#twisted metal the series so far is basic as fuck

[wack-ashimself]

Know what end of the world movies ALWAYS get wrong?

Work with me here.

They show that all humanity is saved/falls back to major/big cities.

Um, NO. Not at all. (As I have said for YEARS: Big cities are LEECHES and are ENTIRELY dependent on other cities, farms, truckers, etc...)

Think about it. End of the world they will have 3 of the worst scenarios, no matter the city.

1-Pollution. HOLY FUCK. Air (which WOULD improve eventually), water, even ground (for growing) pollution will make living in cities impossible. Think of garbage & feces ALONE. 2-WATER! Shit hits the fan, the water you are used to having imported & cleaned from elsewhere is no longer available, and there's almost NO CITY that can drink their local water sources. I have been told since I was BORN 'NEVER drink out of the saginaw river.' I know people who even refuse to eat the fish caught out of it... 3-Tied with #2: FOOD. Again, NO CITY ON THE PLANET (of mass size anyways) currently grows 100% enough food for their entire populations. Most of it is imported....SO WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO? Skyscraper gardens? You don't even have enough healthy dirt to grow crops for more than a couple years, tops. And, again, still wouldn't be enough for everyone.

Honestly, shit hits the fan, cities are the best to rob blind, and run the fuck away.

How NO fucking movies (or books) seem to get this right is a mystery. I want an end of the world movie where everybody tries to take on a hardened farmer & their family (and they FUCK those city slickers up!)

[t3kandson]

Three Makes Me

Word count; 4,027

Fandom; A.C.E., The Boyz, DKB

Pairing; Reader X Lee Donghun, Reader X Kim Sunwoo, Reader X Yang Heechan

Characters; Lee Donghun, Kim Sunwoo, Yang Heechan, Kang Yuchan. Mentions Park Junhee, Kim Sehyoon, Kim Byeongkwan, Choi Chanhee, Bae Jacob & Lee Sangyeon.

Warning; Angst, Jealousy, Polyamory, Choking, Oral (receiving) & Rough sex.

Notes; Chapter 6/10 Earlier Chapters found here.

Series written for @lidongsa.

Taglist; @ilovechanhee

There was no way on hell you was letting Donghun speak to you like that. How did he think he could throw this revelation at you and walk away. Junhee and Cae’s comforting words not reaching you as you started feeling bitter about this shitty outcome.

What was you suppose to do with it? You would be lying if dating Donghun hadn’t crossed your mind. He complimented you, been your rock, held your tears, kicked your ass when you needed it. But as often as you had thought of it, you was too far in deep with two other men. If you couldn’t choose between them there was no way you could choose a third.

You twisted ignoring the calls of your name behind you, storming out the apartment in pursuit of the asshole who had just thrown you into a complicated confusing dilemma.

You soon found him head slumped into his palm over his car, Chan comforting him. “I fucked it Chan,” he cried, tears flowing to the roof of the car. “No your confused Donghun she will understand, she’s the most understanding woman I know,” Chan complimented. “I basically called her a whore,” Donghun said raising his head to face his younger. “Did you really mean it?” Chan asked looking anxious for his reply. “No you know I didn’t, I’m just so hurt that since they came into her life I’ve been forgotten. Like I don’t count, like I don’t matter,” he said slamming his head back to the cold metal. “Tell her that,” Chan said rubbing his back. “She won’t listen, not now, she’s better off without me in her life,” Donghun said letting the tears fall heavier.

“How fucking dare you throw this shit on me and think you have the right to run off,” you scold startling them both. Silence hit the air as awkwardness attacks you all. “Maybe you should take this some where a little more private, I think you both need to talk,” Chan said smiling at Donghun as he walked past you. “Apologise to Junhee for me,” you said out to the dark night, “I will,” he throws out making his way back for the warmth of the party you was sure you just ruined.

Donghun opened the door to his car for you to slip in which you did silently. The car ride being more awkward then the pathway outside Junhee’s home.

You opened the door to your apartment, Donghun following like a silent shadow. “Drink?” You asked in attempt to dethaw the icy tension. “No I’m ok thanks,” Donghun said sitting on the sofa as you watched him, seeing him in a new light. Those eyes that was your comfort was the same eyes that right now was burning right into your core. Your memories of the sweet cuddles, you had been very intimate for just a friendship. His jealousy in Sunwoo which was fresh from the start should have been a sign. You orgasming to the sound of his voice hit your thoughts as you bit your lips trying to analyse it all.

“How long?” You asked him as he looked at you confused. “How long have you been in love with me?” You asked as he looked to his hands.

The view of the large palms that held you tightly with great comfort made you want them around your throat. You shook your head, how had one revelation have your mind going crazy thinking of him in this way.

“I always have,” he whispered looking ashamed. “Why didn’t you tell me?” You shot out as you sat down. “Because I never wanted to lose you as a friend,” he said as his fingers laced into each other. “But you told me tonight,” you said confused as he sucked his lips in. “Junhee did actually,” he reminded you. “But they was true words that you obviously confessed to him instead of me,” you said tilting your head.

“I would have lost you Suchan and you would be looking at me with disappointment like you are now,” he said tears falling at the corner of his eye.

You moved to sit closer to him resting your hand on his thigh for him to glance your way. You smiled at him letting his features relax, “I’m not disappointed because you have feelings for me. I’m disappointed that you had to call me such horrible things because you couldn’t tell me,” you said as he closed his eyes remembering his words.

“I don’t think your a whore, I’m a bitter old man,” Donghun said biting his lips.

“Do you think I haven’t had these thoughts too?” You said earning his interest to peak.

“Do you think I haven’t been aroused when you’ve held me? Confused even that there was moments I wanted more?” You added as his eyes lifted. “You have?” He asked trying to hold his excitement at your words. “But Donghun Your too late, what can I do with this information now,” you said honestly. “I love Sunwoo,” you added to the pain of witnessing his. “And Heechan?” He asked making your brain process tighten as you thought briefly for your emotions of the very guy who made you feel loved in every way possible. “I love him too but it’s in a different way,” you smiled, “Sunwoo and Heechan are two different kind of people,” you added. “And me?” He asked almost pleadingly. “I love you too Donghun, your my best friend, my rock my everything, again a different love,” you smiled. “So you do love me then?” He asked like a lost child almost. “Yes but I can’t give you what you want, my life is far too complicated now,” you replied. “Because you would never choose me over them?” He asked, his eyes almost impatient for your response. “It’s not that I won’t choose, it’s that I won’t give them up,” you admitted as silence fell on you both.

“Donghun,” you choked as he stood up tears falling from his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said tearfully as he went to walk towards the door. “Donghun don’t leave,” you begged, tears falling from your own. “It was too late for me to tell you how I felt, it’s now too late I’ve lost you,” Donghun said briefly at the door opening it to leave. “What are you saying?” You cried rushing to him.

He turned to face you with his feet in the hallway, “tell me how we can come back from this?” he asked, his eyes closed not even wanting to view you. Your brain becoming numb as your words couldn’t process anything anymore. Sighing he closed the door leaving you to fall to the floor in a pool of tears.

“Right sweetheart snap out of it,” Heechan said rolling off you as Sunwoo came in the bed room with his wash cloth to clean you from their fill of you. “What,” you blinked confused at Heechans words. “What ever that’s fucking with your head either spill it or ditch it,” he said pulling you into him closer. “He’s right baby you’ve been weird the last couple of days. If it’s what Chanhee said ignore him, he knows nothing about us, about this,” Sunwoo said slinking his arms around your waist spooning you. “It’s not Chanhee,” you said as Heechan looked at you with concern in his eyes. “Jacob or Sangyeon then?” Sunwoo asked. “No none of them, different set of friends,” you said biting your lips.

Sunwoo turned you on to your back snatching you from Heechan’s arms as he sat up. “It’s those older guys you hang around with isn’t it, it was that guys party you went to the other day?” Sunwoo enquired. You nodded not feeling you could say anymore words. “What they don’t like what we’re doing?” Heechan asked. “Suchan there just the older generation, this just doesn’t seem normal to them, but it is,” he added leaning in to press kisses against your temple.

“My best friend told me he is in love with me,” you confessed. Sunwoo growled as he kept upright as Heechan’s eyes widened confused. “Donghun?” Sunwoo whispered in almost fear. “What did you say?” Heechan asked also looking worried for where the conversation was going. “That I wouldn’t give you both up for him,” you admitted as Sunwoo signed with relief. Heechan remained in deep thought before looking at you with concern. “Do you have feelings for him then?” He asked as silence filled the air. “If I said I never thought of him in a sexual way then sorry I can’t lie,” you said biting your lip as Sunwoo hugged his thighs closer to him. “So your attracted to him then?” Heechan continued to Quiz. You nodded into the silence as Sunwoo and Heechan looked at each other bewildered with this information.

“Look can we drop it now because it won’t ever happen and now Donghun doesn’t even want to be my friend,” you said closing your eyes before they witnessed the tears that was threatening to fall. When you opened them they both had laid back down hugging into you as you felt secure between them both.

The week had dragged with Donghun not being mentioned by Sunwoo or Heechan. Donghun still hadn’t contacted you or even responded to your messages. Leaving them unread was a bitter painful feeling to endure that had unsettled you since. Your phone bleeped and with little excitement read the message just sent by one of your boyfriends.

Heechan @2.52pm; Dinner tonight on me, be ready for 7pm ❤️

You placed your phone upside down you really wasn’t in the mood for a date night. However, you knew that it wasn’t Heechan’s fault about your mood, you could at the very least make an effort for him.

You answered the door with Heechans favourite dress and make up and was in horror when you saw Donghun standing there. Flowers in his hand and a takeaway had your mind process stolen from you.

“You going to let me in?” Donghun asked pulling you out the brainless home he had thrown you in. You stood back from the door letting him pass through. “Donghun, this isn’t a good time I’ve got,” “I’m today’s date not Heechan,” he cut you off as your mind swirled in confusion. “Heechan came to me yesterday with Sunwoo,” he explained looking for a vase. “We had a conversation and came to a conclusion,” he added fishing the Crystal glass out for the flowers. “About what?” You asked confused, as he went to the draw for the scissors. “About us,” he replied his eyes capturing yours. “Let’s have dinner first and then I can tell you what we agreed,” he smiled as he arrange the flowers that he had stem cut. “Don’t just stand there looking pretty go get some dishes,” he smirked playfully that your heart leapt out in desire to hug your best friend once more.

You set the table as Donghun fished out the Chinese, talking about Byeongkwan and Sehyoon’s crazy drinking contest days prior. He made you feel as if the last week hadn’t happened like you had got your best friend back. But this time those thoughts of holding him more tighter then normal, to feel his body against you, everything that you shouldn’t think of a friend hit you. It was as if his very confession despite not being an option had your imagination floating.

“Earth to Suchan,” he chuckled as he sat down smirking your way. “You look cute when you blush,” he teased with a wink that made your core on fire. “Sorry,” you said shyly as you placed some of the food on your plate. “If I knew telling you i wanted you would have you lose the ability to talk, I would have done it sooner to save the headaches your chatter gives me,” he said playfully. You scowled at him flipping him off earning a deeper laugh as he shook his head amused. “Oh look theirs my princess, she’s back home,” he teased popping some food in his mouth. Though he had often called you princess, the way he said it this time left goosebumps on your skin.

Your silence scared him a little as he continued to talk about what the guys had been getting up to. When you had finished the last mouthful of the feast he had Brought you he looked anxiously at you.

“Suppose we need this talk,” he said pushing his own plate aside as he leaned on the table. “Heechan and Sunwoo came to me yesterday, they told me you’ve not been right since, well you know since when,” he added before sipping his beer. “Anyway we all had a deep discussion, and we all want the same thing, we feel the same things for you,” he said softly. “And what’s that?” You asked intrigued where the conversation was going.

“We’re in love with you, we want you,” he said his eyes widening with desire behind them. “But as I said I won’t choose you over them,” you said feeling sadness in your words being repeated. “What if I told you you didn’t have to,” Donghun said tilting his head as your brows furrowed into the conversation.

“What if I told you if we came to the conclusion as long as you wanted it…. to share you,” he said almost a whisper with little confidence. “So you would have three boyfriends,” he confirmed so you couldn’t get confused. “You’d share me,” you said struggling to claw at his words. “Yes,” he confirm simply as he tensed waiting for your reply. “Why?” You asked as your mind went almost numb. “Because I’ve stepped too far to go back to friendship and I love you too much to lose you,” he confessed. “Donghun you are jealous as hell it wouldn’t work,” you said refusing to accept his happy ever after conclusion. “Your my heart Suchan as long as you love me back and never toss it away then I would bare the burden of sharing you with others,” he said getting off his chair to make his way towards you. “The pain of being without you is far more a burden then a little bit of jealousy,” he smiled cupping your face. “You hate them,” you said still struggling to come to terms with his proposal. “I hated them because I thought they was using you, because I didn’t know them, my judgement was wrong,” he confessed.

“They love you Suchan, they want what’s best for you over there own desires. Heechan’s a really good guy,” he said smiling. “And Sunwoo?” you asked tilting your head knowing the times they had met they barely shared eye contact. “I think he hides behind an image, the reality is more humane then who he likes to pretend he is,” he said continuing to smile at you. “What have they said about this?” You asked head still full of questions. “It was Heechan’s idea, Sunwoo seemed happy to go along with it too,” he replied.

Your memory swiping over Heechan’s set up of the nights date. He really had been ok with this set up Donghun had thrown out. “Look I’m going to go for a walk get some more beers, think it over, chat with Sunwoo and Heechan for confirmation if you have to. If you want this, message me we’re make a toast to our new set up,” he pleaded as he walked to pick his coat up. “But if I don’t hear from you I will go home and take comfort in the beer,” he lightly jokes.

With that you are left with your thoughts and confusions in your apartment. You pick your phone up setting up a new group chat.

You @9.21pm; Ok why? What’s going on? You seriously ok with what you are all proposing?

Heechan @9.25pm; You had the talk then?

You @9.27pm; No shit Sherlock.

Sunwoo @9.30pm; We had to do something, you was miserable.

Heechan @9.31pm; You didn’t push him away again did you? And for the record I am more then happy for an extra person to be added. It’s always fun watching you weak by our cocks 😉.

Sunwoo @9,34pm; You just had to go there didn’t you 🙈. Also I’m fine with it as long as it doesn’t change us.

You @9.37pm; Even if it means less time as I have to spend time with him too you know.

Heechan @9.40pm; As long as I get to watch sometimes I’m fine 😉.

Sunwoo @9.42pm; I’m fine with it Suchan. Only you could get excited about a new playmate in the bedroom department. I worry about you Heechan. 🙄.

Heechan @9.45pm; You love it my chocolate poodle 😉.

Sunwoo @9.46pm; Shut up.

Heechan @9.50pm; So we are agreed you are to call Donghun back and add an extra person to our happy little family? 👏👏

Sunwoo @9.52pm; We are not a happy family. We fuck, family’s don’t fuck! Yes I agree call Donghun back.

Heechan @9.55pm; Stop being a downer! I’m adding Donghun in.

Yang Heechan added Lee Donghun to ‘What the hell guys?’ group chat.

Yang Heechan changed, ‘What the hell guys?’ Group chat to ‘welcome to the family hyung,’

Sunwoo @9,59pm; 🙄🙄🙄

Heechan @10.02pm; Ignore him Hyung he’s just jealous he didn’t have a welcome to the family ceremony. Please tell me our crazy girl called you back.

You @10.05pm; Crazy girl right here you know!!!!!!!!!

Heechan @10.10pm; Good good now go get your man. Donghun don’t forget the condoms we don’t want a who’s the daddy situation right now do we 😉😂

You @10.15pm; OMG Heechan.

Sunwoo @10.16pm what is wrong with you man. Your going to scare the poor man away. Plus we all know she’s on the pill!

Donghun @10.20pm; If you met my friends you would see I’m use to it 😂. Thanks for the warm welcome, though still awaiting an official one from the lady herself.

You @10.25pm; Lady 🤔 that’s a new saying from you 🤣. I was about to message you personally but it seems we are now all open. So that toast sounds good.

You couldn’t bare to read the cringy messages any more and placed your phone down.

In that moment you felt crazy, three boyfriends was going to be out of this world. But you was worried that the third person would force the cracks to start appearing. Deep down you knew it was worth the rush to explore this new confusing situation. Heechan sounded more excited then you. Sunwoo seemed ok, you was sure a third person would calm his concern of an attachment. Donghun seemed to be happy to hold you in any way you could package it up for him. Even though you was worried that the jealousy would be too intense for him.

When the door went you opened it to Donghun’s beaming smile of happiness content. He wasted no time smashing his lips to yours growling in the process. Pushing you to the wall as he devoured you, his hands searched in a deep hungry frenzy as if he had been let out to freedom as a caged animal. His lips ravished you with refusal to stop for you to breathe in air. Grips almost rough around your wrist as it pinned you against the wall. Oxygen depleting, you pushed his shoulders backwards to let the air rush in to your lungs.

“What?” Donghun asked looking concerned, “you know to live we need oxygen right?” you smirked.

“Breathing is so over rated,” he said mischievously before his lips return to deplete you more. “I need to fuck you,” he said between kisses. “I need to make love to you and I will, but I need you so badly right now I am going to combust otherwise,” he said panting while searching your eyes for permission. “Then take me anyway you need to,” you say biting your lips. “Your going to regret saying that,” he chuckles with a wink. “Test me,” you mock as he slides his tongue down the inside of his cheek in almost despair. “Oh I will princess, trust me I will,” he growls.

His fingers finding their way to your pants, he yanks at the material tearing them. “You didn’t like them did you princess? I will buy some new ones,” he promised with his eyes dark with more then lust. He drops himself to his knees as he looks up to you, Desire lurking in his dark brown eyes. Teeth raking up your thighs letting his canines pinch into the skin, he gently bites on your upper inner thigh. Stifling a chuckle he hoists you up by your ass to rest your thighs over his shoulder. While your own presses in the wall, your hands grip his hair as his mouth latches onto your core.

“Shit,” you cry as he suckles harshly around your clit. Eating you as if your his last meal he ravishes you licking up every juice dripping from your core. Tongue slipping up to rub against your walls has your moans start to slip. His deep suction is driving you crazy as you rock yourself around his awaiting mouth letting his nose occasionally bump around your folds. Your high building as his grip around your ass cheek tightens as he drags your heat along his torturous tongue. His growls vibrating up your core is what finally pushes you over the edge, your orgasm around his tongue lets him taste every drop of your high.

Using the wall and his strong upper arms, he hoists you as he stands holding you against the wall. With one hand, he lets his fingers play with his belt and buttons of his jeans, letting them alongside his pants drop to the floor. Returning his hands to help lower you so your legs are around his waist instead, he thrusts against you, his hardened member connecting with your throbbing heat.

Lips crashing with yours as he draws the movement out to enjoy every second of your tongues and lips meeting. Hands positioning himself he guides you down his shaft, cry’s leaving your throat spills as he splits your heat too. You can tell from your struggling core that his girth is quite chunky. He lets the slide continue with a slower pace to help you accommodate him, letting his kisses wash down your cry’s.

Once he knows your ready he has no mercy on you, making the tears fall once more. Harsh thrust against you being more intense due to the wall not letting you freedom to move. The pain doesn’t last long as it’s accompanied with the tingling wave of pleasure. Your walls clenched around his member as deep moans escaped his lips, “I so need to cum in you, I want to fill you up,” he growls as his lips clamp around your neck.

Marking you up with a necklace between his thrusts, his hands rest above them. “I want to choke the prettiness out you princess,” he threatens and his desire fires a heat in the Pit of your stomach. “Do it,” you cry wanting him to own you in every way possible.

His hands grip around your throat gently at first till he knows your enjoying it just as much as he is. The grip tightens as he feels your walls cling to his meaty member fucking you hard and crazy. Thighs trembling you know your high nears and the sounds of your moans spurs his own chase on. The grip tightening around your throat and the hip he is hoisting you up with. A growl leaves his throat and it’s enough to undo you as you crash into the oblivion that he has thrown you in. White stars clouding your vision as you cry through your comedown. It spurs him into his very own as he fills you with streams of his hot seedy cum, condom long forgot.

Panting over his shoulder his lips crash back to yours, peace and contentment on his face as he loses himself to you. His member twitching inside you letting you know you won’t be sleeping the rest of the night.

Previous Chapter. Next chapter

Full Masterlist

A.C.E.'s Masterlist

[villain-enthusiast]

part six to the prince hero story please?? i am dying to know what happens next

i’m so happy you guys enjoy this series! i hope to keep continuing it for as long as i can!

tw: captivity, mentioned torture + abandonment, suicide threat

-

part one . part two . part three . part four . part five

This was it.

Hero’s only chance to escape was right now. Villain was out of headquarters doing who knows what, and the usual post-up guards by his cell had been called up for a mission analysis.

It had been about a week—at least, that’s what Hero guessed—since his father rejected Villain’s ransom request and basically disowned him from the family line. Hero knew that no matter how much he begged, there would be no returning home. But he was smart and he knew he’d find somewhere else to stay.

He would have to get out first to do that, though.

He grabbed his makeshift lockpick from his pocket, a small twisted strip of metal he managed to snatch in the interrogation room when Villain wasn’t looking.

Absentmindedly, his fingers brushed over the still fresh bruises and cuts around his ribs. He caved and gave the safe house locations when Villain threatened to mark up his face. It was the one part of him that was still…him, after all that has happened to him. Untainted, recognizable. The thought of having that last shred of his identity ripped away from him was unbearable.

He shook his head. He couldn’t dwell on that now.

After checking the door to make sure he was still alone, he inserted the pick into the lock of his shackles, shifting it around until he heard a satisfactory click. Hands trembling from the sudden freedom of weight, he worked the pick into the door’s keyhole with some difficulty.

The air felt thick. Cold sweat was beginning to bead along his forehead as he jostled the metal around. Oh god, was he really about to do this? Maybe this was a bad idea. If he got caught…

Shut up and focus, he scolded. He could worry about all of that if it came around.

A click sounded, then the door hinges squeaked.

It opened. The door opened. He could go.

Euphoria slammed through him and he could feel his knees about to give out from the joy radiating through his body, but he forced himself to stay steady. He wasn’t out yet.

He quickly checked his surroundings. The henchmen would be doing their rounds soon, if they hadn’t already started. He needed to move fast.

So he bolted.

He sprinted up the stairs, weaved through empty corridors, narrowly dodged a couple of Villain’s lackey’s walking down a few hallways. He stopped by one of the inventory closets and grabbed a few knives, keeping a small one in his palm.

Thankfully, Villain’s base was no more complex than a large house. Hero made it to the back entrance in no time, but stopped at a small hiding crevasse to catch his breath and his thoughts.

The exit was right there. It was right there. He was going to be free soon.

The alarm suddenly ripped through the building, blaring and ear-piercing. Hero winced as loud footsteps and shouting rang clear not too far behind. They’d found the empty cell, and the headquarters would be going on lockdown any second now.

Eyes trained on the door in front of him, he made a frantic dash for it, heart pounding out of his chest.

He was so close, he could practically taste freedom on his tongue—

The shoe crossed his view before he could even register what it was.

Then he was on the ground, the hard stone scraping his skin as he tried to recover from the sudden trip-and-fall.

“And just where do you think you’re going?”

Hero froze. His eyes slowly tracked over those all-too-familiar polished boots in his view, up Villain’s costume, and then…

Hero swallowed hard, mouth dry. Fuck.

Villain sneered at him, their expression cruel. “Thought you could get away?” In a flash, their hand snapped out and seized Hero’s face, fingers digging deeply into their cheeks.

Hero choked, hands instinctively going up to grip Villain’s wrist—a plea for mercy.

Villain yanked him up to his knees, nearly dislocating his jaw as they did so. Hero whimpered stiffly.

“Don’t you remember what I told you, little Hero?” Villain unsheathed their dagger and feathered the weapon from Hero’s left eyebrow down to his right side of his jawline. Hero squeezed his eyes shut as tears threatened to spill over.

“I said, ‘I am your king now.’” Villain’s voice was right in his ear. “And what would a king be if they didn’t take things away from people?” Their hand tightened around Hero’s face. “I think it’s time I start to work on your lovely facial features, hm?” The bite of the blade dug into Hero’s cheekbone.

Hero’s eyes flew open and he wrenched out of Villain’s grip, scrambling back with ragged breaths. “No,” he choked out. “No. I won’t let you.” He grabbed the knife he had been hiding in his sleeve and, after a split second of thought, held it up to his own throat.

Villain cocked their head, surprised. “Hero?”

Hero gripped the handle tighter. “You-You’re not going to take me alive.” He pressed the tip into his skin as Villain took a step forward. “I’m not your toy. I’m not your prince or servant. I’m not, I’m not going back with you.”

Villain’s stare went cold. “Hero. Put it down.”

“I’m not going back with you!” Hero shouted, shoes scuffing the ground as he backed up into the wall. “Let me go!! Or I’ll fucking do it! I’ll do it, Villain!”

“I’m the only one who cares about you, Hero.” Villain’s voice was dangerously low. “Your family disowned you. The public hates you. You have nobody, Hero. Nobody but me.” Their eyes narrowed. “So put the knife down. Now.”

Hero met Villain’s gaze. He shook his head, vision blurred. His hand moved to make the cut.

Then the room exploded, throwing the both of them off their feet.

All Hero could register for a few seconds was a loud ringing in his ears and an unconscious Villain in front of him.

The last thing he saw was a small group of people crowding over him before his vision went dark.

[panevanbuckley]

Hi! Sorry if you've already answered this before, but do you have a Parksborn fic rec? Or a beginners guide to?

I don't believe I've answered this before? but I'm so here to share my favourite parksborn fics (so far) because honestly they're amazing and I highly recommend them!

the paparazzi ships parksborn AU series by knoxoursavior

The rumors start a week after they started hanging out again, which is a miracle in Harry's books. Peter's just stumped.

fluffy lil' fix-it series with the boys being goofy, what's not to love?

Even in the crowds, I find I'm always looking out for you by Trash_Cam

Nine years. Almost an entire fucking decade since he left New York City. Harry could barely believe he was standing here at all.

Out here on the street like this, he was nobody. Harry Osborn was just a name that belonged to a young, brunette boy, eager to explore and catch up on everything he’d missed. No expectations. No responsibilities. Just the city, him, and–

“Hey, astronaut, you listening?”

Peter.

this was the first fic I read when I fell back into this ship and uGH- the teasing is perfect. super cute fic

Meeting The Team by SlashPrincess15

Harry has the deal with fact his boyfriend has apparently been pseudo-adopted by the Avengers, and the fact they all want to ensure Peter is only given the best in life - even if it means threatening the current Oscorp owner.

honestly this whole concept is so fun, I love webbverse!peter mixing with the avengers fics

Counting Stars by tricksterity

Peter Parker's been in love with Harry Osborn for as long as he could remember, and how could he ever say no to saving his life?

Basically an AU of how TASM 2 should've gone if Peter wasn't a complete idiot and if Gwen didn't, y'know, get an extreme case of whiplash.

omg literally like my favourite fix-it fic probably?? this is basically now my canon for the second movie

keep your eyes on the trophy by finalizer

How to get Spider-Man’s attention: a guide by Harry Osborn.

(In which Peter’s really bad at excuses and Harry’s getting a bit desperate.)

idiots being idiots. peter thinks he's good at hiding things. he's not. harry goes about getting the truth in the most harry way possible

5 times peter gave people a different name (for harry) +1 the one time he didn't have to by censored

peter is really bad at keeping something a secret

^ I don't even need to add anything. this fic is silly and great and I loved it

how the mighty fall by allourheroes

What if Harry and Peter's relationship was a little less subtext. (An alternate version of The Amazing Spider-Man 2 with lots of friendship and sex and teamwork.)

okay THIS series owns me! like. amazing fix-it. amazing writing. amazing plot?? the third fic lives in my mind rent free because I genuinely never realised I needed dad!harry until I read it and my life is so much better for it (and I know it might not be everyone's cup of tea but just in case I'm still recommending it)

Blind by phrazes

Spider-Man saves Harry a few times and they get to know each other. Even though Spider-Man won’t revealing anything about himself, Harry falls in love with him anyway. It’s a good thing too — it’s about time he’s interested in someone other than Peter Parker.

cute fic with pining and fluff!

The Trials of Living with Spider-Man by orphan_account

Peter and Harry have moved in together and Harry's getting used to the whole superhero routine. Until Peter comes home bleeding all over their expensive hardwood floors.

just dorky boyfriends being in love and harry not appreciating blood getting everywhere

I Found You (Lost In The Things I've Done) by Take_Me_To_My_Fragile_Dreams

Peter lets out a breathless yell, the webbing catching on one of the metal rafters before he can hit the floor, sending him back up into the air. He fumbles enough times to make Harry’s heart resemble that of one going into cardiac arrest but eventually he manages to get the hang of it, finding a rhythm that leaves him beaming happily, body twisting to send him back up to where Harry sat, landing neatly on the edge of the wooden platform.

“So?” He grinned. “What do you think?”

“I think,’ Harry glared. “That you almost gave me a heart attack.”

Peter’s grin widened. “And?”

“And…” He drew in a breath, letting out a grudging mumble. “It’ll work.”

He was unprepared for the bear hug that came in answer.

a really cool au of peter already being in ravencroft when harry returns. harry is a competent bamf in this fic and that's what I live for

fear, wish i didn't know the meaning of by notfirewoodyet

“Good,” Peter says against Harry’s temple. “You scared the hell out of me.”

or 5 times Harry scared Peter, and 1 time Peter returned the favor

soft lil' emotional fic that I absolutely adored!

though change will come by theneverending

Harry tries a coffee shop for the first time, and one of the workers is surprisingly quirky.

short and sweet coffee shop au feat. peter and his amazing pick-up lines

Felicia saves the day (As usual) by slenderlof

Harry has a hickey. And a board meeting. God damn it Peter, now, of all days?

omg felicia is the absolute best and she's amazing in this fic! literally just dorky, domestic boyfriends

sometimes, not flirting works, too by thompsborn

“I don’t—” Harry stops and lets out a rough sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’ve been in back to back meetings all fucking day and my brain is not processing words right now, okay? All I know is I’m suddenly in charge of a fucking dog the size of a fucking car and I’ve never had a dog before and I don’t know—”

“Woah, okay, just—” the guy holds up his hands, Harry’s phone still clutched between nimble fingers. “It’s not—it isn’t rocket science, okay? It’s a dog. You’ll be fine.”

Harry huffs. “I’d do better if it was rocket science. I actually know rocket science.”

okay, okay, I'm starting to notice a trend in me just liking fics where harry is smart and knows it. also peter working for tony again because what's not to love about that?! this lil' au is so fun!

Your arms around my neck (and your breath upon my skin) by the_authors_exploits

Any gala is boring; a Stark and Osborn gala? Boring as-

But then there's Parker...

(If only he'd pay attention to Harry)

literally made me wanna write my own gala parksborn fic because it is just such an amazing idea and I need more fics like this in my life!! (feat. jealous harry)

Cat or Dog by neverfinishe

"We don't have time for a dog."

"We're not getting a cat."

"I don't know why you say it like that. Cats are great. A cat won't piss on the floor because you forgot to take it out," Harry says with a sweet smile. He has a point, and he knows it.

honestly I just love the idea of these two being super domestic and getting pets and this fic is so fluffy

Instagram Followed by ProsperDemeter

“I’m bored.”

“You’re a genius, find something to do.”

“Harry,” Peter dragged the name out with a whine and tossed back his head in his best impersonation of Morgan Stark throwing a temper tantrum. “I’m bored.”

“Peter,” Harry mocked. “I don’t care.”

Or, four times Instagram thinks they're dating and the one time they actually are.

super fun little mixed up universe au fic that I loved reading. lots of cute peter and harry moments and matchmaker mary jane being a legend

m'kay I got a little bit carried away, my apologies 😂 (there are even more fics that I totally recommend in my ao3 bookmarks if you dare to navigate that hell hole)

[scribbuluswrites]

The Crack

Well, it’s finally here. What I assume (and hope) is the final installment of this whole series (an entire chaptered epilogue (because i can’t let it GOOOOO)). I cannot believe where it’s gone or how far it has progressed! From just a couple of chapters that had been wiggling around in my brain to a series... That’s how writing goes, right? 

As always, thank you so much for sticking around :) All of your interactions/reblogs/comments are so appreciated. Each one is like a proverbial pat on the back. They keep me going, especially in times like recently where I need a little extra just to make it through the day. 

It had been nearly a year since Coco had suggested forever. Twelve months of pretending that happily ever after was and could be possible for him. The worst part was that he had genuinely believed it. 

“Coco,” Bishop’s voice cut into his thoughts, interrupting his smoke break. He dropped the butt onto the ground and pressed it under his boot before walking over to join his President at the office door. 

“What’s up, Pres?” Coco asked, not liking the concerned expression on Bishop’s face. 

“Angel was looking for you. He seemed distracted,” Bish commented, rubbing at his beard. “I need both of you focused for tonight, so get it fucking solved.” 

Coco sighed heavily. Things had gotten much better with his brother, but there was still tension between them. He wasn’t sure it would ever be completely gone, especially since Angel still refused to relax around Katarina. Even in group settings, he made it clear that he didn’t like Coco’s old lady.

“Yeah, I’ll find him,” Coco groaned, wishing he didn’t have to deal with this before a big club event. Bishop watched him go, still looking concerned over the state of his club members. 

Coco tried Angel’s phone. He wasn’t entirely surprised that it went straight to voicemail. With that at least tried, he headed for EZ’s trailer. 

“Yo, boyscout!” he shouted, banging on the thin metal door. After a few more knocks, Ez finally appeared at the door, opening the inner one so he could be seen through the screen door. He looked disheveled, and Coco wondered if he’d woken him up. “Where’s your idiot brother?” 

EZ huffed a breath and tried to avoid rolling his eyes. He was tired of being caught in the middle between Coco and Angel. 

“Look, he’s got Bish twisted up over something, and I gotta squash it before tonight,” Coco explained, uncomfortably shifting his weight from foot to foot. 

“I don’t know where he is. He had shit to take care of, and he didn’t tell me when he’d be back,” EZ replied gruffly. Coco stood his ground, not at all convinced. It only took another minute before EZ cracked. “Of course he left this for me to do,” EZ grumbled, opening the screen door. 

Coco climbed the stairs, following warily after EZ. He didn’t have the best feeling about whatever this was. He took the proffered beer without any words, leaning his back against the kitchen counter rather than sitting down. The idea of a quick escape felt better than a comfortable seat behind the table. 

“Look, I don’t know how to say this,” EZ started, turning the beer in his hands. The nervous fidgeting was setting Coco more on edge. 

“Just fuckin’ say it, bro,” Coco snapped, clenching his jaw to stop any further words. 

EZ took a deep breath, finally looking at Coco. “Nestor found Happy. He’s not dead.”

The words hung heavily in the air between them. Coco wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react to that news. For the most part, he didn’t care that the Son had been found alive. He was almost a little more frustrated that they hadn’t checked on him carefully enough and had basically abandoned someone from the mother charter. 

“Kat’s going to…” EZ trailed off, shaking his head. Coco felt a pit start to grow in his stomach. He hadn’t even thought about having to tell Katarina that Happy was still alive. 

“Is he back in Santo?” 

EZ shrugged. “I don’t think so. Nes said the intel is good, but Happy is in Mexico still. I kind of assumed he’d want to get back to Charming, so I have no idea what he’s up to.” EZ paused for a few minutes, taking a long swig from his bottle. “You gonna tell Kat?” 

“I kinda have to,” Coco shrugged. “Imagine how bad it would be if I didn’t tell her. You know she’ll find out somehow. She fuckin’ knows everything.” 

EZ snorted. Coco was right; Katarina always seemed to know things. Even the stuff they tried to keep secret from her. She just seemed to have this natural ability to find out what Coco was hiding from her. 

“I will tell her,” Coco repeated, downing the last of his beer. “Just not before tonight. Things go smoothly, then I can figure this shit out,” he continued, pointing a finger in EZ’s face. “Don’t let Angel tell her, either.” 

“Trust me, Angel’s scared enough of her,” EZ chuckled, holding his hands up. 

Katarina bolted out of bed. From the looks of the grey sky, it couldn’t be much past four in the morning. However, the early hour didn’t seem to have deterred whoever was now pounding on the door of her apartment. 

She moved down the hall quickly, her pistol firmly in her left hand. As she got closer to the door, she turned sideways to rest her back against the wall. 

“Kat, it’s me,” Coco called through the door. Katarina wrenched the door open in record time, unsure what state Coco had to be in to disturb the entire building like this. 

“Mornin’ sunshine,” EZ said, a false brightness in his tone. He was holding up a heavily patched and bloody Coco. 

“What the hell happened?” she asked, taking Coco’s other side to help get him into the apartment and over to the couch. 

“Shit went south,” Coco said quietly. His eye was covered with a bloody bandage and he already had a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, his shaking hands trying to work the lighter. 

Kat’s eyebrows raised, and she turned to look at EZ. Without a word, she took the cigarette from Coco’s lips, staring between the two riders. 

“Club business,” EZ said, raising his shoulders. Katarina knew he couldn't tell a non-member about those things, but she still wanted to know what happened to Coco. He was a mess. “Templo tomorrow,” he said around Kat, giving Coco a brief nod before heading back to the door. 

Kat followed after him, missing the grimace on Coco’s face. He wasn’t looking forward to all of her questions. 

“Club business? That’s really it?” she asked, her voice a harsh whisper as she stepped into the hall behind EZ. 

“You know I can’t tell you about it,” EZ replied, sounding almost as exhausted as he looked. “And, you might want to give Coco some time. He’s pretty angry,” he added, turning to walk down the hallway. Katarina wanted to press him for more information, but she knew there was nothing else EZ would tell her. 

She went back into the apartment, locking the door behind her. As she moved to the living room, she noticed Coco was already gone from the couch. She heard glass breaking down the hall, and Kat walked towards the bathroom. 

Coco was standing in front of the now-cracked mirror, his hands gripping the sink so tightly that his knuckles were white. An orange bottle of prescription pills was open on the floor, likely the cause of the crack in the glass. 

“Get out.” Coco’s head was bent down, his hair falling over his face. Even at this distance Kat could imagine the twisted anger on his face, and she could clearly hear the vitriol in his voice. 

Katarina didn’t say anything in reply, but she bent down and began gathering up the pills strewn across the tile floor. Coco swiped his foot across the floor, pushing the pills out of her reach. 

“I said get the fuck out,” he repeated, his words much louder. 

Kat took a deep breath, reminding herself to stay calm. There were plenty of things she wanted to tell Coco, but she knew they would only make this worse. At the least, they could have this fight after he had a good night’s sleep and some time to heal. 

She stood up slowly, waiting until Coco finally glanced at her in the mirror. Whatever he had been about to shout at her withered on his lips at the expression in her eyes. Kat wouldn’t yell back, but she certainly wanted Coco to have to look at her. 

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” he finally admitted, his voice barely a whisper. 

Kat held his eyes in the mirror for a full minute before turning and leaving the room in silence. She got a blanket and pillow out of the linen closet, dropping them on the couch before retiring to their bedroom. She shut the door behind her, hoping Coco would get the message. 

Tags: @gemini0410 @scuzmunkie @woahitslucyylu @chibsytelford @withmyteeth

(my taglist is so far out of date. If you’d like to be added or dropped, please let me know!)

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

@a-reader-and-a-writer asked: For a Rick x Dee request, how about a role reversal? Something went wrong while Rick was in the army, he disobeyed orders and was dishonorably discharged. He becomes a Bloodsport/ Deadshot type villain/anti-hero and gets put into Belle Reve where Dee is in charge of Task Force X.

Criminal!Rick AU: Make You See Red (AU!Rick Flag x AU!OC)

Summary: Rick Flag didn't mean to become this. A criminal. But there he was none the less: arrested and incarcerated in Belle Reve. A place only reserved for the truly diabolical. And when he’s offered a place on Task Force X, a chance to shave a few years off his sentence, he takes it. Only problem is: he can’t stand commanding officer Colonel Delphia Holman.

Pairing: Criminal!Rick Flag x Colonel!OC (Delphia Holman)

Word Count: 12395

Warnings: language, canon typical violence, blood/gun mention, injury, a few kisses, enemies to lovers slow burn, minor character death, pregnancy mention, if i missed anything let me know

if i go masterlist

A/N: listen, i basically have an entire fic series laid out for these two that i ain't mad about so if you would like to see more of them please let me know

Also thank you to @a-reader-and-a-writer and @reysorigins for beta reading!

How the fuck did this happen? Rick asked himself as the transport truck shook and creaked. He twisted his wrists in the metal cuffs locked around them, linked with a chain to the matching ones on his ankles. They were certainly tight enough. He wasn’t getting out of them anytime soon. He looked up from the cuffs and his lips pulled down in disgust. He kept forgetting about the thing covered in hair that was sitting across from him. Weasel the officers said it was. Though that was a conversation he had eavesdropped on.

One second he was about to make the kill shot on some politician in Gotham and the next he was being tackled to the ground by a man in a bat costume. One second he was a sergeant in the Army and the next he was taking dirty money from the worst criminals in the country in exchange for killings and beatings. One second he just wanted to do the right thing and the next thing he knew he didn’t even know what the right thing was anymore — all he knew was the next job and getting paid.

Shit. How did this happen?

And now he was arrested and being carted off to…wherever they were going. Well, he had a good guess as to where — just not an exact location. Anytime he asked all he got was a glare and the brandishing of a riot stick. It was far away from Gotham, that much he was sure of. They had been driving for hours and he felt like he was going to piss himself.

“Hey man, I gotta take a leak,” Rick said.

The officer glared at him again and Rick cocked a brow, unimpressed.

“We’re almost there. Just hold it.”

“Alright, fine.” He readjusted the way he was sitting to relieve some of the pressure on his bladder. “Just know s’not my fault when the inside of your truck gets all wet.”

After a few minutes, the truck rumbled to a halt, Rick rocking back and forth as the heavily armored vehicle was thrown into park. They weren’t kidding about being nearly at their location then. The double doors to the truck were thrown open and Rick squinted against the sudden light. It had been nearly eight hours of near darkness. The sun nearly burned as he was dragged to his feet and pushed out of the open doors.

Rick gasped. The air was thick and hot, like a shocking sludge to the lungs. Immediately he felt the humid air cling to his skin, making his already heavy tactical suit feel like it weighed 100 pounds. Somewhere south then, the wetlands maybe. He continued to squint against the harsh rays of the sun, allowing whoever was tugging on him to move him however they wanted. In the background, he heard that Weasel thing screaming in protest.

Once his eyes finally adjusted to the light, he blinked up at a massive concrete building surrounded by a double layer fence of barbed wire. There were watch towers every few yards across the top, guards with automatic weapons in constant rotation. Behind the structure was swamplands for miles, so he was right about the general location. On instinct he tugged at the firm grip around his bicep and he got hit in the gut with a riot baton. He grunted as he doubled up in pain, but he kept moving forward — kept getting pulled towards the giant metal gates before him.

He was shoved through the gates and then the front door where he was greeted by a man behind a desk with a wide, satisfied grin on his face. It was like a nightmare. One of those ones that just seemed too real, one of those ones he desperately wanted to wake up from. But it was all too real as he was dragged in front of the desk and his fingerprints were taken.

“Welcome to Belle Reve Penitentiary,” the man said, voice whispery and course, “Deadknight.”

Fuck. How the fuck did he get here?

They stripped him of his suit and took it to God knows where. They documented his tattoos for his file, just in case they found his body in a hole somewhere in here and those were the only thing left to identify him. Then he was given the orange shirt and pants, optional white undershirt for when it got cold and a pair of Crocs. Jesus, did it have to be Crocs? After his mugshot, a bedroll was slapped into his arms and he was escorted into the actual prison.

It was a fast process, a well oiled machine. One that Rick felt like a spec inside of as he was moved along through each of the steps of his processing. And to think, it only took a few minutes of paperwork and procedure in order to spend the rest of his life there. He didn’t even know how long his sentence was. He was sure it was life, maybe even a few life sentences stacked on top of one another. He had killed a lot of people, had hurt more than that, he was sure. It was what he deserved — but just because he deserved it didn’t mean he exactly wanted this kind of punishment.

“You get meals twice a day — both at six,” the guard explained coldly as they walked through the halls, passing by locked up prisoners that stared and yelled at them as they went, “Depending on behavior and danger level the time restricted to your cell is only at night. Rec time depends on behavior also, but we have activity options. Weights. Time outside. Crafts. One phone call a month. Visitors are through glass only. If you pick a fight, if you make a mess, if you even breathe funny we will not hesitate to send you to solitary. Understood?”

“Yeah, clear as pie,” Rick said absently as he looked inside a few of the cells.

The two of them came to a stop in front of a metal door with an armed guard on either side. The guard, several inches shorter than Rick, put his hands on his hips as he smiled maliciously up at him.

“Oh, so you’re a funny guy, huh?” he asked.

“Eh, sometimes,” Rick answered with a slight shrug.

“Well, I don’t like funny guys.” The guard put a finger to Rick’s chest and he watched, brow raised, as the guard gulped nervously. “So you better watch your tone with me, Deadknight — or I’ll make your life here a living hell.”

“Duly noted.”

The guard glared up at him one last time before turning to the door and unlocking it with a buzz. “Get in there.”

“Thanks for the tour,” Rick mumbled as he passed through the threshold.

He heard the guard growl in frustration before the metal door was slammed shut behind him and he chuckled. Classic. He always enjoyed pressing people’s buttons, pushing them until he saw how they ticked. Some people said that made him an asshole. He always disagreed, saying that it made him good at his job.

The room he was in now was clearly the main block of the prison. Maybe the cafeteria. There were massive concrete pillars keeping up the vaulted ceilings and hallways branched off in all directions leading to open and empty cells. A metal walkway lined the walls several feet in the air, guards roaming with rifles held tight in their grasps. There were tables spread out across the floor, each one of them nearly filled to the brim with orange clad inmates. And it seemed like every single one of them was staring right at him.

And then the jeering started. The other prisoner’s mocked and pointed and some of them even got up to get a better look at him, wicked smiles painted on their faces at the thought of what they could do to him. He was fresh meat, a new toy for them to play with. Shit. This place really was filled with some of the world’s worst. Was that fucking Calendar Man? God, that guy was an asshole.

The noise in the room seemed to get louder as the news of his presence spread across the inmates. Rick thought it would probably be best to find an empty cell and stay in it for a few days. At least until his being there was no longer the hottest piece of gossip and he could just fade into the background. Live out the rest of his sentence or die in there.

God, he really didn’t want to die in Belle Reve. Then again, he had only done this to himself. He even said so: it was what he deserved.

He put his head down and started walking towards one of the hallways, hoping there was an empty cell for him to occupy. Some of the other inmates did shows of intimidation as he passed. Banging on their chests and tell him that he was “fucking dead”. He wanted to tell them good luck. Killing was his job, and he was damn good at it. Which was why he was there in the first place.

Shit. Someone was walking towards him. Rick’s brow furrowed as he studied the man. Bloodsport. Robert DuBois. Right, shot Superman with a Kryptonite bullet — a job Rick had turned down for the risk. They worked a job together once back in the day. Rick stopped and planted his feet, ready to drop his bedroll and start swinging. Wouldn’t that just be the cherry on top of this day?

But all DuBois did was put his hands on Rick’s broad shoulders, give them a good shake, and then he nodded at him before turning to the rest of the room.

“If anyone goes near this one or his shit — I will fucking kill you myself. Understood?”

The tension and noise in the room immediately dissipated. And so did Rick’s nerves. Groups grumbled amongst themselves. Those that were standing sat back down with dejected looks on their faces, like their fun had been ruined. DuBois smacked Rick on the shoulder one more time with a smile. At least one good thing happened today. At least he didn’t have to go hide in a cell. At least he had an acquaintance he could count on.

“Come sit with us,” DuBois said before leading the way towards a table in the back of the room, “How ya doin’ mate? You doin’ alrigh’?”

Rick kept a straight face as he said, “I’ve had better days.”

“Yeah, the day you end up n’ere is always shit,” DuBois replied as they finally reached the table in question. Only one other man was sitting there. “Flag, this is Lawson. Lawson, Flag.”

A man with a shaved head and short beard stood up and extended his hand. He looked tired and thin. Rick wondered if he would look like that one day, after spending so long in Belle Reve. He remembered Lawson, heard about him on the streets. He had been locked up only a few years after Rick started in the business.

“Deadshot, right?” Rick asked as the two of them shook hands.

“Yeah, and you’re Deadknight. Heard about you right before I got thrown in here.”

The three men settled down at the table, Rick stowing his bedroll in his lap.

“Been locked up before, Flag?” DuBois asked.

“Yeah, yeah.” Rick nodded. “Done some time.”

“Doesn’t matter much. Belle Reve is the worst of the worst,” Lawson said, “This is like bein’ thrown in a hole….and then they throw away the hole. Ain’t no gettin’ out of here, unless — “

The crowd started up again. And for a moment, Rick thought it was because they threw that Weasel thing in here with the rest of them. Nearly every inmate was looking up at the catwalk above their heads, and Rick immediately noticed what they were all focused on. A woman, surrounded by what looked like office jockeys, wearing a purple power suit and a severe look on her face. She was looking right at him, and Rick stared straight back.

“Oh shit, here we go,” Lawson said with a fist over his mouth to hide his grin when he caught what everyone was looking at.

“What? What does it mean?” Rick asked.

Lawson put his hand on the table towards him and smiled in a fake sweet way. “You’ve been chosen, my friend.”

“For what?”

“Uh-uh.” DuBois shook his head, eyes locked on the woman on the catwalk. “Not official till we see the Colonel.”

Rick was desperate for someone to answer his questions at this point. “Who’s the Colonel?”

A set of heavy footsteps rattled against the metal of the walkway above. Rick’s attention was drawn away from the office jockeys eyeing him and his eyebrows raised in surprise. It was another woman. The noise of the other prisoner’s only grew in volume once they all noticed her, some of them even catcalled and whistled at her. But she wasn’t fazed in the slightest. She was wearing a long sleeve compression shirt and army issue pants all in black. Her bright, fire-red hair was tied up in a severe military bun at the base of her skull. Her arms, muscled and relaxed, were held loosely behind her back. She was walking towards the group of administrative types.

DuBois leaned in close with a finger pointed at the red-haired woman. “That’s the Colonel.”

Rick had thousands of questions that he wasn’t sure were going to be answered by these two. Why was she called the Colonel? Who was she? What had he been chosen for? His eyes followed the path of the Colonel as she walked along the catwalk. She stopped at the side of the woman with the severe look and pantsuit, who seemed to point right at Rick in a not so subtle way. The redhead’s eyes focused on him immediately, singled him out with a cold, calculated stare. It was the first time he got a good look at her face and he wanted to smack himself for thinking she was hot — beautiful even. With rounded cheekbones and a little chin that complimented each other perfectly.

The woman in the pantsuit whispered something in the redhead���s ear that made her smirk and Rick glared.

Whatever this was, he didn’t like it.

Delphia marched down the hallway with a file under her arm and the last of her sandwich crumbling in her hand. She had barely had time to shove the majority of it in her mouth before Waller was basically commanding her to hurry up and interview Deadknight already. And Delphia had worked with Waller long enough to know that she shouldn’t make the woman wait.

Economos waved jovially as he passed her in the hall and she nodded back as she pushed the remains of her sandwich between her lips.

“Working through lunch again, I see?” he asked with a knowing grin.

Delphia swallowed and threw over her shoulder, “Devil never sleeps and neither do I!”

Economos’s guffaw could be heard even from around the corner and Delphia chuckled. That man was so easy to make laugh, it was ridiculous. Rounding one last corner, she saw the armed guards standing on either side of the interrogation room and her smile instantly disappeared. She had a reputation to keep up after all.

“Hurley, Taylor,” Delphia greeted them as she came up to the door, “How was he on the way up?”

“Asked a lotta questions,” Hurley stated plainly.

She flicked open the file she had been carrying around and skimmed through it one more time. Richard Flag, went by Deadknight. Assassin and gun for hire in the criminal underground. US Special Forces before that. A real piece of work.

“You answer any of them?”

She flipped the manila folder shut and looked at the two guards expectantly. They glanced sideways at one another.

Then Taylor said, “Uh — no. Were we supposed to?”

“Just curious.”

Putting her thumb down on the fingerprint scanner, the door buzzed as it clicked open.

“Come get us if you need anything, Colonel,” Hurley said.

Delphia looked at him one last time. “Oh, I surely will.”

Deadknight was sitting with his back to the door in one of the plastic chairs. It appeared he nearly didn’t fit in the thing. His hands were cuffed and he seemed tense. Leg bouncing up and down as he stared across the table at the empty chair. His shoulders were broad, barely contained by the prison standard orange shirt. His light brown hair was long on top and short on the sides, slicked back by what was left of the hair product he had put in the morning before.

Delphia shut the door behind her gently and he didn’t even flinch, didn’t even move. Not that she expected him to. She moved across the room slowly, trying to gauge his reaction. But they had been trained by the same system. He wasn’t going to show her anything that he didn’t want her to see. Deadknight did glance up at her, however, when she finally came into his line of sight. He was handsome, she had to admit. Defined cheekbones and a little bit of stubble, hazel eyes that seemed to change colors depending on what angle she was looking at him. A few pieces of hair had fallen onto his forehead.

“Name’s Colonel Delphia Holman,” she said as she lowered herself into the chair across from him, laying the file flat between them, “Do you prefer to be called Deadknight or Flag?”

He stared at her, long and hard for a moment. Lips pursing and unpursing and the muscle by his temple bulging as he clenched his jaw. Irritated.

“I’d prefer not t’be called anything by you.”

The slight southern accent was surprising. His file said he was raised in Washington DC.

Delphia leaned back in her seat with her arms crossed. “Oh, really, why’s that?”

“Heard about your little Suicide Squad,” he said, “I ain’t doin’ it.”

“According to your file — “ She leaned forward towards him and flipped open the folder for emphasis, even though she didn’t need to read it at all. “ — You’re ex-military. Dishonorably discharged for killing your fellow — “

“That was an accident.”

Looking into his face, through the hard, stoney exterior, she could see the regret and pain swimming in his eyes. She believed him.

“Right. So there can’t be all badness in you. Something good’s gotta be left.”

Deadknight looked away from her for the first time. “I’Don’t think so, lady.”

How would he respond to authority?

“It’s either Colonel Holman or ma’am, to you,” she said, voice cold as ice.

“I’m not joinin’ your fuckin’ suicide squad.” He leaned forward, hazel eyes burning. “Ma’am.”

Her brow twitched as she studied him. So he was still capable of taking orders, albeit sarcastically. She betted that he was actually perfectly fine with authority and being told what to do. It had just been so long and he had built up such a hard exterior, one that she would like to drill right through if given the chance. So she sighed as she swiftly got up from her chair, flipping the folder closed as she went.

“Pity. Every mission you complete gets you ten years off your sentence. And wouldn’t it be nice to not be locked up in here forever?”

She took one last moment to watch him as she walked away. One last moment to see how he would react. Delphia knew Belle Reve’s reputation. Knew as soon as she signed onto this job two years ago. She knew that this place was maddening, a dark hole that swallowed people up and never spit them back out again. It was in people’s nature, even the worst of people’s nature, to not want to rot in here. So they joined the squad with the hope after a few missions they’ll get to go free. But after two years of being commanding officer, Delphia had never seen a team member escape this place. Had never seen those ten years off amount to much. They always either died or their sentences were too long. A shining, glimmering beacon of hope that only really led people to a rocky shore meant to doom them.

But it was her job to convince people to join the squad and lead them to the best of her ability. And Delphia Holman had never half-assed anything in her entire life.

She only got part way to the door before he was sighing, “Wait. Fine. Whatever. I’ll do it.”

“Nice to have you on the team.”

Turning with a smile, she stuck out her hand for him to shake, ignoring the way he rolled his eyes at the gesture. He lifted his cuffed hands and wrapped one around her own, large and calloused from years of fighting and killing. And it was fucking crippling. Delphia felt her knees go weak, her mind go completely blank at the feeling of his hand in hers. And then suddenly, her vision was blurring at the edges, she could see Deadknight’s confused face through the haze. Then everything was a stark, pristine white.

No, no, no, no. Not now. She usually had such good control over her Sight, why the hell was it acting up now?

The milky whiteness morphed and changed, and suddenly she was standing in a dark and dirty alley. There was a couple leaned against the wall, wrapped up in each other’s arms, and one of them was clearly her. The uniform and bright red hair told her as much. Delphia grimaced as she inched closer to the two of them, unsure what she was going to find when she did.

“Colonel,” she heard a male voice whisper.

Deadknight’s voice.

“Just shut up, Flag,” she heard herself whisper back.

And then the two of them were kissing. Teeth clashing and hands clawing wherever they could reach. Delphia watched as it unfolded before her. A solid and real vision that at this point in time was destined to happen. They were destined to kiss in this dark alley. She heard herself moan as Deadknight hooked her leg around his hip and she had to look away.

Then the scene changed. Her surroundings rippled and morphed until she was standing in what appeared to be an army issue medical tent. She was right next to her future self this time. Sitting on a medical cot with bandages all over and a familiar, tired look in her eyes. The cot was surrounded by privacy curtains that were soon pulled aside by none other than Deadknight. Delphia turned sharply to look at him. He too looked worse for wear, but mostly he just looked relieved.

She watched, a frown pulling at her mouth and her hands clenched at her sides, as Deadknight put the curtain back in place and turned to her future self slowly. As he put his hand to her cheek and she leaned into his touch.

The scene changed again and Delphia had to wonder how long these visions were going to go on. She felt nothing of her present self in that interrogation room with present Deadknight. But she could practically see the look of pure confusion on his face as he peered up at her white eyed stare, as he was incapable of pulling his hand from her solid grasp.

Suddenly she was somewhere familiar. Her apartment with the wood floors and the meticulously painted walls she had slaved for hours over. And there was her couch, her future self and Deadknight sitting on it. The windows were open, the mid-evening summer sun streamed through the white curtains. She was reading a book and he was looking over her shoulder, distracting her with fingertips running up and down her arm. He wasn’t in his suit or in orange prisonwear. He was wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and they both looked so happy.

She had always wanted to be that happy. But she didn’t want that happiness to be found with a criminal of all people. With a lowlife, good for nothing, gun for hire that only lived for himself. She couldn’t fathom him changing her ways and she couldn’t fathom these visions of the future coming true. No. This wasn’t going to happen. She was going to make it so.

Delphia was dumped back into the present just as quickly as she had been ripped from it. She gasped quietly as the interrogation room came back into focus and the vice-like grip she had on Deadknight’s hand lessened. She stared directly into Deadknight’s face. His brow was furrowed, eyes lost and slightly angry. She couldn’t look at him anymore. Not without seeing that expression of…love that he was destined to show her in the future.

Without another word she pulled away from him entirely and marched out the door.

A month went by before Deadknight was called up to go on a mission with Task Force X. He was pulled from his cell and taken to what he could only assume was the prison’s infirmary, where a doctor with a malicious smile injected a nanite bomb into the base of his skull. Then he was shoved into a changing room and his suit was hanging from a hook on the wall, boots on the floor beneath it.

Rick didn’t go for the suit first, no matter how much he wanted to be out of those itchy orange pants. He immediately dove for the bag of his personal effects that had been dumped by his shoes. God, he hoped that one of those piece-of-shit guards hadn’t stolen it. This seemed like the kind of place where the guards got away with a lot as long as none of the prisoners escaped. Rick sighed when he finally got his hands on it.

His father’s pocket knife. Hand-carved wooden handle, hot iron stamped with his father’s company number and an eagle in flight. They couldn’t even send back a body when his father died. There was nothing left to send. All him and his mother got were this knife, a purple heart, and the last remaining fragments of his dogtags. It was a lot for a kid of twelve to go through, losing a father like that. Having to see his mother grieve with such strength she could barely take care of herself. It was more responsibility and emotion than he was ever meant to handle. He bet his father wouldn’t be too proud of him now, to see what his son had become. It made his guts twist up as he pressed the handle of the knife to his forehead. No. He wouldn’t be proud at all.

The metal door behind him opened with a clank and another prisoner was shoved inside the changing room. An older man with long, almost white blond hair and a permanent grimace on his face. He only looked at Rick for a moment before walking over to his own suit that hung up on the other side of the room.

Rick put the knife away in the bag and lifted his orange shirt over his head.

He would never admit that every piece of his suit was meticulously picked out and modified to his own specifications. He would never say that he wore the leather fingerless gloves in just right so they felt more like a second skin. He would simply say the suit was nothing special, a piece of equipment to get the job done and keep him alive. And it performed its sole purpose admirably. Grey tactical pants and boots, bullet proof vest with about a thousand pockets overtop a tough army issue shirt that he rolled the sleeves up on. And to top it all off he always wore a heavy scarf around his neck, further protection for one of his most vulnerable areas, and a metal fitted mask that covered the bottom half of his face.

As he wrapped the scarf around his neck, another prisoner was pushed into the room.

“Hey, easy, mate!” he called as the door was slammed shut behind him, each word dripping with a thick Australian accent. He grinned when he turned and saw the two other men in the room, flashing a golden tooth at them. “Eh-eh-eh, fresh meat. Name’s Cap’n Boomerang, lads.”

He stuck out his hand to Rick first, who shook it with a bit of apprehension. “You’ve done this before?”

“Oh, yeah, loads of times.” He shook the blond man’s hand as well.

“Savant,” the other man introduced himself.

“Deadknight,” Rick said, “So — what happens after this?”

Boomerang began to change into his own suit. More like an overglorified pair of jeans and a blue trench coat. He slapped a blue cap on his head with a relief in his shoulders that Rick understood all too well. At least in their suits they could feel slightly normal and free.

“Waller’ll tell us what the mission is — then we’ll meet the Colonel out on the tarmac.”

Rick bristled. The Colonel. Made him call her ma’am and brought up the worst moment of his life. Not to mention that full minute where she had stared at him with all white eyes and nearly broke his fingers in her grip. He had wanted to ask her what the fuck that was, but she had practically sprinted from the room once her eyes were back to normal. He dreaded having to work with her. Having to take orders from her. He swore if he even heard her voice again he was going to punch a brick wall.

But he had to admit to himself it wasn’t just because of their first meeting that he hated her guts.

The three men were led from the room and taken to what appeared to be an old lecture hall. Including the podium, blackboard, and an old projector shoved into the corner. Waiting inside was Amanda Waller, wearing a green pantsuit today, and Harley Quinn. Rick blanched when himself and the Clown Queen of Gotham locked eyes. How many times had he done a job for the Joker in the past? How many times had he met up with them in that stupid club and Joker had made Harley give him a lap dance? Too many to count and everytime Rick hated it.

Harley’s lips stretched back in a wicked, Cheshire Cat grin at the sight of him. Boomerang took a spot next to Harley like they were old friends. Rick coughed awkwardly as he took a seat towards the front.

Waller’s debrief was short and sweet and to the point. Minor details because they didn’t need to know them all and barely any time for questions at the end. Some scientific facility in Germany had created a bioweapon that needed to be destroyed. It was dirty government work that they didn’t want anyone’s name attached to. Rick was used to that. The job was to destroy the facilities files, wreck the whole building if they had to, and get out of there with little to no casualties. It was meant to look like a freak accident.

After the debriefing they were shoved into a transport vehicle with no windows, presumably to take them to the tarmac where the Colonel was waiting.

Rick tried to talk to Savant, make small talk about why he got thrown in Belle Reve. But apparently Savant didn’t feel like talking. All he did was glower at Rick before staring back at his bloody boots. Rick glanced over at the chatting Boomerang and Harley. He really didn’t want to talk to them, especially Harley who had a long history of teasing and testing him. But he had questions that he wanted answered, especially before he jumped head first into this mission.

“Hey, so, uh,” he grabbed their attention and both of their heads snapped over from one end of the truck to look at him expectantly, “What’s up with Colonel Holman?”

Boomerang and Harley shared a look, then Boomerang said, “What about ‘er?”

“Does she have like…powers or whatever?”

“Oh, yeah, mate— she can see into the future or some shit.” Boomerang replied casually.

Rick blinked in surprise. Out of all the things he guessed at what those white eyes could have possibly meant, he supposed that was the least outlandish. So she had some type of vision when they touched. What had she seen? What had she seen that made her run from him?

Harley leaned forward with a grin. “So you’ve met the Colonel, huh, Knighty?”

“Yeah, I met’er.” He rolled his eyes at the nickname and crossed his arms roughly.

“Geez, what’s that tone for?” she asked.

“Are you serious?” Rick scoffed, “You guys tellin’ me you fuckin’ like her?”

“What’s not to like, sugar? She’s hot as fuck, a complete badass, and she’s the only woman to every graduate from special forces training.” Harley counted each point on her fingers. “She could kick me in the face and I’d say thank you.”

Somehow his brow furrowed deeper, his arms crossed tighter against his chest. Rick remembered hearing about a woman going through special forces training when he was already out of it. When he was labeled a sergeant and told that he had the world ahead of him. He remembered he had laughed when one of his buddies showed him the article about her, just now remembering the picture of the girl with bright red hair, saying that she was never going to make it through. Then again, he never thought he would end up a criminal either. He was wrong on both accounts. She had made it through training and did what he couldn’t. Rick’s leg bounced in an attempt to keep his anger contained.

“Eh, she’s alrigh’,” Boomering said.

Harley smacked him on the chest. “Oh, shut it Boomer, we all know you’ve got a crush on her!”

“Do not!”

Their incessant arguing faded into the background, a muffled beat for Rick to get lost in his thoughts to. Colonel Delphia Holman. Everything that Rick Flag was supposed to be if he hadn’t fucked everything up. She was everything that he ever wanted to be. A good soldier, someone who gave orders and took them well, highly skilled and highly adored for it, a good person. He wanted to be that. He wanted to serve his country and do some good. But his life….it just kept happening, and happening, and happening until suddenly he was arrested and incarcerated in a place only reserved for the worst of the worst. Was he the worst of the worst now? He supposed he was. He did terrible things all in the name of being paid. Killing was the only thing he had ever been good at and after he got dumped from the army, well….what else was he supposed to do?

While Colonel Holman got a good life and everything he had ever wanted handed to her on a silver platter. His lip curled in a snarl as he rolled his shoulders angrily.

She had seen his future. He knew she did. And he was going to find out what she saw.

Colonel Holman was waiting at the tarmac just like Boomerang said she would be. Standing there in her all black uniform, a quarterzip on underneath a tac vest and an automatic rifle held firmly in her grasp. Harley immediately jumped from the truck and planted a kiss on the Colonel’s cheek before going up the ramp of the airplane they were taking to Germany. Boomerang gave her a salute and Savant didn’t even glance her way before he followed everyone else onto the plane.

Rick got out of the vehicle last and the Colonel’s blue gaze immediately zeroed in on the ground. Then she turned on her heel and began walking towards the plane. Rick rolled his eyes but followed after her, making sure to keep pace so he could speak with her.

“Heard you can see into the future,” he said.

She seemed to take in a shaking breath before saying, “That’s right.”

“So what’d you see in that interrogation room?”

The Colonel stopped just before they got onto the ramp and she looked up into his face. He hated that the first thought that went through his mind was that she looked even more beautiful in the natural sunlight. Artificial light didn’t do her justice. The blazing, Louisiana sun made her hair practically glow like fire and her eyes sparkle like the Mediterranean sea. Her features were harsh and her stare cold but — God, Rick wanted to slap himself. Now was not the time and she was definitely not the person.

“Nothing.”

Rick didn’t believe her.

The mission almost immediately went to shit. What was supposed to be a tiny lab fire turned into the entire building up in flames in only a matter of seconds because Boomerang got too excited with the gasoline. Rick hated that Colonel Holman was keeping her cool throughout the entire thing. And he hated that part of him admired her for it.

He admired the fact that when the room exploded in a bright flash of light and flames licked down the hallway that she barely even reacted. That all she did was tell them to pick up the pace and get down to the lobby as soon as possible, someone was surely to have heard that.

When they finally made it down to that fancy marble and glass lobby, with the skyrise ceiling and second story balcony that looked over the comfy chairs and koi pond below, Colonel Holman brought the team to a halt.

“Alright, we got incoming from all sides according to Waller,” she said, slinging her rifle to rest against her back and checking her side arm, “Me, Boomer, and Harley’ll be the ground team. Durlan and Flag you go up top and cover us.”

“Is that really the best strategy — “ Rick tried to argue, but she cut him off with one cold look as she clicked off the safety on her Beretta.

“That’s an order, Flag.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It bothered him how easily he did an about face and jogged behind Savant to go up the stairs to the balcony. No one had given him orders in a long time and he liked it that way. A way of convincing himself that actually being kicked out of the army was a good thing. Because at least no one was telling him what to do anymore. Over the years, he had learned to justify a lot of things.

Savant took the west side of the room while Rick took the east. Pulling the Remington sniper rifle from his back, he set up the bipod and lined up his sight just before what seemed like an entire army of guards ran into the lobby.

He hadn’t asked what this company was or what the bioweapon could do. But both must have been very important to warrant this kind of protection.

He shot anyone who got close to the team at the center of the lobby, eyes trained down his sight and mind focused. But then the magnified lens caught a glimpse of Colonel Holman and he was no longer paying attention to anything else.

She fought like a demon from hell. With teeth bared and eyes glowing white in the darkness. She twisted and turned with her Beretta raised, and when it was empty she threw it at the next man with such force it cracked his skull. Moving with such fluidity without a single bullet or fist hitting her in the process, it was impossible. She even spun out of the way of flying boomerangs and ducked under Harley’s swinging mallet like she could sense them coming. It was almost like she knew what was going to happen beforehand. And maybe she did — maybe she fought with her eyes glowing white so she could see into the future, know where every attack was going to come from and have her own defense or attack ready and waiting. It was brilliant and deadly and it made Rick hate her all the more.

Eventually, the lobby was littered with suited bodies and Colonel Holman called out, “Come on, let’s move!”

Rick slung the rifle across his back and, with his Desert Eagle raised, he started making his way towards the stairs. But across the room, on the west balcony, Savant was being slowly approached by a fresh group of guards. Rick turned, attempting to make his way around the square and help his team mate out.

But Savant shouted over to him, “Go! I got this!”

And so Rick left. He made it down the stairs and out of the lobby without a scratch to where the rest of the team was waiting in the parking lot. Colonel Holman turned to him with her brow furrowed and blood splattered across her face.

“Where’s Durlan?” she asked, breathless.

“Still inside,” he replied.

“He’s still in there?”

It was immediate, her reaction. There was no second guessing or thinking over the best option. She only started running back towards the building, to go get Savant, and Rick wanted to shoot her. Not kill her, just like in the leg or something. Maybe the shoulder. It was stupid and so incredibly kind that he didn’t know what to do with the feeling boiling in his chest. He couldn’t really tell what the feeling was. It had to be anger. Had to be. Because that was what Colonel Holman did. Made him angry. Made him feel a white hot fury in his gut over how honorable and good she was while he had to be callous and cruel.

Then the entire building exploded in a flash of pink smoke and roaring green flames.

Rick held up a hand against the sudden bright light of the explosion, barely even comprehending that he could no longer see Colonel Holman on her feet. His eyes searched for a moment, and through the green tinted haze and the first falling ashes, he spotted her. Crumpled on the concrete a few meters away with her bright red hair yanked from its bun, now splayed out on the ground around her head like some kind of fiery halo.

Harley and Boomerang rushed over to her side. But Rick remained where he was, stuck to the spot like a statue carved from the very pavement of that parking lot. She probably knew that the building was going to explode. Yet she was going to run back inside anyway to save a member of her team. A good for nothing criminal. What gave her the right to be so goddamn righteous?

Harley looked over her shoulder, a scared expression on her face that Rick didn’t think she was capable of, and screamed, “Flag, help! Come on!”

“She’s hurt pretty bad, mate!” Boomerang called next, actually sounding concerned.

Rick groaned, head thrown back like a child. He didn’t want to help her. In fact, he hoped she bled out and died. But she was going to go back in and save Savant knowing that it could have killed her and damnit if he couldn’t commend that. Plus, he knew if he just let her die Waller would blow his head off. So he marched over, every nerve in his body telling him not to do it, and he knelt down beside Colonel Holman’s prone form.

There was rubble and tiny pieces of glass stuck in her skin. Both of her ears were bleeding. Multicolored ashes were starting to collect in her hair and on her uniform. He could guess that she probably hit the ground hard from the explosion blowback. Rick quickly pressed two fingers to her pulse, looking for that familiar beat, only to find a very slowed down version of what he was hoping for. Shit. He slid his hand around her neck and slipped it back behind her head. When he pulled his hand away, it was covered in blood.

“Shit,” he said aloud.

“Oh, God,” Harley gasped, eyes gone wide at the red all over Rick’s fingers.

Without a second thought he ripped the scarf from around his neck and gently lifted her head. He pressed the fabric into her wound and set her skull back down slowly. He hoped that that would be enough pressure to get the bleeding to stop, and he really hoped that it was the skin that was broken and not her actual bone.

Sirens blared in the distance, coming closer and closer to put out the fire and look for survivors.

“Shit!” Rick cursed again.

What the hell were they supposed to do?

Then he spotted the black earpiece laying a few feet away. He immediately picked it up and pushed it into his own ear, hoping that it was still functioning after the explosion and that whoever was on the other side would know what to do.

“Waller?” he asked, holding the earpiece tight against his eardrum to hear over the blazing fire, “Waller, you read me?”

Her voice crackled to life, “Deadknight? The hell happened?”

“We lost Savant — Colonel Holman got injured in the explosion. What’re our next steps?”

“Shit.” Waller seemed to discuss something with someone else in the room before getting back to him. “There’s a van parked in an alley a block south, there is a GPS programmed with coordinates to a safehouse. We can’t pull you out until morning. Think you can take the lead on this?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He turned to Boomerang and Harley. “We got evac a block south — need you two to go ahead and make sure the way is clear.”

“What’re you gonna do, mate?” Boomerang asked.

Just as Harley stood up with a finger to her chin and muttered, “Which way is south again?”

“I’ve got the Colonel.” Rick pointed in the proper direction. “And south is that way.”

Harley gasped in understanding before picking up her mallet and heading out. Boomerang followed behind her tentatively, sparing one last glance back at his commanding officer. Rick really didn’t understand why they cared so much. They were criminals, degenerates, worthless. The Colonel didn’t really give a shit about them. She was just doing her job. Or at least, Rick thought that was what was going on.

Rick gently fitted his arms under Colonel Holman’s back and behind her knees. She was heavier than she looked, a lot of muscle on such a small frame, causing him to grunt quietly as he stood back to full height. The scarf was practically glued to the back of her head, so he didn’t have to worry about that. Then he started jogging south after Harley and Boomerang as the sirens blared in his ears.

Constantly looking over his shoulder to make sure they weren’t followed, Rick made his way towards the van Waller had ready for them. The Colonel made no signs of stirring. She bounced limply in his arms, her head flopping this way and that. That wasn’t good for the concussion she most definitely had. He tried to hold his shoulder just right so her skull would stay in place but it really was no use. The alley was just ahead anyway, Boomerang and Harley waiting at the corner for them.

I don’t care what happens to her, I really don’t give a shit, Rick repeated to himself as Boomerang opened the back doors of the van.

He set her down in the back as gently as he could, making sure not to jostle her too much. She groaned when he finally took his hands from her, her dirtied and bloodied fingers reaching out to him weakly. The breath he took in was sharp, a knife to the back of his throat. He glanced away from her. Harley was already in the van, squatting behind the front seats where Boomerang was starting the engine. A lock of that bright red hair had fallen over her eyes. Rick moved it back into place and watched with a lump in his throat as a smile tugged at her paled lips.

Fuck. Do I want her to be okay?

Her pulse pounded in her ears. Reverberated through her skull. It would take too much effort to even groan in dismay. It felt like the rest of her body had gone numb, the only thing that remained was the sharp, stabbing pain in her head. It made tears prick at the backs of her eyes and each breath felt like a herculean effort.

What happened? She remembered running back for Durlan. A loud noise. And then a whole lot of darkness. What she was laying on felt softer than concrete. A hospital bed maybe? That was what logically made sense. But then how did the team get out of Germany?

She really needed to open her eyes. But goddamn if her eyelids didn’t feel as heavy as iron curtains. Through sheer force of will she pried them open, only to find a wooden ceiling cast in dancing shadows from flickering candlelight.

“Oh my God, you’re awake!” Harley’s voice slammed into her skull like a freight train. “Don’t ever do that to me again! I was so scared!”

It felt like her limbs were moving through frozen honey as she pulled her hand up to her face just so she could press a finger to her lips. Harley instantly quieted with a hushed sorry. Delphia’s vision went white and she pried herself from the couch. And for a moment she thought she was slipping into her Sight again. But then she realized it was just the lightheadedness and general injury that were making spots dance before her eyes at the sudden movement. Her head swam as she lazily swung her legs so she was in a seated position. And once the spots cleared, she finally understood where she was.

The Germany safehouse. A cozy little cabin in the middle of a forest with a big stone fireplace and enough seclusion that they didn’t have to worry about any Terracorp Labs people finding them. Delphia had had to spend several months in this safehouse with some witness protected hacker. He was a real prick but at least the views from the windows had been nice.

It was dark outside now and candles were lit on nearly every flat surface. They must not have been able to get the generator running, she thought, I’ll take a look at that later.

Pounding footsteps echoed from further in the small cabin, and then Boomer burst into the main room with a shout and a relieved look on his face, “Birdy! Thank fuckin’ Christ!”

“Boomer, be quiet! Her head hurts!” Harley reprimanded, equally as loud.

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered back.

Her own voice sounded thick and weighed down in her head as she asked, “How’d we get here?”

“Flag!” Harley pointed over towards the kitchen. “He took over once you passed out. He’s pretty good at the whole leadin’ thing.”

Delphia’s head swiveled to one side like her head was too heavy for her, cheek angled towards her shoulder. And sure enough, Deadknight was standing at the kitchen island. Ankles crossed as he leaned back against the countertop. He waved slightly when her eyes landed on him. Did he have to look so fucking smug right now? His scarf was missing. He didn’t seem like the type to just take it off. Then out of the corner of her eye she noticed a familiar pattern caked in blood laying where her head once rested.

Oh.

The pain was less intense now. More like a dull, throbbing ache that probably wouldn’t go away for another few days. She pulled her head back to look at Harley and Boomer, now both perched on the coffee table before her.

“Durlan?” she asked quietly.

“He…he didn’t make it, birdy.”

Delphia could only grunt in response as her head lolled to stare at her lap. Her pants were filthy. Covered in blood and ashes and dirt. If she remembered right, there were some spare clothes in the bedroom from the last time she was here. And she really didn’t want to be in this disgusting uniform anymore.

Her nose scrunched up. Durlan was her responsibility. Part of her team — and she had let him down. She had gotten him killed. What was worse is that, when she interviewed him just days before, he had told her that he really didn’t want to be there. Didn’t want to join the team. But he wanted a chance to get out, maybe live a life. He had mentioned offhandedly maybe reconnecting with his daughter. Delphia felt her heart drop in her chest, trying to suffocate her with its weight. It was all her fault that he no longer had that chance.

“I need some air,” she finally managed to say.

Rising to her feet was easier than she expected it to be. She just planted her feet and suddenly she was standing. But when she took that first step towards the door, her vision swam with white spots, the room tilted on an axis, and her balance instantly wavered.

Hands clutched at her forearms tightly, kept her upright. In her mind’s eye, she got a flash of kisses stolen beneath white sheets. She tried to push the hands away.

“Easy, easy,” Deadknight spoke so softly it made her grit her teeth, “You’re bleedin’ again — gotta stitch that gash up.”

She tried to resist him, tried to push a protest past her lips. But she was too weak to do much of anything but be led back to the bathroom. She felt what little was left of her lunch churn in her stomach. Her head pounded against her eardrums to the beat of her heart. Her feet stumbled down the hall, tripped over themselves to the point that Deadknight slung his arm around her waist to keep her standing. White flashed before her eyes again and suddenly —

“You love me,” Deadknight chuckled.

“I fuckin’ hate you,” she replied with a smile.

Deadknight’s face sobered, but there was this hope, this affection in his eyes.

“You love me?”

She came back to the present when Deadknight pushed gently on her shoulders to get her to sit down. She sat heavily against the edge of the tub, feet inside so he could reach the back of her head better. She could hear him rustling around in the cabinet, trying to find the first aid kit. He made a small noise of triumph when he finally did find it. There was the click of a lighter, a groan of frustration, and then Deadknight’s heavy presence was at her back.

She flinched when a wet rag made contact with the back of her head.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “Sorry.”

He put one hand on her shoulder to steady her as he continued to clean her wound. Her mind spun and swam with the pain and the confusion, her eyes unfocused as she stared straight ahead at the bathroom tile. Then her vision flashed white again. No, no, no — her and Deadknight were in her kitchen, slow dancing with the light above the sink on.

“No,” she muttered aloud, “Stop it.”

“Look, if I don’t do this you’re gonna bleed out,” Deadknight sighed as he chucked the bloodied towel into the bathtub.

“Not talking…to you,” she said.

“Who’re you talkin’ to then?” he asked.

“Myself,” she huffed, “Now fuck off.”

“Jesus, okay. Good to know our commanding officer is fuckin’ insane.”

A laugh slipped past her lips. One that she didn’t intend to make and one that definitely made a heat creep up her neck.

She coughed in an attempt to cover it up. “Just shut up, Flag.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

His big hand came down on top of her shoulder again, kept her still as he pushed the needle into her flesh. Only a slight tug at the back of her skull in comparison to the dull ache that consumed her. When her vision flickered in shades of white, this time she had no protests. No will to fight it anymore.

She was straddling his lap in some fancy hotel, wearing a silk dress. His hands roamed up and down her back, over her hips, squeezed at her ass. He was wearing dress pants and a fine button up shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow and a tie loose around his neck.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered, “We’re on a mission.”

“What Waller doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Her forehead bumped lightly against his. “She’s gonna find out eventually.”

“We’re always careful.”

“Rick….fuck.” She leaned into him fully with her eyes screwed shut. “I’m pregnant.”

She was dumped back into that bathroom in Germany unceremoniously and with a newfound sense of clarity. Her vision was no longer blurred and her thoughts were completely clear.

It was everything that she ever wanted — and that made her hate it all the more. Someone who loved her. Who held her and brought a smile to her face and loved her back. A child, a family. Something that she had wanted since she was small but knew she could never have. But this man….this criminal….he was going to give all that to her? Did it have to be him? That arrogant asshole that drove her completely insane? Every rational thought in her screamed that it couldn’t be so. There were oceans between them, valleys and mountains too difficult to climb. No. She wouldn’t — couldn’t — let it happen. The future was not set in stone and there was no way that she was going to end up with Deadknight.

It was never going to happen.

“Done,” he muttered as he released her shoulder.

Delphia shot up from the tub and could barely even look at him. All she was able to see were those beautiful moments. Those warm glimpses of a future that couldn’t be. Her eyes zeroed in on the floor as she marched out of the bathroom. She heard him call out a you’re welcome from behind her but she couldn’t stop. She needed a moment to clear her head and focus back on the mission at hand — on literally anything else.

Harley and Boomer smiled at her when she came back out into the main room looking more like herself. But she just kept walking until she was yanking open the front door and slamming it shut behind her.

The cold night air smacked her in the face but it felt good. Sobering and clarifying. She walked around to the side of the cabin and leaned against the wall, just beneath the open kitchen window.

She had been through worse. She had seen warzones and her friends get blasted into a million pieces. But now...now her chest felt too tight and her legs were wobbly and she just couldn’t fucking think. Her Sight had always been a blessing and a curse. She excelled in school. Went through all the military training with ease. Was always a step ahead of all her peers. But it showed her things that she never wanted to see. Got her discharged from the army and stuck doing this job. This job that made her guts feel all twisted up in darkness and forced her to be around criminals like Deadknight.

Criminals like Savant.

A weight collapsed on her shoulders. It brought her down, down, till she was sliding down the cabin wall. She connected with the earth and still it felt like she could sink deeper. Right into the earth’s core.

“The hell did you do, Flag?” she heard Harley ask through the open window.

“I didn’t do anything,” Deadknight responded indignantly, “Stitched up her head and she was fuckin’ ungrateful for it.”

“Prolly Durlan,” Boomer muttered.

Delphia crossed her arms over her knees, pulled them in tight to her chest just like she used to do when she was a little kid.

“Why’s she so hung up on that?” Deadknight questioned.

“Oh, don’t you get it, Flag?” Harley sighed, “We don’t like her cause she’s cool — we like her cause she cares about us. She sees us as people.”

She shoved her face into her knees, making herself as small as possible — to hide away from all the guilt and shame. She only played at caring. She was going to go back for him but in her head she called him a criminal. Not a person, a criminal. Even though she knew better. Even though she knew Durlan was more than that. He was a father, an ex-Marine. She tried so hard to care, to treat them all as equals, to keep them safe — but it was never enough.

She was never enough.

“Okay, okay, I’m going! Jesus fuckin’ Christ!” Rick whispered harshly as Boomerang and Harley practically shoved him out the front door.

Colonel Holman had been gone for nearly an hour and those two were starting to get worried about her. Rick didn’t really care either way. Sure, there was a nervous feeling balling up in his stomach but it wasn’t because of her or where she had gone to. No. He was just worried that the candles would burn down the cabin in the middle of the night while they all slept.

He rounded the north corner first, eyes straining in the darkness to see anything.

“The fuck you want, Flag?” a voice suddenly called out.

“Jesus!” He practically jumped.

She was sitting beneath the dimly lit kitchen window, knees bunched up to her chest. In the darkness she nearly blended into the shadows save for that head of red hair.

“There’s no need to bring him into this,” she deadpanned, chin propped on top of her knees.

“Funny,” Rick huffed, “Did you see me comin’? In your visions or whatever?”

She pointed up towards the window. “Window’s open. Heard you arguing about who was gonna come out here to check on me.”

“And you’re not dead. So my work here is done.”

He turned on his heel to walk away, go back inside where it was at least semiwarm. Maybe he could make an attempt at getting the blood out of his scarf. She could stay out here for the rest of the night for all he cared.

But she was able to stop him in his tracks with just a few words: “Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?”

Rick knew what she was asking. But he really didn’t want to answer. He didn’t want to know the truth of his own actions.

“Save me, take over the mission — you didn’t have to do that.”

She got her to her feet, came face to face with him, her arms crossed over her chest. There’s such an earnestness swimming in those blue eyes that it makes Rick grit his teeth.

“And leave it to those idiots in there?” He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the cabin. “No chance. They would’ve gotten me killed.”

Boomerang called from inside, “Hey, that’s fuckin’ rude, mate!”

But Colonel Holman was just standing there shaking her head. Her tongue poking out from between her teeth as she nearly laughed, eyes tilted towards the frosted grass. And when she looked back up into his face, feet carrying her just one step closer, her expression was cold. Open and honest and it scared him in a way he didn’t fully understand.

“Oh, cut the horse shit, Flag. We both know that’s not true.” Another step closer. They were nearly chest to chest. “When’re you gonna stop lying to yourself? You’re no villain. Deep down in that blackened soul of yours there’s just a scared little boy begging for someone to tell him what to do.”

She was right. And he fucking hated that she was. His entire life had been begging for someone to tell him what he was supposed to do. What do I do now that my dad’s dead? What do I do now that I’m out of the army? What do I do now that I have Black Masks money and a gun in my hand? What do I do now that I’m in Belle Reve? He had fucked up his entire life and he didn’t know how to fix it. He didn’t know if he could fix it — if he was worth….redeeming.

And it pissed him off that Colonel Holman could see right through to the heart of him. Just when he was thinking that maybe, just maybe, she was alright. His defenses were up anew. She had called him out and she knew that she had hit him to the core. He could tell from that little smirk that quirked her pink lips and the wicked look in her eyes.

So he asked: “What’d you see in that interrogation room — when you looked into the future?”

He could barely see in the light from the kitchen window, but it was enough for him to catch the red splotches growing on her neck — the muscle in her jaw bulging as she clenched her teeth. He flashed her a smirk of his own now.

“None of your damn business,” she muttered through a snarl.

“See, I think if I was in those sweet little visions of yours…” Rick pulled himself close to her, head tilted down as he looked at her smugly. “You should at least tell me.”

“You weren’t in them.”

“Oh, but from that pretty blush on your neck I definitely was,” he snickered.

Rick poked at her neck, watched as his fingerprint left a white spot in the red flesh, and felt the burning heat of her skin. Colonel Holman swatted his hand away with enough force to remind him that she could easily break his wrist.

“Don’t,” she hissed.

“So, what’d ya see, huh? Promise I won’t tell if you saw me — “

It was immediate and so fast he got the wind knocked out of him. One second he was staring down at her reddening face and the next he was slammed against the cabin wall. Colonel Holman fisted his tacvest in her hands, gripped it by the shoulder straps and had him practically lifted into the air. His toes barely touched the ground and he was now staring down at her furious face wide eyed. She looked savage — torn. Her lips peeled back in a snarl and her eyes glistened in the window light. Rick had never been simultaneously terrified and turned on in his entire life.

“I saw you — “ She shook him by the vest slightly. “Being an absolute fucking prick! Driving me fucking nuts! Is that what you wanted?”

She stared up at him for a few more moments, breathing hard and nostrils flaring. And for a moment, just a moment, Rick comprehended just how close they were. His chest was pressed flush against hers. When she pinned him to the wall, she had forced one of her strong thighs between his. Jesus Christ, if he just bent his head a little he could kiss her. Did he want to kiss her? Kiss away all the hate and leave only what was good between them. He wasn’t sure if there was anything good between them. Did he want to find it?

Without even realizing he was slipping closer. Falling into her center of gravity with parted lips and eyes caught in a haze.

Then suddenly his vest slipped out of her grip and he landed back flat on his feet. Her eyes dropped to his chest, lost somewhere else as her shoulders continued to heave. For a second, he panicked. Did she notice he was about to kiss her? Then her head tipped forward, like it weighed too much, and her forehead connected with his tacvest. Rick stared down, face bunched up in confusion, at her fiery red hair. At the crooked bandage he had slapped on begrudgingly just an hour ago.

Colonel Holman’s shoulders began to shake. And Rick went stiff as a board when the first sounds of her crying reached his ears. Shit. He hadn’t meant to make her cry. He didn’t even think she was capable of such human emotion.

“Shit, Colonel — “ he tried to say.

But then she muttered, voice thick with tears, “It’s my fault he’s fucking dead.”

Oh. This was about Savant. Rick’s head reeled. First he wanted to punch her in the face, then he almost kissed her, and now he had the strange urge to comfort her. He didn’t even know what he was doing until his fingertips made contact with her waist. Until he was squeezing the hard flesh in reassurance.

“S’not your fault,” he said.

“I’m commanding officer — whatever happens on these missions is always my fault, my responsibility.” It was as if she suddenly realized the position they were in. She jumped away from him like he was on fire, wiping at her eyes and looking at him like he had just slapped her. “Don’t tell anyone about this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, ma’am.”

Colonel Holman walked away from him then and Rick felt like he could suddenly breathe clearly. He leaned back against the wall, face tilted towards the starry sky and he took in a lungful of the chilled night air.

Fuck.

Delphia tried to just keep her head down as she walked through the halls of Belle Reve on Monday morning. But everyone was just so damn nice and she was too curtious to not say hi or wave back to people.

Her head still ached, a symptom the doctor said wouldn’t go away for at least a week, and all the lights in the administration wing seemed way too bright. The doctor also told her to avoid caffeine until the concussion symptoms had cleared. But he didn’t have a bunch of debriefing paperwork to turn into Amanda Waller by the end of the day. So she walked through the halls with a large paper cup full to the brim. She also hadn’t had the energy that morning to put on her full uniform, so instead she sported a pair of jeans, t-shirt, and canvas jacket. She even had a few fly aways in her bun that really aggravated her — but she didn’t have the patience to gel back.

Economos commented on the bags under her eyes when she was only a few yards away from her office and her polite demeanor finally cracked. Her lip twitched as she stared up at him, a smile edging on insane.

“Tough mission,” she said curtly before walking away from him.

It was a good thing to blame her lack of sleep on but it wasn’t the real reason. Ever since she got back from Germany her dreams had been plagued by Deadknight and his stupid, soft hazel eyes. The future and the present blending together in a way that made her head spin and her heart ache. As soon as she got in her office she was going to label Deadknight unfit for the Task Force and make sure that she never saw him again. Those visions….it was a future she was determined to change.

It was never going to happen.

Her office door opened with a loud creak that made her screw her eyes shut. Jesus, she needed to take some more pain killers. With a sigh, she flicked on the light and nearly jumped at what she saw sitting behind her desk.

Fucking Deadknight.

They locked eyes for just a moment — in her mind flashed those eyes looking at her with such love she wanted to launch herself into the wall — and Delphia lurched to slam her fist into the emergency lockdown button by the door. If she had to fight him and drag him back to his cell herself she would. She had no idea how he got out of prisoner containment and found her office, but she also didn’t much care. If this gave her the opportunity to punch him in the face she was going to take it no matter what.

“Before you do that.” Waller appeared from the back shadows of Delphia’s office and she froze, hand outstretched towards the emergency button and all. “I would like you to meet your new second in command.”

Waller gestured over to Deadknight lounging at her desk with a knowing quirk of her lips. And he had the audacity to sit there, swiveling back and forth in her desk chair, and wiggle his fingers at her with a smug little smile on his face. It felt like her entire blood stream was on fire.

“You can’t be serious. I don’t need a second,” Delphia pushed out through gritted teeth.

Waller stepped closer to her, heels clicking against the tile. “It’s too bad that I don’t care. He proved he had potential out in the field. He’ll be accompanying you on all your missions from now on.”

“Ma’am, I — “

“If I hear one more word from you, Colonel, I’ll see that metahuman record of yours going public.” Waller moved to stand right next to her and Delphia clenched her jaw tight in order to not protest any further. “You’ll pick him up from prisoner containment at the beginning of each day and bring him back when you’re ready to go home. You’ll formulate plans together and he’ll take half your paperwork. Should make your job...easier.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Waller left the office with a triumphant look on her face. Delphia felt like her entire body was vibrating with pent up rage. She felt she could punch a hole through the wall and it wouldn’t even hurt. Her knuckles would bleed and bruise later but she wouldn’t even care. Her eyes locked on Deadknight once more and he grinned at her.

“So, what now, partner?”

Fuck.

Taglist (if you would like to be tagged in future installment just let me know!): @bbygrgu @a-reader-and-a-writer @slayerx147 @xoxabs88xox @kasey-puff @witchygagirl @the-pink-petite-princess @blooo0ooop @woodlandmouth @csigeoblue @rexorangecouny @h-hxgirl @thisisthewayrose @blondiekook @darkestbeforethedawn16 @runic-belova @weallhaveadestiny @oopsiedoopsie23 @nerdgrrlramblings @ocfairygodmother @reysorigins @hawsx3

[jonnnysuh]

How To Write Good // Vernon

A/N: It all started with watching Vernon’s English tutor series and now we’re here omg. This is my first series so please give it some love <3 kind of unedited so lmk if there’s any mistakes! PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

PAIRING: Vernon x You

GENRE: enemies to ???, fluff, student!vernon, tutor!vernon

WARNINGS: swearing

WORD COUNT: 2.7K

SUMMARY: There’s the crisp air of campus, the rush of something new, and a four year degree ahead of you. Your college experience doesn’t go off as smoothly as you’d hoped when you fall asleep on course selection day and are stuck with left over electives. Struggling to get through your creative writing class, you have no idea how you’re going to get through this semester. Fate steps in when the stranger you fought in the library might just be your only chance at passing. This is all just part of the college experience… right?

Orange leaves began surrounding the burnt red brick pathway, and the small green hills of the campus quad.  Fall was fast approaching, without much warning.  The bright summer sky, now often clouds of gray. The wind brushed past you, causing your hair to fly up. Your legs brushed together quickly as you tried to make your way through campus to get to your Writing in the Arts class. You swore to yourself that you wouldn't sleep through course selection but sometimes sleep was an actual priority to you...and it so happened to be on that day.  Not your first choice, but definitely miles ahead of  Economic History on the list of leftover electives.

You flipped over your wrist to take a look at the time on your brown pleather watch. 8:12.

Professor Hampton was an older woman, who always kept her sandy brown hair in a slick tight low bun. She had enforced a rule that the doors to the lecture hall would shut 15 minutes past the hour. If you didn’t make it then you’d have to get notes from a classmate. Maybe it’d be fine if you had a friend in the class that was actually punctual, but you had often sat alone in the same spot in the far left corner of the class room.  Time was definitely never on your side as you reckoned you only had 3 minutes left until your trip downtown was rendered useless. 

You swung the thick metal door open, and began pumping your legs forward, not stopping until you reached the top of the stairs. To your luck, the lecture hall was on the exact end of the hallway. As you took longer strides, your gray backpack bounced behind you. Finally arriving at the end of the long hallway, you came face to face with Professor Hampton, who had a scowl so thick you’d think it was drawn on with a felt tip permanent marker. Without an ounce of forgiveness, that old lady secured the door shut, eyes keen on your betrayed face just a few centimetres from hers.

With the little pride you still had, you contained the urge  to bang on the door repeatedly and say "OPEN UP."

If you hadn't had time to get ready that day, or missed your bus, dammit this would've been the boiling point that would've driven you to  kick the wall. Your saving grace was that there was a cute guy typing away on his laptop in this hallway and you'd be damned if you were about to look a fool.

It was that moment, you knew that if you were going to pass this class without sacrificing a wink of sleep, you were going to have to make a friend that was good at writing notes. And quick.

—

The next day, you navigated your way through the twists and turns of the library, never having had been there a day in your life. You swear you’d gone in a circle at this point. You promised your best friend, Taylor that you’d secure a spot for your impromptu study date. Although you both had good intentions, you knew it was more than likely going to become a gossip session that involved sometimes looking at class material.

Among the rows and rows of occupied tables, you finally found an empty table, situated next to the window that overlooked the architecture and art buildings. You settled in the chair, slipping your laptop out of your tote bag , and typing mindlessly to look busy while you waited for your friend. With a look around the room, you wondered if people actually studied at the library or if they were just faking it like you.

You were so immersed in your game of Tetris you almost didn’t hear the voice that said , “Hey, I think you’re at the wrong table.”

You paused your game and surveyed the empty wooden table you were sitting at.  You blinked slowly at the brown haired man.  “I was here first.”

“That might be true but I booked it out for the hour.” The stranger stood with a slight slouch, sporting a backwards snapback and a deep green hoodie. He didn't look like the type to hang out around the library- but then again, neither did you. You swear you had seen him before, but you couldn't place where.

Did I go to high school with him?  you thought.

What if he was ugly and had a glow up and that’s why I don’t recognize him?

You took a closer look at him.

Nah. I don’t think he’s ever been ugly in his life.

“Look. My name's right here." He leaned forward, showing you his screen.

[TABLE 9] 3:00pm - Vernon C.

You pushed the phone away, unimpressed. "But you showed up late."

"It was only 6 minutes." Vernon scoffed, as if his tardiness would automatically forfeit him from his table.

"Well, have you ever heard of finder's keepers?"

Vernon nodded, his voice pointed. "But have you ever heard of fair and square?"

You tried your best to conceal the fact that you were somewhat amused by his elementary-level comeback.

"Could you look into your great, big heart to share?” You pouted tauntingly.

"Oh, yeah, because you need a table to play Tetris." He responded sarcastically but it was as if he had crept into your mind. You dreaded the idea of being on your feet trying to find another place for your game.

Your best friend rolled in between you two innocently, confused at the interaction at hand. It was like a kid walking in on their mom and dad fighting for the first time… except dad is a Tetris-hating stranger you just met 3 minutes ago.

“Sorry I’m late, Y/N.”  Taylor interjected, trying her best to mend the atmosphere with a grin.  Vernon's posture went notably straight as he exhaled, returning a sweet close-lipped smile. You couldn't help but notice the way he looked at your friend- you squinted at the shadow of the difference between this Vernon and the one that basically told you to fuck off only moments prior.

Without a doubt, you knew he was suffering from the "Taylor Effect".

Taylor was your textbook girl next door; equipped with a warm demeanour, and a confidence that was endearing rather than cocky.  You could tell that Vernon was trying his best not to stare so obviously, but he was failing miserably.

Because everyone gravitated towards her, many found it odd that she chose to keep you as company. Sometimes you thought she stuck around only because your personalities were so starkly different and would emphasize how great she was, but time and time again she proved she was notable on her own accord.

"Did I interrupt something?"

You and the man shared a look.

Vernon had a feeling that if he let you speak first, that you might ruin his chances with Taylor, and there was absolutely NO shot that he was going to tell her what had just happened. You were quick to take advantage of the situation.

“Vernon just wanted to take the tab-“

He shook his head, "No, no, no I was just leaving."

You raised your eyebrow, smugly.

“I'll see you later,” He bid.  Your eyes widened as he went closer to you, clasping his hand around yours and pulling you forwards into an almost embrace. He dapped you up. Vernon dapped you up. What? Did he think you were bros now?

Ya, right. You thought. This is my first and last time in this library. You will never see me or my Tetris again.

And with that, he swung his backpack over his shoulder  coolly and headed down the long carpeted aisle in the other direction.

Only a few moments later did he return to go through the north exit. “Wrong way.” He mumbled, charting past both of you.

—

“So you don’t know anyone in that class?” Taylor said in disbelief as you two sat at the table you had only marginally won.

“No, I missed the first two weeks so by the time I actually went to class  they already had their groups.”  you responded, blowing air out of your mouth in frustration.

School had only just begun and Taylor had swept up a bunch of friends, including you, in just this one semester.

You, on the other hand, were awkward, but not in the forgivable way. You never knew the right thing to say, and your sarcasm drew a fine line between a joke and the truth. You felt like you always had to bite your tongue to hold a decent conversation with someone. In turn, this scared a lot of people away, and resulted in a small but good group of friends that understood you.

For some reason though, you did well with confrontation. That was the only time you could force yourself to not care about what someone else thought about you. Other than that, your communication skills were almost useless.

“So go up to those kids and say hi.” Taylor responded.

You knew your best friend was being well meaning, but sometimes she felt like she oversimplified your problems because she saw it through her own lens. Of course it would be easy for Taylor to do so, but for you it would be a different story. Your stomach turned at even the mere thought of introducing yourself to the group of strangers that always sat all the way in the front of the lecture hall.

“I’ll just figure it out. I don't know how to just talk to people."

“What about that guy that I just saw you with? What was that about?”

You cleared your throat, fixing your attention to your laptop screen. Getting work done suddenly seemed more interesting.

“No, no, no look at me.” Taylor dragged your laptop away.

You begrudgingly looked at your friend. “What about him?”

“Who was that? He was kind of cute.” She cupped her cheek with her hand and sat closer, clearly interested. It was rare to see you with anyone other than your usual friend group so Taylor was invested in your endeavours outside of it.

You knew that if you told Taylor about your weird argument with a stranger, that she’d explain that you were unfriendly, that you needed to be nicer, etc. etc. You didn’t need a lecture today.

“Just some dude who finished using the table.”

Taylor chuckled, “What kind of guy says bye like that to a person he just met?”

Her guess was as good as yours.

—

ONE WEEK LATER

Determination is setting 25 morning alarms, pre-picking your clothes and opting for an on-the-go breakfast in order to just make it on time for class. You took your final strides towards the class slowly, knowing you finally had time on your side. Would it be crazy to call waking up at 6am a victory? Doesn’t matter, you were just so happy, you could answer Professor Hampton’s questions… that is, if you listened.

At the bottom of the lecture hall, sat the aforementioned groups, while the top were lonesome stragglers looking at their phones in an effort to look less lonely. You knew they were probably just reviewing their settings; turning their wifi on and off.

Professor Hampton cleared her throat into the microphone at the front of the class, prompting you to pick up the pace to your regular spot at the far left corner.

No way.

Your speed slowed down again, as you craned your head to get a better look at a brown-haired boy sitting by himself.

Despite the numerous empty seats to choose from, your caffeine rush assisted you in making the possibly dumb decision of sitting exactly right next to him. He seemed unbothered, though as he didn’t look up to question it.

Professor Hampton played her slides, while you pulled out your laptop out of your tote bag.

“Hey.” You whispered.

The man’s light brown eyes flickered towards you.

“You’re in this class?” Vernon whisper-exclaimed.

It registered in your brain that this might’ve been a mistake.

You nodded.

Vernon kept his focus on the front of the class, his pencil swivelled  away on his lined paper. You had never seen anyone actually take real-life notes before. You scanned his paper, pleasantly surprised at the organization.

“Why did you dap me up last week?”

“I honestly don’t know what I was doing.” He admitted.

Boys do dumb things around pretty girls. You'd seen it happen so many times with Taylor.

“She’s cute isn’t she?”

“Who?” Vernon was quick to play dumb, but he clearly knew. 

You were fascinated by how he was writing and listening to you at the same time.

“Taylor—my friend.”

Vernon squinted his eyes, either to think or because he couldn’t see the projection clearly. It made you wonder why he sat in the back of the class if that was the case.

“Yeah, she is.”

Bingo.

You silently relished in your impromptu decision to sit next to a stranger.

“What would you say if I got you a date with her?”

Vernon put his pencil down. “You strike me as the kind of person who wouldn’t do that out of the kindness of your heart.”

You snorted. “You’re right.”

Vernon let out a deep sigh, pushing his hoodie sleeve up his arms. He relaxed back in his seat and stared at you as he waited for your proposal.

“What is it?” His deep voice was littered with impatience but it was clear he was at least curious.

You weren’t  prepared to gain his full attention. Your mind went several ways as you collected your thoughts to be as concise as possible.

“I’m struggling in this class, okay? I can’t always make it on time, and creative writing? Not really something I’m interested in.”

“Then why’d you take the class?”

“Why does anyone do anything here? For the credit.” You responded as if the answer was obvious.

Vernon’s raised eyebrows was enough to tell you that he was actually passionate about this subject— which was perfect for you if you wanted to pass the class.

“How do I come into this, though?” His patience running thin from your incredibly interesting backstory.

“If you tutor me up until midterms and I pass, I’ll get you a date with Taylor.”

He shook his head “What if you fail?”

“Then you can take that as a reflection of your teaching skills,” Vernon rolled his eyes. Okay maybe that was a bad joke. “but on the plus side you’ve gained a new friendddddd.”

Professor Hampton gave you two a dirty look on her way back from shutting the lecture hall’s door. Vernon picked up his pencil to look busy and you tapped on your trackpad to turn the screen on.

“And what if I say no?” Vernon said between his teeth, catching the professor glare right at him with her scowl turned up to one hundred.

“Then I’ll shit talk about you to Taylor so you never have a chance.” You threatened. Your mom always urged you to use your brain, and boy, were you using it.

“You want me to teach you how to be creative?”

You shrugged. “I mean, how hard can it be?”

Vernon looked down at his notes contemplating his choices. He was silent for so long that you actually started typing notes.

“Y/N” Vernon whispered. You seemed to be fully immersed in the lesson now. Your eyes absorbing the information... Maybe writing was kind of fascinating.

“Y/N” He tried again, snapping you out of a trance.

“My bad.” you apologized. “I didn’t know the interesting part of the story was called the climax like ew—”

“I can only tutor you on Thursdays between 6 and 8 in the library. Bring your laptop and be prepared to learn.”

You knew you didn’t have class at those hours, so it should’ve been fine, but you also dreaded staying after school longer than you had to.

“What about 4-6?” You pleaded.

Vernon looked offended at your counter offer. “No. 6-8”

“4:30…?” You tried once again.

Vernon snorted at your no-quit attitude. “You wanna pass or not?”

You stuck out your hand defeatedly and Vernon shook on it before either of you could change your mind. Vernon was your new tutor.

Maybe Taylor was right. All you had to do was go up to someone and say “hi.”

And blackmail them. And use your friend as bait.

Making friends was easy.

[gointothevvater]

Her full profile is finally here! Seven pages of information! I may have gone down the rabbit hole just a tiny bit! 

.

St. Cecilia Jameson

Gender: Cis female

Status: Alive

Occupation: Singer for British rock band Stiletto ("Like the knife or like the shoe?" "Yes.")

 Family: Elizabeth Robinson, née Wallis (Mother), Bryony Robinson (Older half-sister), Esme Robinson, née Davies (Grandmother, deceased), Herakles Zafeiriou (Biological father, though she's never met him), Evander Zafeiriou (Older half-brother, who she's also never met, though they've exchanged family photos and stories via email)

Voiced by: Florence Pugh (Speaking), Lzzy Hale (Singing)

Age: A few months younger than Pickles

Date of birth: December 15 (Sagittarius)

Place of birth: Oxford, England

Birth name: Felicity Robinson (Initially, only Sammy knows this, though the rest of SnB learns it at Esme's funeral)

Nicknames: Ceelie (By Pickles and Sammy, mostly, though the Dethklok boys pick it up eventually), Star (By Magnus), princess (By Skwisgaar)

Ethnicity: Half English, half Greek (Though she's unaware of the latter for most of her life)

Height: Five-foot-one

Sexuality: Bisexual

Relationship status: It's complicated. It's always complicated. She's unlucky in love. 

Current location: London, England

Appearance: St. Cecilia is a petite woman (She's half a head shorter than Pickles!) with golden skin and long white-blonde hair, which she wears in a high ponytail. She has thick, dark brows and bright brown eyes (Skwisgaar says she has "wolf eyes"). She has three white marigolds tattooed on each shoulder, a labret piercing, and a vertical collarbone piercing at the hollow of her throat. Her ears are pierced three times each, in which she wears two silver hoops and a silver stud on each side, and she has a small black star beneath each eye. She has a Christina piercing, nipple piercings, and a belly button piercing. She has a No Time For Antivenom tattoo on her sternum, and a European robin tattoo at the back of her neck. Along her spine, she has a tattoo reading "to thine own self be true." She has a shitty stick-and-poke crown tattooed behind her right ear. She has a pear body type, with wide hips, a small chest, and an even smaller waist (Nathan can encircle her waist with his hands). She typically wears a black muscle shirt, ripped dark jeans, heavy boots, black driving gloves, and a studded black leather collar with a D-ring at the front. She also wears a Gibson pearl guitar pick on a necklace, which was given to her by Pickles when they first started dating in the 80s. She wears a silver cuff on each ear, and her tongue is pierced with a simple silver stud. 

During flashbacks to the Snakes N' Barrels era, she's shown with darker blonde hair cut in a mullet style, and only her labret and ear piercings, plus one on the right side of her nose. She wears a cropped white tank, with high-waisted jeans and black Converse sneakers. She wears mismatched armbands, one black, one striped, and the same collar she wears in the present.

Her more casual look consists of a black button-up shirt with the sleeves pushed up, which she wears tucked into a pair of leather pants. She wears pumps instead of boots, and her hair is twisted up in a clip. She keeps her collar, but doesn't wear the pick necklace or her ear cuff, and she switches her hoop earrings for studs. She doesn't apply her stars.

For fancier occasions, she wears a black dress with spaghetti straps and a very short, flared skirt, black opera gloves and black strap pumps. She, as always, wears her collar with it, and she pulls her hair into a high bun. 

Personality: St. Cecilia is cocky, witty, and teasing, but ultimately good-natured. She's a bit selfish and stubborn, but she does everything with 110% effort, hoping to impress people, even if she winds up getting hurt in the process. She'll do literally anything for validation. To say she's vain would be an understatement. She's something of a coquette who flirts with both men and women, and is she has a tendency to "think with her dick," as Tony once put it. She's slow to anger, but quick to jealousy, and she holds grudges for far too long. She's the playful type, but it's largely in a chill way. She's an obvious extrovert, and the role as frontman for Stiletto came very naturally.  

Skills & Hobbies: St. Cecilia writes good poetry, great song lyrics, and terrible erotica. She likes plants and is quite the chess player (Though she hasn't managed to beat Charles even once), which she learned during her school days. She also learned to fence, ride horses, and speak fluent Latin there.

Musical Talents: She's a classically trained singer (When she was little, she was part of her church's choir), and she writes most of the song lyrics and some of the music for her band, Stiletto. In Snakes N' Barrels, she played lead guitar on a white Jackson Pro Series Rhoads RR3, but during their reunion concert, she plays a more modern Gibson Explorer '76 Reissue 2010 Cherry. She took piano lessons for several years as a child, and she's still pretty good. Nothing outstanding, but if Stiletto needs to incorporate a piano into a song, she's perfectly capable of playing it herself. 

Relationships: 

-Pickles the Drummer: Their relationship is a complicated one. They've known each other for ages, and they've been together through the highest highs and the lowest lows, all the way down to rock bottom. She partially blames him for her late teens and early twenties being the fiasco they were, and she cut off contact with him for a long time after the SnB breakup. During the run of the show itself, the two reconcile somewhat and even become more or less friends before Abigail shows up and things start to crumble again. They have a hard time admitting it, but there's love between them, and there has been for a long time. They're both afraid to try getting together again, though, as there's a mutual fear of the relationship ending as it did the first time, with them hating each other again. They're back together at the end of Doomstar, but there's no way of telling if the love between them is enough to keep them together or if they'll just fall apart all over again. 

-Magnus Hammersmith: They were more off-and-on than anything, but they were together for years, even though quite a bit of it was long-distance. It wasn't supposed to be a serious thing. It was just supposed to be a quick fuck. Then it was supposed to be a performance to annoy Pickles, but Magnus quickly realized that St. Cecilia's feelings for Pickles were too strong for her to be any use to him in his revenge plot. The basis of their bond formed because they understood each other on a level they've never known with anyone else: Former Snakes N' Barrels guitarist St. Cecilia Jameson and former Dethklok guitarist Magus Hammersmith both understand on a fundamental level what it's like to be left behind and forgotten. Magnus caught a bit of feelings, and when Roy Cornickelson's funeral came around, Magnus warned St. Cecilia not to attend. It was their last interaction, and it forever cast him in a positive light for her, even after she learned what he was doing with the Metal Masked Assassin. 

-Nathan Explosion: They get along pretty well. Their first meeting was at a singers-only Crystal Mountain party, and they ended the evening with a quickie in the coatroom. He wrote a song about the encounter, but Pickles never figured out that it was about St. Cecilia, which Nathan thinks is just the funniest thing. He mostly sees St. Cecilia as one of the guys once she meets with Dethklok again for the SnB reunion. It's a "been there, done that" kind of deal. She's not brutal, but she's funny and she's fun, and goddamn, is she pretty, and they would absolutely hang out if they could get their schedules to line up.

-Skwisgaar Skwigelf: St. Cecilia is nothing short of enchanted by Skwisgaar. It's not a crush, exactly, but she has a huge amount of admiration for him. They've practiced together a time or two, but she's a little rusty and winds up with her fingers bleeding because her calluses have gone soft. He tends to tease her over her soft hands. A guitar god, he tells her, can't have hands like a princess. His calling her “princess” becomes a bit of a thing for them. The two of them often have brunch together, talking shit and drinking. She's good for him; He's never had a female friend before.

-Toki Wartooth: Within the series itself, St. Cecilia hasn't given Toki much thought. He's cute, but he's just sorta there. His incident during the SOBERTOWN USA concert really scared her, and she more or less avoids him after that. Post-DSR, though, their relationship changes. He, like her, was hurt by Magnus, and even with him dead, Toki misses him terribly. St. Cecilia misses him, too. As sad as it is, this becomes their common ground. Their other connection, odd as it sounds, is pole dancing. St. Cecilia does it for exercise, and Toki did it for money, and they often compete to see who's better on the pole. 

-William Murderface: St. Cecilia actually has a begrudging fondness for Murderface. He's awful, but he's also pretty funny, and she likes to hear him talk about knives and medieval weaponry, as her family home is full of such things. They clash over things, of course, but she likes being around him more often than not.

-Charles Offdensen: St. Cecilia really likes Charles, actually. He's basically the only person on the show who's really "on her level" class-wise. He attended Harvard, and she attended Oxford, so they have a great deal to talk about. They play a lot of chess and fence on occasion, and if it weren't for her feelings for Pickles and his obligation to the Church, they just might have gotten together.

-Dick Knubbler: They're friends, in a way. She thinks he's kind of a weirdo, but he knows how to have a good time, so as long as he isn't hitting on her, she likes being around him. 

-Abigail Remeltincdrinc: They became friends mostly due to the fact that they were both women in the music industry (And both working for Crystal Mountain) and supporting each other seemed the right thing to do. Abigail getting involved with Dethklok and catching Pickles's attention quickly became a sore spot, and they drifted apart after that. After DSR, things got even worse. Abigail, naturally, is glad that Magnus is gone, while St. Cecilia is devastated by the loss. They had something of a falling-out over it, and they haven't really spoken since. 

-Edgar Jomfru: Despite being very different people, St. Cecilia really enjoys Edgar's company. He merely tolerates her at first, but she grows on him, to the point where they're legitimately friends come Doomstar. The two of them often have lunch together on the roof of Mordhaus so they can get some fresh air. 

-Family: St. Cecilia's family consists of her mother, Elizabeth, her older sister, Bryony, and her now-deceased grandmother, Esme. St. Cecilia has a very formal, cold relationship with her mother, and she has no desire to change that. As far as she's concerned, her mother doesn't deserve to have a good relationship with her. St. Cecilia adores Bryony, though. Though Elizabeth brags about her, Bryony remains modest and is very close with her sister because of it. Though there's seven years between them, they may as well be twins. Esme, who passed away in 1993, was more of a mother to St. Cecilia than Elizabeth ever was, and St. Cecilia still misses her terribly. She was a big part of getting SnB off the ground, and the boys even came to her funeral.

-Snakes N' Barrels: St. Cecilia adores all the boys, of course, but Sammy is the only one she really kept in touch with after the breakup. He was her favorite long before Pickles joined. There was a pregnancy scare not long after the band took off that somehow, against all odds, brought the two of them even closer. Sammy was St. Cecilia's first love. Her relationships with Tony and Snazz were much more professional, though none of them were anywhere near professional. The crown tattoo behind her right ear was done by Tony on a drunken night in, and it was too good a night for her to even consider covering it or getting it removed. 

-Stiletto: She gets along with them all quite well! She's known Niamh McLoughlin, their bassist, the longest, and their friendship dates back to their school days. Lex Clarke and Priyanka Dayal, the drummer and the guitarist respectively, came as a package deal, as they've been more or less married for years. St. Cecilia adores them and the sweetness of their relationship. She's a little envious of them, actually, though she would never say so.

History:

-Childhood: St. Cecilia was born in Oxford, England to Elizabeth Robinson. She was raised more or less at her family's girls-only boarding school, away from her mother. When she was fourteen, she fell off a horse during an equestrian class and badly injured her shoulder. She was one of the popular girls during her school days, up until she hit fifteen and decided that she was no longer a child and had a right to demand respect from her emotionally distant mother. She quit the piano lessons she had been taking for several years and took up the guitar, though it aggravated her injured shoulder and even as a teen, she developed a dependence on painkillers. This rebellious period stretched until she was sixteen and ran away with the help of her grandmother. St. Cecilia was given her name just before she left, so it would be easier for her to hide, as well as a hefty sum to tide her over until she could get herself settled. She was only in LA for a few weeks before she met Sammy at a bar where the SnB prototype band was playing. Naturally, Snazz and Tony weren't thrilled with the idea of Sammy's kinda-sorta-girlfriend trying to become their lead guitarist, and when Snazz disparagingly referred to St. Cecilia as Yoko, she broke his nose (How could he have not expected violence when a Beatles-loving British girl was called such a horrible thing?). This earned their respect and is an event that they laugh about to this day. 

-Snakes n' Barrels era: St. Cecilia stuck with the band for several months before they found Pickles, and she was smitten with him the moment she heard him sing. Esme was an important source of financial support during their formative years. The band made it big after not too long, and they all grew quite close. St. Cecilia ended up in an ill-fated off-and-on relationship with Pickles as time went on, and to this day she doesn't remember the first time she told him she loved him. It wasn't long after his first OD and his following stint in rehab that she told him, and they were both drunk in celebration of his release. His tolerance, even post-rehab, was far higher than hers, though, and he remembers, though he sometimes hates that he does. Though there was genuine love between them, the stress of the band and both of their substance abuse problems drove a wedge between not only the couple, but also the entire band. Coupled with Pickles fucking groupies behind St. Cecilia's back and St. Cecilia's becoming a rather serious Vicodin addict to combat the pain in her injured shoulder, the band was doomed. Pickles came to see St. Cecilia off on her flight back to England, saying he would meet her there when his next residuals check came in, but he never made it, and they didn't speak to each other for years afterward. It hurt, but St. Cecilia supposed it was for the best. A clean break, and all that.

-Preklok: After SnB broke up, St. Cecilia returned to Oxford, staying with Bryony in their mother's guest house as she tried to figure out her next move. Despite her gift for writing lyrics, she had no talent for writing books, and that idea quickly went down the drain. She still received a large amount of money in residuals, but she was reduced to a mere socialite, though it mostly agreed with her. At her mother's insistence, she attended a few classes at Oxford University. She absolutely loved it. In 1992, Esme passed away. St. Cecilia only told Sammy about it, but he took the initiative and brought Pickles, Tony and Snazz with him to the funeral. St. Cecilia was initially pissed, but she really appreciated the support. That was the only time she saw Pickles between SnB's breakup and their reunion concert. He was devastated when her parting words to him were "I love you with everything I am, but I never wanna see you again." In the mid-90s, she posed for an issue of Playboy, and Pickles has a copy of the issue tucked away somewhere. It wasn't until 1998, when she moved to a little flat in London, that St. Cecilia reunited with her school friend Niamh and the idea of Stiletto came about. They found Priyanka and Lex at an open mic night at one of the local clubs, and they hit it off, both as friends and as bandmates. They played at many clubs and pubs, and they were soon found by a scout at another open mic night. They signed with the UK branch of Crystal Mountain Records and were assigned the surly but efficient Melinda Glasscock as their manager, and within three years, Stiletto was huge, due in part to St. Cecilia's residual fame from Snakes N' Barrels. Their first tour was through Europe, but the second came to America, where St. Cecilia met Magnus in a bar post-show. They got on really well, and she invited him to her hotel room for the night. They exchanged numbers and got quite close over time, with her even flying him out to London from time to time so they could hang out. Magnus knew who she was from the start, and while he planned to use her feelings for Pickles to get her on his side, that soon faded and he came to genuinely like her. She wouldn't learn who he was until later on. A few years before canon, she had a quickie with Nathan in a coat room at a singers-only part at Crystal Mountain records, and he used the fact that she couldn't fit her mouth around his dick as inspiration for Dethklok's infamous song "Glasgow Smile."

-Season 1: 

-St. Cecilia's first mention within the confines of canon is during Performance Klok, when Pickles mentions he hasn't been in a serious relationship since the '80s despite the fact that he would certainly thrive under such attention. 

-She first appears in Snakes N' Barrels, during the documentary the Dethklok is watching. The guys are a little critical when they (Save Nathan, who's known for a long time) learn that part of SnB's downfall was due to Pickles's failed relationship with St. Cecilia. There's some comedic nonsense talk about fucking one's guitarist before Pickles goes to speak with Charles. Though St. Cecilia is working on an album with Stiletto when she's asked to go the reunion, she manages to push through and finish in time, though she arrives nearly late. She finds Pickles backstage, and when he sweeps in to kiss her, she pulls away a bit, saying they can't do this, as she's spoken for. She lets him hold her close, though. The rest of Dethklok finds them like that, and St. Cecilia excuses herself to go find Sammy, Tony and Snazz. There's some talk about Pickles not leaving Dethklok, which he says he won't, but they're rather worried after catching him with St. Cecilia in his arms. Meanwhile, she manages to find the boys, and they meet with Pickles backstage. While the boys partake of the Totally Awesome Sweet Alabama Liquid Snake, St. Cecilia doesn't, as she once humiliated herself by passing out on stage and doesn't wish to repeat the incident. She presses a kiss to Pickles's palm before they go on stage, an old ritual that they were never able to shake. What happens is far worse than someone just passing out, and she and Pickles leave the stage amidst the chaos while the medical Klokateers take care of the boys and see them off to the hospital. It's a disaster. She's embarrassed and angry, and she turns down Pickles's offer of a ride home and calls someone instead, as she didn't get her money converted and can't pay for a cab. This someone turns out to be the man who's claimed her, Magnus, and Pickles is none too happy about it. He tries to stop her from going with him, but it doesn't work. 

-She isn't seen in Dethkids, but she is mentioned. When Pickles starts drinking harder than usual, he finally gives in to the urge to call her, to talk about how Sammy and Snazz and Tony are doing, and to tell her that she should steer clear of Magnus. He's so drunk, though, that she barely has even an idea of what he's talking about. 

-Offscreen, but somewhere between the two SnB episodes, Magnus and St. Cecilia abruptly break up. She has a feeling something was going on with him, but his sudden disappearance really hurt her. They had been together off and on for years, after all. A few weeks before he left, he bought her a little pink knife and showed her how to use it, just in case he wasn't around to protect her. When he left, he left his guitar behind, and she still has it as of Doomstar. 

-Season 2: 

-She's mentioned by Seth in Dethwedding, though only as "that British chick" he thought Pickles would eventually have married. Pickles nearly decks him for even mentioning her.

-St. Cecilia's next appearance is in Snakes N' Barrels II. In part one, during the advertisement for the SOBERTOWN USA concert, she's missing from the band lineup, and Pickles is both relieved and a little concerned by her absence. 

-In SnB II part two, Nathan, Skwisgaar and Toki find her among the crowd at the SOBERTOWN USA concert. Nathan asks if she wasn't invited to play, but she says that she was: She just didn't think it was right to play without Pickles. Realizing that Pickles is sneaking around backstage, she leaves to go find him and try to keep him from doing something he'll regret. She only finds him just as Tony, Snazz and Sammy start freaking out, and she only just manages to keep Pickles from killing Rikki Kixx, though she honestly doesn't mind the thought of him dead. She pulls Pickles away from the stage, where he calls the Klokateers to take care of Sammy, Snazz and Tony, and she sets to icing down his bruised knuckles. She tells him that she and Magnus broke up, and he's thoroughly pleased about it: She's too good for him, anyway. That irritates her a bit, but she tells him to call her sometime, though she insists he do it when he's not drunk off his ass. 

-Season 3: 

-Ironically, when Pickles calls her in Dethhealth to inform her that he's dying, he's in fact drunk again. She wants to go to Mordhaus to see him, but he tells her to stay where she is, as he doesn't want her seeing him like that, though she's seen him at rock bottom as it is. At the end of the episode, he's drunker and higher than ever, but he calls her again to let her know he's all right. She can't understand him, though, so he puts Nathan on to explain. She’s thoroughly relieved, but she’s still considering going to Mordhaus to see him. She implores of Nathan, "Take care of him, all right?"

-Offscreen, in the time between Dethhealth and Dethmas, Pickles goes to London for a while to appease St. Cecilia, and to their mutual surprise, it's not really all that different from how it was when they were actually together. There's lots of cuddling and kissing and great sex and just... Hanging out. It's easy for them to be together. They have their share of problems, but the old spark between them is still there. Pickles is honestly a little scared of that: What if he falls for her all over again just for her to break his heart like she did last time? The fact that she has Magnus's guitar makes him doubly suspicious. He starts drinking harder than ever to drown out the thoughts of her. 

-In Rehabklok, when Pickles's drinking is brought to the attention of the band and he's sent to rehab, he tries for a while to blame it on St. Cecilia. She broke his heart, and he drinks to cope. It makes perfect sense, until he starts to really think about it and realizes that he's equally at fault for how their relationship (And also SnB) fell apart. He realizes, after many years, that he hurt her as badly as she hurt him. And that makes him feel even worse. He talks the doctor into letting him call her to apologize, but it doesn't go well: She's a little offended that he would even consider blaming her for his drinking, given he was a drunk long before they met. "Is that what I am to you now? An excuse to get drunk and act a fool?" Not long after that, Pickles realizes the real cause for his drinking.

-Just before Charles goes to speak to the UN in Doublebookedklok, he calls St. Cecilia and cryptically asks her if she speaks Latin. She owes him a favor for getting her out of some legal trouble, so she can't really refuse. Several months before, she punched a scummy paparazzo who called Magnus washed-up, and Charles used his reeducation program to keep those involved from pressing charges or damaging St. Cecilia's reputation. 

-Season 4:

-In Fanklok, before Charles meets with the band to discuss Klokikon, he welcomes St. Cecilia to Mordhaus and presents her with an ancient-looking journal that belonged to Aurelius Isambard, one of the original prophets of the Church of the Black Klok. She's taken down to the basement, where she's introduced to Edgar Jomfru, and gets to work. 

-In Diversityklok, after he's spoken to Edgar, Charles speaks to St. Cecilia. He finds her engrossed, but thoroughly worried. She asks if this is real, and she's even more worried when he tells her it is. 

-Offscreen, St. Cecilia has been hard at work translating the journal, and she's come to a passage that seems to describe the growing tension between the band. It also mentions an approaching star, and she takes to sitting on the roof at night to observe the sky. 

-In Prankklok, when Pickles tells Nathan that he's not allowed to drink any tequila during their friender-bender, Nathan tells him he can't visit St. Cecilia when they stop in London. Pickles reluctantly agrees. Not long after, we see Pickles on his phone, though, debating on calling her just before he notices the storm warning.

-Offscreen, St. Cecilia approaches Charles about a phrase repeated over and over in the journal: Fata sidus oritur, the star of fate is born. 

-After Charles breaks the news about Ice Festival to Skwisgaar in Bookklok, he goes to speak with St. Cecilia and Edgar in the basement. She's tacked two star maps to the wall: One from the previous week and one from the previous night. There's a spot near the center of the first map that seems bigger on the second one. She looks like the world is ending when she tells him it's the Doomstar. It's real. It's coming? When? Soon, she says. Far too soon.

-When Charles tells the boys he's going out of town in Dethcamp, it's to take St. Cecilia to an observatory, where they meet with Ishnifus and spend a few days tracking the Doomstar's movement as it comes closer and closer to Earth. 

-In Going Downklok, when Pickles shows up all decked out for his meeting with Abigail, Nathan is quick to ask, "Don't you have a girlfriend?" Pickles insists he doesn't; He and St. Cecilia was hurt and angry the last time they spoke. On top of that, he believes she's all the way in London, and Abigail is right there. 

-Offscreen, between Dethdinner and Breakup Klok, St. Cecilia is tagged in the video of Pickles leaving Dethklok by a drunken Toki. She's incredibly hurt. Pickles has nothing, he said. She, apparently, is nothing.

-In Breakup Klok, Pickles tries to call St. Cecilia to invite her to his wine tasting, but she refuses to answer and sends him straight to voicemail. Towards the end of the episode, after the escape from Salacia, Charles requests a check-up on Edgar and St. Cecilia back at Mordhaus, and Pickles is stunned and angry to learn that she's been more or less within arm's reach for months. Had he known, he's certain things would have been different-- He wouldn't have tried to make a move on Abigail and he wouldn't have fucked up his chance to get back with St. Cecilia again.

-Offscreen, St. Cecilia speaks to Charles about staying at a hotel for a few days, just until Roy Cornickelson's funeral, after which she'll return to Mordhaus and her translation work. The day of the funeral, though, she receives a call from Magnus telling her she absolutely cannot attend, as he can't guarantee her safety. It's the last time she has contact with him before his death. We also see her watching the news about Dethklok's breakup and the insinuation that Abigail caused it, and St. Cecilia chucks a bottle at the TV, mirroring Pickles's actions in SnB II.

-In Church of the Black Klok, St. Cecilia is fetched from the hotel by Klokateers and taken to the Dethsub, where she meets with Charles, pointedly ignores Pickles, and goes to work with Edgar instead. 

-The Doomstar Requiem:

-In "One of Us Must Die," St. Cecilia can be seen on one of the slides, staring up into the sky with Isambard's journal held to her chest. Towards the end of the song, reading from the book, she sings, "Dethklok, they must be rejoined/Evil, it must be destroyed/No more apathetic stoics/They can learn to be heroic/Write the song that will be our salvation..."

-In "Training," while carrying the journal, she sings the lyrics, "As the prophecy foretold, the Doomstar has been born/And you all will be endowed with a power known to none." Nathan, Skwisgaar and Murderface are looking at the art of the Prophecy, but Pickles is watching her. Ishnifus places a hand upon her shoulder, and they sing together, "The Deth lights are within you all waiting to be woken/And when the five are united, the evil will be broken," in a show of solidarity.

-In "En Antris et Stella Fatum Cruenti," just after Ishnifus is killed and the Doomstar goes red, we see a shot of Charles, Edgar and St. Cecilia at the Church, watching the sky. 

-In "Morte Lumina," in a mirror to Nathan and Abigail's kiss, we see Pickles approach St. Cecilia, and she presses a kiss to his palm (Which is a really significant gesture between them) before he pulls her into his arms. 

Trivia: 

-The stars on her cheeks are actually a makeup trick, as she's afraid to have a needle so close to her eyes. 

-She smokes Honeyrose Cherry cigarettes (Which have roughened her voice a bit), but she doesn't drink to excess, save when she's with Pickles. He's a terrible influence on her, but she adores him just the same. Considering him and Magnus, she has rather bad taste in men.

-Her signature scent is Estée Lauder's Cinnabar, which features notes of jasmine, orange blossom, cloves, and patchouli. She uses a cinnamon body oil when she wants to get Pickles's attention. It always works.

-She wants nothing more than to be loved, but she's keenly aware of the fact that most of the people who "love" her only want to coast on her fame. It's resulted in her having a hard time trusting people. The fact that Pickles and the rest of Dethklok don't need to coast off her is part of why she likes them so much.

-She's an iced coffee addict, and she prefers chocolate, caramel, or hazelnut varieties.

-She was raised Catholic, and while she lapsed a long time ago, she has occasional bouts of Catholic Guilt. Her name is related to her religion, as St. Cecilia is the patron saint of music.

-Her preferred alcohol is Bombay Sapphire gin, though she also likes white wine and champagne.

-She's a plant mom. Her flat is full of plants, including a little devil's tongue cactus she bought at a farmer's market in LA when she first came to America. It's traveled the world with her! It lived in the cupholder of Snazz's van for several years, and now it lives in her kitchen, perched on top of the microwave.

-She has a pretty serious oral fixation. She's always got something in her mouth: A cigarette, a pen, a popsicle, someone's fingers, a dick. Depends on her mood. Getting her tongue pierced helped a little, as she can play with the stud, but some habits just can't be broken.

-She and the rest of Stiletto own a condo building in London together, and she naturally has the penthouse to herself. It's very airy and open, with lots of mirrors and plants and exposed brick. One corner of her living room is just a huge window that looks out on the city. It's her favorite feature. Magnus is too nervous to go near it.

[yee-fxcking-haw]

Do Your Worst

A/N: This is literally 8,640 words of self indulgent smut. Just want the Winter Soldier to beat the shit outta me, ya know? As far as tagging I just tagged whoever liked the post I made about finishing this chapter, if I missed you or you want added/removed just let me know!❤️

Warnings: Violence, bloodplay if you squint, knifeplay if you squint, choking, hitting, degredation, rough sex, violent sex, name calling, I think that's all of them??

Summary: Your purpose is to fight, to be used as a weapon. During a training session at the Red Room facility, you come face to face with the ominous man they call "The Weapon." Unexpected tension is developed during your match, that is later unleashed when you learn what the Winter Soldier's true mission is... To train you to be a weapon just like him.

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  You kneel on all fours, your own blood and sweat dripping onto the floor in front of you. You don't even know where all the blood is coming from at this point. This fight has been going on for who knows how long. Your muscles scream and you feel your bones are begging you to surrender. You take in a deep shuddering breath when you see your opponent's large black boots shuffle out of your peripheral vision. You jump to your feet with all the coordination of a drunken grizzly. You glance quickly at the other girls watching your match, all of their faces blank while they observe you getting your ass handed to you. They sit in a sea of grey uniforms, everyone's hair all braided back the same way. The room you're in is set up like a small gymnasium, seats set up in rows on the sides with a large sparring area in the center. The design makes it easy for everyone in the room to see every detail of your pathetic attempt to fight off your enemy.

  This is your first fight with the man they call "The Weapon" and he's kicking your ass. In your many years at the Red Room training facility, you've fought plenty of men and women here, beating most of them rather quickly. You were sent here very young after your incredible ability to heal rapidly was discovered. Basically, you're really good at taking a beating, making you nearly impossible to best in combat. You don't remember your life before your time here, not even your own parents. Your purpose is to fight, so that's all you remember doing. That's what brings you here, fighting the Winter Soldier.

 You look back to him to see he's already coming at you again. A blur of black and silver, the only distinguishable feature are his furious blue eyes that peak out above a black mouth covering. You scan his body, looking for any sign of weakness, willing there to be one with every cell in your body. His stance is too wide, he's stalking towards you now as if he's almost frustrated. Your body reacts to the opening before your mind tells it to. Once he's about two feet from you, you launch forward into a somersault. Your torso lands between his legs, you quickly let your legs fly up, hooking the backs of your knees around the tops of his thighs. Using every ounce of strength you have left you push your torso off the ground to bring him slamming down with a thunderous thump.

  You press your hips into his, then you throw your torso forward so you can straddle him. His left hand comes up to grasp your throat and your chest seizes up with fear. Your hands fly to his wrist, gripping the cold metal as if it will somehow get him to release. This is why they call him "The Weapon". His left arm is made entirely of metal, built exactly like a regular human arm, but it possesses superhuman strength and dexterity. The metal plates pinch the skin of your throat, causing you to panic slightly. No, you can't fucking panic, that's what they're watching for.

  Your right hand flies to your thigh, quickly unclipping your knife from it's holster. He's too focused on squeezing the life out of you to notice your actions. Just as you start to see white stars dance in your vision you bring the knife to his throat. His grip on you loosens slightly, anger dancing in his piercing eyes. You see his right hand move to grab the knife, but you bring your foot up to trap his wrist under your boot, thankful for your flexibility. You press the blade against his throat.

  "Yield." You choke out.

  His eyes go wild, pieces of unkempt brown hair falling over his forehead and shoulders, adding to his feral appearance. His metal hand tightens around your throat again, he's challenging you. You sneer at him then apply more pressure with your knife, seeing his skin split slightly, a small trickle of blood seeps out onto your blade. Unfortunately, he seems completely unbothered by the action. There's no victory from this position, you have to find another way. You hike your right foot up then plant it on his chest, earning a deep grunt from him. You throw your body over his, freeing yourself from his grip, keeping your knife on his throat the whole time.

  You quickly throw your legs over his shoulders so you can straddle his chest this time, your feet hook into his armpits as your knees cage his head. You flip your knife in your hand to bring the point down against his jugular. His hands fly to your thighs as you use them to grip the sides of his throat. His fingers dig into your skin, the pain of his fingertips bruising you only fuels you now. You feel his flesh hand leave your thigh, you read him like a book and beat him to his next move. Your free hand flies back and rips his own knife away from it's home on his thigh. You bring the knife up and throw it into the wall across from you, it sinks into the wood with a satisfying sound.

  With a roar he uses his metal arm to push off the mat, flipping you both over so your back is pressed against the ground. He has your right leg hooked over his shoulder, metal hand around your throat again. You have somehow managed to keep your knife against his throat, holding onto it like it's your lifeline. You try to move your left leg to kick, then realize he's got you pinned. His hips are pressing harshly between your legs, in another context the position would look positively erotic. You hate yourself for the way the heat spreads through your body when he presses into you further. He only makes it worse by bringing his right arm up to yank your braids from the roots. You let out a cry, cursing yourself for how wantan the noise sounds. You look into his eyes, letting your knife push into his throat further.

  You're both trembling with rage, furious with each other for not yielding. There's blood slowly pulsing out of his throat while your vision goes blurry, but neither of you are willing to admit defeat. A drop of blood falls from the handle of your knife to land on your lips. His eyes snap to your mouth, suddenly transfixed. That's it. That's the weakness you've been waiting for. You lick your lips slowly, welcoming the metallic taste. His eyebrows pinch together and he lets out a trembling breath, his eyes snap back to yours then and you feel something pulse against your center.

  "Horny bastard." You whisper, so quiet only he can hear it.

  His eyebrows furrow and his eyes light up with blind rage. His metal hand squeezes around your throat with malice, causing you to gasp and sputter. This is your window, don't fuck it up. His torso presses against the leg he has hooked on his shoulder, bringing the top of your thigh flush against your chest.

  Perfect.

  You bring your other leg up, plant your foot on the ground and kick off. With him practically laying on top of you, he isn't well grounded enough to fight off the leverage you have. You use the leg on his shoulder to twist his torso so that his back is pressed against the mat once again. You quickly scramble up his body and twist yourself rapidly, then throw your legs over his shoulders to trap his head between your thighs again. The back of his head is pressed hard against your core, you ignore the friction and the proximity of his mouth to your inner thighs. He's the horny bastard, not you. You suck air into your lungs, desperate for the oxygen to fill you again. Your legs are pressed against his torso, pinning him against the ground. If he rolls he'll only smother himself against the ground, and in the position he can't gain enough leverage to lift you off the ground.

  You sit up, letting your thighs squeeze his throat even more, his silvery eyes are strained as he looks up at you. His hands are gripping at your thighs again, you feel his metal fingertips break your skin, but you pay no mind. You just bring your knife up to his face, in one swift movement you cut off his mask, exposing a pair of full lips and a sharp jaw line. You're shocked by how handsome he is, but you quickly shove the thought out of your mind. This is no time for any sort of admiration. You flip you knife around then bring the tip up to the soft spot under his chin, letting it puncture the skin slightly.

  "Yield." You repeat harshly, voice hoarse from all the choking.

  He glares at you with hate and disdain, obviously desperate to end your life. That's the one thing he can't do though. During these spars you are given one rule, you are not to kill your opponent. You can beat them within an inch of their life, but you cannot take it.

  His flesh hand loosens on your thigh, and then he gives you three harsh pats. Signifying that he has admitted defeat. Neither of you moves an inch, eyes still locked. You're trapped by adrenaline and the carnal need to survive, both full of feral bloodlust. Your body will not release his until an instructor tells you to do so. You're both locked in place by each other, bodies trembling, covered in each other's and your own blood and sweat. His face settles back into his usual blank stare, but his eyes are clouded slightly, lips still quivering. For a moment he looks like he did when his blood trickled from his throat to your mouth, he looks starved, desperate, animalistic.

  Sickening attraction shoots through your veins. Images of his hard body working against yours fill your mind, you can't help but wonder how brutal he would be in the bedroom. His body is designed to destroy others, you're filled with a dark and shameful desire to let him destroy your body however he pleases. It's just the adrenaline, that's the only reason your core pulses when you see that look in his eyes. At least, that's what you tell yourself.

  "Release." A woman's harsh voice echoes behind you.

  Slowly, like two machines being turned off, your bodies loosen their holds on each other. He slides out from between your thighs, using his hands to push you off like you're some hideous garment he can't wait to rid himself of. You slowly stand up, every part of your body crying out in pain as you do. You place your knife back in its holster. Despite the burn in your shoulders, you bring your hands back to hold each other behind your back, then turn stiffly to face your instructor.

  She's a terrifying old woman, muscular and rigid. She keeps her silver hair in an immaculate bun. Her wrinkled face always pulled taught in a harsh grimace. She always looks like she's ready to sentence someone to death, which for all you know, might be true. She sits in her chair with one long leg crossed over the other, she's seated at a solitary stool that's placed in front of the rows of other girls. You don't know her name, and you never will. You have been instructed to refer to her as "Madame Widow".

  "Ready for assessment, Madame Widow." You say, trying to keep your damaged voice as monotone as possible.

  "And you, Soldier?" She asks your opponent pointedly.

  He's standing beside you, a rigid mountain imposing fear on every young woman in the room. Every young woman except you, that is. You got him to yield. You push the pride deep down, it's not an emotion you're permitted to feel.

  "Ready for assessment." He states. He doesn't need to refer to her as Madame Widow, since he's not a pupil of hers. He's simply a weapon used to make you and every girl here a formidable opponent for any enemy.

  "Soldier, you were strong at the beginning." She starts, you feel his energy shift at her words. Shoulders drawing up as he takes a deep, tense breath.

  "You had me convinced it would be a quick and easy victory. You had an opportunity to strangle her within the first thirty seconds but you missed it. This gave her all the information she needed about your fighting style." She glances down at her notepad, her stiletto shaped nails thrum against the paper.

  "Then of course, you had her pinned, but you were… distracted." Her voice is dripping condescension.

  Your heart falls to the floor, she knew. Of course she knew, it's her job to know. You quickly settle yourself. She will see it as a victory on your part, a weakness is a weakness. You have even been taught that as a woman, when you face a male opponent, their greatest weakness will always be their physical desire for you. You had harnessed that in the fight and used it to acquire a victory.

  "Your distraction cost you the match, Soldier. Naturally, she spotted your desire for her immediately and used it to gain the leverage she needed to get you to admit defeat." She says, her tone cold and calculating.

 You hear the metal plates of his arm scrape together and assume his balling up his hand into a fist. You don't dare look over, you're not allowed to look away from your instructor when she's addressing you. You want to see him though, you want to see the blood painting his thick neck where your knife pierced his skin, you want to see him ripping you apart with his eyes in all of their animalistic rage. The thought makes your chest burn with a dreadful desire, a desire that you know you have to kill.

  "You." She says harshly. She angles her head back slightly so she can look down her nose at you.

  "At the start, your fighting was pitiful. You were flustered, panicked, and emotional. You must never show that to an opponent, no matter how outmatched you may be." She chastises you, disgust evident in her voice.

  "However, despite your haphazard style, you were terribly clever. Even when you were losing consciousness you kept your wits about you. You used leverage instead of strength to make your opponent submit more than once. Your ability to manipulate his desire for you was exemplary, and should be incorporated into your sparring more often." She closes her notepad with a harsh snap, straightens her jacket as she stands up with impeccable posture then strides to the front of the room.

  "You two, clean yourselves at the medical station, the rest of you are dismissed." She says curtly, then exits the room, letting the heavy wooden door slam behind her. The girls all move hastily with their heads down, gathering their belongings silently, one by one ducking out of the room not daring to look at you or the Soldier beside you.

  You turn slowly to limp towards the medical station at the other side of the room. It's required that you tend to any wounds inflicted upon you by yourself. It's supposed to teach you to be self-sufficient in the field, since most of your missions will be done as solo operations.

  Once all the girls are gone, you place your hands on either side of the sink then slowly lift your hand to turn the faucet on, but before you can reach it your wrist is seized by a harsh metal grasp. Before you can react, he's got you twisted around, back pressed into the wall beside the sink. He bars you against the wall with his mechanical arm, he presses his mechanical forearm into your chest and you can't help but let out a whimper. He lets out a ragged breath through his nose, you look up into his eyes and your blood freezes. His eyes are an inferno of pure fury. His dark brows are pinched together, his upper lip is pulled up slightly exposing teeth smeared with blood. He has the appearance of a wolf that just got caught tearing out the throat of his prey.

  "You listen to me." He snarls, his voice trembling.

  You can't stop yourself from glancing down at his neck, desperate to see where you wounded him. You're always so morbidly curious about the damage you inflict on others, you hate yourself for it, but you can't get enough of making others bleed. He snaps you out of your trance by practically growling at you.

  "You pathetic bitch. You're too thirsty for blood to even pay attention to the danger you're in." He spits, bringing his knife up to your throat with his other hand. You let your head fall back, without the prying eyes of your instructor and the other girls you can welcome the sharp metal against your skin. You let the veil slip while you revel in the sharp kiss against the soft skin of your throat. That familiar taboo longing fills your chest. You can only guess that he shares your same twisted desires. After the way he reacted to you tasting his blood, you're relatively confident he does.

  You look up at him through your lashes, letting your mouth twist into a teasing smirk.

  "Do it, I fucking want it." You spit the words at him, challenging him with your lewd implications.

  He glares at you with furious eyes, then he lets a shaking breath fall from his lips.

  "You're disgusting." He says with venom. Almost as soon as he's insulted you, he's released you. He turns and stalks towards the exit of the door, broad shoulders swaying in a menacing way as he does. Your hand slides up to feel where his knife had been pressed against your throat, already missing the exhilarating sting. Longing takes over your body and you try to shake it off, identifying it as a weakness immediately. He can want you, because you can use that against him. If you want him though, you're weak and vulnerable.

  You shake your head and rip your hand away from your throat. You have to kill these feelings, you are not allowed to have such a weakness. There's no room for it, it will only cost you dearly in the end. You spin slowly to face the medical station once again, placing your hands back on the sides of the sink. You're shaking like a damn leaf.

  A timid glance at your reflection shows that you're much more beat up than you thought. Your lip is split and caked in blood, your left cheekbone has an angry welt growing on it, and your neck looks like it's been through a meat grinder. Deep purple bruises are already blooming over the skin, the places where his fingers dug in have small patches of blood peaking through the skin. Your heart flutters at the way he's marked you, but it's short lived. The feeling is stuffed deep down inside you, forced to join any other weaknesses he might bring out of you.

  "Fuckin' hell." You huff to yourself.

  None of your wounds are big enough for any bandages, so you'll have to just clean them and let them be. Your overused muscles are producing most of the pain, you'll just have to stretch and rest well tonight. Thanks to your freakish ability to heal, you'll be back to normal by morning. You turn the cold water on so you can give your face an icey splash. The sensation clears your mind slightly and you realize just how much trouble you're in.

  The Winter Soldier is only here temporarily, his mission is to train you and the other girls here then leave. In the few weeks that he's been here you've only seen him for brief moments, stalking around the facility like a ghost. He's an assassin, a weapon, nothing more. He's especially not supposed to be such a source of desire for somebody like you. You have a job to do, and it in no way includes wanting him to fuck your brains out. You blame it on the adrenaline, on natural physical responses. Any woman would be aroused by a man like that pressing himself between their legs. You're not any woman though, you're supposed to be a cold blooded assassin, you're supposed to be a vengeful weapon. You are not meant to have weaknesses like normal women. Your weaknesses aren't those of a normal woman though. Yours are much more sinister...

That Night

  You toss around on your small bed, desperate for sleep that won't come. You skipped dinner and went straight to your room, wanting to avoid everyone, especially him. The longer the day has gone on, the more the soldier is creeping under your skin. The longer you have to reflect on your encounter, the longer the desire you felt wraps its skeletal fingers around your heart. Of all of the fights you've had, you've never been so evenly matched. Yes, you technically beat him, but you hate how close he got to beating you. You don't really have wit like the other girls, or a distracting amount of beauty, but you can fight. You have been the best in hand to hand combat for years and you absolutely hate that somebody came close to taking that title. You haven't lost a fight since you were a child.

  You try to find comfort in the fact that he is a genetically engineered super soldier with a hunk of metal for an arm. You can't beat yourself up for having to fight as hard as you did, you could even find a little pride in it if you wanted to. The thing that you can't seem to escape is the heat that pools between your legs when you think about his metal hand around your throat, the sharp taste of his blood, the way he crushed your chest when he pushed you against the wall. He could have killed you so easily, he had his knife right there. With one swift flick of his powerful wrist he could have slit your throat and left you to die. The thought is positively exhilarating in the most horrible way. Your body erupts in goosebumps as you remember the way his rigid form trembled with rage. Your thighs press together when you think about him hovering above you, drenched in sweat as he bled into your mouth.

  You're not going to fucking sleep. You huff and throw your blankets off, angrily turning on your light. Your pathetic little room has no comforting elements, it just looks like a shitty hotel room. No decorations, just one generic landscape painting on the wall. Your only furniture is your bed, your night stand, and a small rickety dresser for your uniforms. All of it is a plain dark wood, the walls a bland grey much like your blankets and everything else in your life. The style of the room is intentionally designed to look like a hotel room, it's a psychological thing. The intent is to take away any feeling of a home, you're supposed to live on the move, never settle, and never feel safe.

  You quickly change out of your night clothes and throw on a clean uniform, a tight grey shirt with matching cargo pants. A glance at your watch tells you it's a little after midnight. You snatch your knife off the table and examine the blade. The metal is the same black as the handle, it's lines are sleek and deadly. Your eye is caught by a small amount of blood that remains on the edge of the blade. You wipe it on your pants, ignoring the irritating shiver that goes down your spine at the thought of making him bleed. You shove the knife into its holster then turn to check yourself in the pitiful mirror above your dresser.

  Your body has already begun to recover, your bruises fading as if they're weeks old. Your busted lip is hardly noticeable and your muscles are no longer screaming. There's no longer a welt on your cheek and you look like you've had at least ten hours of restful sleep. As much as you detest your healing abilities for ruining any chance you've ever had at living a normal life, it is incredibly convenient. You had been ripped from your family because of it, never even given a chance to develop a bond to know or miss the individuals that gave you life. You suppose it's easier like this though. If you had known them, you'd be susceptible to the pain of living without them. Instead you're filled with rage towards those who stole you from them. You can't afford to feel the weight of mourning, you don't have time for it. Instead you're propelled forward by anger and hatred, mostly for yourself, but also for those that have forced you to live your life as a tool for their own purposes here at this God forsaken Red Room facility.

  You tear yourself from the destructive train of thought as you turn to stalk out of your room. You close your door silently so you don't disturb the other girls on your hall. You chew the inside of your lip as you move down the halls of the barracks. The awful lighting casts a sickening yellow glow on the slate colored walls lined with plain white doors. You finally reach a large steel door at the end of the hall on the right. It has a poorly painted red mark on the door in the shape of a knife. You slide into the room quietly and let your shoulders drop once you're inside and hear the door close behind you. Of course it's empty at this hour, meaning you can release all of your rage without any judgement.

  The knife room, set up much like an indoor shooting range. Every assassin here is trained in close hand to hand combat, making knife handling an essential skill. You stomp into one of the stalls, desperate to relieve your frustrations. You roll your shoulders back and draw in a shaking breath. You wind your arm back and throw the knife at the human shaped target across from you, imagining it's that bastard the Winter Soldier. The handle of the knife pings off the it's thigh then clatters onto the ground, the sight fills you with burning self hatred. You let out a frustrated groan then take off to pick up your knife. You hear something shift in the corner and immediately dive for your knife, quickly returning to your feet to turn towards the noise.

  "You're too angry." Says a cold, deep voice.

  The owner of the voice steps out of the dark corner he's been hiding in. Of course it's him.

  You roll your eyes then walk back to your station.

  "I wonder why that is." You say, you try to still your racing heart as you hear his heavy footsteps moving towards you.

  "It makes you sloppy." You whip your head to face him where he's now stood behind you. His massive arms are crossed over each other, and you notice that he's wearing the same thing he wore at the fight. A strappy leather vest with heavy black pants to match and thick leather boots to tie it all together. Without his black mask to cover his mouth, his handsome features are on display. Except his beauty is shrouded by a scowl that makes his feature dark and menacing. Over all, he looks terrifying. His eyes are nearly the same cold silver as his arm. Your chest burns as his frozen gaze pierces through you, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth and let a huff out through your nose.

  "I didn't ask." You say, trying your best to sound disinterested.

  In one beautiful, fluid motion he pulls his knife out and sends it flying at the target. The knife lands right in the throat of the man shaped target, the sound of the impact echoes gently off the walls.

  "My mission is to improve your skills, so I don't need you to ask. I'm telling you something, so you should listen." He says, sauntering over to retrieve his weapon. His tone is that of an overworked teacher that's been reprimanding his student for making the same mistake over and over.

  "Your mission is to improve everyone's skills, so I don't understand why you're-"

  "Are you really that stupid?" He cuts you off, visibly irritated by your statement. He comes to stand directly across from you, not even a foot apart, much too close for your liking.

  "I would have killed every one of those girls within the first five seconds of a match. There's a reason you were fighting me and not them. You have a weapon that none of them have, you are a weapon. My mission is to improve your skills. Your mutation makes you unique, it makes you valuable, they have asked me to train you." He says it slowly, like he's talking to someone hard of hearing. His patronization makes your blood boil and your fists clench.

  "There are plenty of girls here that could have held their own in that fight. Yeah, I can take a beating more than any of them, but they can all fight like hell no different than me." You say, your voice sharp.

  "You really are stupid, aren't you?" He sneers down at you.

  "You just said it yourself, you can take a beating. Yes, your fighting skills are questionable at best, but you can out fight anyone if you can exhaust them." He explains it like you're a stupid child, which only makes your rage burn hotter.

  "Is that what happened with you?" You ask, poking at his defeat earlier.

  He chuckles, his voice low and dark.

  "Oh no." He says, moving even closer to you. You can feel his hot breath on your cheeks, the sensation makes your head swim.

  "You just found a weakness, well done by the way. Except in doing so, you exposed your own weakness." His voice is absolutely sinful by the end of his sentence. You're so distracted by his seductive tone that you don't even notice his right arm reach up behind you, he grabs your hair by the roots and cranks your neck back, exposing your throat to him.

  Normally, you would fight back, but you don't want to, you can't. You let out a pathetic little noise, making him let out another deep chuckle.

  "You're pitiful." He says it almost affectionately, the gravely tone of his voice makes your legs turn to jelly.

 "I could kill you right now, but you're not even afraid, you're probably getting wet thinking about my knife against your throat." He's growling again, like he did after the fight. You hate how right he is, your core is igniting with heat. You don't even want to think about how you must be absolutely soaking your underwear.

  "What about you soldier, I think I remember you gettin' all hot and bothered when you finally got me underneath you." You tease, his advances give you the confidence to bring your hand up to ghost your fingers along the inside of his thigh.

  He laughs in disbelief, eyebrows shooting up as his lips twist into a wolfish grin.

  "Where the hell did they find you?" He says it like he's thinking out loud.

  All you can do is moan pitifully when he tightens his grip on your hair, you look up at him and let your hands fly to his chest. His eyes have that animalistic look to them, like he wants to literally rip you to shreds. Your walls flutter at the idea and you take in a sharp breath, so desperate for him to drop the teasing act and just have his way with you.

  "So fuckin' needy." He says as he lets his eyes flicker to your parted lips.

  You let your own eyes drop to his throat, your mouth waters at the site of the large red line that your knife created. You did that, you marked him. The thought makes your stomach flip, darkness fills your chest and spurs on your twisted desires. You absentmindedly lick your lips at the sight, an action that he obviously catches.

  "I knew it." He sighs out, his metal hand slides around to spank you harshly, his eyes still burning into yours. You moan against your will and let your nails dig into his vest. The impact of the metal makes your skin sting in a delightful way, and you only want more, so much more.

  "You're a blood thirsty slut." He punctuates his words with another harsh swat, "-and you can take a hit." His voice is starting to sound shakey, like he's holding something back.

  "Beg for me." He gives you another harsh swat.

  You seal your lips. You can't beg for him, this isn't supposed to happen. You refuse to let this asshole create any weakness within you. This has to be a test, if he's truly supposed to train you, this has to be some sick experiment to see if you're as depraved as he thinks you are. He can't win, you didn't give him a victory earlier and you sure as hell won't give him one now. You rip your eyes away from him and glare at the floor, you take a trembling breath and force yourself to deny him.

  "No." Your voice is a pathetic whisper, small and meek.

  "Wrong answer bitch." He snaps with a menacing tone. He forces your body back, walking you into the wall behind you. He presses your body against it then moves his right thigh to spread your legs so you're straddling his thick, muscular leg. His right hand is still holding fast to your hair, but his left is starting to slowly trail up your side. He lets it trace over your breast before ghosting over your collar bone. Your eyes lock with his as soon as his cold metal fingers snake around your throat. Your breath completely stops, your body frozen under his ravenous gaze. You instantly buckle under the weight of your desire for him to destroy you. The dam finally breaks and you drown in the waves of lust, all it takes is one firm squeeze from his inhuman appendage and you're a goner.

  "Fuck- please, please fucking use me." You gasp as he tightens his grip on your throat, you grind down against his thigh again, desperate for any form of friction against your aching center.

  "You've got a filthy little mouth on you." He says, finally releasing your hair.

  "Let's give it something to do." He brings his middle finger up to your lips as he relaxes his hold on your throat, you open your mouth instantly to welcome his thick finger inside.

  "Suck, darlin'." His eyebrows furrow slightly when you slide your tongue over the pad of his finger, sucking him further into your mouth. This can't be happening, you can't let yourself be this weak.

  He quickly pulls his hand out then cups your cheek, placing his thumb under your chin so he can angle your face up towards him.

  "Will you be a good girl for me?" He asks, raising his eyebrows in a challenging way, the question makes you shiver and your mind is flooded with images of him defiling you. Ok, maybe you can be this weak.

  You nod slowly, you feel adrenaline pump through your veins. Your heart is thundering in your chest and your cunt is absolutely aching with need.

  "Use your words." He says harshly, "-you know what I want to hear."

  "Yes sir." You breathe out as he slides his cold metal hand around your throat again. You sigh at the sensation and let your eyes flutter shut.

  "Now, what do you need." He asks, sliding his thumb over your pulse.

  "I need you to use me." You let your voice drop to a raspy tone as you repeat your request from moments ago, you open your eyes to see an almost disturbing look in his.

  His fingers tighten around your throat and he pulls you closer to him until his lips brush against yours, the feeling makes your chest burn.

  "Get on your back, you should be good at that." He huffs against your lips then rips himself away from you. He pulls you off of the wall by your throat and pushes you back into the middle of the room. You drop to your knees like it's second nature, you reach out to run your hands up his strong thighs and you steal a glance at the massive bulge in his pants.

  "You don't fucking listen." He growls, he hikes his large right leg up and plants his boot in the middle of your chest, he sneers down at you while he kicks you back with force. You catch yourself on your elbows and look up at him helplessly. He sinks down to his knees so he's somewhat straddling you, but mostly caging you with his body. He grabs your jaw with his right hand, forcing you to look him in the eyes.

  "When I tell you to do something, you do that thing exactly or I will make you sorry you didn't fucking listen." He spits the words at you, eyes ablaze with fury.

  "What if that's what I want?" You ask, testing the waters for how much patience he has for your attitude.

  His grip tightens on your jaw, inevitably leaving bruises now.

  "You want me to hurt you?" He glares down at you while he talks, he looks angry enough to snap your neck, but the lust raging in his eyes reveals his true desires.

  "Do your worst." You fire back at him.

  Then he's on you, lunging at you like a wild beast. He's pushing you into the ground by your throat, he wedges himself between your legs, pressing his hard length into your center.

  "Sweetheart, my worst would kill you." He groans into your ear. His words pull another moan out of you, your hands claw at his back when he grinds down against you rather roughly.

  "Hands and knees, now." He says then pushes off of you to kneel between your legs. A flame of defiance ignites inside you, it spreads and burns all of your common sense.

  "Fucking make me." You say, the idea of him forcing you to your hands and knees sends a rush of exhilaration through you. Your moment of thrilling defiance is cut short by the feeling of the back of his right hand cracking across your face. Your head jerks to the side as his hand connects with your jaw. You let out an indignant cry, too shocked to do anything else. As soon as he's smacked you, his hand is latched back onto your jaw, he jerks your face towards him, forcing you to scramble to your knees while your hands cling to his wrist.

  "You think you're cute, don't you?" You can feel him shaking with rage as he holds you in place. The sharp pain from his knuckles hitting your face makes your cunt clench, you have to be absolutely dripping at this point. Your entire core is throbbing, desperate to be filled by him.

  "Answer me." He barks.

  "I think -oh shit." You're cut short by the feeling of him running two metal fingers rubbing your clit through your pants. Your body responds instantly to his rough touch, hips bucking against his hand.

  "What do you think?" He teases, pulling his fingers aware from where you need them most.

  "I think you're doing too much talking, not enough fucking." You snap.

  That does it, that pushes his last button. It all happens far too quickly for you to even process everything he does. You feel a sharp pain under your arms, then feel your back hit the hard cement wall. He rips your pants down your legs, bringing himself to his knees so he can rip each of your feet out of the pant legs. You're completely exposed to him now, the cold air hits your pussy and you shiver at the pleasant shock. You glance down at him as he slowly slides the knuckles of his right hand up the inside of your right leg. His cold eyes follow his hand's movement all the way up to where you're desperate for him.

  He uses his knuckles to tease your clit, earning a hiss from you. The sound seems to snap him out of his lustful trance, his body shoots up to loom over you. He glares down at you as his hands move to undo his belt. Your mouth waters at the sight, eager to finally see him exposed.

  "I'm gonna fuck you." He breathes, pulling his belt from the loops of his pants.

  "I'm gonna fuck you like the whore you are, and it's gonna hurt. You're gonna keep that fucking mouth shut, you're gonna take it like a good girl, and you're not going to cum until I say so, do you understand?" He unbuttons his pants, pulls his zipper down, then he pulls out his painfully hard cock. His tip is already dripping with precum, you reach out to touch him, wanting to feel all that girth in your hand. To say he's well endowed would be an understatement, the soldier is fucking massive.

  He snatches your wrist and throws it to the side.

  "Do. You. Understand?" He says, his voice is strained and impatient.

  "Yes sir, I understand." You say weakly, even you're growing tired of the teasing. You're so fucking desperate at this point you don't even have the energy to quip back at him. You're completely pliant now, nothing but putty in his rough and capable hands.

  "Good girl. Now jump." He grabs you by the backs of your thighs, you oblige eagerly. You wrap your arms around his neck and jump off of the floor. He presses you against the wall, he uses his metal hand to hold you around your waist, the other to brace himself against the wall. You help him by wrapping your legs around his hips, pressing your dripping folds against his solid cock, trapping his length between your hot bodies.

  "Fuck." He breathes, letting his head fall to your shoulder.

  "Please, let me put it in." You beg, then press your lips into the side of his head.

  "Since you asked so nicely." He huffs against your neck, his voice has lost most of its rough edge, he sounds much less stable now and much more desperate.

  You reach down between your bodies and grab his length by the base, giving him one long stroke before sliding his tip along your folds, gathering your slick as you line him up at your entrance. He doesn't give you a single second to do anything else before he snaps his hips up, shoving himself into you. He was definitely right about it hurting, you bite into his leather clad shoulder to muffle your cry. He presses himself into you and you feel tears prick your eyes as he stretches you painfully. He brings his head away from your neck to rest his forehead against your own. Your eyes lock with suffocating intensity and your cunt immediately clenches around his cock, now completely inside of you. He hisses at the sensation, then he presses his lips against yours with bruising force.

  You moan into the kiss, letting your fingers dig through his messy brown hair. He presses his tongue against your lips and you open wide for him. The way he's kissing only makes you want more of him, your chest fills with the shameful desire to be used by him. The way he moves against you is flawless, he's rough and precise, like he's already known your body for years. He bites your bottom lip then slowly pulls his hips back just to thrust himself back inside you.

  "Shit!" You sob against his mouth, pulling his hair a little as the broken sound leaves your throat. He's stretching you out and filling you up, he's absolutely ruining you. The sharp pain of his cock opening you up is something you only want more of.

  "You've got such a tight little cunt." He sighs pulling back again then sliding in at a torturous pace.

  "Tell me again, what do you need?" He asks, voice catching when your walls flutter around him.

  "I need you to use me, hurt me, fuck me. Please- shit- please fucking ruin me." Your voice is broken and full of lust, you look him dead in the eyes while you confess your needs to him. Hot tears fall down your cheeks as you beg. He's barely even started, and you're already a moaning mess for him.

 With a growl and a wild look in his eyes he pulls out slowly one last time, then he starts ramming into you suddenly and relentlessly. Your jaw drops and you grab onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck completely, your head falls back against the wall and a moan rips out of your throat.

  "You fucking whore, you're dripping. You like it when I hurt you? Does that make this pussy wet?" He says with a mocking tone.

  "Yes sir." You cry, your thighs squeeze his hips, his words stoke a familiar flame inside you.

  If at all possible, he snaps his hips into you even harder, the obscene sounds of his skin meeting yours fill the room, you can even hear how soaked you are as he pumps in and out of you.

  "I knew this is what you wanted." He huffs, he presses a sloppy kiss against your lips.

  "As soon as you licked my blood off of your lips, I knew you were a nasty little pain slut." He ends his sentence with a harsh moan.

  Your back is being rubbed raw by the concrete of the wall, your cunt is being split open by his brutal pace, but you welcome all the pain. You fucking love it, it makes everything so much more thrilling. His thrusts halt for just a brief moment, just long enough for him to pull you off of the wall with a growl. He falls back onto the ground, landing so you're straddling him, your hands plant on either side of his head, knees aching from the impact. He throws his arms around your waist then he starts snapping his hips up, drilling himself into your pussy. The new angle allows him to rut into you so hard that the head of his dick pounds into your cervix with every brutal thrust. You sob into his shoulder, your arms give out and you collapse against his chest. You can feel his cock so fucking deep, this new position is more incredible than anything you've ever felt. You're fully sobbing now, hands gripping at him wherever they can't find purchase. You moan out broken sentences, begging for more and more of his addicting thrusts.

  "How's that feel, bitch?" He says with a ragged voice. He brings his metal hand down against your ass, smacking it so hard you're certain he breaks the skin. It only makes you clench around him even tighter, the exhilarating sensation pushes more years from your eyes as you all but scream out.

  "Good girl, fuckin' take it." He groans.

  His words make your abs seize up, you feel your legs start to shake and your cunt start tighten, electricity settles in your lower belly and your walls start to flutter.

  He smacks your ass again, so fucking hard.

  "I didn't say you could cum yet." He sinks his teeth into your neck with a harsh groan. The sting only brings you closer to the edge.

  "Please sir, please I'm so fucking close. Let me cum on your cock. Please please please." You sound absolutely pathetic, you feel drool drip out of your open mouth as he drills into you mercilessly.

  "Look at you, you're such a fuckin' mess." He gives you a particularly rough thrust, absolutely nailing your cervix much harder than he has been. The delicious sting makes your entire body tremble.

  "Please let me cum sir, I'll be a good girl I swear please just let me cum. I wanna be so fuckin' good for you, I'll do anything." You beg like you're pleading for your life, your body is so painfully close to release, but you don't dare reach down to play with your clit, you know better.

  "Tell me what you need, sweetheart." He moans against your neck. The gentle nature of the name he's just moaned contrasts harshly with the previous degrading terms, it strokes your ego in a delicious way.

  "My clit, please, please rub my clit." Your voice is completely shredded, thankfully, he seems to finally give you what you want.

  His flesh hand shoots down between your bodies, finding your clit immediately. The contact sends electric shocks through your cunt and down your legs. You bite onto his shoulder again to quiet your screaming.

  "No." He growls, his free hand snatches you by your roots and rips your mouth from his shoulder, the sharp pain makes you cry out from the back of your throat.

  "I better fuckin' hear it when you cum- fuck- do it now, be a good girl like you promised and let me feel you cum." That's all it takes, his fingers working at your clit as his rough voice grants you permission. You tremble violently against him as you finally let your orgasm rip through you. White hot pleasure shreds every nerve in your body. An inhuman scream leaves your throat as your walls contract around his dick. He just keeps fucking you through it, not stopping his destructive pace for even a second.

  "Cum inside me." You moan out against the side of his head while your nails dig into his shoulders. His hips stutter slightly and he lets out a high pitched moan that only makes your walls squeeze tighter.

  "Yeah? You want me to come inside your slutty little cunt?" He asks, voice laced with a desperate edge that makes your eyes roll back in your head.

  "Please, I want you to ruin this cunt, I want you to ruin me." You beg, and he finally fucking breaks.

  With a deep, ragged moan he buries himself inside you, stilling as he spills his load deep within your walls. You gasp as you feel his thick cock pulse inside you, painting your insides white with his hot cum.

  "Fucking shit- good girl, such a good girl." He chants against your neck, nipping the skin between moans. You're both panting heavily, hands clinging to each other without any desire to let go. You lift your head slightly to gaze down at him. He stares up at you with lust blown pupils, the silvery blue of his irises nearly overtaken by the dark centers. Neither of you say a word, you just lay there and drink each other in. Whatever you've unlocked with each other tonight isn't something you could even begin to talk about. Your bodies twitch against each other, both of you riding out your aftershocks, coming down from your frantic highs. You let your forehead drop to meet his as a dopey smile spreads across your face.

  His flesh hand comes up to cradle your face gently, the tenderness of it makes you jump slightly. He takes a deep breath in before uttering his next words with a deep, warning voice.

  "Do you still want me to do my worst?"

@b-o-n-e-daddy @can-i-sin-right-now @confused-racoon @lostsoul23 @buckysbbygirl @perksofbeingabookworm @peace-love-hobbitness @buckyshenley16 @brownlee-22 @deardiarylovegale @upsettispagettii @supernaturalbaesduh @delightfulbakeryaliendeputy @blowing-mikey @littlegasps

[wheresmybuckyhoes]

Squatting is my Passion, not my Purpose

Summary: I’m a hoe for sparring with Bucky basically, and he decides to talk to you when you’re in the shower because he’s just so respectful of your privacy.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Much swearing, implied smut, female nudity

Note from me: I might make this a series but I’ll see if you guys actually like it, so let me know! It really helps me when I get feedback xx

‘Why can’t we spar’ you whined as Bucky walked around you slowly in a circle, studying your form and technique. 

You bent your knees slowly, trying to support the weight you were supposed to be squatting in the form of a bar with a weight on each end, leaning on your shoulders as you gripped the bar with sore hands. You hated this type of training, as Bucky would refuse to spar with you and just made you rip out squats and deadlifts for hours to make you even stronger than you already were. You were supposed to be killing weird alien monsters trying to destroy the earth, not trying to lift them up.

You groaned under the weight, extending your legs fully and ducking out from under the weight as you dropped it on the floor with a metallic boom, falling down to the ground, panting and sweating like a lunatic. ‘Aw come on y/n, you’re too weak to finish the set?’ Bucky taunted, easily picking up the bar and placing it on the wall stand. You watched his back muscles flex as he did this, not a shirt in sight. His arrogant expression as he turned around to look at you sprawled dramatically on the mat made your blood boil. God how you hated that smile.

‘C’mon doll get up’ he commanded as he stood there like a smug idiot, ocean blue eyes piercing into your skull. ‘No’ you replied bluntly, crossing your arms as you sat up to look at him, eyebrows knitting together in an exhausted frown. You tried to ignore the warmth you felt spread throughout your body upon hearing his playful nickname for you, spinning your body around so you were facing the enormous window rather than the enormous man standing a few feet away.

‘We’re not done y/n. You’re not sparring until you’ve finished the exercises you actually need to do. Now get up’ he said sternly, the commanding tone of his voice slightly less playful now. He walked over painfully slowly to stand in front of you again, tilting his head to the side as he waited for you to stand up. But you were done with this bullshit. Although you couldn’t always overpower Bucky, you were by far stronger than any of the other human avengers and could beat any of them when sparring. It’s not your fault Bucky is basically as strong as a gorilla on steroids.

‘I’m not getting up, Barnes’ you replied, trying to match his serious tone so he would know you meant it. You watched him narrow his eyes at you, turning around to look out of the window at Sam and Nat sparring outside, running his hands through his newly - cut hair and rolling his eyes dramatically. ‘Last chance doll. Up. Now.’ he almost laughed, the words rolling of his tongue like diamond encrusted knives.

‘Make me’ you replied without thinking, as you watched his back tense at your words. Before you realised what you had just said and who exactly you had just fucking said that to, Bucky turned around and almost ran to pick you up but your quick reflexes let you jump up just in time as you (pretty awesomely) leapt to wrap your legs around Bucky’s waist, using your body weight and full strength to knock him to the ground onto his toned front as you pinned his arms down, twisting them behind his back and digging your knee sharply into his spine to keep him there. He almost moaned out loud before remembering this was a training thing and not a sex thing, keeping his mouth shut.

‘Look who can’t get up now, Barnes’ you drawled in his ear, leaning in extra close to taunt him. You felt the vibrations of his laughter travel through you, causing you to shiver slightly. ‘What’s so funny!’ You snapped, digging your knee further into his spine as he continued his irritating laugh. ‘Stop laughing Barnes. I’m literally on top of you!’ you yelled as he just began to laugh even harder. You jumped off of him, storming out of the room and straight to the showers adjacent to the gym, immediately stripping and jumping in one of the steamy showers to wash of your heated frustration.

You were humming contently as you washed the conditioner out of your hair an hour later (you loved long showers) when you heard someone come into the shower room. The showers didn’t have doors, but that was no problem because one; this was the girls shower room and two; the only people allowed in this building are your best friends so it would only be Wanda or Nat seeing your naked body, something you didn’t mind all too much. ‘Wanda? Is that you?’ You called out as your voice echoed through the spacious room as you turned to face the wall as you rinsed your face from soap suds. ‘Wanda honey is it you just tell m...BUCKY WHAT THE FUCK IM NAKED’ you yelped as you spun around to see a shirtless, grinning Bucky, groping for the towel which he held out to you innocently, his puppy dog eyes eyeing you up and down intensely. You wrapped yourself up furiously, glaring at him. ‘What the fuck do you think your doing?’ you demanded, head tilting to the side, daring him to speak.

He smiled cheekily, replying simply ‘nothing I haven't seen before doll’. Right. About that. One time on a random mission, this weird space creature doctor strange was dealing with had somehow captured the both of you, and you ended up naked in a cell with him for hours before Nat found you both, obviously taking a few photos first. She hadn’t let you hear the end of that one for months, bringing it up at every single party. You can’t even remember how the hell you both ended up unclothed, and the memory still haunts you to this day. You shuddered at the thought. But that’s besides the point. ‘You called me Bucky’ he continued, stepping closer to your dripping body, towering over you. ‘Fuck. Barnes, trust me, I didn’t mean to’ you replied, scolding yourself internally. Now this has a bit of history behind it. When you first met the flirty soldier when he joined the avengers after that weird disagreement between Steve and Tony, he walked up to you with his unwavering confidence and told you to ‘Call me Bucky, doll, like all the ladies do’. Not only did you cringe so incredibly hard at this because honestly what the actual fuck, but you wanted to make sure he knew you weren’t someone he could just flirt with and replied simply ‘I will never call you that, Barnes. I’m not a ‘lady’ as you put it so kindly, I’m an avenger. Grow up’, and thus you began to call him Barnes henceforth.

‘Anyways, I wanted to congratulate you on that move you did. That was pretty fucking cool y/n’ he spoke softly, looking you right in the eyes. You were a bit taken aback by his sudden sincerity, almost flattered, but didn’t dare show it. ‘Thank you, Barnes. You sucked, as usual. Now please for fucks sake let me get changed in peace.’ Bucky nodded with a small chuckle, putting his hands up in a faux surrender as he stepped back, turning to leave the room. ‘W...wait actually one more thing’ you said timidly as Bucky whipped around to face you, curious. ‘Yes doll?’ he asked as he stepped closer to you and continued to slowly near you as you stepped back and jumped at the cold wall which seemed to have moved forward to trap you between it and Bucky. He was making you all flustered and you hated it. ‘Why did you laugh when I pinned you down?’ you asked sharply, looking up into his eyes as he leaned in, his metal hand beside your head leaning against the wall, caging you in. A look of amusement danced across his face as he brushed your wet hair behind your ear, the light touch of his fingertips making you shudder, aware of how close his face was to yours. ‘Because it felt good, princess. Because you were on top of me’ he whispered that last part, before suddenly moving away from you and swiftly walking out of the room. You were left rendered entirely speechless, your whole body on fire. The place where his finger tips brushed against you felt so empty now, and you couldn’t believe what he had just said. He liked you...being on top of him. Get it together, girl. You don’t like Bucky, you just find him extremely...attractive...oh I’m fucked.

[prettyboymichaels-ao3]

Rewind, Rewire, Reword - Chapter 1: Where Did I Put That Map Again? (Pt. 1)

It’s the week before Wrestlemania 12, he’s preparing to give Shawn Michaels the fight of his life in their 60-minute Iron Man match, and his little brother has decided to drag him out to socialize on an otherwise perfectly ordinary Wednesday night.

Surely, this decision won’t take the course his life was on – and the course his relationship with Shawn was on – and send it into a tailspin.

(Bret Hart/Shawn Michaels ABO AU; NOT Kayfabe Compliant; Words: ~2k; Rating: M; Notes, trigger warning/s, tag list, and chapter under the cut!)

my massive bretshawn abo au is here! as I only have two-ish more scenes to write, and 10 chapters already written to publish on here (separated into smaller “parts” for tumblr, which means I technically have 21 chapters; they’ll be published fully on ao3), I’ve decided to try for an every other day publishing schedule to give myself more time to fully finish this book of the series. so. :) I’ve read and edited and reread and re-edited this more than almost any other fic I’ve written, so HOPEFULLY. I don’t want to edit it MORE after finally PUBLISHING it. sigh. anyway.

-

tw for: attempted sexual assault. it doesn’t actually occur, but this IS the jumping off point for the fic, and it will be referenced throughout. the tw “references to attempted sexual assault” will be used in any chapter that references it

tag list: @track12to13​; @piratewithvigor​; @sinderellanightwolf​. tell me if you want to be tagged for any future chapters!

-

It was times like these when he wondered why he ever bothered going out at all.

They’d gotten to California two days before, early, the way they usually did, leaving the morning after their last match to get a head start and not arrive completely burnt out. They’d spent those two days getting acquainted with their hotel room, their rental car, and the stadium gym they were going to be using the next two weeks. However, “California” didn’t just mean “new match”, it also meant “new towns”, which meant “new opportunities to make Bret socialize”. He’d told Owen, repeatedly, in a variety of ways, that the last thing he needed was a fucking wingman, let alone his happily mated younger brother as a wingman, but he’d just brushed off everything he’d said and dragged him out anyway. “You have almost two weeks to prepare,” he’d scoffed, forcing him to change basically as soon as they got back to their room. “When’s the last time you really let loose?” he’d offered, trying to hustle him out almost before he’d had his shoes tied. “I promised mom I’d try something the last time we talked so would you stop digging your heels in, please,” was his final explanation, as he was hailing a cab to take them out of the city and to some smaller town a little less than an hour away, where they’d be less likely to get recognized, because getting mobbed in a bar or a club was always… not great, to say the least.

But it just really wasn’t Bret’s scene. It just really, really wasn’t. He wasn’t twenty anymore, he couldn’t power through a hangover the way he used to, and he wasn’t in the mood anyway, the way he hadn’t been for the last two years Owen’d been trying to set him up. He’d gotten used to being single by now, he’d even gotten used to his mother’s passive aggressive comments about it every time he called home, and, yeah, being used to it didn’t mean he liked it, but trying to find a date at this point in his life wasn’t exactly easy, at thirty-eight years old, in his line of work, with his designation. Honestly, he didn’t know why Owen was still trying so earnestly; the odds of Bret finding a decent prospective partner at some random club in Somewhere, California was so low it might as well be in the ground.

As such, instead of socializing, the way Owen wanted him to, he’d nursed a glass or two at the bar, had a fairly interesting conversation with an older woman who happened to be the designated driver for a group of girls giggling on the dance floor, and eventually called it quits after hitting the bathroom two hours in. It wasn’t even ten-thirty yet, you’d think he could last a little longer, and he could, he was just… bored. His bar mate was corralling her wayward group to leave, and Owen was having a grand time failing miserably at darts with what looked to be a group of regulars, so he just told him he was heading back to the hotel, refused to be guilted into a game no matter how many times Owen batted his eyelashes or how disappointed he looked, paid his tab, and slipped out into the night with a sigh and his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket. It was only slightly cooler outside than it was inside, and it was much less crowded – a few smokers, on the other side of the street, and two people eating a pizza and using the box as their plate a little further down from that. Definitely less busy than Anaheim would be this time of night, and equally less well lit.

There was also, though, something he almost didn’t hear over the noise of the bar:

“…an’t change your mind now!”

“I agreed to go home with you, not you and your fucking friend–”

His foot still raised from where he’d been stepping to the curb to hail a cab, he cocked his head to the alleyway the voices had drifted from – and, there it was, he hadn’t been hearing things, because there was an incredulous laugh, a dull thump, and a pained grunt before another man said, amused, speaking over the rising growls, “C’mon, baby, you really think you’re in a position to turn us down? You’re the one about to go into heat, it won’t matter whose knot you’re taking soon enough.”

Bret was moving before the end of that sentence, rounding the corner to find three figures pressed up against the stone wall beside an open dumpster. They were mostly hidden from the orange street lamps outside the mouth of the alley, but he could still see rough impressions, and they weren’t very promising: two holding the third prone while the third tried to fight back, thrashing and almost snarling with how viciously he was growling, but he was getting nowhere fast, with how successfully he was being restrained. One’s nose was buried in this man’s throat, the other’s teeth visible in the low light as he grinned, and Bret felt his expression twist and harden as he stepped forward. “Hey! You’ve got three seconds to walk away before I make this a fair fight.”

That certainly got their attention, and he saw them all turn his way, their eyes flashing a little in the dark. Parts of their faces were highlighted now – the barest crests of their jaws, their cheekbones, their hair – but he could see the moment their nostrils flared and he was written off as nothing but a nuisance, which was only confirmed when one of them scoffed. “Run away, little beta, this doesn’t concern you.”

And then he turned right back around to continue scenting the man, the omega, who headbutted him so hard in the nose Bret could hear it crack from here. The man howled, staggering away and clutching at his gushing face with both hands, and Bret watched as the omega took advantage of the other man’s stunned disbelief to kick his legs out from under him and send him tumbling to the ground.

Bret didn’t waste any time. He stalked forward, hauling the one on the ground up by the collar of his coat and the waistband of his pants so he could toss him bodily into the open dumpster. The open, empty dumpster, if the clang of metal and yelp of pain were anything to go by. There was a choked off squeal from behind him, and he turned just in time to watch the omega’s leg come back down and the second perpetrator crumple into the fetal position, clutching his groin. That one quickly joined his friend in the dumpster, courtesy of Bret, and the groans and squeaks that resulted from that collision were incredibly satisfying.

He wiped his hands on his jeans before turning back to the omega, raising his hands placatingly when he, too, was met with a sharp, threatening growl. “Hey. You okay? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

There was an extended moment of silence. “…Bret?”

Oh, perfect, he’d been recognized– …Wait. He knew that voice. He squinted, edging closer, and fuck, now that his eyes had adjusted a little–

“…Shawn?!”

When it sounded like the men in the dumpster were starting to try and gather their bearings, Bret put his hand on – on Shawn’s shoulder and pushed him out of the alley and past the bar, letting his hand fall away and trusting Shawn to follow him as he lead them past another two buildings to turn the corner onto another block, and then a little further still, directly under a street light, far enough to see them coming if they tried it. After getting their asses handed to them so thoroughly, not just by their intended victim but by a little beta to boot, the alphas shouldn’t come sniffing around looking for seconds, but you could never be too careful.

“Jesus, Shawn, what the hell was that?” he hissed, shrugging his jacket off and settling it over Shawn’s shoulders in one fluid motion.

Or he would have, if the man didn’t take an immediate step back and bare his teeth at him, rubbing his arms. Bret scowled. “Can you stop being so stubborn for two seconds–”

“I’m two seconds from kicking you in the fucking balls, Bret, don’t test me,” Shawn barked, taking another step back for good measure. His voice was hoarser than it usually was, and Bret was a little worried about what he’d do if it cracked.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, sucked in a breath through his mouth, and blew it out through his nostrils. “Look,” he settled on, staring at Shawn hard, who stared right back. In the orange light illuminating them, he could more clearly see his rumpled clothes, his wrecked hair, his blotchy face, but if he could compare him to anything right now it’d be a cornered animal. “Just – put it under your nose, okay? I know I don’t have much of a scent, but it’s gotta be better than whatever the fuck they were giving off.”

Shawn scoffed, but flexed his fingers from where they were clutching at his biceps, moving his eyes to his jacket. “Gee, when’s the last time you took a high school health class?”

“In high school, asshole, now take it.”

Shawn curled his lip, looking ready to keep arguing, but, shifting his weight on his feet, decided it wasn’t worth the effort, and snatched the jacket from Bret instead. He paused once he had it, glaring at him like he was expecting him to say something, and when Bret just crossed his arms and gave him a look, he finally shoved it under his nose and took a deep breath. Half the tension in his body released in one fell swoop, and with it came a hitch as he buried his face in the leather completely, his hands starting to shake.

Bret, deciding to give him a modicum of privacy, looked behind Shawn to make sure they hadn’t been followed (they hadn’t) and moved to the curb to finally hail a cab. Two of them passed, occupied, before he heard Shawn move up next to him, his jacket still stuffed under his nose. His eyes were a little red, and a little wet, but his cheeks were dry. “I wanna puke,” he rasped, muffled into the leather, and Bret gave a humorless snort.

“If you’re gonna, do it here,” he said, waving at another taxi, and this one actually responded, starting to pull up. “I sure as hell don’t wanna smell it all the way back to Anaheim.”

That earned him a grumble, more lighthearted than anything he’d heard out of Shawn’s mouth tonight, and Bret hid his relief by walking around the idling cab to talk to the driver at his window, digging out his wallet. “You got a divider?”

“Sure do, brother,” the cabbie told him, jerking his thumb to the backseat and the tinted glass that separated him from it. “Got some wet wipes back there, too. Just don’t leave any stains, huh?”

Bret frowned, because that made it all too clear what he thought they were planning on doing in his backseat, but threw a handful of twenties into the driver’s lap anyway, enough to make his eyes widen comically. “That’s to get us to Anaheim. There’s more where that came from if you get us there in forty.”

“Hell, brother, I’ll get you there in thirty,” the cabbie exclaimed, and Bret straightened back up after giving him the hotel’s address, waving at Shawn to get in on his side, which he did one-handed, slamming the door behind him as Bret followed suit. The divider deafened the cabbie’s music to a low rumble, and, as they pulled off, Bret started digging around in the mesh pocket attached to the back of the driver’s seat until he emerged with the aforementioned wet wipes. He tore the pack open, pulling half of them out in one go and passing them over to Shawn, who took them automatically with the hand that wasn’t holding Bret’s jacket to his nose, but gave him a look that said he had no idea what Bret was trying to do here.

He gestured to his own throat. “For your scent glands,” he explained, and he could see the moment the light went off, because Shawn started scrubbing at either side of his neck like a man possessed. Bret used the rest of the wipes to clean his own hands and stuffed them into his pocket after he was done, sinking back against the creaky plastic seats like they might swallow him up, lack of give or no.

[athenasbloodyspear]

The Viper: Chapter Three

(Sorry I had to repost because I’m a grandma that posted on the wrong blog the first time.)

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Find this fic on Ao3.

This fic is 18+ for violence and eventual sexual content. Please read at your own risk.

Master list

When Bucky awakes the next morning, he can feel the chaos outside his door from where he lays in bed. He almost turns over and tries to go back to sleep but then there’s someone pounding on his door.

“Buck. She’s here.”

He’s up in a flash.

He dresses as fast as physically possible and careens out of his room, nearly slamming into Steve’s chest in the process.

“What the fuck happened?” Bucky spits, already taking long strides toward the elevator at the center of the tower. “What floor?”

“Basement.” Steve mutters. Bucky whips his head to look at Steve.

“The fucking dungeon?” He snarls.

“She’s a criminal, Buck. Gut instinct of yours or no.”

He just whips forward again and keeps walking. “Who caught her?”

“No one. She stumbled into the main lobby at around 5:30am and collapsed.” Steve says. Bucky’s heart rate picks up quickly.

“Is she injured?”

“No.”

They both step into the elevator, Bucky punches the basement button and then the button that locks the elevator from stopping on any other floors before it reaches its destination. There’s only a few people in the tower with that privilege and Bucky tries really hard not to abuse it.

Most of the time.

“Has she said anything?”

“No.”

“What do you know?” Bucky snaps.

“Calm down. She’s here. She’s physically fine besides being underfed, dehydrated and likely hasn’t slept in days.” Steve crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m… concerned.”

“About what?”

“Why is she here? Why did she stumble in here on her own two feet. It all seems really fishy to me.” Steve mutters.

“She needs help, Steve.” Bucky growls.

“How do you know that, Buck? How do you know they’re not playing you like a fiddle right now? Sending you an agent you may have had contact with while you were under their control. One they know you might not fully remember, but enough to have a connection.” Steve didn’t sound angry now, he sounded exhausted.

It pissed Bucky off.

He didn’t say anything else as the elevator continued to hurtle into the bowels of the building.

When the doors slid open and they both stepped out of the elevator, Bucky paused to let Steve lead the way. He felt his heart rate pick up.

Steve led him through a few winding halls, nodding at various agents as they passed and finally stopped in front of a door where Nat was waiting.

“Took you long enough.” Nat said with a smirk at Steve before looking at Bucky. “Ready?”

Bucky grunted in response. Nat pushed the door open with her hip and sauntered into a small room that had one way glass looking into a large chamber where you were being held.

Bucky nearly went to his knees.

They had you sealed in a box, not unlike the one he had arrived to the Avengers in so many years ago. Metal braces around your wrists, upper arms, ankles and shins to keep you in place. The nearly indestructible glass, that which he had failed to shatter when Zemo had started to speak the dreaded string of words, was on all four sides of you.

“What the hell is this?” Bucky snapped at Tony, who sat in a chair flicking through some information projected on his side of the glass.

You sat with your eyes downcast, looking at where your hands were shackled. You wore what looked like scrubs and your skin was gleaming and a tiny bit red. Like you’d been shoved through a car wash. Bucky wanted to smash his metal fist through the window.

“Our new little friend!” Tony exclaimed. “I thought you’d be happy. You were so intent on finding her, and look! She found you instead.”

“Why the fuck do you have her in a cage?” Bucky demanded. “She’s not some fucking animal.”

He didn’t know where this was coming from, whether it was his own trauma speaking or the agony of seeing you trapped in glass.

“Whoa the beast bites today.” Tony held his hands up in surrender in front of him.

“Bucky, we have no idea what she’s capable of or why she’s here. We have to be very very careful.” Steve said placatingly behind him. “It’s just out of caution.”

“Yeah, because putting someone in a box went so well for us last time.” Bucky spit.

To their credit, all three of them flinched.

“Have any of you spoken to her?” Bucky asked, deciding that the current cage situation wasn’t going to change immediately.

“She went through some basic brain scans which Bruce is currently comparing, and a basic psych exam in which she answered exactly zero questions.” Tony huffed. “If anyone wants to take a crack at it, be my guest.”

“I’m going in.” Bucky said gruffly, not giving anyone any space to tell him no.

He ripped open the door that led to your cage.

--

He was here.

You were doing really well with being silent, giving away nothing as you read the room, but he was here now and it was twisting up your guts.

He was standing about two feet from the glass in front of you, which was about six feet closer than any of the other agents had dared. He was asking you questions but you tuned them out, you tried your best not to hear his voice at all.

You wished you could cover your ears.

His eyes were so blue it was hard to look at them, so you looked away, back to your hands.

He was so much more now.

It was agony to look at him.

--

Bucky stomped back into the controls room and flopped into a chair near the wall, defeated. He placed his head in his hands.

“Well, at least now I know she doesn’t hate the particular agent that gave her the exam.” Tony quipped.

You hadn’t spoken to him. He felt like he was going mad. There had been such a connection between you two in that club. He had been so sure there was something there, but now you wouldn’t even look him in the eyes. He couldn’t make sense of any of it.

He wanted to hear you speak again. He hoped that your voice would rattle his memories loose.

He just had to remember.

Or at least he thought so.

“Let me talk to her.” Nat said softly then. “Turn the mics off, I want her to know she’s only talking to me.”

“Nat, are you about to double agent me?” Tony muttered.

“Tony!” Steve snapped, even going as far as smacking the back of Tony’s head.

“Hands off! Captain My-Friends-Are-Made-Of-Glass!” Tony snapped.

“No. I just… let me talk to her.” Nat rolled her eyes at Tony before snapping the switch that turned off all the mics and speakers and strolled into the room.

--

You felt uneasy with the Black Widow’s eyes on you. You trusted her, for some odd reason, but that didn’t mean she didn’t make you wary.

You could tell from the lack of a faint buzz in the room that she had turned the mics and speakers off.

Interesting.

“Hello.” She said simply.

You stayed silent.

“Listen, I’m not gonna play games with you. You know them all already.” She gave you a soft smile then. You felt your heart flutter a bit. “I just want to know why you’re here. Or even what we can do to get you to talk. We’re very…” She bites her lip. “Curious. About you.”

You continued to stay silent. You really didn’t know where to start. What would make them believe you?

“Nothing? There’s got to be a reason you’re here. I know there’s a hit on you, and I know that maybe you just wanted to stop running for a while but if you just talk to us then you don’t have to stay in a glass box.” You snarl. You weren’t here because you needed to run. She sighs then. “I don’t know your whole story, but I know some, I saw some myself. I want to help you. You’re not in the Red Room now, or in a bunker for Hydra. Just talk to me.”

You look at your hands. She stays silent and stares at you. Neither of you move for several minutes.

“I thought you said no games.” You croak out. “Seems like we’re playing the silent game right now.”

The Black Widow laughs softly then. “She speaks! What else does she say?”

“I… “ You start, but you’re cut off when the door swings open.

“Sorry to interrupt the girl party.” This was from Tony Stark. “But Nat, we’ve gotta go. Immediately.”

“Why?” Nat snaps, glancing back at you. You could tell she was fuming. You smiled a little to yourself. She was enjoying being the only one to get you to talk. You were enjoying entertaining the idea of actually speaking to her.

“Actually, it’s because of her former employer.” Stark tosses in your direction, your spine snaps straight. “We’ve caught intel that they executed a series of kidnappings and we need to go find out more about what's going on.”

You felt ice in your veins.

It was too late.

--  

As they all take long strides down the hall, Tony practically dragging Nat by her arm, everyone was shooting questions at each other.

“What did she say to you?” Bucky asked Nat.

“What the hell are you doing Tony? She might know something!” Nat snaps at Tony.

“Don’t you think that’s the plan here? Distract us with a little bait while they start unfolding whatever disgusting plans they have out there in the world.” Tony snaps back.

“Where are we going first?” Steve asks Tony. “Should we drop directly into Kyiv or Sarajevo?”

“What the fuck is going on?” Nat snaps, digging her heels in. “Tell me the plan right now and stop dragging me around.”

Tony heaves an overly dramatic sigh and Bucky has to fight his instincts to punch the man. You had said something and he didn’t know what it was. He needed to know.

“Hydra seems to be kidnapping people across Europe. It’s unclear who these people are or why they’re taking them, but we need to go. We just got a tip that they might be executing a raid in Kyiv right now so I’d say lets go there first. We can check for evidence at the scene in Sarajevo after.” Tony snaps, looking at Nat. “Happy now? Let’s go.”

He punches the button for the elevator doors to open and the whole group piles in. The elevator doesn’t even need to ask, it simply hurtles upward toward the quinjet hangar on the roof.

“What did she say to you, Nat?” Bucky asks again.

“Nothing.” Nat snaps. “Nothing that meant anything.”

“Everything means something.” Bucky growls back.

“Mr. Stark.” Friday’s interrupts. “There’s been a breach in the basement. The prisoner is no longer contained.”

“SON OF A BITCH!” Tony yells. “Take us down.”

Bucky’s stomach flips as the elevator abruptly shifts from hurtling upward to downward.

“This is exactly what they wanted.” Tony snarls. “I can’t fucking believe we fell for it and now one of their top agents is roaming free in my fucking tower!”

No one speaks. What is there to say?

Bucky shifts on his feet. He’s in disbelief. Could his instincts have been that wrong?

When the doors to the elevator open again in the basement, there’s limp bodies littered everywhere. Steve and Nat immediately begin crouching and checking for pulses.

“They’re all alive.” Steve murmurs. “Just unconscious.”

Bucky’s heart swells.

“Look for her.” Tony says.

“No need.” Friday calls from the ceiling. “She’s no longer in the building. I lost track of her after about 10 blocks. She was headed south, Sir.”

Steve and Nat continue to move around, checking on agents and gently shifting their bodies to rest in more comfortable positions and helping people up as they gradually regain consciousness.

“Fuck.” Tony whispers, sitting down in a chair in the hall and putting his head in his hands.

“Tony!” Nat calls from the end of the hall. “Come here.”

Bucky follows on Tony’s heels as they round the corner. There, written in sharpie on the wall behind an agent's desk in a sloppy scrawl were the words.

I’m sorry. But I was too late.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Tony splutters. “Too late to what? Keep us completely distracted while they abducted people?”

“I don’t get it…” Nat mutters. “Who’s side is she on?”

“What did she say to you?” Bucky repeats his question again.

Nat spins and looks at him.

“She made fun of me for playing the silent game. She was about to say something else but she hesitated. Then Iron Boy came pounding in and ruined everything” Nat snaps turning her heated gaze at Tony. “Even though you definitely could have just gone without me to Kyiv or wherever and now we’ll never know what she was going to say.”

Bucky lets his weight sink into the chair behind him, his head spinning. What does this all mean? He still felt certain this wasn’t a trap, that she was acting alone, but why? Why was she here and why wouldn’t she speak to him? None of it made sense.

“To be fair, I always knew she was only staying in there because she wanted to be there.” Nat continued.

“What did you say to her?” Bucky asks again. He needs more information to try to fit this puzzle together in his head.

“Nothing really.” Nat sighs. “Just that we would help her. That she wasn’t with Hydra anymore and I wasn’t playing games.”

Bucky sighs too. They weren’t playing games, but were you?

--

You’re hurtling through the streets as fast as your feet will take you.

You don’t have a plan, just an instinct.

You have to get there.

As fast as you can.

You don’t know how, but you’re going to get there.

So you run.

And run.

And run.

Taglist:

@maxsaturdayhatesnarwhals

@daddysfavoritesexkitten

[olderthannetfic]

Miami Vice episode suggestions

I was chatting with someone a few days ago about which Miami Vice episodes really cover that sense of the self being subsumed into the undercover role...

Yes, yes, I know: the answer is ALL OF THEM.

But for someone who doesn’t want to watch five seasons of TV just to write Miami Vice fusion fanfic for another series, here are my suggestions. These use Wikipedia’s episode numbering.

1.01-2 - Brother’s Keeper - The pilot includes the iconic Something in the Air Tonight scene and is basically the only time we find out that Tubbs is super inexperienced and just got there through sheer moxie. I love Tubbs. All things related to Tubbs are the Most Important Episode. (More relevantly, this is also an episode about dirty cops and identity.)

1.03 - Heart of Darkness - The dad from Married with Children is an undercover agent losing his mind. A strong and literally textual There But For the Grace of God At Least Until Sweeps Week moral for Crockett.

1.05-6 - Calderone’s Return - C&T leave the country despite being city cops to do a spot of extrajudicial killing. They take their shirts off, making this a Very Important Episode. Also, there’s undercover romance stuff.

1.07 - One Eyed Jack - Crockett’s old flame is in deep with loan sharks. The new boss played by Edward James “has had the same death glare since the 80s” Olmos shows up. So does that guy who was every gay dude’s sexual awakening in the 70s. “Little Joe never once gave it away,” as Lou Reed sang. (YES, I AM SUPER OBSESSED WITH JOE DALLESANDRO.) Internal affairs is bad like on all cop shows. Crockett gets framed. Ye olde fandom starts shipping Crockett/Castillo. I start shipping Castillo/Tubbs.

1.14-15 - Golden Triangle - Crockett and Tubbs go undercover as pimps with the help of a feisty hooker who is one of my favorite one-off characters, but what seemed like a small case leads to mysteries from Castillo’s past.

1.16 - Smuggler’s Blues - A famously atmospheric episode where C&T fly to Colombia posing as drug dealers in a mission to uncover dirty law enforcement. This is the episode the reboot movie’s plot is based on. Without credit to Miguel Piñero, I might add.

1.22 - Evan - The Gay Episode™. Makes absolutely everyone look like a gigantic closet case, and the bury your gays happened years before the actual episode, but less offensive than you might expect.

2.01-2 - The Prodigal Son - C&T go to NYC where Tubbs is from. Possibly the most iconic montage of The City As Character in the whole city literally to You Belong to the City as Crockett angstily realizes Tubbs is staying in NYC with his old flame.  Spoiler: Tubbs is absolutely not staying with Valarie. TBH, I would totally pick Pam Grier over Don Johnson, but buddy cops, man...

2.09 - Bushido - Peak 80s weeaboo. Castillo kills AK47-weilding KGB agents with a katana. No, seriously.

2.16 - Little Miss Dangerous - My favorite hair metal lady stars as a fucked up prostitute who murders her johns because of childhood trauma or something. Features Tubbs being traumatized hotly. Err, I mean, a very serious episode that I like for deep and serious reasons.

2.18 - French Twist - The most inexplicable set design in all of Miami Vice history. I am not kidding. You will know it when you see it. Also good for showing Tubbs’ paranoia and Crockett’s doomed love life.

3.04 - Walk-Alone - Tubbs goes undercover in prison. No, I have no excuse for this rec except that Castillo going after him is super hot.

3.06 - Shadow in the Dark - Ripped from the headlines serial killer stuff where Crockett goes too far inside the mind of his quarry.

3.10 - Streetwise - Bill Paxton is a cop who destroys his life trying to save the prostitute he’s having an affair with. Wesley Snipes is also in this. (Yes, absolutely everyone guest starred on MV.) Peak nihilistic The Job Destroys You fare.

3.15 - Duty and Honor/The Savage - Castillo’s past comes back to haunt him again. Includes some stuff about trying to do the honorable thing while being on opposite sides.

3.19 - Red Tape - Viggo Mortensen and Lou Diamond Phillips are ill-fated cops. Tubbs goes undercover as evil.

4.03 - Death and the Lady - C&T investigate an artsy snuff film. Pure 80s aesthetic nonsense. I love it.

4.06 - God’s Work - Interesting episode that turns out to be about AIDS. Lots of Castillo in this one.

4.22, 5.01-2 - The “Burnett arc” - The series’ most iconic arc where Sonny Crockett gets amnesia and believes he is his undercover role, Sonny Burnett. He takes over the Florida underworld while Tubbs refuses to believe in his apparent death and searches for him. 4.21 is Crockett losing his wife and engaging in a spot of extrajudicial killing, but the arc really kicks off in 4.22.

5.05 - Borrasca - The CIA wants Vice to leave a murderous drug dealer alone for bullshit CIA reasons. A must-watch for what it implies at the end of the episode--a secret that now ties Tubbs and Castillo together, but not Crockett.

5.13 - The Cell Within - A dude Tubbs arrested in NYC (a total retcon of the pilot where he’s basically a traffic cop) has become a bestselling author, dedicated his book to Tubbs, and invited him to dinner. Too bad the actor playing him isn’t hotter, but this is peak bad fanfic plot where the villain kidnaps our fave and gives him the Let’s Rule the World Together speech while locking him in a cell. Tubbs is just that hot, I guess. Kudos for the scene where the dude makes Tubbs watch BDSM porn with him to demonstrate how the world is Full Of Sin. (Extra kudos for it just being footage of an episode from season 1.)

5.15 - Over the Line - I don’t even remember this one, but it’s about vigilante cops fed up with the system.

5.16 - Victims of Circumstance - Crockett has to go undercover as a white supremacist. A little hokey but worth watching if you’re interested in undercover bullshit on this show.

5.17 - Freefall - The actual last episode, full of nihilism and disillusionment with the system.

Or for a shorter list, try the pilot, the Burnett arc, and the finale.

[slickbackdani]

Batman Movie Villains Ranked from Worst to Best

Recently, a YouTuber I follow by the name of Mr. Rogues released a list of Batman villains ranked from worst to best. I have nothing but the utmost of respect for Mr. Rogues as a content creator, but I took issue with his list because his long-standing biases were often the deciding factor in many of his rankings. So, I decided to do a list of my own.

I’ll be going over every Batman villain to appear in the movies, briefly analyzing their portrayals and ranking them on a scale of 1 to 5. To prevent the list from being too cluttered, I’ll be separating the villains by which movie series they’re part of. Here we go!

Burton/Schumacher Tetralogy

Bane: Perhaps the only villain in this series I’d call “bad.” The calculating tactician of the comics is nowhere to be found here; instead, he’s reduced to a monosyllabic, brain-dead stooge for the other villains. Overall, he does nothing that couldn’t be done by a random henchman. 1/5

Two-Face: A deeply layered villain in the comics, Two-Face sadly gets upstaged by the other major rogue in the movie, but that’s not to say he doesn’t leave an impression. Tommy Lee Jones gives him a manic and mercurial demeanor that, combined with his colorful design, wouldn’t be out of place in the Adam West series. The size and scope of his criminal organization make him a genuine threat, and there’s something darkly fitting about Batman’s former ally being responsible for the creation of Robin. 3/5

Poison Ivy: Mr. Rogues for some reason ranked her as the worst Batman movie villain of all time, and frankly, I don’t see why. Like Tommy Lee Jones as Two-Face, Uma Thurman gives this character a delightfully over-the-top demeanor that combines with a colorful, comic-booky ensemble to make for another great “what-if-this-character-appeared-in-the-Adam-West-series” take. She does a good job juggling the differing facets of Ivy’s character: she’s the put-upon cynic, the craven opportunist, the radical eco-terrorist, and the suave seductress all in one package. 3.5/5

The Penguin: Fuck the Razzies. Danny DeVito made this role his own and set the stage for the character for years to come. He’s a bit of a departure, but a welcome one: far from the refined gentleman of crime Burgess Meredith portrayed, this Penguin is an animalistic thug warped by a lifetime of anger and hatred of the society who rejected him due to his deformities. His signature wardrobe, trick umbrellas, and Penguin gimmick are all there, but DeVito sells the role by showing amazing versatility: he can go from a comical and pitiable weirdo to a terrifying sociopath at the drop of a stovepipe hat. 4/5

Mr. Freeze: I honestly can’t say much about this character that my mutual @wonderfulworldofmichaelford hasn’t already. Arnold Schwarzenegger perfectly encapsulates both popular versions of this character: the flamboyant, pun-loving criminal genius from the Adam West series and the Animated Series’ traumatized scientist desperate to cure his loving wife of her terminal illness. Sure, the puns and hammy one-liners are what this version character is known for, but Ahnold definitely knows when to apply the brakes and give a greatly emotional performance as he tries desperately to cure his wife. 4.5/5

Max Shreck: Probably the only time you’ll see a movie-exclusive character on this list, and deservedly so. Corrupt businessmen are dime-a-dozen in Batman stories, and most of them have little personality outside of being greedy scumbags who either get defeated by the hero or betrayed by the other villains. Shreck, however, is different. Not only does he have an eye-catching fashion sense on par with any of Batman’s famous rogues, but Christopher Walken brings his signature manic intensity to the role, creating a character that’s as wicked and sinister as he is cool and stylish. You totally buy that the general public sees him as the good guy. His warm relationship with his son is also a delight to watch. 4.5/5

Catwoman: Michelle Pfeiffer does a lot to really make the character her own. She gets a lot of genuinely badass moments, but underneath all of her coolness lies the undercurrent that she’s a broken, traumatized character lashing out at the people who abused her and took her for granted. Even when she takes these ideals to unreasonable extremes, you never stop feeling like the retribution she brings on her enemies is at least a little warranted. Also, she has amazing romantic chemistry with Batman and her costume is fucking metal. 5/5

The Ridder: It’s Jim Carrey. 5/5

The Joker: This role is perhaps the one that set the standard for future Jokers to follow: Jack Nicholson’s humorous yet unnerving performance signaled to audiences early on that this would not be the goofy trickster of the Silver Age, but a different beast entirely. This Joker is a film noir gangster on crack: a disfigured mob hitman who quickly takes the entire criminal underworld by storm and unleashes his special brand of chaos and destruction across Gotham. He’s an artist, a showman, a charismatic leader, and the man responsible for ruining Bruce Wayne’s life. 5/5

Christopher Nolan Trilogy

Talia al Ghul: You know that recent trend in Disney movies where a side character we thought was harmless and inconsequential turned out to have been the villain all along in a twist with no buildup or foreshadowing with the reveal happening too late in the movie for this character to really do anything cool or impressive before being unceremoniously defeated? That’s Talia. DKR is the weakest of the three Nolan films, and I feel like it would’ve been much better received without this twist villain contrivedly shoehorned in. Also, while I could kinda forgive the trilogy’s whitewashing of other villains like Ra’s al Ghul and Bane due to the talent their actors display, Marion Cotillard doesn’t get a pass because she just doesn’t have the charisma or screen presence needed to pull it off. 1/5

Victor Zsasz: While the idea of redefining Zsasz as an over enthusiastic mob hitman instead of a serial killer is very interesting, it’s ruined by the fact that he barely even appears in the movie and doesn’t really do or say much of anything despite the buildup he gets. 1.5/5

Two-Face: Aaron Eckhart portrays Harvey Dent as a character of tragedy in a slightly different way than other tragic villains in superhero movies: he’s lashing out at a society he feels wronged him, but instead of being a lifelong outcast or put-upon loser, he was a handsome, successful crusader for the common good who lost everything he once held dear all in one fell swoop. You really feel for him even as he does horrible things. If I had to nitpick, though, I am slightly bothered by the fact that he plays some comic book movie cliches straight (i.e. they never call him by his alias and he dies at the end,) but it’s a solid performance overall. 3/5

Scarecrow: I’ll be upfront and admit that I’m more than a little annoyed that certain facets of the character had been changed in the name of “realism” — once again, they never call him by his villain name and he never wears a comic-accurate costume — but other than that, I can’t complain. Cillian Murphy plays the character with a smarmy, eerie charm that really makes his scenes stand out, his willingness to ally himself with other villains suits his character well, and the fact that he appears in three consecutive films with a different evil scheme in each really helps tie the movies together. 3.5/5

Catwoman: Much like other secondary villains in this trilogy, she really doesn’t get a chance to shine compared to the main antagonist — and, once again, it pisses me off a little that they do the whole “never refer to her as Catwoman but vaguely hint at it” thing — but she’s everything a modern Catwoman should be. She’s sly, manipulative, really holds her own in a fight, has great chemistry with Bruce Wayne... it’s all there. It’s also great to see Anne Hathaway break away from her usual type casting to play a role this dynamic. 4/5

Ra’s al Ghul: He’s a character that was in desperate need of mainstream exposure, and by God that’s what he got. Making him Bruce Wayne’s mentor adds a layer of personal tragedy to the climax where our hero has to stop the man who made him who he is from destroying Gotham with his admittedly brilliant plan. Add in a strong, captivating performance from Liam Neeson before we found out he was a racist asshole, and we’ve got one hell of an overarching villain. 4.5/5

The Joker: Everybody’s already discussed this version of the character to hell and back and likely will for years to come, so I’ll keep it very brief. He’s funny, he’s badass, he’s terrifying, he has great dialogue, it sucks that Heath Ledger didn’t live to see his performance reach the audience it got, and he basically makes the entire film. 5/5

Bane: Mr. Rogues actually ranked Bane higher than Joker on his list, and keeping it 100, I actually agree with him here. Finally, after decades of being dumbed down and misrepresented outside of comics, Bane is finally portrayed as the tactical genius from the comics. Tom Hardy plays Bane to perfection, being very believable as the peak of human physical and mental achievement, the man who broke Batman physically and emotionally. His design is iconic, his every line is quotable, his voice is weirdly fitting, and the memes are funny. 5/5

DC Extended Universe

KGBeast: Another point where I agree wholeheartedly with Mr. Rogues. He is absolutely wasted in BVS, being nothing but a generic henchman for Lex Luthor. He doesn’t wear his costume from the comics, he’s never referred to by his alias, he doesn’t have his signature cybernetic enhancements, and he never does or says anything noteworthy. 1/5

The Joker: Ugh. I don’t know what’s worst: the tacky clothes, the stupid tattoos, the weird Richard Nixon impression that passes as his voice, the fact that promotional material hyped him up as a “beautiful tragedy” of a character even though he’s only in the movie for like 10 minutes and barely does anything, Jared Leto’s toxic edgelord behavior on set done with the flimsy pretense of “getting into character,” or the fact that he’s just trying to copy Heath Ledger instead of making the role his own. 1/5

Victor Zsasz: Chris Messina proves undoubtedly that Zsasz CAN work as a secondary villain in a Batman movie. He’s once again a mob assassin who enjoys his job a little too much, but unlike Batman Begins, he really gets time to shine. He’s just as sadistic and depraved as in the comics, but he also has this disarming, casual demeanor about him like he’s just indulging a hobby instead of slicing innocent people’s faces off. His close friendship with his boss Black Mask adds some depth to the character as well. 3/5

Killer Croc: Sadly, he doesn’t get much time in the spotlight, but he’s pretty cool nonetheless. The makeup and prosthetics used to create him look amazing, and Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje’s deep voice and imposing body language make him really stand out as an intimidating presence. He’s often in the background, which fits his role as an outcast by choice and a man of few words, but whenever he does get focus, he has everyone’s attention. It really would be a shame if this character’s only appearance was in a mediocre schlock action movie, but he makes the most of what he has. 3.5/5

Deadshot: Another highlight of what would otherwise be a forgettable film, Deadshot is just as cool and competent as he’s always been in other media, but this portrayal stands out for one simple reason. Will Smith was a very odd choice to play the role, but it worked out for the best here because you get the sense he truly understands the characters. He’s ruthless and pragmatic, but has just as enough charm and depth to make him likable. 4/5

Black Mask: I, like many, was skeptical when I saw early trailers depicting Roman Sionis as a foppish weirdo who doesn’t wear his signature mask, but upon seeing the final movie, I really feel like he has the high ground over other DCEU villains. Ewan McGregor is endlessly captivating in the role, portraying him as a swaggering dandy who is nevertheless dangerous due to his boundless narcissism and explosive temper. Sure, those who deal in absolutes would be put off from the differences with his comic counterpart — who is far more cold and humorless — but from a certain point of view, this flamboyant take on the character isn’t so much a departure as it is an addition to make him stand out while keeping his role the same. Black Mask has always been a middleman between the traditional mobsters of yesteryear and the colorful rogues that plague Gotham today, and this portrayal perfectly encapsulates that. He works in the shadows, but isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty; he flies off the handle and gets reckless at times, but there’s no question that the whole operation was his idea. 5/5

Harley Quinn: Margot Robbie owns this role. She’s unbelievably dazzling as a badass, funny, sexy antihero who deals greatly with tragedy and proves that there’s always been more to her than her initial role as the Joker’s sidekick. Again, not much to say, but she’s almost perfect. 5/5

[teamxdark]

I posted 3,452 times in 2021

1167 posts created (34%)

2285 posts reblogged (66%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 2.0 posts.

I added 3,872 tags in 2021

#smash speaks. - 1243 posts

#one step forward (shadow) - 642 posts

#satbk - 479 posts

#all that glitters (rouge) - 434 posts

#ultimate knight (lancelot) - 329 posts

#avalon series. - 183 posts

#arthurlot. - 162 posts

#target acquired (omega) - 149 posts

#knightcore. - 140 posts

#sonic. - 111 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#if you don't feel good about your own progression and conclusion and only end badly as a 'fuck you' to your consumers then what's the point?

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Arthur: *picks up a gun* What is this odd device?

Shadow: ARTHUR NO--

Arthur: *accidentally shoots it at the wall*

Arthur:

Shadow:

Arthur: A loud explosion stick of death?

Shadow: Yes. Exactly. You got it in one. Please put it down.

252 notes • Posted 2021-05-01 22:46:42 GMT

#4

Mirror, Mirror

Based off of this little interaction between @damnitd and @silvermun a long time ago. It’s basically unedited, but the story I’ll end up putting on AO3/FFnet another day won’t be much different from this one here.

What can one do, when the heart is split in two? Where does one end, and the other begin? Where is the line drawn? 

Or should it be drawn at all…?

Sonic stared at the twisted heap of metal on the kitchen counter, bisected by a sword, and tried his hardest not to scream.

“Lancelot,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even, “that was a toaster.”

The knight in question wrenched his sword from the mess, causing sparks to fly and little bits and bobs, both mechanical and breadlike, to scatter across the counter and fall to the floor. “It was burning up,” he explained gravely, “achieving heats far too intense for today’s weather. I could not trust it, and when it let out a scream, I had to act.”

“That ‘scream’ was an alarm,” Sonic snapped, too tired and hungry to deal with this nonsense. “That means that the toast is done and we can eat. Which we can’t now. Because you attacked the toaster.”

The dark hedgehog turned his sword over in his hands, and Sonic braced himself for his rebuttal, and then they would argue over who was in the right, but the knight uttered a soft, “I simply wished to protect you. I am still getting used to the complex machines of this era, and I cannot bring myself to trust them. I realize that this is… unbecoming of me, and an irritation to you. I apologize, and I will try my best to keep my impulses under control.”

Sonic let out his breath in a loud exhale. It was so easy to forget, still, that this wasn’t Shadow in front of him.

No one could quite explain how the switch had come to pass; one day, Shadow and he had parted ways, the sensation that there were still words left unspoken between them that would be better saved for another time, and the next day, Lancelot had been found in his place. 

The knight was having trouble adjusting, to put it lightly. It had been weeks, but the advanced technology of contemporary times drove him to paranoia, and Sonic had seen many a monitor, vehicle, and appliance fall victim to Arondight’s wrath, much to Tails’ chagrin.

Worse, still, was that Lancelot refused to stay anywhere aside from Sonic’s home. The knight graciously declined Shadow’s place, leaving Rouge and Omega down one roommate, staying instead in any spare room he could find, so long as it was where Sonic was staying as well. Rouge had laughed it off, waving the knight away with a taunt that he was ‘Sonic’s problem now’, but the hero had seen the flash of hurt and worry in her eyes.

No one knew where Shadow was, or if he was ever coming back.

And now incidents such as these, with another appliance in pieces, were commonplace.

Sonic rubbed at his forehead, trying to put his buzzing thoughts together in his head before he spoke. “Lance, I get that you’re trying to protect me from my evil cookware and all that, but I don’t get why.”

The knight started, one ear tilting to the side in confusion. “Why would I not? I swore to do so, did I not?”

“No,” Sonic deadpanned. “You didn’t.”

That seemed to offend Lancelot, who let go of his sword for a moment to cross his arms. “I do not wish to speak out of line,” he said, sounding like he was struggling to remain calm, “but you are mistaken. A knight is loyal to the sovereign who knights him, until the last of his days.”

“But I didn’t knight you!” Sonic protested, at the end of his rope. “I’m not your king!”

In response, Lancelot pushed up his visor, and Sonic took in the set jaw, the way his pointed white teeth bared themselves in a snarl, by all means, the spitting image of Shadow, with just the smallest thing here and there that harshly reminded Sonic that the one standing before him was not the one he had spent so many years with. He saw it in the same set jaw, as it trembled with the effort to keep everything held back. He saw it in the snarl, which was more dismayed than hostile. Most of all, he saw it in Lancelot’s eyes, red and wide and so very expressive without the visor to shield them away.

Sonic was so used to seeing those eyes guarded, cut off from him, with only the smallest of opportunities to peek inside before they closed him out again.

Lancelot reached out, holding one of Sonic’s hands in both of his, delicately, like he was something infinitely valuable and the knight was afraid of sullying him with his hands. Sonic had only blinked when Lancelot dropped to his knees, his head bowed forward, and he heard him clear his throat before he spoke.

“You are him. You may not believe me, but I know it to be true. You are Arthur, my king, in this life and all others.”

Sonic sighed, unwilling to let this go but also not wanting to keep on this path of conversation, especially on an empty stomach. He tried to wrench away his hand, but Lancelot held tight, lifting his head, eyes ablaze with passionate certainty that made Sonic freeze in place.

He had never been looked at like that before…

"Every piece of you is the same,” Lancelot declared, his eyes unwavering, drawing in the hero and refusing to release him. “It is not only in image, either. I see it, I hear it, I feel it... It's more than just the body, the vision I see before me. You have his soul, free and unbound and hungry for adventure. You have his heart, strong and kind and noble. I see it in your eyes, you are him, you are who he would be if he were not burdened by his destiny! Don't you understand, Sonic? The only difference between you and Arthur are the memories you keep! You are him! You are him, and that's why I will follow you and protect you with my life. I gave you my vow, and I will not break it. No matter the time, no matter the life... I will stand by you until any and every version of us ceases to exist. That is my promise to you, as your knight!"

He said it so resolutely, so earnestly, that Sonic couldn’t find the words, nor the will to argue against him. In all his life, in all his wildest fantasies, Sonic could never have imagined those words, coming from that mouth, spoken in that voice… It was enough to get his heart pounding, that was for sure.

Sonic closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, but Lancelot’s hands clasped around his kept him anchored in this strange reality he was in. He didn’t like it; it had taken so long to get to where he had gotten with Shadow, so much time and effort and tenacity to get every last crumb from him, but Sonic had been adamant. He had wanted to break Shadow’s walls, to reach through, to understand him and be someone trusted and cared for. He had tried so hard, made so much progress… and now Shadow was gone, and in his place, Lancelot knelt before him, eagerly baring his soul for him without so much as a command.

Sonic would have been a liar if he said he didn’t like what he saw in Lancelot, either, but after all he had done for Shadow… it felt… wrong? Bad? In poor taste? Off, to be feeling similar flutters in the chest for a man who shared his face but not his past, nor his experiences.

See the full post

253 notes • Posted 2021-02-17 09:00:26 GMT

#3

Wait so

If Shadow was so deeply moved by Sonic's determination to save him when he fell from space...

...is that why he's always rushing to save Sonic in all other media afterwards?

365 notes • Posted 2021-09-24 21:17:54 GMT

#2

I wish all my writer friends a very good write and a very time to write and a very motivation.

I wish all my artist friends a very good draw and a very time to draw and a very inspiration.

I wish all my content consumer friends a very good consume.

617 notes • Posted 2021-07-24 02:02:36 GMT

#1

You know what I love about artists?

I love how much time they've put into their hobby. Visual art always starts off sloppy and awkward looking but all those artists out there decided to not be discouraged and keep going. The results are phenomenal to see and I hope they realise that.

I love how artists have their favourite parts of drawing. Some love traditional and others prefer digital, but it all looks fantastic. Even the "quick sketches". (Especially the quick sketches those are so damn neat okay how do you make the pictures happen?)

I love how they make the pictures happen. This is a personal thing for me, as someone with difficulty visualising. Being able to see something in front of me fills in so many blanks that I just cannot fill on my own and adds so much life to a concept.

I love their patience. Taking the time to sit down for anywhere from ten minutes to six hours of their day (or more???) to make a doodle or redraw the same line 20+ times or struggle with colour pallets is just. Awe-provoking. You're all incredible.

I love how so many of them are kind. So many artists are so kind and lovely and I am so happy to call many of them my friends.

I love how artists will post an honest to god MASTERPIECE and say "sorry this looks so bad" like they somehow don't realise that they've created a work of... well, art.

I love artists, man.

1070 notes • Posted 2021-08-19 15:54:43 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[knivestothroats]

New series!! I don’t have enough I’m working on!! Basically I wanted to create something with less of a plot so I could just use the OCs/setting to do prompt fills n shit. 

(update: here’s the masterlist)

CW: gunshot wounds, guns in general, knives to throats (heh), death threats, not exactly hunted for sport but a similar vibe

~

Buck put all of his determination into running. He tore through the woods, trying not to limp or stumble through pure determination, but the adrenaline could only do so much for the pain, and the wound in his leg eventually brought him down.

Managing to steer his collapse, he half-fell, half-dove behind a tree and pressed his back up against it. He put one hand over his mouth, trying to muffle his own heavy breathing, and one hand over the bullet hole in his thigh.

Buck had no idea how much ground he had covered. Existence was disorienting. He could have been running for miles, he could have made it five feet. The shooter had been a good distance away, but Buck knew. He could feel the dread like cement in his stomach. He hadn’t made it far enough. The woods weren’t thick enough. They would find him.

There was a rustling close by. Buck flinched, his heart nearly giving out from beating so hard.

A person came into view from behind some trees, still partially shrouded by the undergrowth. Not one of the ones Buck had seen – not one of the ones who had shot at him. Just a hiker, he figured, dressed in a flannel, denim jacket, and a knit cap. They were walking past, in the direction Buck had come from, but they saw his form crumpled against the tree and stopped.

“Don’t go that way,” Buck hissed, not wanting to make too much noise. He tried to push himself upright, but the pain radiated out through his body. “We need to get out of here. Can you help… me….”

He trailed off as the hiker stepped out from behind their foliage cover, his eyes flickering down to the gun in their hand, dappled sunlight glinting off the metal.

The hiker pulled a walkie talkie from their belt and spoke into it, “I found your runner.”

A slightly distorted voice replied, “Copy,” and they returned the walkie to their hip. They approached Buck.

“Yeah, I can help you,” the hiker said, lowering to one knee in front of him. They draped their forearm over their leg, displaying their gun in a faux spectacle of casualness.

Buck sagged, letting his head fall back against the tree, and closed his eyes. His hands were still clamped around his leg.

“Well, let me see,” the hiker said. They gestured ever so slightly with their gun in the direction of his injury, not quite pointing it at him.

Buck very slowly let go of this thigh and held his hands in the air, blood from his palms beginning to drip down his arms.

The hiker looked at the wound for a second, their face framed by dark hair that hadn’t been tucked under their beanie. Buck was aware that strands of his own long hair were plastered to his skin, but he didn’t dare move to brush them away as the hiker turned their gaze to his face.

“You seem like a smart guy,” they said. “I’m going to put my gun in its holster. I trust that you know better than to try to make a grab for it. It won’t end well.”

Buck clenched his jaw and nodded.

The hiker holstered their weapon and shifted closer. They reached out for Buck’s leg, examining the injury. Buck hissed in pain as they shifted his limb, feeling for the entrance wound.

“Not bad. Bullet went straight through, so that’s good for you. Really clipped you on the edge here, more or less, so I don’t think it hit anything important.”

They drew their hands away. Buck hesitantly replaced his own, trying to cap the flow of blood as much as possible. He was already starting to feel lightheaded.

“Were you facing them or running away when you got shot?” the hiker asked.

Buck licked his lips. “I was running away.”

More rustling through the trees. Careless, and getting closer. Two figures emerged - the same two Buck had seen before. He could be sure, despite the distance in the previous encounter, because one of them immediately raised their rifle and pointed it at Buck.

“Lower your fucking weapon, Dayal,” the hiker ordered. “I am right here.”

Dayal pointed his rifle at the ground. His face twisted like a kid who got scolded by a teacher.

“We need to review gun safety later,” the hiker said.

“I know my gun rules,” Dayal protested.

“Yeah?” The hiker raised an eyebrow. “Recite them.”

“Assume the gun is loaded, don’t rest your finger on the trigger, don’t point the gun at anything you’re not going to shoot…” Dayal rattled them off.

“Yeah, Dayal,” the hiker interrupted. “So why the fuck were you pointing it at us?”

“I was pointing it at him!”

“Yeah,” the hiker stood. They took two purposeful steps toward Dayal, looking down on him. “And I was right. Fucking. There.” They pointed at Buck’s leg. “That’s your marksmanship, I take it?”

“Yeah,” Dayal answered uncertainly.

“Is that where you were aiming?”

Dayal said nothing.

“Mmhm. I wouldn’t bet my life on your aim.” The hiker turned back to Buck. “Someone fill me in quickly before this poor fucker bleeds out.”

“I got it,” the woman next to Dayal muttered. She pulled a scarf from around her neck and tied it tight around Buck’s wounded leg, eliciting a groan of pain.

“He was snooping around the grounds,” Dayal said.

“I wasn’t snooping,” Buck said, shaking his head weakly. His mouth felt so dry. “I wasn’t snooping. I was just – argh – hiking.”

The hiker – or whoever they really were – eyed Buck with a cold gaze.

“Summers, check him for weapons, bugs, anything of the sort,” they ordered.

The woman knelt down next to Buck and began to pat him down. The hiker watched carefully as Summers emptied his pockets, setting his phone, wallet, keys, a compass, and a small pocket knife on the ground. When she was finished, the hiker picked up his personal items. They opened his wallet and looked at his ID, flipped briefly through the keys, examined the compass, opened and closed the blade on the pocket knife. Finally, they held up the phone in front of the others.

“This is the most dangerous thing he has on him. More than the knife, even. Can anyone tell me why?”

“He can call for backup,” Dayal suggested.

“It can be tracked,” Summers said.

“Well, that’s what I – that would bring back up,” Dayal said.

“You’re both right,” the hiker said. “It can send information, basically. His location through tracking, and anything else he knows when he calls, texts, or uploads information. Now that we have it, any information on here could be useful to us to find out more about this guy. However, us having it is also dangerous because that means our location is being tracked. So I’m going to turn it off until we’re ready to go through it.” They powered the phone down. “Under different circumstances, it may be wise to just destroy the SIM card if you know the phone is more of a danger than an asset. And, if you’re dealing with the government, turning off the phone might not be enough…” the hiker looked down at Buck. “But I think we’re okay.”

They pocketed all of Buck’s items, except the knife. Instead they opened the blade again. It was small, but it was sharp, and it could still get the job done if it needed to. They knelt down close to Buck again.

“What’s your name, friend?” the hiker asked. They already knew the answer – they had seen his ID – but starting off with easy, innocuous questions is a good way to ease people into talking.

He swallowed. “Buck.”

“Do you know who I am?” the hiker asked.

Buck blinked in confusion, eyebrows pulling together briefly.

“No,” he said.

The hiker stared at him for a beat.

“The name’s Fletcher. Nice to meet you.” They rolled the knife in their hand. “You wanna make this easy and tell us what you’re doing here?”

“I’m really – I’m really hiking,” Buck insisted breathlessly. “I don’t know… what this is. And I don’t – I don’t want to know, and I don’t, uh, want to be involved, or, or, talk to anyone, or whatever, um, the concern is. I didn’t…” he covered his eyes with his hand – the back of his hand, as to not get blood on his face. “I didn’t even see your faces.”

Fletcher laughed and pulled his arm down.

“Okay, Buck. Answer me something else then.” They rested their arm on his shoulder. “Where’d you get this knife?”

Buck swallowed. “My – my father gave it to me.”

“Did you name it?”

“Uh… no. I didn’t,” Buck said.

Fletcher made a disapproving noise. “You should always name your weapons. They’re your partners.” They trailed the blade over his collar bone, past the collar of his shirt, and slowly up his throat, resting the point under his chin. Buck tilted his head back, unable to get away. “What do you use it for?”

“Um… I… uh, not – not a lot. J-Just, um, uh, opening things, mostly,” Buck stammered. “I, um, just always bring it with me hiking, just, uh, in case. I guess. I don’t – I don’t know what… I would use it for, really….”

“Yeah, about that,” Fletcher said, pulling away. “You’re pretty deep in the woods for a hike.”

“I’m… a serious hiker…” Buck said lamely. “I always hike for miles.”

“There’s no trail out here,” Fletcher said.

“Well, I have a compass,” Buck said. “So as long as I know which direction I came from, I can make it back.”

Fletcher stared at him, saying nothing. Buck, growing increasingly nervous under their gaze, spoke up again.

“Um, I’m not from around here, so if this is s-something where, like, everyone knows not to go into the woods, uh, I just didn’t get the memo, so…”

“Oh, you’re new in town?” Fletcher raised their eyebrows. “Or just visiting?”

“New, uh, new in town,” Buck said.

“Hmm. What brought you out here?”

“Um,” Buck shook his head, trying to focus his thoughts. “Just… needed a change of scenery, honestly.”

Fletcher said nothing, just stared again. Eventually, Dayal spoke up.

“What do you think?”

Fletcher smiled, folded the knife and slipped it into their pocket, and stood.

“You know what I think?” Fletcher began, smiling down on Buck. “I think this guy’s a survivor. I bet he could walk all the way back to the house on that leg.”

Buck’s eyes widened.

“You know why?” Fletcher continued. “Because he knows the only other option is to lay down and die in the dirt. Or, you know,” they shrugged to their companions. “Try to run away. But that’s not much of an option. So, what’s it gonna be, my dear?”

Buck’s eyes flickered to each of the faces of the people standing before him. Each time he was met with a detached expectancy and nothing more. He put one hand on the tree and began to slowly, agonizingly, stand up. He kept his weight on his left leg.

“Great!” Fletcher said. “Follow me.”

The others walked slowly through the woods, allowing Buck to limp along behind them. Every step was an exertion of energy he didn’t have. His head was swimming and pain was flowing through his body in waves. And, with whoever these people were, he was mostly likely walking to his death.

Buck came to a stop, leaning against a tree for support.

Once he got to this house, would he ever come back out? There was no way he could run away; he was hobbled and at least two of these people had guns. But was it any better to prolong the inevitable? To force his bleeding leg to carry him all these useless steps?

Buck sank to the ground. Fletcher stood over him.

“Just leave me here to die,” Buck said, sweat coating his ashen face.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” Fletcher said. “It’s not humane. I would put you out of your misery.”

Buck hung his head, breathing heavily, but raised his eyes to meet Fletcher’s gaze.

“What do you want with me?” he asked.

“I want to see if you can make it,” Fletcher said.

Buck tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. Fletcher put out their hand.

“Little help,” they said. “For free. Where would any of us be without help from others, right?”

Buck closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then reached out and took Fletcher’s hand. Fletcher steadied him as he struggled to his feet again. They kept walking.   

The house wasn’t far, but at Buck’s speed the group took a long time to get there. Buck was stumbling frequently, leaning on passing trees for support. He could feel sweat rolling down his skin.

Fletcher opened the door for Dayal and Summers to walk inside, before turning to Buck and waiting. Buck stood frozen, gazing into the dark doorway. His heart was pounding, blood screaming in his ears. He slowly became aware Fletcher was talking to him.

“Buck. Hey. Buck,” they snapped their fingers.

Buck turned his weak gaze from the doorway to Fletcher.

“Is there a problem here?”

“Of course there is,” Buck said, his voice dry and weak.

“You could still try to run,” Fletcher said, a wry smile tugging at the corners of their mouth.

Maybe it was better to be shot now than to face whatever would happen inside that house. Buck turned, ready to try his best to run. Put a real effort forth as his last act in life, even if he only gets a few steps in. 

Fletcher bolted forward, effortlessly knocking Buck to the ground. He stared up at them from where he lay prone on his back, squinting at the sun haloing Fletcher’s head. They put a boot on Buck’s chest and drew their gun from its holster. Not aiming it at him – just holding it in their hand, finger off of the trigger.

“Think this through,” Fletcher said gravely. “If you’re alive, there’s a chance. If you’re dead, you’re dead.”

Buck said nothing. He closed his eyes against the glare of the sun and tried to breathe with the boot on his chest.

“If that’s what you want,” Fletcher said, “I can give that to you. Or you can get up and walk inside, and we can stitch those bullet holes shut.”

“And then what?” Buck wheezed.

“Who knows,” Fletcher said. “We won’t know until we get there.”

Buck took a rattling breath, and then another. He raised his arm, trembling with the effort.

With a smirk, Fletcher stepped off his chest and leaned down to help him up.

Buck was swaying in the breeze, and Fletcher took his arm and wrapped it around their shoulders, holding him up with an arm around his waist.

“Well, Buck,” Fletcher said as they crossed the threshold, “welcome to The Hunting Lodge.”

(update: here’s the masterlist)