by your reaction.

“You won’t have to worry about finding him a new partner.” You said through gritted teeth, “We’ll manage just fine.” You turned on your heel, striding towards the stairs. Once you were sure you were out of her view you let out a shaky breath. In for 4, hold for 7- Tears started to prick your eyes. You took in a shuddery breath, your hand coming to your heart. You rushed down the stairs, a stabilizing hand on the railing. Your other hand moved from your heart to cover your shoulder. You started breathing rapidly, your heart pounding in your ears. You turned down an empty hallway, leaning up against the wall. A cool hand wrapped around your wrist, Five blinked you both into his office. You would never get used to that, like someone was injecting ice into your veins.

He led you to one of his office chairs, the same one you had sat in when you first met him. He squatted in front of you, inspecting you for any injuries. His cold fingertips landed on your shoulder, he stopped, his eyes meeting yours.

“Who did this to you?” He asked his jaw clenching, you lowered your gaze. He tilted your chin up with his hand, forcing you to look at him. His gaze was deadly, calculated, ready to strike whoever did this to you.

“The handler.” You whispered, biting your lip. Five clicked his tongue, a scowl on his face.

“Of course, I assume this after the mission debrief?” He stood up walking around to the other side of his desk, rifling through his drawers.

“Yes, Five it’s fine-” You said, picking at the skin on your hands. 

“Fine? That bitch dug her claws into you.” He scoffed, shaking his head behind his desk. He stalked around his desk to kneel in front of you again. He rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, his forearms bare except for the umbrella tattoo. Part of you wanted to trace the veins on his arms, to touch him in any way. You thought that being with him physically would have scratched the itch, instead it only fed the fire inside you. You missed his touch, most of all you missed him. You could count on your hands the number of words he had said to you since that night. He opened up his first aid kit, pulling out a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He carefully poured a small bit onto a cotton ball gently dabbing it against the bleeding crescent marks in your shoulder. You flinched but prided yourself on keeping quiet as he pressed the cotton ball onto the wound. You felt the prick of new tears in your eyes, you raised your gaze to the ceiling. Your vision clouding with unshed tears, you sniffled as quietly as you could. Although every sound seemed amplified in the tiny office.

You watched Five work, this wasn’t some gaping wound he had to patch up by himself. It was a scratch, but you could tell he had a system, doing this many times before. His jaw was set with an unreadable expression. He moved like a machine, programmed only to do this task. He opened up a bandaid, covering the wound on your shoulder. 

“Done.” He said, rising to his feet.

“Thank you.” You said slowly getting to your feet. He walked back to his desk, opening the drawer and setting the first aid kit back in its normal spot. Now to leave, he had only done his duty as your partner. Nothing more. He had made it clear he didn’t love you, and made it clear that you were only partners. You were ready to go home, curl up in your bed with a good book. You walked to the door, your hand settling on the door knob.

“Leaving so soon?” He questioned, you looked back at him. He was pulling out a bottle of scotch, two glasses balanced in his hands.

“What?” You asked, your brows pinching together. 

“Can I not ask my partner to share a nightcap?” He asked, recoiling, a teasing smile tugging on his lips. Your heart thumped in your ears, you longed to be close to him again. Longed to be back in his corner where you belonged.

But he wasn’t yours.

“No.” You bit your cheek, avoiding his gaze as you looked away from him. Unspoken things always seemed so romantic, full of tension, the will-they-won't-they of it all. It didn’t feel romantic  right now, full of tension yes. This tension that made you want to tear your skin off, instead of your clothes.

“No?” He raised his brows, setting down the glasses on this desk before loosening his tie. 

“Is that what I am to you? Just your partner?” The words slipped out before you could think to bite your tongue. You clench your fists, grounding yourself with the dull pain in your palms. He scoffed, pouring the golden liquid into his glass. 

“You should know what you mean to me.” He turned his eyebrows pinched together, “I’m not some womanizer.” He knocked back the glass, hissing as the alcohol ran down his throat. Your face burned, shame creeping up your neck.

“Well I don’t know, so what am I to you?” You asked. His chest rose and fell rapidly, he hung his head bracing himself on his desk. 

“Fine.” He said standing to his full height, “You want to know what you are to me?” his lip twitched as he waited for your response. You nodded, crossing your arms. “You’re my everything.” It was like someone had dumped a bucket of water over you. He walked around the desk, you were frozen like a deer in the headlights. He stalked towards you, “I can’t think when you’re around- you-” he huffed clenching and unclenching his fists. “You drive me crazy.” he said softly, his eyes meeting  yours. 

“I-” You began when the door opened, pushing you forward into Five’s arms.

“Oh! So sorry Y/n!” Herb squeaked, pulling the case file close to his chest. You looked up, directly into Five’s face. His jaw was clenched, his stern gaze turned on Herb now.

“No worries.” You breathed, holding onto Five’s arms for balance as you got back on your feet. Once you were able to support yourself again, Five reached out and snatched the file from Herb’s hands. He began to thumb through it, “You’ll be leaving immediately.” Herb clasped his hands together, “Handler’s orders.” You internally groaned, what a fucking cock block. 

“Thank you Herb.” You said walking up beside Five, “We’ll take it from here.” You said with a reassuring smile. He nodded before closing the door behind him. Once Herb had walked down the hallway you put your hand on Five’s shoulder. He turned his head to look at you, his eyes full of emotion. “Let’s get the job done, and once we are back we can pick up where we left off.” You smiled softly, moving to stand in front of him. You reached up and straightened his tie, he relaxed under your touch. 

“Alright, tesoro.” He smiled, the corner of his lip pulling up. You pulled him forward by his tie, softly kissing his cheek. You’d have to thank the Handler for her hand in all of this, maybe an edible arrangement? You chuckled to yourself as you walked toward the briefcase department, Five’s hand resting on your lower back.

[mistydeyes]

AAAAA I HAVE AN IDEA OKAY can u pls do ghost with a veterinarian reader? Bonus points if she’s also a dog trainer that trained task force 141’s K-9 unit for them so all of the dogs love her and she gets scary dog privileges

thank you for requesting anon! loved researching the role of a veterinarian in the forces :) hope you enjoy reading!

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summary: Simon is the definition of providing "scary dog privileges" and he's happy to be dating the Army's veterinarian who has a soft spot for him and dogs.

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!vet/dog trainer!Reader

warnings: swearing, mention of wounds/violence

a/n: omg did you know in pharmacy school we actually learn how to prepare and counsel pet owners! in one of my classes, i learned how to compound a cough syrup for a cat and an analgesic fur cream for a dog :)

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Your pleasant dreams were rudely interrupted by the obnoxious blare of your alarm. Rubbing your tired eyes, you groggily turned over. Despite your boyfriend being on a regimented schedule, you could never relate. “God you need to teach me your ways, Simon,” you said into your pillow, almost as if he was in the room. But as you got out of bed, you faced the disappointment that he was still on deployment. As you dressed for the day and fastened your hair into a bun, you tried to go over your agenda. The morning was filled with vet clinic planning and clinical meetings. You cringed at the thought. It was honestly the worst part of your day. After lunch, you had two patients to follow up with after some shrapnel wounds gained on the field. Just two German Shepherds who were always well obedient for you. You knew they’d be getting some treats today. Finally, your day ended with a combat fitness test. You had perfected this over the years and knew the handlers and canines were up to the challenge.

The morning had gone by slowly. You sipped your coffee as you exchanged ideas with the supply department and pharmacy. They were preparing for a month-long deployment and along with human patients, the pharmacy took care of the working dogs. After three hours of revising, you finally had a full plan and med list. You could feel your phone buzz but as you saw the examination room with a returning patient file on the door, you decided to look at it later. You took your time to examine the dog's coat and checked on the progress of her stitches. “She’s healing perfectly, private,” you smiled at her handler as you gave the canine a treat. She nodded before leading the dog out of the room. Just as you were about to check your phone, you ran into your other patient for the day. Hopefully it isn't something important, you thought to yourself as you gave a similar examination. With the final few sentences, you finished your charting for the day. You sighed contently but soon groaned at the gentle sound of your watch beeping. You closed your office door before running off to your final assignment for the day.

“Alright we’re done with combat PT for the week,” you commanded as your regiment of soldiers and canines relaxed. After two hours of running through the course and showing the basics of taking down an enemy, you felt like they were satisfactory for the time. This was one of your better commands and the dogs had performed beautifully. They would be ready in a matter of weeks, right on schedule. “Be sure to give your companions a treat before you return them home,” you said and the group dispersed. You stretched your tired limbs as you saw them walk back to base. “Just another day in the Veterinary Corps,” you sighed. You loved your job but you realized after a few years that it was more of a balance between training the working animals and their handlers along with the clinical side. You were in the middle of a 15-week-long session to prepare the dogs for the field and the handlers were giving you a headache.

You shielded your eyes from the fluorescent light as you entered the base. “Long day, Captain?” one of your techs asked and you nodded. “Only eight more weeks until I get my evenings back,” you smiled as you walked over to the office space. “I got a question for you,” he continued, smiling at you. “A few of us are going off base and–“ Before he could finish, he stopped in the middle of his sentence. His gaze turned down the hallway as you heard heavy footsteps approach. “Lieutenant Riley,” he said officially and you turned to see Simon approaching. You smiled at him as you heard your tech quickly wish you a goodnight. “You’d think he saw a ghost,” you joked as he walked up to you. Despite his balaclava, his eyes crinkled with a smile. He shrugged and you avoided the urge to reach up and kiss his cheek. “You don’t answer your phone,” he observed and you remembered the text from earlier. “Sorry, long day,” you said sheepishly and he nodded as if you provided a satisfactory response.

“Didn’t realize you were back so soon,” you said and returned his smile. “Me either,” he replied, “found out this morning.” That must have been him this morning. You muttered an apology and he waved a hand passively. “Anyways, I got a surprise for you,” he said, a hint of cheer in his voice. You raised an eyebrow curiously. “You? You have a surprise for me?” you said in disbelief, “Must be a special day.” Simon shook his head at your antics, letting out a chuckle. He motioned for you to follow him and you walked in step. You made casual conversation about your current group in training and the good visits from some of your patients. “You still give them treats after?” he asked, shooting a glance at you. “Still do,” you said cheerfully “not much has changed in 3 months, Simon.” “You spoil them,” he joked back, rubbing a hand along his sore jaw. Must’ve been one hell of a mission, you thought. You continued chatting until you heard the familiar padding of footprints on the base floor.

“Is that who I think it is?” you said excitedly and soon your favorite partner came running towards you. The handler, also a close friend, tried to wrangle him but Riley slipped out of his grasp. In a flash of tan and black fur, Riley rubbed his head against your leg. “Riles! You’ve gotten so big,” you cooed as you brushed through his coat. Despite being named Riley out of his litter, you loved the almost human-like nickname. You petted him affectionately, bending down to greet your longtime friend. “Heel, Riley,” Ghost commanded and Riley sat down obediently. “Oh stop it, Lieutenant,” you responded, hitting Simon’s thigh and encouraging Riley to come back into your embrace. As you showered Riley in love and belly rubs, you heard Simon tell the handler that he would make sure you returned Riley at the end of the night. The private nodded and continued to his own quarters.

“You have enough puppy time?” Simon joked and you shot a look at him. “It’s never enough with Riles over here,” you said happily, continuing to pet him. “Riley did a great job on the field, Price was impressed,” he complimented and you couldn’t help but beam at his words. “Well Price should know I train the best of the best,” you remarked as you looked back down at the wagging dog, “and he is one of the best.” After another fifteen of you playing around and Simon getting in some pets of his own, it was time to bring Riley to the kennel. He looked tired but happy as you walked through the base. You held the unlatched leash in your hand as Riley obediently walked in between you and Simon. “Always such a good boy,” you hummed as both you and Simon brushed his fur.

When you reached the kennel, you quietly opened Riley’s cage to not wake the other animals. He turned around a few times, trying to find the most comfortable position. “If you come by tomorrow, Laswell is considering bringing Riley and Apollo on our next mission,” Simon offered, putting a hand on your shoulder as Riley laid down to rest. You waved to her before you checked all of the dogs were returned and happy. “I’d like that,” you smiled into his touch as you walked out, “Do you know how long you’ll be gone this time?” “Probably 6 weeks max if we get the job done,” he said gruffly, averting his eyes from you. Even after years of familiarity, Simon always hesitated to talk about the job. You nodded and closed the kennel for the evening. It was quiet as you walked back to your quarters.

“I won’t be leaving for another week,” he spoke up, voice echoing in the empty hallway. You turned to him with a smirk on your face. “Oh really?” you questioned, putting a hand on his cheek. His eyes flashed around but you laughed as it was late and the coast was most certainly clear. “I would enjoy some company, would you?” you flirted. Simon grunted but you were prepared to draw this out of him. “Hmm, what was that Lieutenant Riley?” you teased before he coughed out a sheepish “yes.” You teasingly beckoned him to follow you. He let out a dry laugh before following at your heels, just like a loyal companion.

[hydras-true-reaper]

𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐑𝐏 -

CW ; medication, Hydra, thoughts of murder, psychopathic tendencies, extremely dark at certain parts, extremely long starter

mentions in rp either by name or otherwise (not forcing to respond or read) : @your-fav-russian-assassin , @thebestmerc-1 , @exhydras-drakon , @dr-pierre-angora , @im-not-a-pirate , @hydrabucky , @official-buckybarnes

It was a mistake to stop taking her meds . It was a mistake to leave the house and buy a burner . All of it was a mistake . Everything she’d made after talking with Cat about missing her dad was a mistake . They should have never had that conversation , she should have shut it down immediately , as soon as it happened .

Instead the thoughts started to crawl into her mind , her father showing up behind her in the mirror or standing in pretty much every clearing — at the park , in the line for food , even behind people or being people . Yelena asked her a simple question and all of sudden she’d see her dad , Bucky walked past her and his back side was the Hydra uniform she’d grown so accustomed to seeing . Even if she was on the phone with Drakon she wasn’t safe , his voice slipping through the phone to the point that she couldn’t focus on the sentence stated .

She was a hot mess , it only got worse the longer she went without her meds , she even stopped going to her therapist . The act got her fired from her job , which started an even worse spiral . She stopped sleeping , her head was killing her , a headache with every step . That’s what led her here , legs bouncing , burner phone in hand as she sat in a public park — to keep her location from being tracked or at least keep it in the general location . Texting none other than a Hydra member . Worker ? A handler , for the assets , the sick , the damaged . It was back and forth through a random site online , stupid usernames , something made up but she was positive who she was talking to .

What’s worse was the plans she was making , with someone from Hydra anyways . She could have turned them in . She knew Nick Fury , she didn’t exactly have him on speed dial but she was aware of his existence . He probably had access to her original phone , tracked it , that’s why she got a burner . Yelena might be waiting for her to get home , her school work definitely was , but she wasn’t going to do anything about it .

She wanted to kill . She wanted to rid her mind of thoughts from her father , whether that meant killing him again , or someone else to take his place . Her father would be some sick fuck that would force his daughter to kill someone to get rid of him . Force her need to reawaken , her crave , her hunger for the power . Of having someone’s life in her hands , hearing the blood kind their body stop moving and their heart stop beating , watch the light from their eyes truly leave , their pupils dilating forever .

She sounded insane saying this out loud , or rather just admitting it in her mind but she was fucking losing her shit .

[gremlinmodetweeker]

König AU Writing Masterlist

Masterlist

Konig Dump

Happy Tails:

KorTac decided to rent some space in a small animal adoption cafe to provide an animal therapy program for their agents. König came for the snacks.

Intro [1] [2] [3]

Summoned!CoD AU

Reader, or Summoner, was forced by the military to summon a beast of war to use in battle. Unfortunately, Summoner isn't great at controlling themselves, so they accidentally summoned a being far too powerful for any of you to control.

Intro

None of Your Shit

Ever Watchful

An Ant Among Men Among Gods Among Cosmos

Kiss the Ocean Kiss Yourself (First Kiss)

Accidental Meteor Showers

An Unexpected Appearance of Softness

A Question Best Left Unanswered

Sweets and Sours and Maggots

Circles of Stars in Cosmic Waltzes

Writhe Beneath Me

Silly Games for Silly People

A Step Through Time, A Step Closer

A Different Definition of Ash

In The Heart of My Mother I Laugh

Mistakes Meld Realities Together

Paper Trails Leave Bleeding Hearts

Extras

The Best Song for Summoned!CoD

Nice Kidnapper!König

To live is to suffer. Your existence feels meaningless, and you know that if you dropped off the face of the earth, nobody would remember your name. Your one chance of happiness was speaking to a nice masked man at a bar, but your 'friends' had cut off your time and stolen you away. Little did any of you know, he'd steal you back soon enough.

Intro [1] [2]

First Time Out of the Basement

Flickering Shadows Hide the Light

The Possibility of an Open Window

Cream and Honey and Thorns and Nettles

Go Free, Broken Songbird, and Tell Me A Story About Who You Are

Ablutions with Acid

Carve the Fat

The Possibility of an Open Window

Do You Miss What You Had? Do You Miss Who I Was?

Long Pig

Read Me To Sleep, Let Me Drift Away

I Entered Daniel's Den and I Saw the Truth Before Me

A/B/O Universe #1

In a world where military soldiers are forcibly paired up with partners to produce more soldiers, König is paired with an omega O, and has to deal with the new changes in his life.

Intro

My Ever Empty Bed

An Olive Branch Among Thorns

Declivities

Two Can Play At That Game

To Market to Market to Buy a Fat Hog

Aren't You Tired Yet?

I Sit With You And Cry For What Could Have Been

The House is Burning, and Everyone is Laughing and Smiling [1] [2]

ABO Sci-Fi Dystopia Slavery AU

When your grandmother died, you were set to inherit her caretaker slave, an alpha A named König. You struggle to figure out if you like keeping a slave or not. These questions are further complicated when you get wrapped up in a political plot heralding great change through the nation.

Run Rabbit Run (Prologue)

Tiptoe Through the Tulips (Chapter One)

Paint (Chapter Two)

Misc

Kinktober

Ghostbusters AU:

Who ya gonna call? GHOSTBUSTERS

New Recruit

A Conversation with Those Who Laugh at Death

You're a What Now?

Basement Bros

Infection!AU

You've managed an off-grid farm ever since you parents passed. It's been years, but you've endured the winters and grown to be an incredible homesteader. However, that was before the lights went out, and the barracks north of you went to shit.

Monster Trainer!Cod

Reader, code name Handler, is assigned by higher ups to be the Designated Operator of König, a rowdy and difficult-to-control jotunn/nachtkrappe shifter hybrid with a strange history of 'accidents' with his previous handlers. Your best bet to get by is to speak to others on base, but nobody is forthcoming with information.

Talking Heads Roll On Floors

Headaches Split my Skull, Stop Talking

Mischief and Mayhem

A Knot Undone Spills Forth Endless Possibilities

Break Down Build Up

Phantom of the Opera!AU

Inspired by a glorious ask, a version of Phantom of the Opera where König is our beloved phantom trying to save reader from the horrible fate of being seduced by a lover from the past with a dangerous agenda. König is a twisted man, but it takes a dark soul to recognize another, and so he will do whatever he can (from the shadows) to save his beloved songbird.

The ask the inspired it all

A Man Among Ruins

Lights Go Out I Wake Up

Frankenstein König

When you lost König in a car accident, you dedicated your entire life to bringing him back. Now that he's back, you're realizing you never actually figured out what you'd do if you brought him back.

Till Death Do Us Part

Cannibal King!AU

Taking place in the world of Sons of the Forest, reader is trapped on a remote island. Soon she is kidnapped by a cannibal king. Once by his side, she learns that life in the woods isn't as painful as expected, adn that humanity comes in many forms.

King Cannibal Conquer Quest

Rest Well Reign Strong

Fuck Me Like A Bitch So I May Love You More

Stars Whisper Prophecies into Waiting Wells

Sweet Like Honey Suckles, Bloody Like Venison

Look Into the Fire

Local Executioner!König

Living in a small village leads to a tight-knit community. When you father left to be an adventurer after your mother passed in childbirth, you were taken in by the village baker, your uncle. You always avoided the public executions, but your uncle gets sick and can't go out to market to sell his buns on the very day an execution is slotted. You must go, and there you find a cursed outsider who sparks your interest.

Carve Out a Place for Me to Sing

Hope is in Buns, Life is in Stars, Promises are in Vain (Pt 2)

Behind The Dew You Sing To Me (Pt 2) (Pt 3)

Cat Hybrid!KorTac

Horangi and König are sick and tired of roughing it on the streets. They were born and bred to be soldiers, but the batch of kittens that were meant to be made into KorTac's next greatest soldiers escaped into the city, they had to grow up on the streets. They made their little gang, but Horangi and König always wanted more. One day, reader comes along and finds two sick kittens on the street. Unable to stop herself, she brings them in and nurses them back to health. She immediately regrets her decisions.

Intro

Konig and Horangi Refs

Hunters

Horangi Wink

Horangi's Hoard Art

Meeting the Human Forms (First Time)

Cuddling Konig

Move comic

Food Quality Ask

Get Out of There! Comic

Devourer of Treats Ask

Child Locks Ask

Buzzing Static Burns The Silence Between My Ears (Ask)

Art from This Post

[the-s1lly-corner]

hi! big brother astro and little sibling y/n hcs please? y/n is GN, and nonverbal maybe.

even so, y/n is a little gremlin that brings chaos to wherever they go.

Astro x younger sibling!chaotic!nonverbal!reader

I need to stop picking my face oooiuugh it BURNS!

Notes: gn toon reader, reader is a kid here, short and written on mobile, platonic obviously, mostly pre game

CWs: none

He loves you but sometimes you give him a headache- you're loud in ways that don't require you to be verbal. You're also kinda all over the place

Suuuuuure there's human staff around- even if you may or may not be a main and have your own handler you're still... at least being watched. Not to mention some of the others toons help astro in keeping an eye on you

Nearly exasperated in trying to get you to settle down long enough to get ready for bed... please he'll read you a story..! Two stories..! Please!

Sleepily watches you as you draw or do some other craft... he might join in on it so you have a shared activity

He worries so much about you once gardenview closes down.. screw staying in his sight you're not setting foot in the elevator and-

Aaaaaand you snuck in before the door closed...

He nearly shrivels up into a raisin when he catches you chucking something at a twisted to get them away from something.. or someone

[jinuaei]

Yandere!Siren Hybrid!Roach x Reader

OFC I can't make a random ass idea without making it a Yandere x reader LMAO Edit: edited to make it gender neutral :D

Inspired by Bluegiragi's Monster au

Warning: As always 18+ MDNI, Its yandere sweetheart, dub-con, somnophilia, hypnotization, being brainwashed ish? NSFW under the cut

Word count: 870

As the new rookie of 141, you've become somewhat of a precious little member of the team. Considering that you're the only human amidst the big burly hybrid men, it's no wonder they treat you like you're fragile, because lets be honest you'd probably die within seconds if you go against one of them. With that, Captain Price chose a less intimidating member to be your handler, which you're actually glad about since the others are too much for you, well, other than Gaz. Soap is too energetic and rowdy and is always trying to rub up on you. Ghost scares you as well as Konig, they keep glaring at you as if you murdered their dogs. Horangi's eyes-- well, sunglasses keeps following you, but his tail, standing up and all, whips about aggressively so you'd rather not become the tigers next meal. Although Gaz is nice, and never did anything to make you nervous.

Your handler is not as intimidating as you thought, considering his other teammates are. Gary Sanderson is his name, codename Roach as introduced by your Captain. You were curious why he didn't introduce himself instead of Price but you were informed that he cannot speak, which you were understanding of at first but then became awkward as soon as Price leaves because this man is just standing there, staring at you while you try to catch his attention, which eventually worked after a few minutes of waving in front of his face. But oh, if you could only see his expression the moment he saw you, would you have ever thought that your first friend would be such a pervert?

Even with the lack of communication you hit it off pretty quickly. At first he had to use pen and paper to talk to you, but when you expressed how you wanted to learn sign language he was pretty excited, as evident by his shaking and tight grip on your hand. So within a month, you learned enough to have a basic conversation with him. He's always so kind when you do it correctly, patting your head, nodding in pride, or caressing your cheek if he's bold enough. You thought nothing of it other than friendly touches.

But then you started to become more and more tired as the days pass, every morning you would have a pounding headache and sometimes your body also hurts but you thought it was the lack of sleep or the rigorous training the day before. However, red marks start to appear on your body, at first on your arm, but it quickly spread to your chest and more specifically, your neck. You told your concerns to Roach but he would only sign to you that it must be bed bugs, or mosquitoes. So as the kind friend he is, he offered his room and bed for you to sleep in while maintenance cleans out your room.

That night, you lay in his bed, yawning a goodnight as you start to pass out. Humming is heard before your body becomes relaxed and pliant, you're confused, trying to pin point where the noise is coming from but your thoughts are muddled, all except one, submit to me. Submit to who...?

You try to open your eyes but your vision is blurred. The bed squeaks and you feel weight bend the mattress close to your right thigh, and another on opposite side. The humming becomes louder when this happened, as if the noise is now on top of you.

"Relax..." The voice says, scratchy but soft, and against your wishes your body turns to mush, compliant to the man above you.

You can feel the vibrations when he kisses you, you can feel it when he nips at your neck, and you can feel it when his tongue licks at your wet opening. Every time he stops humming your mind becomes clearer, but then you get pulled under again as he whispers commands in your ear. Remove your clothes, open your legs, submit to me. Submit to him, submit to Roach.

Soon the humming turns into moans and whimpers, your body jerking in pleasure when you feel something hot and thick enter you. Roach moaning your name makes you quiver so deliciously, his voice and body making your mind blank. Not even noticing that your drooling now, eyes rolled back, whimpers and 'please please please' coming out of your mouth like a prayer. Finally the crescendo abruptly stops into a wet climax, and the siren falls next to you, still muttering your name.

Without him speaking, your mind clears enough to realize what happened and see the mess that you both are. Bites and marks litter around your neck and torso as a sheen is covering it, as if he was drooling as he tasted you. Warmth is oozing out of your abused hole and you gasp in horror when you registered that it was cum that was coming out of you. That gasp jerked him awake and he's pinning you down with his body, his mouth close to your ear as he hushes and consoles you.

"It's okay... you wanted it didn't you? Yes you did... now go to sleep darling."

[actualbuckybames]

Another scene from that fic I haven't posted. Excerpt of this scene under the cut

---

Bucky falls the instant he steps inside the facility. Vertigo takes hold and then he’s falling, falling away from himself and away from the howling storm trying to tear him apart. He falls and the Soldier weathers the storm, the memories hitting him like hail. It’s just pain. Pain and noise. He’s done more under worse conditions.

He takes the pain and burns it like fuel as he plunges into the depths, puts the noise where it can’t disrupt his focus. The mission is to confirm this facility’s purpose and purge it. No prisoners. As always, no survivors.

A quarter of them try to fight. They die.

A quarter of them try to run. They die.

The rest beg for their lives. They die.

The last makes a stand in the bare concrete room housing the cryo unit. He manages to separate the Soldier from his guns with a kind of stun baton that leaves the metal arm jolting and uncooperative, but on his next lunge, the Soldier grabs the baton halfway down the shaft with his right hand and crushes it.

His left arm resets and locks in for a punch that sends the man crashing into the cryo pod. Though blood streams from his nose, he fumbles at his waist and unsheathes a knife. The Soldier almost smiles. When the Soldier draws one of the tantos from his back, the man pales. He’s fast enough to dodge when the Soldier whips it at his head and just barely quick enough to catch the second tanto on his own blade when the Soldier closes the gap.

Caught up in the flurry of blows, the Soldier lets the grin twist his lips under his mask. This man is good. Very, very good. As good as anyone can get with unmodified flesh and bone.

But he is unmodified. Sweat gleams on his face and he pants with each lunge, parry, and dodge. The Soldier feels no exhaustion and gives no quarter, chasing him around the small space and ensuring he never has any delusions of reaching the door.

For a minute, the man thinks he’s holding his own. The Soldier lets him think that. It feels good to stretch these muscles, to wield a knife in a way he hasn’t since fighting Captain America—

Fighting Steve—

“Перешеек,” the man gasps, and the Soldier freezes. That is what that word means: silence and stillness. The land between shifting waters, immovable and eternal. His muscles lock. The arm’s plates lock. Everything locks and his thoughts break against his body in waves.

The man doubles over with his hands on his knees and heaves for breath. Drops of sweat splatter on the floor, joining the blood he’s shed from the dozen small cuts the Soldier has inflicted on him over the course of their fight.

They’re fighting. Right. But the man said перешеек—he’s a handler. The Soldier obeys the handler.

“Fuck,” the man straightens and glares at the Soldier, “you are fucking terrifying.”

The Soldier cannot respond, but his muscles are starting to itch with a need to move. There is a headache crawling out from the base of his skull with a sound like a scream.

“You killed all of them, didn’t you?” He peers past the Soldier, towards the door. “I don’t understand why they keep saying to bring you back alive. You’re not worth this.”

He knows: the knife in his hand belongs in the man’s eye, in his brain. But перешеек holds him fast. Can’t disobey the handler. Can’t move. Can’t do anything other than watch as the handler steps close and lines up his own knife.

“Fuck that,” the man says, face contorting in anger. “Fuck you.”

He drives the knife into the Soldier’s chest.

Pain crashes through the Soldier’s mind in a tsunami that rips away the shackles of перешеек. Clarity, as it always does even without the burn of electricity, follows in its wake: this man isn’t his handler. He doesn’t have authority to override the mission. The mission is to take no prisoners and leave no survivors and he is still alive.

The Soldier’s left hand slams into the man’s chest and throws him back. Something cracks on impact; a rib, from the man’s grunt and subsequent gasp. With his right hand, the Soldier rips the knife out of his chest. The man’s next sound of pain is cut off by that knife when Soldier drives up into his brain through the fleshy underside of his jaw. A puppet with its strings cut, the man crumples and the Soldier lets him fall. Even lets him keep the knife.

For just a moment, the room is silent, no more echoes of combat bouncing off its bare gray walls. The Soldier’s breathing is the loudest sound.

He spares the next moment to examine the tear in his jacket. The wound beneath is bleeding heavily from him pulling the knife out but, upon inspection, it shows itself to be narrow and small. At the angle he struck at, the blade must have hit bone, to be stopped from going any deeper. Or the man underestimated the Soldier’s muscle density and the force required to rip through it.

The wound requires cleaning, but he halts his steps toward the exit and the medical supplies beyond when a quiet beep reaches his ears. It’s a sound he knows, a sound deeper than anything a knife can reach. He turns and faces the cryo pod. The beep comes again. Underneath it is the soft hiss of air through narrow tubes. His left hand twitches and he crosses the room in three long strides.

There’s a man in the cryo pod. That doesn’t make sense; this is the Soldier’s pod, even if he has no intention of using it ever again.

He wipes at the fog on the small window and frowns at the pale, gaunt face framed with ice crystals that rests on the other side. That frown deepens when the face and its tousled blond hair tugs at frosted strings of memory in his mind. As the monitor beeps a soft and infrequent report on the man’s vitals, recognition gives way to vertigo and the Soldier—no, no, James, Bucky, my name is Bucky—nearly collapses against the pod. Frigid metal bites into what little exposed skin makes contact but he doesn’t feel it because his eyes are fixed on Steve. Steve, who’s stuck in the pod. Steve, who’s stripped of his serum and small and week and frozen. Steve, whose vitals are sounding off ever slower while Bucky’s own heartbeat thunders in his ears.

GET HIM OUT. The order screams through his thoughts and tears up everything else on its way. He’s slamming his fist on the emergency release before he even thinks to move. But the pod doesn’t open. Doesn’t open when he hits the release again. Doesn’t open when he tries the actual command sequence for defrosting. Doesn’t open when he slams his fist into it with a shout. And still Steve's vitals are slowing.

Static bites at his focus and black creeps in at the edges of his vision. All he can see is the cryo chamber. Steve. Steve. That cold—he wouldn’t wish it on anyone. It never leaves. It’s enough to kill Stevie. More than enough.

God, he might already be dead. When was the last beep?

“Stay with me,” he begs the silent figure while he claws at every seam in the pod, hunting for purchase. “Don’t you dare quit, you’re too stubborn to stop now, you hear me? Too stubborn by half. Stay with me, don’t leave.”

He hasn’t heard a beep in—

In—

His metal hand smashes into the side of the pod, denting the metal enough to expose a lip he can fasten his fingers around. He rips the panel away with a roar but it’s just an exterior support. There are so many more. So many.

He’s yelling at Steve, now, so Steve can hear him over the sound of Bucky tearing apart the pod. Screaming for him to stay, to wake up, to stay god please stay, because the monitor isn’t beeping anymore and—

The last hinge gives way with a shriek and the pod door goes crashing across the room. Searingly cold air blasts over him, forcing his eyes into a squint, but he reaches in blindly with his left hand and finds—

Nothing. The pod is empty. Blinking away tears, he stares at the unoccupied restraints in mute confusion, the adrenaline pumping through his veins only making that confusion spiral faster as frigid mist spreads across the floor. A blink and that mist is gone. The cold is gone.

A glance to the right: no vitals monitor. A glance back at the pod: no Steve.

There’s blood roaring in his ears, the ground is swaying under his feet, he can’t get enough air, and he's falling.

---

He comes to after a few seconds, finding himself sprawled on his right side. Another few seconds pass before he pieces together what happened and why his right shoulder and head ache. The wound in his chest is still bleeding. It’s the easiest thing to focus on with his mind fogged by confusion and pain.

Thick drops of blood pool around the fingers of his hand when he brings it near and then fall to the floor. He watches them, transfixed. And then notes how bright red his blood is. A good sign.

With a bit of effort, he gets his left hand braced against the floor in front of him and, fingers scraping on the concrete, slowly levers himself up while putting as little strain on his core as he can. He uses the cryo pod for support as he gets to his feet, leaving a bloody handprint on the metal. The front of his jacket is shiny with blood and the room spins a bit when he stands straight, but it’s manageable once he leans against the wall and takes a few measured breaths. He looks to his right; the cryo pod is empty.

Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?

[bulkyphrase]

WinterIron Rec List

Some of my favorite Bucky Barnes/Tony Stark fics!

Mind the tags, some of these are pretty dark.

This is a gift for my beloved @cloudbells who definitely asked for a WinterIron list specifically.

Mutually-Assured Destruction by Sineala (@sineala) (Explicit, 108,711 words)

Note: Most of the fic on this list is MCU, but this one is 616!

Summary: It's 1966, the Cold War is well underway, and the Winter Soldier has escaped his handlers. He makes it to the United States and shows up at Avengers Mansion. He'd like to defect to the west and join the Avengers. Tony isn't the only one to wonder if the team can trust an ex-Soviet ex-assassin, and yet he finds himself falling for this mysterious stranger, a man who has a shadowy past, who has done a great many things he regrets, and who won't talk about why he doesn't want to be in the same room as Captain America. Over the years, the Winter Soldier has gathered quite a wide variety of secrets. And the secrets the Winter Soldier and Tony learn about each other could bring them both down.

Found Assets by hobbitdragon (@bittylildragon) (Rape/Non-Con, Explicit, 11,927 words)

Summary: What happens if the Asset's cryo-tube was stored in a Stark facility, found by non-Hydra Stark personnel, and turned over to pre-Iron-Man Tony Stark as a curiosity? What happens if this is the second time Tony Stark has defrosted a man, having continued his father's hunt for Captain America and thus found him early in the Arctic? Trash. That's what happens.

More below the cut!

Temptation by The_Winter_Writer (@the-winter-writer) (Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Not Rated, 5,418 words)

Summary: Tony would rather be anywhere but sitting in a cemetery, alone, waiting for vampires. It was cold, creepy and this whole thing was entirely Howard's fault for trying to force the family legacy on him.

The (Not So) Great Pretender by RayShippouUchiha (@rayshippouuchiha) (Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Teen And Up Audiences, 19,587 words)

Summary: “What,” Tony says softly but with a great depth of feeling, “the actual fuck just happened?” “I believe, Sir,” JARVIS pipes up from the phone in his pocket, an unnecessary amount of what sounds like glee in his voice, “that you’ve once again managed to maintain your closely guarded secret identity. Truly your subterfuge skills know no bounds." “You’re an asshole J,” Tony mutters back as he reaches up to rub at his temple. He either has a headache coming on or a blood clot. At this point he’s honestly not sure which he’d prefer. "I did learn from the best, Sir,” JARVIS tells him sunnily.

Tempest in a Teapot by AvocadoLove (@awesomeavocadolove) (Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Teen And Up Audiences, 30,742 words)

Summary: Or, how Bucky watches his best friend die in his place, wakes seventy years in the future, takes up Captain America's shield, joins a group of super heroes, and finally begins the process of forgiving himself.

If I Was Gonna Haunt Somebody, It Would Be You by Linedragon (Sameshima_Shuzumi) (Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, General Audiences, 20,507 words)

Summary: A creepy house they can't leave. A blond giant who can't stay. A promise that they'll be fine if they stick together. One little problem: his name's not Bucky.

Take My Hand (Don't Fear the Reaper) by dracusfyre (@dracusfyre) (Major Character Death, Not Rated, 6,693 words)

Summary: For the ITAB prompt: After Afghanistan tony became a part-time grim reaper assigned to the winter soldier, since Bucky has a messed up head he can see tony.

The Road Less Traveled at the End of the Line by NarutoRox (@muteelfmoonmoon) (Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Teen And Up Audiences, 27,889 words)

Summary: To say Steve is surprised to wake up haunting his loved ones after sinking his plane into the ocean would be an understatement. To say he enjoys it would be just plain cruel. For starters, there’s the ‘minor’ problem of said loved ones being unable to see or hear him, which is bad enough. Things only get worse when he finds out Bucky is alive, but held prisoner by the very people he and Steve had fought against, leaving Steve to watch as HYDRA slowly tries to unmake his best friend. Then there’s Tony, Howard’s genius son, whom Steve loves dearly and may or may not be a little protective of after watching him grow up under Howard’s less-than-stellar care. Steve doesn’t know if they keep him sane or drive him crazy, but he does know that Bucky and Tony are the two most important people in his world. He also doesn’t know if it would make his life easier if they knew each other or not, but it doesn’t matter; they’ve never met, are on opposite sides of the world, and other than being cared about by Steve, have nothing else to do with each other. Until Tony is kidnapped by the Ten Rings…and HYDRA thaws Bucky for a mission…And Steve decides it’s about time these two met.

Unconditionally by Potrix (@potrix-the-queerschlaeger) (Teen And Up Audiences, 5,479 words)

Summary: “Hello,” Steve whispers quietly, carefully brushing some of the tears away from the baby's cheeks. Giving a sniffle, the baby latches on to Steve’s hand, then whines unhappily, hiccuping wetly. “I don’t know how to, you know,” Steve explains helplessly, making something that vaguely resembles a cradling, rocking motion with his free arm. The baby is less than impressed with that, though, and takes a noisy, stuttering breath. Steve’s eyes widen in alarm. “Oh, no. No, ssh, no. Here, c’mon, it’s all right.” Very gingerly, Steve slides one hand under the baby’s back, cups its neck with the other, and slowly lifts the squirmy bundle out of the crib, and against his chest. “There, ssh. That’s better, isn’t it?” In answer, the baby tucks its damp face into Steve’s neck, apparently content to stay where it is. Steve glances around the room, a little lost, but the baby just gurgles, and doesn’t start crying again, which he decides to count as a success.

tell me i'm your national anthem by lanyon (Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Mature, 3,829 words)

Summary: Alternate Universe: Steve Rogers falls from a speeding train and Bucky Barnes is left to carry the mantle and the shield. In the twenty-first century, the Winter Soldier is brought in from the cold and there can be no redemption.

[joemama-2]

A SPRINKLE OF CURIOSITY

a/n: part two to “made with love”.

word count: 1859

toji x reader

tags/warning: angst, fluff

find part one here: made with love

toji wakes up with a pounding headache, like always. he really doesn’t want to get up but he knows he has to. rubbing his bleary eyes, he can faintly make out what room he is in. not his.

he can tell by the cleaner walls, the faint scent of something floral and a woman he doesn’t even remember the name of passed out to his right. from the view of her bare back on display, he can piece together that he had maybe a little too much to drink last night.

toji never stays long enough for them to wake up, so like routine, he finds his scattered pieces of clothing, putting them back on. it feels uncomfortable, dried semen making the boxers feel a little too tight. and like the stealthy man he is, he slips out the bedroom and apartment without much noise.

he doesn't even remember what city he's in, but he can only assume it's not close. having picked up a small job shiu assigned to him yesterday in the hokkaido prefecture, he hasn't been in the comfort of his own place for a couple days now.

he slowly walked to the nearest ATM, pulling out his card to check his balance. and would you look at that? still 0. now he’s pissed. he’s stranded in some city he doesn’t know with no money to get back and the job he was there for in the first place didn’t even pay him. those motherfuckers.

he huffs and pulls out his phone, calling his handler's number. without even waiting, as soon as he picks up, toji is quick to express his annoyance. "where's my damn deposit?"

shiu's tired chuckle sounds through the receiver. "relax, it's a weekend. won't come in until tomorrow."

of course. "then how the hell am i supposed to get back?"

"like you have a home?"

toji's eye twitches, grip tightening around the small cellular device. "keep talking, i'll rip that tongue out your mouth."

with a sigh, the other man responds. "jesus christ, you can't go one day without bitching. i left some cash in your pocket."

"how much?" toji's hand feels for the money, reaching in to grab it out and count it, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear. "is this enough for a train ticket?"

"if you didn't use it already, then yeah."

and another huff before toji closes the screen of his phone, effectively ending the call.

so this was basically the lead up to where toji currently finds himself. after hours of a stiff chair that hurt his ass, stiff air, and the smell of elderly all around him, he practically throws himself into his small, run-down apartment and onto the mattress. there's no bed frame, hell there's barely anything inside, but it's enough for him. the tiny sheet crumples underneath his large form as he gets comfy, a small sigh escaping him.

everything is just as he left it, dishes in the sink, an old takeout box and the counter and the TV playing some who knows what show. damn it, was that on the whole time he was gone? now his bill will be even higher. there's never a moment of peace with toji, even after days and days of where he honestly deserves it.

his eye peak open, hand reaching for the remote to shut the TV off. just as the screen blanks, something instantly catches his attention. one that makes him sit up, despite his fatigue. it looks so out of place, like it doesn't belong. and quite frankly, it doesn't.

the pink box is vibrant against the cold surface of his kitchen counter, standing out like it directly has a light shone on it. it's almost taunting him, enticing him to come closer. and toji has never been one to show a lot of self-restraint. when it comes to you though, he didn't think he could try harder.

but he finds himself standing up and walking to the box. the heart drawn on top causes an eyebrow to raise as he opens it. there's nothing inside. after having got home from the encounter with you, he was hesitant to bite into the first cookie. but he's glad that he did. they tasted better than any other sweet he had tasted. the powder littered his lips and the soft jelly exploded into his mouth like fireworks. before he knew it, all five treats were gone in the matter of minutes.

but the box is still here for some reason. why he kept it and now threw it out as soon as he finished is questionable, but toji chalks it up to being lazy. because why else would he keep it? he sighs and closes the box again.

he falls back onto the mattress, eyes glued to the ceiling that has cracks and some mold growing. he really needs to move out. that thought is quickly thrown out when something else invades his brain. you.

your voice, your face, your stupid smile, and the words you told him. "love." the oh so holy pastries were made with your love. you were obviously joking, but an idiotic part of his mind entertains the idea that you weren't.

his head shakes. what are you doing? why is he acting this way about you? he barely knows you, you just own the bakery he knows. you're nothing more than a simple person who has no business getting involved with him. no, he has no business getting involved with you.

you're too kind, too sweet for him. he can't even see himself with another woman right now, not after his wife. at least, that's what he thinks. either way, there's no way someone like you would be interested in him. you probably have a loving family, a loving boyfriend. all in all, you have something going for you. you have things to lose. he doesn't. oh and of course, the main part of it all,

you're a complete normie.

you probably don't even know about curses, let alone sorcerers. you're probably one of those people who blame it on life's obstacles, the unwarranted negativity. but maybe you're just so damn positive all the time that you do literally the opposite of attracting curses. curses are formed from negative emotions, and you don't seem like you have those. that's what he thinks.

you see, toji has a very bad habit of assuming things. he's here having this entire dilemma on the kind of person you are when he knows jack shit about you. that's wrong, he knows. but toji....toji does a lot of wrong things. a very shitty justification, but toji is a shitty person.

would you think so too?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------——

it's been about a week, give or take, since he last saw you. but no matter where he goes or who he's killing, it's like the simplest things remind him of you. this is unhealthy, honestly. growing attached way too quick and way too easily, he has a lot of things to fix up on.

pink reminds him of you. puppies remind him of you. rainbows remind him of you. sweets remind him of you. and the sun reminds him of you.

so as you can see, you're everywhere he goes. following him when he wants nothing more than to get away. you must be a witch.

he just wants to gouge his own eyes out at this point, anything will save him from the restraints of adoring someone. he likes to think he's strong. wait no, he knows he's strong. but for some reason, you make him weak. and toji hates being weak. he confronts those who try to make him seem like he's anything but the terrifying killer he is and makes them beg for mercy.

which is why, he's currently back in the god forsaken place that started it all.

and what are you doing? greeting him like he's an old friend, like you've known each other for years. it makes him sick.

"you're back." you say, almost sounding relieved. do you always greet customers like this? or is it just him? "did you like my love?"

he wishes you would just stop referring to your treats as your damn love, it makes him want to hate you even more. "yeah." is all he says, a small scowl present with his arms crossed over his chest.

"tooooold you." you chuckle.

he wants to scoff at your cockiness, at your playfulness. can you just stop being so damn cute? silence follows as he stares you down, but you don't look the slightest bit bothered by it. why aren't you? do you think you're better than him?

"i'm assuming you came back for more." he didn't, but you're already completing the same routine as last time, picking a box and filling it. "we have some new ones this week, so i'll give you some of those. unless you really liked the ones from last time, we still have the custard ones, so i can give you that to--"

"what's your name?" he cuts you off, firmly.

you momentarily still, eyes flicking back up to his over the counter, he's still looking at you. as you stand back to your full height, you're slightly confused. however, you tell him. "y/n."

he knows he's in deep shit when just your name gives him butterflies. and hearing you say it? he just wants to grab you from over the counter and kiss you until you can't even rem--

he clears his throat. god, he's too horny.

"y/n what?"

"y/n l/n."

"are you lying?"

you snort a laugh. "who lies about their name?"

you're right, who does do that? "suspicious people."

"am i suspicious?" your head tilts in an frustratingly adorable manner.

no, he thinks. you're anything but. you seem like you wear your heart on your sleeve and you just seriously might be the most genuine person he's met. but then again, he doesn't know you, so this might all be a facade. you might actually be a two-faced bitch. "a little."

you hum softly and nod. with a small look to the ceiling, in thought, you say the most ridiculous thing ever. "well, how about we change that?"

a scoff breaks through. "how?"

and he supposes this entire time, you were filling the box and closing it back with the same sticker and heart from before. "you can get to know me." scratch that, that was the most ridiculous thing he ever heard you say.

"no." is his automatic response.

"why not?"

"i'm not looking for friends."

"we don't have to be friends." you say, sliding the box over to him. "but we can know each other's name at least. and since you already know mine......" you trail off as he gets the hint to what you're saying.

hesitation floods him because you really could be a spy or a fake. telling you his name could be dangerous and what if you try to report him to some authorities or something.

he's overthinking if you couldn't already tell.

but, he's getting older and probably won't have much more time left with what his occupation is. he's taken risks before, so what's one more? and again, you're right. how can he assume you're not really who you say you are if he doesn't find out himself.

so, with a deep exhale, his fingers twitching against his arm, he tells you. "toji fushiguro."

[lynethpearce]

AU: Agent John Juniper

"If all the world's a stage, let's set it on fire."

In the early stages of his acting career, John Juniper joined one of the Agency's espionage and counterintelligence units in the United States, with the goal of finally putting an end to Zor's global monopoly. Operating as an undercover agent, he specialized in information theft, infiltration, decrypting Zoraxis's communication channels, and manipulating them. This more subtle and "civilized" approach allowed him to dismantle Zor's plans without resorting to overly invasive methods or putting more agents or the operation at risk—beyond himself, of course. His role was to provide valuable information to the field team, including profiles, plans, files, and encrypted messages, thereby facilitating the work of those responsible for direct action.

At the beginning of his career as a spy, he was assigned to an Agency handler to be trained in the craft of espionage and receive continuous guidance throughout his missions. The unfortunate choice was former agent Gibson.

One of the few remnants of the Agency’s golden age in the fight against undercover operations and illicit activities during the Cold War (assuming the events of EYTD took place between 1960 and 1990), alongside Reginald Crane, though with a decade’s difference. Unlike Juniper, Gibson specialized in fieldwork, excelling in raiding enemy bases and dismantling operations from within, adopting a more aggressive approach. However, his career as a field agent ended after a severe injury during a failed operation against Zor. Since then, he had been relegated to handling duties, overseeing the Agency’s new recruits.

It wasn't necessary to mention that Gibson wasn't particularly thrilled about having to shape the Agency's new "guinea pig." Aside from his dissatisfaction with the way the Agency treated its personnel, the idea of supervising a rising Hollywood star led to more than a few preconceived judgments about the name "John Juniper." And most of them turned out to be spot on.

John was a character in himself. Charismatic, charming, sociable, and with a sharp wit... but, in Gibson's opinion, also a complete headache. Overconfident, arrogant, whiny, and egocentric. He talked incessantly, almost always slipping in references to his movies or contradicting Gibson during missions, challenging his authority on nearly everything. He didn't take his job as a spy seriously. Always grinning, always flashing a charming smile, or, more often, oozing an unbearable dose of sarcasm.

"This reminds me of the time I worked on the 'Masque of Red—"

"Focus on your mission, Juniper."

Until things got complicated, and that’s when Gibson finally understood why the Agency had set its sights on this second-rate actor in the first place. John Juniper's despotic and narcissistic personality would almost completely fade, giving way to the objectivity and composure of Agent Clover as soon as the objective came into play. He learned quickly, very quickly, and maintained the same efficiency in decision-making under pressure that he did in keeping a smile on his face for the public. His desire to stand out seemed to fuel his courage (or his lack of common sense) when facing imminent danger. John’s theatrical skills were his greatest asset in the field. Even in his humbler beginnings, with no technological support from the Agency, his ability to act and blend in was what propelled him to become a standout spy, earning more than one enemy in Zoraxis.

Although, in hand-to-hand combat, he left a lot to be desired.

"It was just luck—oh, oh, oh. Okay, Gibs. I admit it. You win. I was wrong. Ouch—Gibs, Gibs, Gibs, I give up, I give up, I GIVE UP!"

With the addition of smart masks to his repertoire, the balance seemed to tip even further in his favor, just as the telekinetic implant project was gaining momentum. These masks were designed to record, scan, store, and accurately replicate both the voices and appearances of those Juniper interacted with (individually, of course, but it was something). The rest depended on his acting, and with Juniper’s flawless performance, it became nearly impossible to distinguish the real person from the imposter. A true doppelgänger. This made it almost impossible for his enemies to identify him through his civilian identity.

He went on to adopt several identities to infiltrate Zoraxis: from workers and guards to allies, and even high-ranking members, such as The Fabricator (a role that earned her immediate hatred), and he even impersonated Gibson.

"Well, for starters, I DON'T sound like that."

"Of course you do."

As a result of these small successes, his relationship with Gibson improves exponentially. Gibson starts to value John’s strengths over his insufferable and idiotic attitude, becoming a sort of voice of reason—the only person in the Agency capable of tolerating him or bringing him to his senses. For his part, John views Gibson as his equal, someone capable enough to share the stage and bask in the spotlight. After all, what would an actor be without his loyal co-star, who accompanies him through every one of his adventures?

There would be no Clover without Gibson, that much is certain.

Things are going smoothly for both the Agency and the duo, until one afternoon, a letter bearing the Zoraxis logo arrives at John Juniper’s office, with a special invitation from Dr. Zor.

[reno-the-himbo-turk]

Pain that was the first and last things Reno experienced today. He woke up with a headache and some lower back pain from the day prior's workout routine. He'd gone to classes and made it through the day just fine until after classes it happened. Men came, more specifically men in suits. They'd been looking for him saying they wanted to have a little chat and offer him a job; claimed benefits, perks, a high wage and more but something about them had the ginger on edge. It was the look the bald one gave him the vibes were off and then he spotted it when the man looked to his handler the collar Reno saw it and knew he was fucked.

From there began the fight of his life. He hadn't noticed they'd drugged his cola but he was feeling the effects of it now but thankfully his speed mutation came in handy. The cafe they were at was public so he'd made a mad dash for it but the drug made his mad dash only slightly above average speed and before he could react a hand snagged his arm and tore it out of the socket before slamming him into the ground. Screaming in agony the boy discharged his other mutation and sent a strong electric shock into the other. It worked for a few moments but didn't stop the hit to his ribs let alone the sickening snap. The man behind the bald fucker kept giving orders and despite the bald man's desires he couldn't fully subdue Reno. After what felt like an eternity he had a plan. Using his feeble strength he gripped the others collar and poured as much electricity into it as he could. With that he fried the collar and soon enough the bald man was free and turned on his handler giving Reno enough time to let his speed dissolve the rest of the sedative and let him escape.

Running as his life depended on it he raced out of town his body breaking down the more he ran. It took hours to flee but eventually he could go no more. His body ran on autopilot and seemed to subconsciously guide him. Unsure of where he was and a lack of energy to go on Reno made it to X-Mansion collapsing right outside the gates in a bloody and bruised heap his body finally broken to the point he was unable to continue. As he collapsed he saw someone a plump and curvy woman that he looked at eyes wide as he struggled. "Help...." he managed to pant out before darkness overtook him.