#you meet the guy who his mind was shaped out of. the guy who tortured him. the guy who's responsible for all of this.

[leonardalphachurch]

hey ppl who write "tucker time travels back to pfl" aus. do you have tucker and the director have a relationship. bc like. thats church. like hes not church but hes. hes church. does the director find him annoyingly charming. does tucker recognize parts of his best friend in this awful man and find himself drawn to him despite himself. does he see what church could have been. does he see who church was. does he see who church is

[ss-tier-simp]

"mine" - bucky barnes x f!reader

Summary: Bucky is getting a little anxious to show you are his.

Warnings: angsty in the beginning (mentions of war and death) and then BAM here comes the smut. Bucky has a bit of a marking kink, there is a hint of cockwarming, p in v penetration, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) . This is NSFW and contains +18 content, so MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

A/Ν: This is my first time dipping my toes in +18 territory, so I hope you guys enjoy it. Any mistakes made are my own, as it is unbetad and english is not my first language.

The world was a cruel place. He saw it in Brooklyn while his mother barely made meets end, just to put food on the table for his sister and him.

He saw it in the trenches of war as men, both friends and foe alike fell to their untimely demise, without a trace remaining to be sent back to their folks.

The world's cruelty was marred into his skin, wounds that never properly healed, aching. A constant reminder of what exactly was taken away from him. Memories of a past he desperately tried to forget always haunted him, never giving him much-needed peace.

It took his family away from him, his friends, his innocence, his sanity, his arm.

And it kept taking.

And taking.

The world has helped form and shape him into the man he is. A man who put a stake in things he found precious in this unfamiliar era, refusing to let the world take them away from him.

One of his most precious things was you. A fact that he was proud to show off to the world with the marks he was now sucking into the delicate skin of your throat. A brand that reminded everyone that you belonged with him.

"Bucky!" you whined as you felt his lips sucking another mark. The feel of his tongue laving against the delicate skin of your throat made your pussy clench around him.

Your chest heaved against his, trying its best to bring in the oxygen your body desperately needed. You felt lightheaded. The heat and the closeness of your bodies brought out a neediness in you.

Friction. You needed friction. You needed to feel him move. Yet the unrelenting grip he had on your hips rendered any attempt to grind against his lap futile. He got you where he wanted. Panting, moaning, writhing. Wanting.

Your hand made a beautiful trip, mapping the taut muscles of his back before it reached its destination. It found the locks of his brown hair and yanked just enough for his lips to abandon their task and force his eyes onto your pleading ones.

"Bucky, please!" you gasped, your eyes blurry with tears at the delicious torture that Bucky had subjected you to. His metal hand left its place on your hips to caress your cheek and wipe the tear that threatened to spill.

"Please, what?" his tone was taunting, but you paid it no mind.

"Bucky, please move!" the words tumbled out of your mouth, not caring about how desperate you sounded.

"Whatever my pretty girl wants." both of his hands were on your hips again. A shiver went down your body at the loss of his body heat. He straightened his body putting more weight on his legs, in favor of watching your pussy clench and weep around him.

You almost sobbed in relief when you felt his hips finally move, the slow drag of his cock stealing any coherent thought in your mind.

He moved his cock from your deepest parts, feeling your pussy tighten around him as if she was afraid that he would abandon her, leave her high and dry. He let his thrusts be shallow, the head of his cock bullying a spot in you that had your eyes rolling back in pleasure.

He indulged in the sounds that left your mouth, the intense heat of your pussy that sucked him in greedily, the way your back arched against the mattress.

"B-Bucky." you started but another shallow thrust managed to rob you of your words and instead replaced them with loud moans.

"What pretty girl?" Bucky couldn't help but grin at you, loving the way he reduced you to a babbling mess.

"P-please Bucky." you started again. "Please, move."

"Move?" he questioned, his thrust continuing to punch at that special spot inside you. "I'm moving baby. What do you want? Are you going to use your big girl words?"

"Want more Bucky." you sobbed. "Want it harder, want it deeper. Please Bucky, please!"

His hands found the back of your knees, as quickly as the words left your mouth, bringing them towards your chest. "Keep them there for me." His tone was firm, a demand you were more than glad to fulfill.

When you did just that, he found support on the mattress putting once again more of his body weight on you and then finally his cock found its home at your deepest part.

The pleasure robbed you of your voice, your mouth stuck in a silent scream. His strokes were deep, showing off the strength that he hid whenever he touched you. Every time he filled you to the brim. The coarse patch of hair ground against your clit giving you that extra shot of delicious pleasure.

Your moans, his grunts, the slap of skin against skin, and the squeaking of the mattress that you had to get rid of, filled the room building a beautiful harmony. A crescendo that built until it reached its climax.

"I-I'm cumming." you gasped. "Fuck, I am cumming."

"I'm close too," Bucky said. "cum for me, baby."

The tightening of your walls was the only answer he received as the pleasure got too much, your body jerking before going still as you fell off the edge into one of the most mind-blowing orgasms.

The vice-like grip of your heat as it spasmed around him was enough to set off his own orgasm, losing the tempo that he had set, and he buried himself  close as it was humanly possible.

You felt his cock pulse as he spilled inside you. An overwhelming sensation that seemed to prolong your orgasm. Bucky dipped down his head, his urge to kiss you winning over every other instinct and your lips met into a messy kiss, as you both relished in the aftermath.

He let all of his weight on you and the wheezing laugh that escaped you interrupted your kiss. You let your knees fall and instead pushed against Bucky's chest, trying to get him off you.

"Bucky, you are heavy!" you complained as you laughed, a laugh Bucky mirrored before he rolled off you and onto his side.

You felt his eyes on you and you turned to see him staring at the marks he had left on your neck, proud of his handiwork.

"You have to stop giving me hickeys, " you declared, his eyes meeting yours, their disappointment evident. "They are a bitch to cover up, every time I go to work."

"Stop with the puppy eyes." you couldn't contain the laugh at the antics of a man who is supposed to be over one hundred years old.

"What about a compromise?" he offered and you looked at him quizically.

"How about I start leaving them in places, others could only hope to see." he continued and you snorted.

"Bucky Barnes, is this a possessiveness sort of thing?" you asked and he shrugged or at least he tried as he was still lying down.

"I like people knowing you are mine," he admitted. A smile bloomed on your face and you pecked his nose enjoying how his face scrunched up.

"Unbelievable, you possessive grumpy old man!" you started to rise from the bed, to head towards the bathroom. "How about you join me for a shower? We are both sweaty and yucky."

He followed suit, sneaking upon your retreating form to grab you and lift you in his arm, a squeal leaving you at the sudden loss of the floor from your feet.

"You know I've heard great things about fun time in the shower." He commented. You were in for a long night.

[acciotaitlynn]

mc using the boys as a rebound…I like angst plsplspls

I love u and hate u sm ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ srsly hurt myself so bad w this. not gonna feel better til i can hug zayne. i wasn't sure if u were requesting for all 4 guys at once, but i'm not the best at those yet, so i just drew 2 names for torture. i really hope it's angsty enoughh i tried ♡︎

જ⁀➴₊⊹ sylus‣you⌇zayne‣you

જ⁀➴₊⊹ 18+ sexual content. unprotected sex. p in da v. it sad i hate it

› 3,083 words

・・・・・​​⟢

When you walked in on Sylus kissing a woman who was definitely not you, you genuinely couldn’t believe it. His hand hovered suggestively over her lower back as she pulled him down to meet her height, their lips entwined in a moment that felt impossibly intimate. You stood frozen in the doorway, blinking rapidly, desperate to clear the shocking image from your mind. “What the fuck,” you murmured, your disbelief barely a whisper. But Sylus heard you. His head jerked up, shock and anger flaring across his face as he pushed the woman away, his words cutting through the air like ice. “Get out of my sight.”

She scurried from the room, but not before flicking you a smirk over her shoulder—a look that felt like a dagger to your heart. Sylus, for a brief moment, considered chasing after her to make her pay for her audacity. She had approached him under the pretense of discussing business at the party, but the shocking kiss had caught him off guard.

In that moment, he realized how it all appeared to you. He could see the betrayal, the hurt, in your wide eyes, and it stopped his breath. “Sylus…” you began, and he reached for you, desperation etched in his features. But you recoiled instinctively, pulling back from his outstretched hand. “Stay away from me,” you managed to say, your voice trembling with raw emotion, small yet powerful. You were surprised the words even made it out, given the pain that enveloped you like a storm. “I never want to see you again. And don’t send that damn bird to look after me either.” With that, you turned on your heel and fled, leaving him standing there—stunned and helpless, watching the door swing shut behind you.

Sylus watched you go, confusion swirling inside him. He had no idea why he didn’t chase after you. Part of him felt a simmering frustration—you always seemed so ready to expect the worst from him. “Why can’t you just trust me?” he muttered under his breath. But he let you leave.

He wouldn’t, however, heed your warning about keeping Mephisto away. The black crow, perched high above, fixed it’s red-eyed gaze on your retreating figure, a silent witness to your pain. As you raced toward Linkon City, you didn’t even have a destination in mind—just a frantic need to escape.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, blurring the world outside. The landscape whipped by, a wild mix of colors and shapes as your mind tried to process what had just unfolded. But then, a familiar sight broke through the fog of your thoughts: the bright sign of Akso Hospital loomed in the distance. You didn’t consciously remember the drive there; your feet seemed to know the way, driven by an instinctual pull. As you made your way through the halls, everything still felt like a blur. The world faded into a haze as you followed the path to Zayne’s office, moving quickly. You needed comfort, a sanctuary, from the only person in this world—besides Sylus—who could understand the storm inside you.

You barged into the office, your eyes wide and tears streaming down your cheeks. The moment Zayne saw you, he knew it had to do with Sylus—the man you chose over him just shy of a year ago.

Moving on from that breakup had been the hardest thing Zayne had ever faced. For what felt like forever, he struggled to be near you, consumed by the hurt you had caused. Desperately, you tried to console him, yearning to salvage your friendship. But Zayne was resolute. He wanted nothing to do with you or the criminal you had decided to build a life with.

Yet, you kept coming back, and little by little, the ice in Zayne’s heart began to thaw. He found himself aching for you again in a way that felt unbearable, and the days stretched endlessly without you. He longed for the days when anger was all he felt at the sight of you. That feeling was now a distant memory, easily overshadowed by the painful image of your heartbroken form before him.

In an instant, he reached for you, arms wrapping around your trembling figure. “It’s okay now, I’m here,” he murmured softly into your hair. The warmth in his voice only made you cry harder, gripping him as if he were your lifeline, burying your face in his neck. He held you close, offering a comforting embrace while you fought through the agony tearing your heart apart. His hand traced soothing circles on your back, gradually calming the storm of tears until you could speak and explain what happened.

“I know it was just a kiss, but… I really trusted him. Even when I knew I shouldn’t.” You leaned back, searching Zayne’s gaze, the weight of your words heavy between you. “I should have listened to you. I’m sorry.” At that moment, you couldn’t explain why you rose up to kiss him—was it to dull the pain or out of a desperate need to erase the hurt in his eyes? Maybe it was a mix of both, an overwhelming impulse that surged through you as you pulled him closer.

His body locked up, every part of him screaming to pull away. “The only way this ends is with your heart broken again,” echoed in his mind. Yet, he couldn’t resist the magnetic pull, pulling you closer instead, his tongue boldly exploring your mouth with a deep sigh.

He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he locked the office door. With a gentle thud, he settled onto the couch, you straddling his lap, his hands tenderly cradling your face. His kisses were soft yet fervent, wiping away the tears on your cheeks, and then trailing down the length of your neck. You closed your eyes, letting your hands roam over the familiar expanse of Zayne’s body. But then, a wave of disgust washed over you as you realized your thoughts were drifting elsewhere.

You couldn’t help but picture another pair of arms, the warmth of another skin beneath your fingers that felt more intoxicating than anything you’d ever known. “No,” you thought, pushing Sylus from your mind. The anger you directed at yourself was palpable. Here you were with Zayne, the one whose heart you shattered when you chose Sylus, and now you were using him to mend the wounds Sylus left behind. You were a horrible person. The absolute worst kind.

But as you fought to dispel the image of Sylus, you began to embrace Zayne’s touch. His warm lips and soft sighs were like a comforting aphrodisiac, enveloping you in a gentle familiarity. Slowly, you melted against him, surrendering to the sensations that began to overwhelm you. Your heartache slipped into the background, momentarily drowned out by the rush of desire ignited by Zayne’s touch.

Your fingers danced toward the hem of his shirt, your gaze locking onto his with a silent question. With a subtle nod, he allowed you to lift the fabric over his head. As your fingers traced the scars that adorned his skin, every touch, every kiss, every flick of your tongue, exorcised pieces of Zayne’s pain. But doubt gnawed at the edges of his mind. How could this possibly end well? Wouldn’t it inevitably lead to him being hurt? Deep down, he knew that if the choice came down to him or Sylus again, you would always choose the other man. A flicker of concern about Sylus crossed his mind—wouldn’t he object to Zayne’s hands on what he deemed “his?" But that only fueled Zayne’s desperation; you were his first, and he had every right to touch you if it was what you wanted.

His hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head to the side as he kissed you, nipped at your skin, trailing his mouth down your neck. Giggling and breathless, you ground against him, completely lost in the moment. Zayne could see from the look in your eyes that Sylus had vanished from your thoughts. In that intoxicating instant, there was only Zayne again, and he reveled in it. His mouth found the low neckline of your dress, his lips working to leave a mark on your soft skin. But the moment you realized his intent, your body tensed. You pushed him away with a gasp, whispering, “No.”

A low, rumbling chuckle filled the air, sending shivers down your spine. A familiar, oppressive energy seeped into the atmosphere, tendrils of red and black mist swirling around you, pulling you away from Zayne.

Zayne remained still, a calm, yet calculated expression on his face as he braced for what was about to unfold. The glare you shot Sylus burned with malice as the mist drew you closer to him, eventually dropping you unceremoniously at his feet. Sylus met your furious gaze, surprised by the intensity; it was as if the look alone could singe his skin.

He had been watching you from the moment you left him at the party, tracking every little thing through Mephisto’s camera feed—the touches, the sighs, the pieces of yourself you had offered back to the doctor without a second thought. Unprecedented anger simmered within him as he witnessed it all. He had only shared a simple, unwanted kiss with someone. And now you were out trying to rekindle something with your ex lover? That crossed a line, even for you.

As he watched you lean into Zayne’s caress, embracing the connection meant solely for him, Sylus felt the primal urge rise within him. The moment you banished him from your mind, losing yourself in the electrifying kisses Zayne placed on your tender neck, he snapped.

“I think you’ve had enough fun for one night, sweetie,” he declared, his voice sharp and devoid of its usual warmth. It dripped with an icy detachment that sent a chill spiraling down your spine, warning you that he was not to be trifled with. Sylus reserved that tone for moments when he was truly angry, and right now, he was seething. He turned that frigid voice on Zayne, head tilted, a sharp glint sparkling in his eyes. “Do you know why she wouldn’t allow you to mark her skin?” Zayne narrowed his gaze, the answer hovering on the edge of his consciousness—a truth he couldn’t escape since that gut-wrenching ‘no’ had slipped from your lips, tangled with the fear that etched across your face.

Sylus leaned in, his words dripping with venom, his power swelling in the room once more. This time, there was no mist, no visible signs of his evol, but it was palpable, wrapping around everyone in the room. “She knows she doesn’t belong to you. Even when she hates me, even when she seeks comfort in your arms—she will always be mine.” Remember this: there won’t be a next time."

With that, you were tossed over Sylus's shoulder like a sack of potatoes. As you punched at his back, tears sprang to your eyes, fueled by the look of torment on Zayne’s face as the door to his office shut behind you. You should never have come here.

“Put me down, Sylus!” you demanded, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and desperation. He let out a sarcastic laugh, the chill of his tone cutting deeper. “It would be in your best interest to keep quiet, kitten.” Despite the icy facade, a hint of hurt laced his voice, squeezing your heart like a vice. This had all spiraled so far out of control. You shouldn’t have put him or Zayne through this turmoil.

Yet, guilt paled in comparison to the anger festering within you, the memory of him with that woman playing in vivid detail, stoking the fire of your rage. Sylus seemed to revel in your fury. He tossed you into the passenger seat and buckled you in with more force than necessary, a hint of satisfaction in his demeanor.

The car ride home was silent, tension crackling in the air. Sylus’s knuckles whitened around the steering wheel as he fought to maintain his composure. You remained quiet, the weight of your thoughts pressing down on you. Stupid, arrogant prick, you thought, dragging you out Zayne’s office like you were nothing. The anger swirled within you, refusing to let go. You threw yourself back against the seat with an irritated huff, drawing an amused glance from Sylus. “You have nothing to be angry about,” he said, his tone teasing yet laced with a dark undertone. “You'll wish you’d know that before you ran off to your precious doctor.” His words sent a shiver down your spine. “Are you forgetting that I walked in on you with her tongue down your throat?” you shot back, voice low and fierce.

Sylus just chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled into the driveway, clearly unfazed. Your anger spiked when his evol took control again. The infuriating mist wrapped around you, dragging you up the stairs and tossing you onto the bed. Cold chains locked around your wrists—chains that typically thrilled you now only filled you with dread. This was bad. You’d never seen Sylus this furious. With each passing second, anxiety gnawed at you, and by the time the door swung open, you were near trembling.

Sylus stepped in, his gaze sweeping over you with a slow, deliberate smirk. “What’s this? Do I detect a hint of remorse in you, sweetie?” he teased, voice dripping with mockery. “I’m sure it’s only because you’re worried about what I might do to you.” Your heart raced as his crimson eyes bore into yours, holding an intensity that made it hard to breathe. You swallowed hard, your wide eyes searching his for any hint of his true intentions. But before you could speak, his lips crashed against yours, and his large hands gripped your face possessively, pulling you firmly against him.

The air was charged between you, a tension that felt almost palpable. Sylus’s lips traced a path down your neck, leaving your mouth to explore the delicate skin with an intensity that made your heart race.

He paused just above the faint mark Zayne had left, his warm breath brushing against it before his lips and teeth took over. Each kiss left a deeper bruise, a testament to his need to overwrite the other man's attempted claim.  When he finally pulled back for air, his expression had shifted. Gone was the anger; instead, his eyes mirrored a heartache that cut deeper than any physical wound. “She lured me into that room under the guise of discussing business for an upcoming auction,” Sylus confessed, his voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t kiss her back, nor did I want her disgusting hands on me. You have to believe me; I'd never do that to you, kitten.”

Tears filled your eyes, stinging as you absorbed the weight of his words and the raw sincerity behind them. The realization hit hard—this turmoil had all stemmed from your insecurities. “You could have let me explain myself, you know,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that made your heart ache. “I should have,” you replied, your tone gentle and full of regret. Before you could reach out for him, the chains binding you rattled loudly. In a swift motion, Sylus flicked his wrist, and they fell to the floor.

You wasted no time, cupping his face in your hands, desperate to soothe the hurt that marred his features. “I’m so sorry,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pulled him close. “That really hurt, kitten,” he admitted, his eyes squeezing shut as if the truth pained him more than any physical wound could. He buried his face against you, the weight of his confession hanging in the air between you. Opening up didn’t come easily to Sylus, but he needed you to understand the depth of his hurt—he wasn’t as heartless as you might have thought.

Everything inside you surged with the desire to ease his suffering, even if you couldn’t erase the hurt you’d inflicted on both him and Zayne. You guided him under you, straddling his lap, your lips finding his again. As your fingers wove through his hair, you poured all your remorse and affection into that kiss.

It was never difficult to show Sylus how much you loved him; your affection radiated from your very being. But tonight, you were determined to pour every ounce of your love into the moment. You gently guided his neck to kiss and lick every inch of him, leaving delicate marks along the way. Sylus melted under the weight of your adoration, his body going pliant as he let you head him wherever you desired.

His hands eventually found your hips, the gentle pressure of him grinding you against him setting a slow, intoxicating rhythm. You lost yourself in the softness of his beautiful lips, kissing him until they were swollen and slick, leaving him with a blissed-out expression reflected in his enchanting eyes. As he lifted his hips to let you free his length, you felt a spark of need ignite within you, the urgency to have him inside you overwhelming. Without hesitation, you aligned his thick tip with your entrance, slowly lowering yourself onto him, inch by inch. Sylus gasped, a small, breathless noise escaping him as he watched the two of you become one.

His gaze was half lidded with lust, searching yours with an intensity that left you breathless. “I love you, Sy,” was a soft murmur in his ear as you felt him crush you against him with a deep groan. It was almost impossible to keep up with his movements now; pleasure consumed you as he thrust up into you without abandon. “I love you,” you whispered, again and again, your teeth grazing the shell of his ear gently.

Sylus’s response was primal—he crushed you to him, letting out a hoarse shout as hot ropes of his essence filled you, triggering an orgasm so intense it left your body quaking and trembling as waves of bliss washed over you, leaving you both breathless and whole.

As you both came down, wrapped in each other’s arms, soft whispers of love floated between you, binding you closer together.

In the distance, the flickering light of a hospital office turned off, and a doctor began his lonely walk home, painfully aware of the passion igniting in the world beyond.

​​・・・・・​​⟢

[qin-qin16]

Why I think Horror shouldn't be part of the Bad Sanses

[cw: Long yapping, i’m a mediocre fan of Horror and Dust, dadmare and bad sans poly fans this one isn't for you]

@howlsofbloodhounds @what-have-i-unleashed

note: If you disagree with me, feel free to discuss the matter! Just don't be rude and respect my views on this!

I might get torn apart by my mutuals for this, but... I don't think Horror should be part of the "Bad Sanses" (or the bad guys, as some people have referred to them), especially if we're talking about Nightmare as the “leader” of the group (more like a cult leader but whatever).

I'll clear up any confusion about MTT choosing to work for Nightmare – no, they wouldn't choose that. None of them would make such a foolish, dumb decision. They're all too clever to willingly serve someone as arrogant and cruel as Nightmare.

To support my point, I’d like to say that, in my opinion, it makes sense for both Killer and Dust to be manipulated by Nightmare. Killer’s situation is pretty clear – not only does his canon show that he’s forced to work for Nightmare, but his whole history with Chara makes him the perfect victim for Nightmare to shape to his own will. That being said, I won’t go into too much detail about their troubled and extremely toxic "relationship" (I’m using the word "relationship" here because there’s no better term for this situation that I can think of for now).

And what about Dust? Okay, confession time: I’ve never seen any canon facts about him. Don’t throw stones at me – I know my charm is being a mediocre fan of these multiversal skeletons.

Unlike Killer, Dust probably didn’t even realize he was being manipulated by the devil. He already knew all the possibilities of a reset, all the choices the human could make — so why not take the one time in life chance to escape that world and boost his LOVE? A little more LOVE would definitely put an end to the endless resets. With enough LOVE, the human could finally be defeated! All he needed to do was increase his LV just a bit more and then return to his world before the human reset.

But before he knew it, he was already trapped in Nightmare’s filthy claws, unable to return to his world and stop the human from advancing through their endless genocidal routes. (Shoutout to my mutual @what-have-i-unleashed and their amazing post that I can’t seem to find, about the headcanon that Nightmare is a dream eater, and that it’s by eating Dust’s dreams that they end up meeting. [I’m not sure if that’s exactly what it was, but I trust my memory.]).

However, all he did was make it easier for Nightmare's sweet words to slip into his mind, twisting his thoughts into believing that Nightmare was a friend. My headcanon is that, after recruiting Killer, Nightmare chose to take a more ““““peaceful”””” approach to "recruit" his next servants.

Now, the point that made me want to write this post: why the hell would Nightmare choose Horror? Killer and Dust's worlds are basically universes on the verge of collapse, with no real reason to keep going. But Horror? His universe isn’t even close to ending; a new chapter just began with the fall of a new human (something extremely rare when compared to other timelines). It wouldn’t make sense for Nightmare to want to recruit someone who’s so deeply rooted in a place — and someone who would never abandon his brother to follow a cheap, terrifying version of himself.

Let’s be honest, out of the three, Horror would probably be the first to turn down any deal Nightmare might offer — both of them are way too manipulative to trust each other. And unlike Killer and Dust, Horror would definitely be unpredictable for Nightmare (he literally tortures Aliza just for fun! What wouldn’t he do to pass the time and be less bored?). Plus, he has no real use for Nightmare (ouch, sorry Horror fans).

His LOVE, no matter how high it is compared to the average Sans, still doesn’t come close to the extremely high LOVE that Killer and Dust possess. And while he might be bigger than other Sanses, he definitely has the most fragile, cracked, and scarred bones — wounds that even the strongest healing magic can’t repair. For Nightmare, Horror is probably just a bucket of negative emotions — his AU is merely a smorgasbord for Nightmare, nothing more.

[jon-snows-man-bun]

By Turns

Chapter One

Masterlist

The closer Eris gets to his goals the harder he has to work to keep all plates spinning. Tensions simmer underneath his new alliances, pulling him into the Hewn City where the impact of Rhysand’s rule shapes the future.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x OC. Other pairings to be added.

Other featured characters: Elain Archeron, Lucien Vanserra, Azriel. Variable POV

Rating: E for Explicit. Minors DNI.

Warnings: misogyny, violence, torture and domestic abuse both on and off screen, sex, sexual violence, dubious consent, drug use, character death, no reliable narrators to be found. Further warnings to be added.

Find this fic on AO3

A/N: The first full length fic I’ve ever written, and entirely on the notes app too. I think everybody in this fandom resents the lack of detail and world-building, so let’s get to fixing it via fanfic.

Total number of chapters TBC, additional warnings will be added as they occur but please note, explicit content occurs at the outset and throughout.

About the fic… the Hewn City really gets a rotten deal in canon, don’t they? This is my attempt to sort it out. Please note that involves Rhysand being a real “ends justify the means” sort of guy, so if that clashes with your vision of him perhaps this isn’t the fic for you. Keir and Morrigan are Irish names, so I’ve run with that since the Hewn City doesn’t get much detail in the books.

My characterisation of Azriel also seems to be against type for the fandom - he tortures people explicitly in this fic, and I’ve tried to line him up more with his angry, horny, fucked up in the head attitude that I got from his POV chapter. I don’t think he’s an emo softboi, so if you only like him in that sort of characterisation, this also probably isn’t the fic for you.

Thanks for reading! This is my first fic as I said, so I’d be delighted to have a beta reader if anyone is willing.

———————

The pit monsters were active that night. They didn’t make much noise but Azriel could feel them, waiting there beneath his feet. His shadows didn’t like going in the pits but were skating over the top of the grates and twining with the bars, telling him that the creatures were alert, waiting for him, for his gifts to them.

Some males had hounds waiting at their doors for their return. He had the Hewn City beasts.

Azriel had grabbed the fae from the throne room, dragging him through shadows down and down to the lowest levels of the dungeons. The assembled courtiers and citizens had stepped back from him when Rhysand called him forward, scattering like insects under the light of the High Lord’s displeasure. Azriel hadn’t followed what the fae’s transgression was, merely centring himself for what was to come.

He was a Darkbringer. This would not be easy.

Azriel shoved him through the doorway, turning to close it behind him. When he turned back, the male calmly went to the chair in the centre of the room and looked at him with flat dark eyes, so like Keir’s, which meant they were like Mor’s, too. Azriel could hate him for that, so he did. There was a dull acceptance there, which made everything in Azriel sour, turning to stone, turning to dust. He was blonde, as well; his hair looked grey in the ugly, dank light of the cells. Everything was grey and ugly here.

Rhys dipped into his mind briefly. I want to know who he was meeting with, he instructed. Names. I’ll return to you in a few hours.

This will take longer than a few hours, Azriel sent to him. Rhys’ only answer was the silken slip of his familiar darkness as it left Azriel’s mind.

Azriel began his work.

He thought of nothing at all as Truth Teller danced, by turns fast and sprightly, others slow and aching. It was only when he had the tip of the blade lodged under the fae’s broken third rib, carefully turned to keep the bone from healing, that he began to fade from consciousness. He knew his fate was death regardless; Rhysand had no clemency for Darkbringers who whispered of discontent and mutiny. Azriel paused with his finger in the knife wound as he mulled over how best to motivate the fae for information when his life was forfeit regardless of whether or not he provided it. His blonde hair had stained with blood, dark brown and congealed.

Azriel grabbed the fae by his dislocated arm and dragged him to the grate on the floor. Beneath, the beasts twined, appetites whetted from the blood dripping to them. The fae thrashed as he was pulled, swearing and snarling, but Azriel merely slammed his face against the grate, hard enough that he knew his eye socket would be shattered. The fae fought him, flailing like a trapped animal, but Azriel merely chained him down by his neck and retreated to wait.

This was why the beasts loved him, he mused as the fae started to scream. The only living things in the Hewn City that did.

In the morning Azriel was had no new information to give to Rhys. The fae was done - Azriel had been aggressive, hoping to coax the fae to speak by making death seem sweeter, but if the Darkbringer had any secrets he was taking them to his grave.

Not that he was getting a grave. Azriel merely cut his throat and rolled the body to the waiting beasts.

He opted not to winnow from this low, dank cell, choosing instead to walk upwards and see who might be waiting, see if anyone showed unusual interest in a traitor’s fate. The watery enchanted light pulled him up, and as he stepped through the door of the dungeons he parsed through what his shadows were telling him. They moved without fear here despite the light; even with the enchantment, the Hewn City was shadowed and dim.

Three children are walking to school. A blonde female is baking a rhubarb pastry for breakfast and brewing mushroom tea. A teenager with blue eyes is arguing with her mother over porridge because she wants to attend a dance but her father said no. The fire prince is here.

Fucking Eris. Azriel followed the last one, ignoring the whispers of his shadows about the Hewn City waking up; life happened here despite it all. He had meant to take in those around the entrance to the dungeons, but all whose paths he crossed ducked their heads and turned away. The acrid tinge of fear followed him everywhere in here.

It was a short walk from the dungeons to the court rooms along one of the wider boulevards. The stone fences of some of the grander mansions hemmed him in on either side; behind them he knew the occupants often kept small reflecting pools carved into the rock, little places to sit and take tea. The wooden gates through the tall fences were carved and painted with the crests of the families within: a luminescent moth, a gold seven-pointed star, two bats of rust and grey. He didn’t bother spying on most of these families - his time and energy was limited, far better spent outside of the Court. The Hewn City hadn’t necessitated it in a long time, but perhaps, with discontented soldiers…

He shouldered his way into the room without preamble. Eris Vanserra’s hair was so red in the half-light it was nearly luminous; brilliant, flaming colour after all of the anaemic imitations of life.

“And just when I thought my reception was too welcoming. I’m pleased Rhysand has sent one of his bats to brood in the corner. Tell me, which of the bastards are you?”

Was there ever a day when Eris didn’t antagonise everyone he came across? Azriel curled his lip at him, half a snarl and half a sneer. Eris merely smirked.

“I remember now, you’re not the one who fucked Morrigan. You’re the one who wishes he did,” Eris drawled, turning back to Lord Thanatos dismissively. Azriel only realised he was clenching his fists when his shadows started writhing around him, and he worked hard to master the hot flush of anger that grabbed his lungs and squeezed whenever Mor’s name fell from Eris’ lips.

“And this meeting has been approved with your High Lord, Thanatos?” Azriel ground out. Keir’s second gazed darkly at him, quickly rearranging his face into something neutral.

“Yes, as always, this falls under Lord Eris’ permissions to enter the Hewn City,” Thanatos grumbled. “Now, unless you’d like anything else? Perhaps to execute another one of my soldiers?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Azriel warned, pinning him with a stare. Thanatos didn’t flinch, as usual - Keir was the one who oozed through life like oil, bending away from the slightest pressure but impossible to be grasped with both hands.

By the time he winnowed back and reported to Rhys, he was ready to wash the Hewn City off of him. As he scrubbed the fae’s blood from his hair, he remembered how it had been matted into the blonde fae’s, how the rust brown bat on the gate he passed was the same colour. He let those thoughts flow down the drain, too.

———————

The ceiling of the Hewn City was spelled to emit light during the day and fade to blackness at night, but the light it mustered was watery and grey. It tended to give Eris a headache and was why he largely preferred to visit at night. Unfortunately, Keir and Thanatos preferred meeting at first light. Eris suspected this was to vex him.

“Tell me news of your dealings with Rhysand,” Keir said, gazing at him imperiously from across the black onyx table in the meeting chamber, not even deigning to add pleasantries. He had slunk into the chamber after Azriel had slunk out, the timing too exact to be coincidental.

Eris stuffed his hands in his pockets, affecting a casual insolence that he knew twisted screws into a certain breed of male.

Rhysand referred to this place - rather obnoxiously - as the Court of Nightmares, but he always thought of it as the Court of Masks. A web, a game of chess, a dance; the metaphors were endless, but they engaged in the same behaviour courtiers everywhere engaged in. But Eris had worn a mask all his life. It wasn’t any more frightening for him here than anywhere else, barring the monsters below the dungeons. He knew this dance well and could turn about the floor better than most.

Better than Lord Keir, certainly. His nonchalance was grating on the male, Eris could see in the twist of his mouth, and he smirked. Thanatos merely looked stone-faced and surly.

“My dalliance with Rhysand is as rewarding as ever,” Eris remarked smoothly, an utter lie. Rhysand was as withholding and miserly as ever. It also wasn’t why he was here with the lords of the City today, but he supposed when you had a boot on your neck it was all you thought about. All the same, Keir’s obsession with Rhysand grated.

The rest of the meeting continued in the same fashion. They were all too happy to further codify their alliance by allowing for the purchase of Hewn City diamonds by the Autumn Court - to be celebrated with a diplomatic dinner that evening - and Keir pushed again for access to Velaris. Eris had enquired about the executed soldier Thanatos had mentioned but they stayed mute, protesting that they had no idea he was disloyal.

Unlikely, given that you couldn’t so much as take a breath in the Hewn City without Keir’s permission and Thanatos knew the whereabouts of any Darkbringer at any given point. He set the matter aside for now, mulling it over and deciding to speak with the captains he knew at the dinner later.

———————

It was her eyes Eris noticed first.

In the reception room adjoining to the dining hall, Eris had sauntered in among the crowd. He had chosen a charcoal grey jacket for the occasion, blending himself into the Night Court fashion. The assembled courtiers were the usual blend of schemers and liars, and as he made his rounds, his eyes snagged on hers.

They were dark blue like a moonlit ocean, framed by thick lashes. Deep and fathomless and the blue of a silent midnight.

She was surrounded by the court of the Hewn City, the Darkbringer captains and low lords of shadow and ladies who wove webs of secrets and lies against each other. She wore dove grey silk overlaid with black lace, draped around her like gossamer webs, revealing skin in elegant swaths. Her skin was as pale as marble and, as fashionable here, had been dusted with something that made it look silver and luminous. Half her black hair was twisted back in a silver comb and adorned with a dove feather, while moonstones and diamonds glinted at her throat and fingers like many of the females in the Hewn City.

A daughter of Night. He met those sapphire eyes impassively, glancing over the high cheekbones, the full lips.

He knew his face was the picture of bored indifference, but his fire burned hot all the time, raging to consume, to destroy. It was constant effort to keep it tame within him, something he had refined through centuries. But as his eyes met hers his ribs ached to contain the pressure within him, his fire pressed up under his skin in a sudden rush that hit him like a blow to the chest.

Eris knew Keir was keen to curry favour and preserve the alliance - anything that might open the wards of the City and unleash him upon Prythian. If he wanted to, he could ask for the female; depending on who she was, he could go as far as asking for her to be brought to his chambers and find her waiting there in his bed for him. Females were tools here, chattel to be traded amongst the men.

He reminded himself that weapons were a type of tool, too. Instead, as he took his seat for the court dinner, he was gratified to find her diagonal to him. Was it intentional? A beautiful maiden dangled before him over a meal, to whet both his appetites? Keir sat to his right, Thanatos two down to his left. He was buffeted by the scheming males of this court, so was careful to keep his eyes from devouring her before he knew her measure. Most of the females in Night would go to his bed to pry something of value from his mouth; while females in Autumn clamoured for his attention for the social cache, here they desired his secrets to leverage over their keepers and each other. To tip his hand to anyone was to be taken advantage of - in chess, in politics, in pursuing women; this had been one of the first lessons he learned violently at Beron’s feet.

He didn’t bother speaking to her.

[huginsmemory]

First meetings: Wolfwood and Vash

ID: Wolfwood in his introduction chapter pinching a protesting Vash's chin with interest and exclaiming that people are stupid for not immediately recognizing Vash.

One thing I noticed while rereading the manga, is the nature of Wolfwood and Vash's first meeting; that is, Wolfwood isn't targeting Vash as his next mark, nor does he likely know that Vash is his next mark. As a result, I thought it would be interesting to look at how that shapes their relationship with each other in the beginning, especially in comparison to the differences in the anime adaptations. Just a fun lil tidbit to sink your teeth into.

Proof of Unknowing

For the case that Wolfwood wasn't yet targeting Vash, my first point is that it makes sense logistically; if Wolfwood was targeting Vash to kill him as Legato had originally told them to in the manga, it would be assumed that he would have tried to kill Vash. However, instead he doesn't try to at all, although one might chalk that up to Vash saving his life by spotting him while on the bus or some other plot gimmick for Wolfwood to not immediately try to kill Vash.

Secondly, and more obviously, Wolfwood hasn't met Legato yet. This is seen clearly when Legato asks Wolfwood if he's Chapel, who Wolfwood is (later shown to be) impersonating, which means that Legato has never met Wolfwood. As well, Wolfwood is only shown to know the location of his next job- when he mutters about the chapel on the top of the rock- and doesn't seem to know nothing else, making it highly likely he doesn't even know any other details. In fact, Vash actually warns Wolfwood to not get involved with Legato, giving Wolfwood his description, to which Wolfwood when recieving the info doesn't seem to know the man; and upon arriving, and meeting Legato, Wolfwood actually parrots the description from Vash's warning in wariness, recognizing him through Vash's warning.

ID: Collection of three manga pages.

First page: Legato comments, "'Chapel' seems to be missing... Well, no matter. Our target... Has yet to arrive." His words fade into Wolfwood exclaiming, "Huh?! A skull attached to his left arm?" Vash says, "Yep, yep! That's right. And a raised, needle-like torture device on his right shoulder." After a pause, Vash says, "You don't know him? Well, if you see him, let me know."

Second page: Vash tensely remembers a blood spatter and thinks, "Like a shadow, he came. And like a shadow, he killed and slipped away. If he... If he can move in and out of a crowd like that, people can be killed easily..." Wolfwood and Meryl look curious, and Wolfwood asks, "Well? If I see that guy, what should I do? You got a message for him?" Vash makes an exclamatory sound and shouts, "No! No! Never-mind!! Do not get involved. He's a very, very dangerous man. I swear!" Wolfwood laughs, "But I heard you were the most dangerous man in the world!" Vash sighs.

Third page: we see Legato and Wolfwood standing across from each other at their first interaction. Legato says, "That cross... I've been waiting for you. You're 'Chapel,' correct?" Wolfwood's expression is wary, and he says, "The skull... The torture device... I know you..."

Since Legato hasn't met him yet, this also means Legato's precious half-coins which he gives to each of the gung-ho guns hasn't been given yet to Wolfwood, which Legato has been previously shown to inform the gung-ho guns who their target is when he gives it to them (as with the first gung-ho gun). This again makes it unlikely that Wolfwood even knows his mark is Vash.

ID: A panel of Legato touching a broken coin in front of Monev the Gale, the first gung-ho gun and saying intensely, "Do whatever it takes. For twenty years of your master's benevolence, it's time to repay him."

Lending further support, when Legato mentions that they specifically may need to deal with--ie, kill--Vash, this is the moment when we are privy to Wolfwood thought processes, where he desperately rages against his life as a assassin and how he wants to escape this life that causes him to kill. This is especially understandable under the context of Wolfwood just being told that he is supposed to kill a man that he had just somewhat befriended, a man who had just saved his life and payed for his lunch, who clearly has a good heart.

ID: Two subsequent manga pages. Legato (off page) says "We're entering unknown territory here. You must be ready to handle any situation. Especially... Vash the Stampede. By no means may you fail!!" Wolfwood's frowning face is shown as Conrad comments that Vash is coming and that he understands why Knives chose that location. There's a close-up of Wolfwood's narrow-eyed expression before a cut to his shoes stomping up a mountain. He angrily exclaims, "Shit! What the hell was with all th' training?! Once again I'm staining my own hands with blood. God..." He thinks, "Once it's gone full-circle... where will it end?"

Basically, manga Wolfwood and Vash's beginning of their relationship starts with them forming a camaraderie before Wolfwood learns that he needs to kill/betray Vash. This makes it in a way more bittersweet, because their original interaction never had that tension of knowledge that Wolfwood is there since the beginning to betray Vash, and instead, they are simply existing together and form a what might tentatively be called a friendship--at least something where the both of them seem to have made a positive impact on the other-- outside of Wolfwoods mission. As a result, the question of how much of the camaraderie in the beginning of their relationship is Wolfwood having to get close to his mark is removed; you realize the camaraderie they share is honest and organic. In a way it's more tragic, because Vash even warns Wolfwood to remain away from Legato, but Wolfwood is already inevitably heading towards meeting the man, and learns to his horror that his next target is actually Vash. For Vash it also it's bitter because when Wolfwood finds Vash, Wolfwood mentions Knives for his reason of finding Vash; showing that even against Vash's warning, Wolfwood has clearly been entangled in some manner in the fight between Vash and Knives.

Anime adaptions

All this gets cut from Stampede, as Wolfwood is pretty explicitly following Vash to babysit him since the beginning. As Stampede has considerably condensed the story this makes sense since it would take time they don't have to add it in; but I think that cuts out an interesting extra dimension to Wolfwood and Vash's relationship, but so many things have been cut that I'm not surprised, and it's so changed that this being cut is not a big deal to me (compared to other things they cut which were more important).

From what I remember of the 98' anime, it's left a bit open to whether or not Wolfwood already knows from the beginning. However, as Wolfwood appears before Legato appears, it may mean that Wolfwood doesn't know during their first few meetings, like in the manga, but we aren't given a specific scene that shows Wolfwood being told to follow Vash, so we don't know where in the timeline he knows (we are only given the scene where he's told to kill Vash, later in the series). As well, Vash warning Wolfwood about Legato was removed in '98, which then lacks that bittersweetness of the realization that Wolfwood has become entangled in Vash and Knives fight. However, I haven't finished rewatching '98, so I don't have a more confident answer for whether or not Wolfwood knows, so take this part of the analysis with a grain of salt.

Conclusion

TLDR: In comparison to Wolfwood seeking out Vash to betray/observe him since the beginning, Wolfwood not knowing, (as shown by Legato not knowing who Wolfwood is when they meet) makes their whole first interaction in the manga organic, and adds a whole extra dimension of tragedy to their relationship, especially with the way Vash tries to warn Wolfwood away from Legato, which ultimately fails. As a result, the darker parts of both of their lives, which they don't acknowledge in their first meeting, end up intertwined, against their will. This actually serves as part of a huge thematic resolution of monstrousness and rejection but that's not the point here, that's another thing for another day.

Btw! If u wanna read more rambles from me, here's a masterpost of em :)

Edit (Apr. 2): Added photo ID, written by @princess-of-purple-prose

[farfromstrange]

Foreigner's God Masterlist

PAIRING: Matt Murdock x OFC

AO3 — Spotify — #foreigner’s god

❝ Sometimes, the greatest power lies not in what we can control, but in what we can uncover within ourselves. In the depths of darkness, secrets await, and it is our choice to embrace them or let them consume us. Together, they embarked on a journey to unearth the truth, unaware that love, like a tempest, would shatter all their plans and rebuild their world anew. ❞

⤹ SUMMARY:

She was born with the ability to manipulate reality and the world around her. Hydra raised her and turned her into their deadliest weapon until the Avengers saved her and offered her a chance at a better life. A dark past often comes with secrets that demand to be uncovered. There might actually be more to it than meets the eye, a kind of power that’s been sleeping deep within her, waiting to be discovered. But how does one get over losing everything without losing themselves?

One reckless night on a rooftop, a bad decision leads the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen right into her arms, and he decides to tag along on her journey down the past.

As it turns out, Matt Murdock is a man unable to take no for an answer when he has set his mind to something, and once she decides to let him into her heart, all the plans she made for the future fall apart.

Or, in which a troubled Avenger forms an alliance with Daredevil to fight a common enemy and save their city, but they end up saving each other instead.

⤹ CONTENT WARNINGS:

SLOW BURN, Canon typical violence, ANGST, EVENTUAL SMUT, light BDSM, Oral sex, daddy kink, praise & pain kink, blood & cum play, Switch!Matt, toxic behavior, language, severe mental illness, PTSD, implied/referenced torture, substance abuse disorder, self-harm, mentions of sexual assault, Hydra, age gap, religious imagery and symbolism, eventual romance, some fluff, mutant powers, mentions of child molestation, near-death experiences, catholic guilt, NOT TONY STARK FRIENDLY (at least until chapter 40 or so), turning good characters into bad guys, not completely canon compliant

-> There will be chapter-specific warnings before each chapter because they tend to vary with each one!

⤹ AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Hello everyone! I didn’t expect this to blow up the way it did, so I decided to edit the entire Masterlist and repost it while I continue editing the chapters on AO3 and here, too. Welcome to everyone who’s new here!

Likes and reblogs are always appreciated!

I’m trying not to describe any specific physical traits like body shape, hair color, etc. (although I think I called her skin “pale” once or twice in reference to her lack of sun exposure) in any of the chapters. The character was assigned female at birth and also identifies as female with she/her pronouns, but other than that, I do not give her any traits other than her name – Eliza Bennett. Her looks are entirely up to your imagination! So you can view this as a reader insert or not, whatever you want. It’s up to you how you interpret this story.

-> Series takes place in early season 2 and continues from there on.

-> This work is 18+ ONLY!

[the asterisk (*) indicates explicit sexual content; (^) indicates the chapter has been edited to fit the new style]

— ACT ONE: HYDRA —

chapter one: I Did Something Bad (^)

chapter two: Raise A Little Hell (^)

chapter three: I Think He Knows (^)

chapter four: This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things (^)

chapter five: Hold Me While You Wait (^)

chapter six: Ivy (^)

chapter seven: right where you left me (^)

chapter eight: doomsday (^)

chapter nine: Block Me Out  (^)

chapter ten: 1 step forward, 3 steps back (^)

chapter eleven: New Invention (^)

chapter twelve: It’s Nice To Have A Friend (^)

chapter thirteen: Devil Town (^)

chapter fourteen: Family Line (^)

chapter fifteen: So it goes…* (^)

chapter sixteen: Do I Wanna Know?* (^)

chapter seventeen: Look Who’s Inside Again (^)

chapter eighteen: Anti-Hero (^)

chapter nineteen: You’re On Your Own Kid  (^)

chapter twenty: Innocent* (^)

chapter twenty-one: Green, Green Dress*

chapter twenty-two: mirrorball*

chapter twenty-three: The Avengers (pt.1) 

chapter twenty-four: The Avengers (pt.2) 

chapter twenty-five: For Real This Time 

chapter twenty-six: Black Out Days 

chapter twenty-seven: Dear Reader

chapter twenty-eight: Look What You Made Me Do 

chapter twenty-nine (Bonus Chapter): Haunted

chapter thirty: Hayloft II

chapter thirty-one: Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God)

chapter thirty-two: Chasing Cars

chapter thirty-three: How To Save A Life

chapter thirty-four: Foreigner’s God(*)

chapter thirty-five: long story short*

chapter thirty-six: this is me trying*

chapter thirty-seven: New Romantics*

chapter thirty-eight: Lavender Haze*

chapter thirty-nine: As It Was*

chapter forty: Monster*

chapter forty-one: Daylight

— ACT TWO: PUNISHER —

chapter forty-two: I’ll Get The Coffee*

chapter forty-three: She Knows*

chapter forty-four: Cold As You 

chapter forty-five: Bird Set Free 

chapter forty-six: Human*

chapter forty-seven: Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve (^)

chapter forty-eight: Bad Blood (^)

chapter forty-nine: Dark Paradise (^)

chapter fifty: Meet Me In The Hallway (^)

chapter fifty-one: Demons (^)

chapter fifty-two: Say You Won't Let Go (^)

chapter fifty-three: I Will Be Your Remedy (^)

chapter fifty-four: Dancing With The Devil (^)

chapter fifty-five: Why Am I Like This? (^)

[plznomonkeys]

I cannot add the screenshot but saw your comment about the process of making OCs. please share yours cuz I'm so curious!

I had literally 5k words written out explaining the process and thought 'nobody needs to read that' and just shortened it to point form. It was a lot of rambling......

Anywho

OC's, in my mind, fill a void that I feel a story is missing. I mean, no whole story is necessarily missing something, but it is in my perspective. Usually OC's are born from something I disliked with the original work or felt could've been handled differently.

So the tip of inspiration is a 'What If?' moment.

"What if L had someone on task force -with more than 2 brain cells- on his side?"- Death Note

"What if Naruto had a friend growing up who loved him?" - Naruto

"What if Truth was an even bigger dick and tortured someone's soul through reincarnation until they finally learned to break the cycle?"- FullMetal Alchemist

"What if a main character didn't have a damsel in distress as a love interest?" - Bleach

The what if is the first point to creation. It gives me an anchor of reference, of purpose, to this character. It's not to make them a plot device, but it helps me shape around what the reason for building them is. Everyone needs a purpose to have fulfillment in their lives, even if it's just to feed your cat and water your plants. You have a purpose, so what is my OC's? There's usually a moment in the story that inspires this specific purpose and each one is different.

Great, now that we have a purpose, let's move on.

Part 1: What's the start and ending?

It doesn't matter what the story is yet. To me, what's important is the end of this character's story. Where do they end up? Are they alive? Dead? Did they end up with love interest? Did they succeed in their goals? etc.

Despite how crucial this part might seem, I'm never dead set on it. I have a general idea most of the time.

The point of the ending is to have guidance as to where I'm going with the story line and remind myself that this character is moving in that direction. It can also change once you know your character more and once you have a fully fleshed plot, but again you'll change it likely because it works more with the OC you've created.

Now that you've got an ending, pick a starting point. It can be literally anywhere. It can be another character POV. Beginnings are really easy, just pick a place you want to begin and write a few words. Great, now figure out how this beginning meets that ending. Rough sketch it, when you write it out it'll change and grow, that's perfectly okay. No character is the same at the start and finish, so be aware that change is normal.

Part 2: What's the secret?

Every character that has any level of depth has a secret that is revealed in the story. L's successors was a big one. Naruto's parentage was theorized for years before being confirmed. Aizen's betrayal in Bleach was another. What big secret changes the reader's view on the character? What do the other characters think?

Part 3: How are they compatible with their pairings?

Legit this one comes up early in my mind. If I'm completely honest it has to, as you already have a character that is fully fleshed out and in order to keep them in character then your OC needs to adhere to the canon character's interests IMO. It's the reality of it. Which also means you have to know the canon character really well. Which is where character analysis comes in.

Let's take L for example. While I imagine he's the type to make his partner comfortable regardless of their wants/needs, I also see him as the guy who would legit rather die that admit those feelings at first? Like I subscribe to him being a little autistic and mildly self-degrading when it comes to 'why would they like me?' perspectives.

I say mildly because it's not so much he has no confidence as simply 'I literally have no internal clock, I likely have uncontrolled diabetes and broke my back on my own from sitting like this all day, I will ignore your very existence to finish a case and I literally haven't been home in god knows how long, so why would you ever have feelings for me?' It's illogical for L to entertain the idea of someone feeling that way about him because he simply doesn't fit the profile of a dating candidate. And so he disregards the idea that someone could ever be interested in him. Never mind he'd have to know everything about them down to their god damn SIN number before he'd ever see them in person.

So yeah, L's tough, but not impossible. I could see him with a character who really enamours him. I mean as in a character who thinks so radically different from him that at first he sees it as illogical, but progressively he begins to understand how they tick. I could see him being especially fascinated with someone who is very capable of lying convincingly, and yet wears their heart on their sleeve. I find this type of person to be so opposite and yet so similar at the same time.

Now that you have their OTP.... what other pairings are there? Contrary to the belief system, but there are multiple pairings in every story. Pairings don't have to be romantic, but they must be dynamic. What do other characters think of them? How would they interact with each other? I usually know intuitively who I want my OC to befriend and who they realistically could get along with.

This is, quite literally, the toughest part to flesh out, since I work pretty hard to try and stick to canon.

Part 4: Define your character in one scene?

As I said in the What If? section, each character is born from a specific scene or idea. So what is the scene in the story that defines the entirety of this character? For L I think his defining moment was his lil speech about 'do you really think I do this for justice?' in the manga. It brought into perspective that L was having fun on this case, and when he was 'wrong' about Light his temper tantrum made so much more sense honestly.

Characters need a scene in the story that really lets the reader understand the character on a deeper level and really drives home 'this is a person' even though they're not real it makes them feel raw and real.

Part 5: Motivations

Okay, great, we have so much covered, literally I could probably just go off this and wing the rest. But now we gotta ask why is OC even in the story? Why are they a moving puzzle piece? What made them get to their ending? What did they sacrifice? What's the most important thing to them? Why? Knowing why a person moves is far superior to simply wanting them to move. Why did Light swap the notebooks between shinigami? To keep Ryuk's big mouth away and Rem up close to L. Why did L confront Light at uni? Because he had enough sugar to kill a camel in his system and a gut feeling that Light was Kira and would eventually fold under pressure if he pushed him enough.

Part 6: The Plot

Okay so we've got literally everything necessary. So what's the plot? Is it AU? Partial AU? Canon compliant? Does it just follow canon to a certain point and then go off the rails? Personally I like canon divergent. It holds some points of interest with the original plot but diverges at points only to link up in some spots. I also am a huge fan of making events happen in different time frames.

And now.... where do the OC's affect the story? I mean there's no way that Death Note is a completely unchanged story despite another character being added? Something has changed, so what? Do certain events not occur? Does something better befall certain characters? Something worse?

I am also a stickler for universe rules. I do no bend rules for my characters unless I can come up with a universe compliant reason that it would work. I try to respect the original author's world...... but I will do whatever the hell I want with the characters as long as they're in character.

Part 7: The personal touch

Believe it or not, the appearance of the character is the literal last thing to even cross my mind. Like I legit started writing a Naruto fanfic and realized in 8 chapters I hadn't a clue what she looked like. I had to go to pinterest and make a board, along with a character bio in my notes app. I pic out the height, weight, hairstyle/hair colour, eye shape/eye colour, face, aesthetic, any scars/tattoos they may have and I put it on my notes/pinterest board. Now that I know their story is so I know why they'd have that scar or tattoo. I know why they have that kind of look in their eye. I know everything about them really.

The last bit is mostly spreading this personal touch through the above mentioned steps. It's fleshing it out further, making them more flowing in growth. When did they get the scar? Why that tattoo? Does it affect the story?

Attractiveness is something I debate a lot, and honestly it mostly comes down to plot. If a character needs to be pretty because of the plot I write them as attractive. If they need to be ugly that's what they are. Full disclosure, I see through my OC's eyes when I imagine scenes since I like to write in first person. Meaning I never remember their appearance and always have to review the notes to remind myself what they look like at all.

---

Ok, I think I got everything? So yeah, this is the fuck fest two brain cells can come up with. Keep in mind it is a cyclic mentality and I am perpetually editing and upgrading ideas in my brain. My newest OC to Death Note has literally changed so dramatically in 5 days just by doing this process 3 times that you'd think they were two different characters. It really helps me know my OC's honestly. Do I follow this to the T? Not always, but it is generally the process I subscribe to.

Hope this was a good read, cheers.

Also sorry if I did this wrong I've never posted on tumblr before this year god save my soul

[discordapples]

PT. 7 Third Wheel

Word count: 1.7k (7 mins read)

Characters: Sebastian Sallow, Livia Novik, Ominis Gaunt.

Summary

Sebastian introduces Livia to Ominis. Ominis is roped into his friends' schemes to steal a relic from headmaster Black's office, while Sebastian senses this quest is only the beginning of a journey that is utterly and solemnly up to no good.

Read the seventh chapter below.

Sebastian | Hogwarts, Late August, 1893.

It is well past curfew when Sebastian and Livia make it to the Slytherin common room. Aside from the occasional glance around, Livia appears unbothered by the fact they are trampling through a few rules. 

Drifting from her, the same perfume that trailed Sebastian into his dreams last night. It bled out into the morning, too, as if a piece of her had been wedged between gum and teeth for him to pathetically suck on when the need for another hit arose.

What is it with this girl?

Is it the cutting wit? Her wand game? The hint of a Slavic accent leaching out when she speaks his name? The way her scant smiles feel deserved—earned?

Sebastian needs to focus on something else than the itch she leaves in his mind… And avoiding being caught is just as effective as a cold shower.

The living room is empty, save for the hiss of flames, and Sebastian steers left towards the stairwell. Together, they tiptoe up, silent as graves, and come to the dorm Sebastian shares with Ominis.

He opens the door and peers inside to find his friend sitting at the desk, hunched over a pile of books. 

“Late, as always,” Ominis chides him. “You’ll be grateful to know that while you were playing with your wand, I located the book you were after in the restricted section.”

“Playing with my wand?” 

The innuendo snatches a smirk from Sebastian. Next to him, Livia’s lips curl upwards likewise. 

Ominis turns on his chair, and for a moment, Sebastian thinks he can smell his shirt’s burned fibers or the irony tang of blood on it, but it’s neither the fire nor the blood Ominis sinks his teeth into… “Who are you with?”

How does he know? How does he always know?

Livia’s back stitches itself to the door, as if she regrets outstaying her welcome. 

In response, Sebastian slumps on his bed hoping to iron out the pleats tension has made in the Ravenclaw’s composure with his nonchalance. “Livia Novik, this is Ominis Gaunt. Don’t let his blind guy act fool you… He only does it to soften womanly hearts.”

“She shouldn’t be here,” Ominis hisses. “She’s not Slytherin, and it’s way past curfew.”

Sebastian cannot help but roll his eyes. This, too, Ominis has learned to taste on the air. “Haven’t you realized after eight years that the argument about breaking rules isn’t really a deterrent to me?”

“I’m well aware you’re a lost cause, but maybe she isn’t.”

“I feel a little embarrassed to say,” Livia chimes in gingerly, “but I don’t mind either.”

An odd pride shrugs into Sebastian’s chest. Livia’s clay is soft for the crime, and he wonders just how far she will go to get what she wants—how much her aspirations shape her.

“Fuck’s sake…” Ominis sighs in exasperation. “And here I thought this eighth year would be a quiet one. Should’ve insisted I’d bunk with someone else…”

“Oh, stop whining,” Sebastian derides him. “You’re embarrassing me in front of our guest.”

“A guest that shouldn’t be here…”

“It’s nice to meet you, too, Ominis.” Livia’s apologetic tone finds the dents in the wizard’s armor and he sheds it swiftly, rising from his chair and extending a hand in her direction.

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” he says. “Please forgive me.”

To Livia’s untrained eye, the gesture might seem friendly—almost penitent—but Sebastian knows better.

The little Gaunt boy that hunkered down through his family’s relentless spates of magical torture has found an inclination of his own for the meek and the complacent.

An ironic penchant Sebastian has kept himself from bringing before Ominis’ attention or else jeopardize their friendship.

Unaware of the wicked thoughts that, Sebastian is sure, don’t fail to materialize in Ominis’ mind, Livia shakes the hand offered and parts with a coy smile. “No harm done,” she says candidly before turning to Sebastian. “Now I believe you had me risk detention for a reason?”

“There are many reasons I’d have you risk detention,” he says playfully. “The first is so I have company. The second, to make good on my promise to include Ominis in my adventures, and the third being to have a private place where we can discuss the allegedly brilliant plan you enticed me with earlier, Livia Novik.” He stretches on his bed, his hands cradling his skull. “How does the saying goes? To zap three birds with one spell?”

“To kill two birds with one stone,” Livia and Ominis correct him in unison.

“See?” Sebastian sneers, “You two are already getting along like two beets in a pond.”

“Two peas in a pod…” Ominis feels compelled to rectify. 

Sebastian waves him dismissively. “Whatever… So, what’s this plan of yours, new girl?”

Livia leans against his disorderly desk. Will the pages of Sebastian’s notebook drink her scent and torment him with it when he expects it the least? Livia gives this thought no leeway to swell in Sebastian’s mind when she asks him: “Will you call me new girl for much longer?”

Ominis disgorges a sarcastic chuckle. “He will.”

“Another clause to add to our contract, then,” Livia adds.

 The word takes Sebastian by surprise. “Contract?”

“Spilling all my secrets before two Slytherin boys seems like a very asinine thing to do, wouldn’t you agree?” She crosses her arms before her chest, her eyes steeling. The stare she drags on Sebastian electrifies his chine. “I will reveal the plan to you as we go and if you prove trustworthy. We jest, we caper, we banter, and it’s all in good fun, but I’m not in Hogwarts to fawn over the Quidditch team, fuck through a cortege of boys or to learn how to cast myself out of a paper sack… I’m here to resurrect my brother, and if you two are all talk no walk, I’ll find the Promissum Mortis on my own.”

Ominis frowns. “Resurrection?” 

So does Sebastian. “A cortege of boys?”

Livia is all ice and no honey. “Are you with me, or did I risk detention for nothing?”

“I was with you the moment you cast that Confringo on Reyes, new girl.” Sebastian cracks his knuckles with a smirk. “I know now, it would be unwise to anger you.”

They turn to Ominis, both their gazes cutting enough to make the Slytherin’s brow hike. “I’m not as eager as Sebastian to walk on smoldering charcoals, but I’m not a snitch either. Time will tell if you’re likewise trustworthy, Livia Novik.”

“Acceptable terms,” she replies.

“So?” Sebastian uproots himself from his bunk bed, smoothing his trousers. “It seems like the perfect hour to snatch headmaster Black from the arms of his wet dreams, wouldn’t you say?”

* * *

The Grimfire, Livia Novik tells them, is a silver candle bristling with sharp needles. A thing you can only hold while wearing the Grimweave Gauntlet.

However comical the artefacts’ monikers seem to Sebastian, they aren’t half as absurd as the plan the Ravenclaw comes up with.

“Can you remind me why Ominis is so instrumental to your plan when he wasn’t even slightly enthused about the prospect of stealing from the headmaster?” He asks her as she discards her cloak and leaves it on Sebastian’s desk.

“Are you envious, Sebastian?” Ominis asks him, and his tone is enough a taunt to force Sebastian to inhale deeply through his nose. 

“I’m merely questioning your motives, Ominis…”

“You are quite vocal about your detention record and how… visited it has been,” Livia explains. “Black will believe me too fast if I pretend you nearly assaulted me after you got drunk.”

“Besides, I’m a Gaunt,” Ominis remarks, hammering on the nail of Sebastian’s coffin. “The headmaster won’t risk angering my father without trying to defuse the situation first, whereas he’d commit you to Azkaban without an afterthought if you as much as sneezed on her.”

“Don’t be so smug, Ominis,” Sebastian scowls. “Your bravery will deflate the second Black’s blade hovers above your neck.”

“How you underestimate me…”

“Boys,” Livia interjects, scissoring through the thread of their budding rivalry in one quick snip. “I’d love to be surrendered back to my feathery bed before the dawn rolls in, so could you focus a little?”

Sebastian graces her with a cynical smile as he kiss-feeds her plan back to her to show his assiduity. “Ominis tries to force his way on you. You make a scene and wake half the castle with your shouts, so Professor Weasley will have no choice but to bring you two into Black’s office. As Ominis wields his threats about like Ashwood would his dick, you steal the relic, and while you two are having a blast, I sneak into the restricted section to get my hands on Dovetail’s book. Seems to me like I’m the one doing all the heavy lifting…”

“Perhaps you’d choose Azkaban?” Ominis suggests. “The result would be the same for us, except we wouldn’t have to contend with your whining.”

Before Sebastian can think to retaliate, Livia clears her throat. “Or I could run to Black myself and tell him both of you sequestered me here. You already have my cloak in your possession and it would be a trifle for me to tear holes in my own clothes, muss my hair and make my eyes water.” She flaunts a triumphant smile about. The kind Sebastian aches to stare at as she twists it around his cock. “Which one will it be, chaps?”

“You do have the mind of a Slytherin,” Ominis remarks. “At least it’s one thing Sebastian didn’t lie about. Shall we?”

Leaving the dorm, they traipse through the common room, then spill out into the deserted corridor. 

The moisture of the dungeons clings to Sebastian’s nape and raises hairs on his arms. Somewhere deep inside of him, something rouses. A disquieting unrest that settles in his skull, like a viper in tall grass, waiting for a trespasser to sink its fangs in.

The walls have eyes, perhaps, and there, between the cracks in the timeworn mortar, sidle half a thousand secrets. Hogwarts’ secrets. 

His mother’s voice carries from a moment long lost. The shade of a reminiscence that, in its slow trickle, is more potent than any strychnine:

There are wonderful things hidden behind Hogwarts’ skin, if you know only where to find the loose stitch. But there are sinister things, too. For there could be no light without darkness, and no gold without its weight in coal.

[feral-encounters]

My newest addition!

The first battle between the Weaver and Pyre

Though the dynamic is probably not what you expect:

Pyre is actually more moral and empathetic than the Weaver. More of a good guy then her actually

the Weaver is just a public menace

The Weaver does (secret good things) like steal food from big store chains then secretly give it to the homeless in her neighborhood (so they don't get in trouble) but not very often.

She does intentionally do things like mess with the police and let robbers get away etc. One of her favorite pass times is fucking with cops and getting in their way (She does some sketchy stuff)

Just generally being a nuisance

This is actually why I gave Weaver more pointy/triangle shape language and Pyre more curves

Because Pyre directly challenges the Weaver and her motives, and promises that if the Weaver ever successfully makes a name for herself being against the avengers (more on that later) then she will take her down, and be a hero despite what she was predicted to be.

Backstory:

Pyre was originally Dr. Cinder (Zarha Jane Cinder) who was a prodigy phycologist, apprenticed under a renowned doctor praised for his impossibly nuanced knowledge of the human psyche and it's limits.

Shortly after graduating with her doctorates, she began quickly making a name for herself, having a 'poor background' she fought hard to graduate the top of her class (or so the articles say about her, it was actually fairly easy for her, as she had an adept skill of observing what emotions a person was feeling). She was known for being able to handle even some of the most "lost" cases, (criminals, murders, and the mentally deranged) being able to calm them down and build trust with them seemingly with ease. Because of this she was nicknamed the Whisperer. (She also was very soft spoken, though she carried herself with strength and pride, and she would not shy from challenging someone or defending herself and her patients. Or punching someone square in the jaw.)

One fateful day, she went to meet her mentor for advice with a particularly tough case of hers. Her mentor however, had different plans.

He kidnapped her that day, and brought her to his estate in the rural land of NY State, where Zarha would learn how her mentor developed such an intimate understanding of the limits of the human mind.

He would perform countless experiments on her, torture, isolation, manipulation. He would subject inconceivable levels of stress onto her body and mind, keeping notes and jotting down every change, mental break, and coping mechanism she developed.

One final fatal experiment resulted in Dr. Cinder spontaneously combusting. The incident killed the mentor (or maybe Zarha did), though strangely, she survived.

She became walking flame. Forever in burning agony.

Once fire fighters came upon the scene and discovered her, the PSAI (Paranormal and Supernatural Ability Investigators) were called. They are a private organization run by the Avengers Co whose purpose is to discern if a person has supernatural abilities and whether they can mentally/physically handle them. They will either go to the X-Men, a 'superhero' training program (run in different facilities across the country), or if deemed volatile, they would be terminated.

[After Opal Parker was first bit by the spider, and struggling with her entire body exuding strange spiderwebs, covering her mouth nose and eyes even, the PSAI had been called, but she wasn't deemed time imperative, and even after nearly half a year, she's still on their waiting list. Not one person had even gone to check up on her. Leaving her to figure everything out by herself. And so she resents the Avengers and their stupid program that should have helped her, intentionally doing everything in her power to draw attention to herself, even if it means causing chaos.)

Dr. Cinder, was detained and supervised. Due to the naturally destructive nature of fire, her failing to control/neutralize the flame, her constant agony, and mental instability caused by the Doctors experiments, it was deemed that she would most definitely become a "villain" if assimilated back into society. She was labeled Volatile, and was scheduled to be terminated.

She somehow escaped, as though she was meant to be free. So she ran and hid. She hid in plain sight, curling herself into barrels, keeping the hands of the homeless, delinquent, and unwanted, warm. (Whom locals named Barrel Greg, after the local drunk Greg, who was mugged and burned in a barrel)

She eventually discovered that she could control the fire, she could burn bright and hot enough to melt metal, and she could reduce herself to a small pile of burning charcoal bones, and eventually, she could make herself completely heatless and harmless. She couldn't return to her previous body, she was stuck as flame, but she was tired of hiding.

And so she decided that she would prove herself to the Avengers and the PSAI, she'd prove them wrong. She could be good. She would do good. And despite everything that happened to her, she would continue to save people.

And so she vowed, that she would find someone who needed to be stopped, someone who really was a potential threat to the city and the Avengers. And she'd defeat them to prove that she could be a public hero again.

I'll probably draw this character some more

(Weaver and Pyre will have an enemies to lovers(?) arch. All of their fights are obviously very homoerotic)

And I'll probably work on Peter as this universes Dog Ock

Don't know which I'll do first though.

(also, in the first drawing, Opal has Jinx gloves- kinda)

#Barely related but still using the Arcane tag

Coping with Arcane s2 act 2 by finally drawing a spidersona! (Fan art is too much emotion)

(I know, I'm very late)

But here she is anyways:

Her name is Opal E. Parker (Opal Escent Parker- and she hates that her name is a 'pun', and rightfully so)

She is the daughter of Ben and May, and her best friend is her nerdy cousin Peter (who becomes her 'Ned', or 'guy in the chair') and she lovingly refers to him as Dick Eater

Instead of her using gadgets or webs coming from her wrists, the spider silk exudes from her entire body (freaky right?) this acts as a protective chrysalis on her (or a suit), which she can take and mold -weave- into different objects (ie her sword or skateboard), it also can condense and create an (almost) indestructible armor that is stronger than steel (this is not automatic though, she has to will it). She can also choose if the silk is solid, soft, or a gooy liquid depending on what she needs. She can make almost anything out of her silk!

Usually she likes to wear her boots, jacket, and gloves, to feel more covered up, but if a fight calls for it, she'll take them off to allow for easier access to her silk.

She enjoys styling her false silky 'hair' in different ways, preferably a long mohawk, and she will grab her hair and pull it down for a quick shield. (Because of it being made of silk, her 'hair' always floats in the breeze.)

Unlike most spidermen, she doesn't swing around on her webs, but instead, she floats on the wind, and makes 'sails' to guide and steer her - she also weighs practically nothing, allowing her this ability. And she can jump incredible heights with seemingly no effort. (Inspired by the jumping spider and how some baby spiders float on the breeze with strands of web)

She does not have an unlimited amount of silk though, and if she uses too much, she becomes severely fatigued and nauseous, and her 'suit' will become sparse, allowing for easier access to create wounds. In order to remedy this, she needs to collect and absorb her used silk (by eating it... Which revolts her, but is necessary).

Her biggest vulnerability (besides running out of silk) is fire, as it will burn away her webs, and she can no longer collect them. So naturally her enemies will find this out and exploit it, especially her biggest foe Pyre who is basically walking fire (who she teases for choosing such an obvious name). When it comes to fighting other elements, she's fine, her silk is water proof, she can choose to make it conductive or not, and, well, sand doesn't affect it much beside making her itchy.

She's also a severe arachnophobe, and she despises that she's a "spider woman", and becomes infuriated if you refer to her as such. She very much regrets being kind to a tiny jumping spider that had crawled across her desk as she was writing, she tried to carry it out on a piece of paper, but it jumped on her, and she panicked, tried to shake it off, which only made it pissed and bite her. Which is when all her gross slimy spiderweb skin and floating problems began.

#"your friendly neighborhood anarchist!"

I'll probably be drawing more of her soon, just to keep my wrecked brain off of arcane.

[saltymongoose]

Alright, got some Torture hcs for you all this time. Hope you guys like 'em! :)

They Meet the Player in Person ft. Mag Agent Torture (+ The Main 3 & 2BDamned)

(TW: Yandere, Obsessive Behavior, mentions of violence)

Out of all the AAHW agents, a MAG was actually the first to take a deeper interest in you; more specifically MAG Agent Torture. It was an odd revelation for him, to be completely honest. He never had much of an interest in other people, especially not attraction by any stretch either. For one, he was conditioned for one purpose; destroying Hank J. Wimbleton. He was focused purely on that objective since his creation; his mind was filled with nothing but the obedience instilled in him by the AAHW and the countless training modules they created.

Then there was the fact that the grunts who surrounded him were either rude or just plain terrified of him. It’s not like they didn’t have a good reason, as he made a habit of breaking out of his room (enclosure, really) and going on rage-filled rampages when the tests he was subjected to were too much for him. Plus he wasn’t exactly personable, it’s not like they could hold a conversation with him since the experiments left his vocal cords pretty fried (perhaps intentionally, screams from a MAG likely weren't the best).

At the end of the day, he was a tool to be used by the AAHW. A living object who didn’t have a meaningful connection with anyone, nor a reason to have one. Useful and expensive, but ultimately replaceable. Like all AAHW agents.

But his ambivalence about what he went through changed when he looked over the shoulder of one of the Soldats escorting him to Nexus City, and saw the odd photograph they had clutched in their paw. The Soldat themselves were immersed in a conversation with one of the L337 Agents about “The Player”, whom they were all expected to find.

“Is it just me or do they look kinda cute though?” A Soldat asked, to which the Agent just shrugged and gave a half nod. But they both froze at once when the shadow of the giant next to them enveloped them completely, Torture having leaned down to get his own look at the subject of the picture. Ignoring the two’s nervous demeanor and the way they trembled, he reached down with a large paw and gently plucked the photo out of the Soldat’s hand before straightening his posture. He tilted his head as he looked down at the smiling figure staring at the camera.

You looked…different. Clearly not a grunt, that’s for sure. Your skin was far too colorful compared to the grey pigments they had, and your eyes were exposed. There wasn’t a sign of the characteristic visual cross anywhere on your face, a slight wedge-shape jutting out of your head in the place where most had them. Your teeth, which were shown from the wide, happy smile you were giving the camera, were exceptionally blunt. But he didn’t find himself being perturbed or even weirded out by your unique features.

No, instead Torture found himself gazing upon the photo with an almost wonderstruck expression, entranced by your expressive eyes and the innocent grin on your face. You looked so kind and gentle. There was a certain genuine quality to your expression, one that Torture had never seen before from anyone he associated himself with. Even from this picture alone, he could tell you were welcoming. Your smile didn’t seem to hide any maliciousness or ill-intent, which was rare from those who associated themselves with the Employers in any form.

'Is that why the Auditor wanted to see you?' he wondered. Perhaps to finally experience the presence of someone who was wholeheartedly good, instead of those who saw him as a way to improve their own standing? (Not that the shadowy figure cared about such a thing, but a breath of fresh air was always nice, no?)

From then on, his curiosity in who this Player truly was was peaked. Ever since seeing the photo, he had been more enthusiastic in helping out on the search for you, and could constantly be seen cooperating with the Soldats, Agents, and Engineers to put up flyers. He even accompanied them when they spoke to the more friendly bandits about you, standing threateningly behind them to try and assist them in finding anything about your whereabouts (even if all he could do was improve their intimidation factor).

It was impossible for his superiors not to notice; he'd never actually volunteered to assist them before in anything (usually they had to resort to orders instead, which they expected to be honest). They did some investigating to find the source of his sudden eagerness, which led them to the same Soldat and Agent who'd seen the Mag fall for you (even if they hadn't realized it).

("I don't know, he just took the picture and wouldn't stop staring at it. He even growled at me when I tried to take it back!" the one-eyed grunt complained. The Engineer interviewing him tilted their head. Growling at other AAHW personnel wasn't rare, but it usually came as a result of some amount of physical pain, like when they needed to adjust the stakes in his head. But simple requests like this were typically seen as orders and he went along with them, even if reluctantly. How very odd.)

While they couldn't pin down the exact reason why the Mag seemed particularly fascinated with you, this didn't mean they couldn't use it to their advantage. The Auditor probably wouldn't have the best reaction to it (if the sudden deaths of some of their comrades who'd been more open in their admiration of you was any sign), so they had to keep it under the radar, but they'd be lying if they didn't try to fan the flames a bit. After all, the sooner they got this done, the sooner they could leave and go back to their central objective.

They ended up giving him a lot more work than they needed to, giving him the responsibility of searching the areas that led deeper into the city. In addition to this, they gave him more information about you than the other Agents would have. Just a few things they'd overheard from the conversations between the Auditor and another of the Employers (the Deliberator actually, not that they knew his name).

Mainly it was about how you'd behaved around them and before they had "officially met you" (whatever that meant). How you'd never said anything even remotely rude to them before the little "disagreement" that lead to your split with them, and even complimented them. How you actively helped them out in their work (well, the Auditor's at least), and ensured that their spirits were always high with your comments and just being yourself around them. How your presence filled them with a comforting warmth that they craved when you were away from them in any capacity. Besides this, you also seemed to show immense interest in Nevada before you "entered" (again, no context on that, but it sounded favorable?), genuinely caring for the welfare of its citizens as you tried to make all of their lives better if you could.

Deep down, Torture had always kind of yearned for something more when it came to his relationships with other grunts, or the lack thereof. He had long since given up on anybody being a true companion to him, but that didn't stop the loneliness from creeping in during those more unfavorable times. But now, perhaps he had another option. You were truly benevolent, even according to the Employers. If someone was close to them, then you'd surely like being around him, right? Nobody in Nevada was harmless, but certainly he'd consider himself less reprehensible than the Employers. (Which was probably true.)

He took on his new responsibilities easily, committing himself fully towards finding you. Not for the Auditor or the AAHW, but for himself. And luckily for him, his job had made it all too easy to do so.

You were in the middle of a mundane chore, just taking out the trash to the street (cause there weren't any garbage trucks in Nexus City, but that wouldn't stop you from cleaning up the place). After setting the heavy bag onto the concrete, you heard some very loud thumps, and felt them too. It was like you could feel the ground shaking as whatever it was came closer to the building.

You took a few cautious steps backward, holding your breath as a colossal shadow appeared from around the corner. But you stopped once you recognized who they were. Although you had to severely crane your neck, it was obvious. Who else would have two stakes crossed through their head?

He looked down at you, completely silent. "...Hi?" You asked hesitantly, and he tilted his head. You just stared at each other for a moment.

You didn't know what to do, to be honest. It's obvious that he's trying to find you to bring you back to the AAHW, which you wouldn't let happen. But why wasn't he doing anything? He was just looking at you, not even trying to grab you or even come closer. And what was he doing here anyway? Torture didn't show up until Madness 7?

While you were immersed in your own confused pondering, Torture was quietly admiring you. You were better than the photos had pictured you. They failed to capture the true depth of your expressions, and just how alluring you looked (even if your obvious apprehension at his appearance had stung a little bit. But he expected as much.). He had never really attributed the word pretty to anything before now.

He could also feel that warmth emanating from your form, even from a few meters away. It was calming and seemed almost cozy-something he had never been fortunate enough to feel before. He wanted more of it.

He took another step towards you, but just as you made the move to say something, the door behind you opened.

"Is everything okay? You've been taking a long time-" It was Sanford, having poked his head out the door to check on you, accompanied by Deimos. You glanced back to see them, only to see Deimos' cigarette fall from his mouth and Sanford pale considerably once they realized who was standing before you.

Deimos cursed under his breath before turning to run back into the base. "I'll go get Hank!" He called over his shoulder, and Sanford nodded, walking through the doorway as he reached for the gun with one hand and his hook with the other. Just what he needed, a Mag to fight. Although maybe a solo battle with one would impress you?

Torture growled, and you balked when he reached into his suit jacket to pull out a pistol of his own. Which wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't Mag-sized. You threw your hands up in a desperate attempt to get them to stop, but instead of your strings directing themselves to Sanford, they went to Torture instead, fixing themselves to his limbs and holding him tightly in place.

This only further pissed off Sanford, but just as he was about to take a shot at him, you ordered him not to. "Wait! Don't shoot him, he hasn't done anything!"

"But he's with the Agency!?" He argued back, and he did have a point. Anyone from the AAHW seeing you was awful since it meant that the Auditor was closing in on your location. You generally didn't have a problem with getting rid of any Agency grunts who you happened to come across. But Torture wasn't just some regular grunt. He was actually important, even if he wasn't a regular presence in the series. You weren't willing to let him die; it would mess up the timeline in a way you couldn't repair. Besides, you were rather fond of him before you entered Nevada anyway. You just hoped the Mag would see reason.

"I-yes, I know, but I'll be fine"-"I got Hank!" Deimos interrupted, throwing up the door to reveal the bloodthirsty grunt right on his heels, a large rifle in his grasp. You huffed in annoyance. This is the last thing you needed right now.

At the same time you were attempting to talk Sanford and Hank down, Torture was feeling conflicted. On one hand, he had the most wanted criminals in Nevada ready to kill him, one of which was the very enemy the AAHW had been created to destroy. He was in an immeasurable amount of danger by even being near them, even if he knows his training would make it hard for them to finish the job.

But the part that overrode this was the one affected by the way your strings had taken control over his body, rendering him helpless but ensnaring him in a feeling of safety nonetheless. He could feel the intense warmth of your presence over him like a warm blanket, clouding his senses in a fog that seemed so pleasant. Even as danger lurked just a few feet away, he was never so sure of his own wellbeing. You wouldn't let anything happen to him.

The way you staunchly defended him, even placing yourself between him and Hank only proved this. After a moment of tense discussion, you came to some form of a concession.

"You have to trust me on this, okay? Just like I trust you," you pleaded earnestly with them, hands clasped in front of you. The three looked between you and Torture, obviously still distrustful of him. But they never could resist it when you asked for something, so of course they broke eventually.

"Alright," Deimos grumbled. "Do what you have to. But he needs to be gone after the next ten minutes...It's not safe, believe me."

You sighed in relief and gave them a grateful smile, to which they turned their heads away slightly. They were still trying to stay angry, but it was difficult when you looked at them like that. It makes them all giddy, and now was not the time.

You turned to Torture, who seemed far more relaxed than you remembered him being a few moments ago. You gave him a rather apprehensive look but stepped closer to him anyway, loosening your strings so they weren't as restricting.

"Look, big guy. I know that you have a job to do, and I...respect that, but I can not go back there. Your boss is awful to me, and I'm not willing to put myself through that again. You get it, right?"

And he nodded, because of course he understood it. In fact, there were very few other people who understood just how cruel the AAHW could be. But hearing that they also victimized you was truly unexpected. You were just so nice, even to someone who should be your enemy. How could anyone do something evil to someone so benevolent?

It made him genuinely sorrowful, in a way his own torment hadn't. But on top of that, it filled him with no small amount of hatred towards the AAHW. He had already disliked them simply for their treatment of him, but to harm someone so good? It was simply unacceptable.

You smiled up at him after seeing his agreement, and he felt his heart stutter at the sight of it. His face grew hot and he reached a large paw up to scratch at his cheek in slight embarrassment. He couldn't help it, you just looked so cute. You were so small compared to him-far from helpless, but he couldn't help but have the urge to just protect you from everything.

"So you can probably understand why I don't want you to just go back to them and tell them where I am. In fact, I'd much prefer it if they didn't know we met at all. Can you do that for me?"

Torture nodded again, far more enthusiastically this time. He even made the motion to cross his heart as a promise, which you giggled at. He stopped in his tracks and tilted his head again, looking at you reverently from behind his glasses.

You were absolutely precious. And he'd make sure the Auditor wouldn't have you in his clutches again. If he had to lie to help you, then he would. He was already thinking up plans on how to lead them away too, which he's sure you'd appreciate. Perhaps, after this was through, he could break out and visit you sometime?

(After hearing Deimos yell, 2BDamned had walked through the base to one of its few in-tact windows. He balked at the sight of you conversing with what he recognized as an AAHW Mag Agent while the other three angrily talked amongst themselves. He quirked a brow with a sneer when he saw the gigantic grunt give you a long, extremely heartfelt hug before disappearing off into the dark city. The others were right, they really needed to move.)

[secularpoet]

Call of Duty: Task Force 141 Chapter 3: Rundown

Chapter Three Song: Leave It All Behind - Cult To Follow

“Suffocate everything They complicate everything They seal your fate everyday but you can't believe it Take yourself far away from nothingness A million miles from emptiness And leave it all behind you”

Warehouse Unknown Location

Task Force 141 met at a warehouse, a private place to discuss sensitive details of their new mission. Considering the situation, there will be additional assets to the team. Gary “Roach” Sanderson, and Alex.

The two of them have met before, and Alex knows the members of Task Force 141, though he’s not exactly fond of anyone. He was somewhat hesitant to join, but being it’s regarding the President, he caved.

Roach is practically a “rookie” compared to everyone else, but he’s got experience under his belt nonetheless. Overall, it was almost like a “family” reunion.

The president was on video-call, everyone stood around a table across the laptop, and a map and files spread across the table, and a drawn diagram of their plans on a whiteboard.

The overall mission is broken down between two teams in two places. Team Ghost will venture Mexico. Their goal is to expand their vague lead by getting through to the Mexican soldiers who are paid off by the cartel.

By finding a link between the soldiers and the cartel, perhaps there is a link between the cartel and Russians. Just like with Hassan. This means a possible recurrence of El Sin Nombre, A.K.A., Valeria. It also means Alejandro 

“Since we don’t know exactly if they are holding y/n, we will split up to cover ground faster.” Laswell explains. The two teams' photos are pinned to the map.

“Ghost, Soap, and Roach will head to Mexico and see what can be dug up, regarding any rumors or activity. Price, Gaz, and Alex will chase a lead in Russia regarding Makarov.”

“What exactly will we be searching for in Mexico if we’ve no leads there?” Soap questions.

“The reflection of the uniform in the video suggests the army. Possibly someone paid off, which we know isn’t unheard of.”

“Cartel.” Ghost concluded.

“Exactly. That’s as far as a lead we’re starting with. I recommend speaking to Alejandro Vargas considering they had to release Valeria not too long ago. They’ll be waiting for your arrival.”

“I’ve been told it’s better not knowing about this Task Force, but I trust Kate, so I trust you all. Please bring her back safely. Whatever it takes.” The president spoke up. “We will, sir.” Captain Price promised with his assuring, warm smile. “Is there anything we should know regarding her rescue, sir?” Ghost asked. It was a simple rescue mission, but it obviously wasn’t. There was something about this, though there wasn’t anything else to go off on. Until then, Ghost singularly focuses on the facts.

“She hasn’t done anything, if that’s what you mean?”

“No, sir. Just don’t want to leave out any important details.” Ghost didn’t push any further.

With that said, the rundown was concluded and everyone split from the table, grabbing their gear and supplies to load up on the plane. 

“It’ll be like old times.” Soap smiles before recognizing the way Ghost was in thought. “You ‘right, Ghost?” Soap said, bringing him back from his thoughts, meeting Soap’s eyes.

“Affirmative.” Ghost responded, then turned away from the table, grabbing his gear, and making his way out of the warehouse to the plane.

What was going on in his mind? The thought of being captured, tortured, he’s reminded of a past that shaped him. He could completely sympathize, but he separated emotions from the mission. He’s concerned for y/n, but that’s all it was. Besides, what would happen if you’re all to fail this mission? 

Not that he’d dream of it, albeit there’s always a possibility nonetheless. Yet, he will not allow failure to be an option.

Author's Note

--

Hey guys! As I've said before, I'm totally going with the flow. I decided that some extra characters I'm going to enter in this universe will be, of course, Roach and Alex. I read up a bit on their crossover in COD Mobile (I should've read these comics before). 

If I didn't say this before, I'm doing a different direction with the storyline with inspiration here and there. Again, I hope you enjoyed! :)

--

[becausegoodbye]

I'm in two minds about this piece. On the one hand, it's pretty unsparing about going over the ways in which Whedon's been abusive, and it lays out well all the contradictions that his prevarications are riddled with. But it's also fixated on him as the protagonist of the story, the subject, the site of the most important psychodrama. Which is totally natural in a profile like this, but also why I tend to think that long-form profiles of abusers aren't the best way to understand their abusiveness. Still, there's probably something valuable in documenting the contradictions, because even now – with all these dozens of people telling stories that speak to the exact same patterns of cruelty and abuse – Joss Whedon still sits there in his airy well-appointed mansion and says that they're wrong.

Sure, he'll be performatively self-loathing in the abstract (the identification with Richard III, etc), but it's all hollow, as whenever it comes to the specifics of what he did, he either has a denial ('no way, that doesn't sound like me'), an excuse ('I was powerless to not do it'), or some tortured alternative explanation that puts the blame on someone else for misunderstanding him. At the absolute most, you get an anodyne 'I could have handled that better.' That's as far as all of that extravagant self-loathing actually gets him. There's no making himself sincerely accountable, no actual teshuva. There's just a storyteller, insulated with wealth, telling himself a story in which he can't possibly be the bad guy.

The part about how he felt he "had" to sleep with young actresses in his employ (that he was "powerless" to resist doing so) is so damning. You can only so totally blend 'wanting to' with 'needing to' when you have the power to get away with it. To pretend that this predatory freedom constitutes powerlessness is some truly deep bullshit: some of the most craven mental gymnastics imaginable. And the part about him dating a 22-year-old when he was 48, then him deliberately setting her up to have private drinks with "a friend he wanted her to meet", only for her to turn out to be Whedon's other secret girlfriend ... God, it's just all the most grubby little power-plays.

People can have complex PTSD and not do this shit, which means that PTSD can't be invoked as the cause of it. It can influence the shape and form of the abuse, sure, but it isn't the explanatory silver bullet people sometimes want it to be. This is fundamentally a story of a man who, upon gaining power over people (and especially women), found that he thrilled at lording that power over them – found himself liking how he could use them to satisfy his crueller and more egoistic impulses – but protected himself from this self-realisation through a fundamentally fraudulent conception of himself as powerless.

I've learned never to underestimate the extent to which people will doggedly keep their sympathies with the abuser, so I'm sure there are people who'll be able to read it and think 'poor guy'. But it's all there for anyone who cares to see it for what it is.

[danses-with-dogmeat]

could you do the “reaction to first time being shown affection” but with the new vegas/fo3 male companions as well?

Romanced! Male! FO3 Companions and the first time they’re shown soft forms of Affection

Here is some more fluff for all of you lovlies! Man, I love doing these sweet prompts so dang much 😅  Seriously, if there’s ANY characters you want to see for this that I haven’t done, please please please don’t hesitate to ask, cuz these reactions are just good for my soul (... or Sole, eh? Get it?).

Fallout New Vegas (M! Companions) reactions are also on the way for this prompt as well, and should be done soon! 

Butch:

     Lone's eyes fluttered open, taking in the sight of the darkened vault 101 bedroom as they stretched their legs from beneath the thin blanket with a small sigh. A blush spread to their face as they felt their partner stir beside them, repositioning himself onto his back, an arm thrown up over his head as a deep breath escaped his lips. They turned to get a better look at him, smiling slightly at how peaceful he looked. Eyes still closed, mouth dangling open slightly, hair tousled about every which way upon his head as it crushed into the pillow behind him. Lone just stared at him for a while,  their heart beating insistently in their chest as they thought back on the events of their first night together… them and Butch… who would've thought? 

They would have liked to pin it on the way he's changed over the years they've known him, because certainly ten-year-old Lone would have scrunched up their face in disgust at the idea of having a crush on the self-absorbed bully. But… truth is, Lone's always suspected that their feelings towards the fellow vault dweller had been more… complicated than simple hatred, or simple attraction. No, these feelings seemed to go deeper than that, even before, when they were kids and he would get on their nerves constantly, or in school when they were teens who frequently argued with each other, they knew there was something more at play between the pair, though they never would have admitted it at the time. Now though, they couldn't believe they had ever seen him any differently as they gazed tenderly at their partner through half-lidded eyes, filled to the brim with affection for the man that lay beside them.

Lone tentatively reached up a hand, not wanting to wake him, but needing to touch him. They brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, running their palm over the top of his head and smoothing down any stray strands that stuck out. Pausing their movements briefly, Lone brought themselves into a sitting position, keeping their side of the blankets up to cover their bare body as they scooted closer to him and reached their hands out towards his head again. Though his hair wasn't all that long, they rarely had the privilege of seeing it void of product, which often made it difficult to play with. Lone decided to take advantage of this instance. They took three separate strands between their fingers, crossing them over each other a few times before twisting the end, willing the little braid to hold its shape before moving to another section and doing the same. A smile spread on their lips as they carried on with their little movements, leaving a handful of tiny braids in the wake of their gentle hands as they continued listening to him snore softly below them. 

As they grew less fond of the braided look, Lone smoothed each one out and began to thread their fingers upwards, giggling at their work as the entirety of his fawn-colored hair stood straight up over his slackened expression. Now if only I had dad's camera…

Their ability to stifle their laughter weakened, preventing them from suppressing the snort that escaped from them; the sound effectively jolting their companion awake.

"What the…?" He shook his head, attempting to expel his grogginess as he realized what had woken him.

"Why are you...? Wait, what happened? You laughin' at me?"

Lone nodded as another snort escaped them, Butch's confused expression now acting as the source of their second bout of giggling.

"Why? What happened?" He looked down quickly, trying to conceal any bare part of him that peeked through the thin Vault-Tec issued blanket. A panicked flush creeping up his cheeks as he tried to find the source of their amusement.

"No, no, it's nothing like that." They assured him, grabbing at his face with their hands to bring his attention back to their eyes, "Here."

Lone made a motion upwards, to try and smooth his hair down to a reasonable height, but Butch's own fingers followed, brushing the substantial mountain of silky locks that stood at attention atop his head before they could fix what they'd done. His eyes widened as he realized what Lone had been laughing at, shaking his head in an attempt to loosen the upright strands.

"Oh, you think that's funny, do ya?"

Lone smiled at him, shrugging as they prepared to answer him with some smart-ass remark, but he was upon them before they could utter a word. Their partner tackled them, pressing his lips to theirs as he forced them downwards against the mattress where he pinned their arms up over their head. When he had firmly secured their wrists in his grip, he released them from the kiss, now staring down at them smugly, a glint of triumph playing in his stormy blue eyes. Lone's heart beat raggedly in their chest as they breathlessly gazed up at their lover as he held them down. Though, to their surprise, he pulled further away from them and released his grip on their wrists, quickly bringing his hands down to their sensitive sides. He pinched his fingers slightly as he ran them over their ribcage, causing them to erupt into a fit of unbridled laughter, writhing underneath his cruel ministrations as he grinned wildly at them.

“How’s that for funny, huh, wise guy?”

Charon:

     “Tell me something.” Lone stared up at the stars as they spoke, Charon’s stiff shoulder brushing their own as he lay beside them at the top of the parking structure, his shotgun still lying across his chest, held firmly in his grasp.

“What?” His gruff voice inquired. Lone couldn’t tell if he was being short with them because he was still unsure about spending the night at the top of the ruined concrete parking structure, or if it was because he genuinely didn’t understand their request, either way, they didn’t mind clarifying.

“Just, tell me something about yourself. You already know almost everything about me, and we’ve been together a few months now, and yet…” They trailed off, trying in vain to coax a proper response from their companion.

“What would you like to know?” Lone sighed softly, but smiled in spite of themself, shifting onto their side so they could look over at him. The ghoul was laying rigidly on his back, his eyes remained trained on the sky, as they had been since Lone suggested he quit keeping watch and just relax with them as they stargazed. Well, he stopped keeping watch, but I don’t think he ever got to the ‘relax’ part.

“Well… what do you want me to know about you?” They asked him, attempting to draw an answer from him without using a direct order. Ever since the two had become involved, Lone had felt uncomfortable with the idea of holding Charon's contract. Well, truth be told, they had always hated the idea of him being forced to obey their every whim and order because they held some torturous piece of paper, but now it felt especially immoral.

Silence fell over the pair as Charon struggled with Lone’s request, half of him wanting to abide by what they said and begin the process of opening up to the person he felt closest with, while the other half grappled with the phrasing of their question. The shadow of his officially void contract rendered his own preferences obsolete as the years of habit continued to keep him chained to the false comfort of his own complacency. He was never allowed to want before.

Lone gazed at him, noting the hard expression adorning his scarred face as the internal conflict raged between his temples. Charon’s pale blue eyes became obstructed as his brow furrowed, his jaw clenching as he ground his teeth in an effort to force his mouth to produce any words that could possibly provide an answer to Lone’s question.

The ghoul’s body shuddered as Lone extended their hand, sliding it over his chest before it came to rest atop one of his. They flexed their fingers, a suggestion to loosen his grip on the barrel of his shotgun, but he refused to budge. They kept the contact with him for a moment more, but as he showed no sign of yielding to their touch, they pulled away, rolling over onto their back once more.

Well, it was worth a try. Lone closed their eyes as their fatigue washed over them, remaining on the verge of consciousness as they awaited any response from their partner.

Instead of words, they felt a soft brush against their hand, and Lone peeked one eye open to witness the ghoul’s action as he pressed on, drawing his larger hand to rest over their own. Though the action was miniscule, Lone felt their breath catch in their throat as Charon slid his thumb over their skin soothingly. They hummed as a small grin graced their lips, shifting in his grasp so that they could entwine their fingers with his.

Lone’s expression dampened as they felt him pull away slightly, believing that perhaps they’d pushed their companion too far with their… official hand holding; but they were surprised as they felt his nails meet their wrist. He smoothed his fingertips up their arm slightly, before doubling back, capturing their hand fully in his own again. At that, Lone resumed their own comforting movements along his roughened skin. The ebb and flow of the pairs’ dancing hands seemed to coax something out of Charon, a sort of tenderness that Lone was otherwise unfamiliar with.

“I want… ” He started, and Lone held their breath, but continued running their fingers over his hand encouragingly.

“To tell you… it is no longer the contract that is binding me to you.” His movement against Lone ceased in his effort to continue speaking.

"At first, I did not think I would ever be able to separate myself from it. But now… the paper is obsolete. I'm loyal to you. I want you to know that."

Lone's heart leapt in their chest, as they felt tears of relief fill to the brims of their eyes. They couldn't say how long they'd been hoping to hear this from him, it was getting to the point that they thought they never would; that the dreadful scrap of parchment shackling Charon to his horrendous past would taint their relationship until the end of their days, but now…

A scarred finger brushed against Lone's cheek, capturing the tear that had escaped them in their moment of relieved contemplation. They turned their head, following his hand's retreat, and their eyes met his. A once stormy ocean now seemed to resemble a calm, pensive pool as he peered at them with a clarity he never thought he could have achieved.

Fawkes:

     Lone’s eyebrows drew upwards as they gazed sympathetically at the mutant. Fawkes was hunched over, his head buried in his large hands as small grunts of frustration pushed their way through his overlapping fingers. He’d been having flashbacks all day long, the brief snippets of his time as a human tormenting him in their fragmented incompleteness.

“Fawkes?” They tested. Lone hadn’t been able to rouse him from his state of anguish since the pair had returned to their Megaton home. Three hours ago. They rose from their chair, moving to sit beside him on the couch. Thus far, they had let him be, believing that the memories he was struggling with would either come back to him fully, or slip away from his grasp altogether, as they usually did. But this time they appeared to be more insistent and less comprehensible, rendering their companion aggravated and exhausted, and leaving Lone feeling utterly useless.

As they settled beside him, they brought a hand up to rest on his broad shoulder, feeling the pulsing tenseness of his muscle as his heavy breathing forced his shoulders to rise and fall raggedly.

“Hey,” They said softly, “I know it’s hard, but you have to try and let it go.” Lone brought their hands up to grasp at his, gently pulling them away from his scrunched up face.

“That’s not you anymore. You’re Fawkes.” They told him, looking into his strained eyes, “You’re free now, free from the vault, free from who you used to be, and free to make your own choices. To be your own kind of person.” Slowly bringing their hands down towards his lap, they continued holding onto them tightly as they tried to bring him back to reality, tried to ground him back in the present.

“You’re my closest friend, Fawkes, no matter who you were, I love you now. For who you are.” Lone’s words seemed to finally draw his attention to them, his weary eyes softening at the sight of them, as the present world around him seemed to solidify. They felt his hands squeeze theirs to the brink of being too tight, holding firmly enough to keep him tethered to this reality, and when they flexed their fingers beneath the intense pressure, he became aware of his actions, and ceased them. The mutant’s grip softened as he exhaled, finally letting his taut muscles relax beneath his ravaged, olive skin.

“That’s it. Welcome back.” Lone smiled up at him, their own relief evident in their softened expression. Fawkes slumped a little lower, his fatigue forcing his shoulders to slouch and his head to bow forwards, as he blinked away the last shreds of the past that stubbornly tried to linger in his mind. Lone saw his shrunken frame as an opportunity, and withdrew their hands gently from his grasp, bringing their arms up to wrap around his shoulders. The hug was a little awkward, with his position facing straight ahead on the couch and Lone seated beside him, not to mention his much larger frame, which proved to be difficult to fully embrace; but, after a moment, he managed to bring an arm around Lone in an effort to return the gesture, allowing them to sink further into the security of his chest.

The pair remained this way for a few moments, both pressing the other firmly to them as they relaxed into the contact and grew more comfortable. Fawkes was certainly unused to the action, but his contentment was palpable in the way he slowly gave into Lone’s touch, leaning his head against theirs and clutching at them just a bit tighter before finally slackening and pulling away.

“Thank you, Lone. It is hard to feel… lost for such a long time.” His usually gruff voice came out like tattered silk as it was softened by the emotion accompanying it, and they couldn’t help but notice as Fawkes’s hand remained settled over their shoulder, still seeming to steady himself with the unwavering contact.

“Lone, how am I ever going to repay your kindness when you continue to assist me in so many ways each and every day? Your friendship is truly unparalleled.” Lone smiled at that, chuckling slightly at the sincerity of his words.

“Some people just… need more help than others.” They told him, “I’m happy to keep helping you every day, even if you can never repay me for it. That’s what people do when they care about each other, Fawkes. Love isn't a commodity to be bought and sold, at the expense of one and the gain of another; it’s something you reciprocate on your own terms, something you give to yourself and others without condition or expectation of gaining anything in return.”

Fawkes nodded his head slowly, eyes unfocused as he thought through Lone’s words.

“If that’s the case… Then, right now, I vow to love you as you say I should. Unconditionally. And hopefully that will be enough.”

Jericho:

     The ex-raider collapsed with a groan, burying his head, face first, into the plush pillows atop their mattress. His rifle and bits of armor were strewn throughout the Tenpenny apartment, and Lone strolled behind him, trying to kick his things into a somewhat organized pile as they too tried to make themself more comfortable. 

Bits of armor clattered to the floor as Lone made their way to their shared bed, smiling exasperatedly at their companion, stretched across the entirety of the mattress, preventing them from settling beside him.

  I’m tired too, you know. They thought, releasing a puff of air as they considered how to go about solving this little problem of theirs. Lone tried dropping their bag beside the bed, the loud thud sounding as close to his ear as they could get it without physically hitting him with the sack, but Jericho didn’t even flinch. They clicked their tongue, peering around the room as they searched for a way to rouse him. As Lone started towards their shelves lining the wall of the hotel room, eyes set on the plethora of miscellaneous items they might be able to use to their advantage, a raucous snore erupted from within the plushness of their pillow-clad mattress. Lone groaned, turning about to face him before starting back towards the bed. Fine, you don’t want to make room for me? I’ll make it work anyways.

Lone approached the unconscious ex-raider, poking at the firmness of his back, testing, before hopping up in the air to land, stomach-first, on top of their companion. 

“What the shit?! The fuck you think you’re doing?” He grumbled through the thick fabric.

“Just making myself comfortable.” Lone shifted their hips and shoulders, settling themself more firmly onto Jericho’s back. 

“And you’re expectin’ me to put up with this shit?” He lifted his head, straining his neck to glare back at them questioningly. 

“I really don’t see what you can do about it, old timer.” Lone leaned forward, digging an elbow into the back of his ribcage as they brought their mouth to his ear. They felt him tense at the pressure, bringing one of his arms back awkwardly as he tried to find a grip on them. Lone swatted his hand away with theirs, leaning onto their other side to avoid his flailing limb. As he felt their weight shift, Jericho twisted his body in an attempt to overturn them, but Lone instead decided to bring their arms around his shoulders, clinging to him so that their body shifted with his as he tried to roll them off. 

“Mother fucker--” Lone began to giggle at his frustrated growls, as he rose, propping himself up on his elbows, with Lone still gripping him firmly, arms wrapped tight across his chest. He paused his thrashing, and Lone felt him shifting his head downwards, extending his neck to reach for something with his mouth… 

“Ow-- Hey!” Jericho took a part of their wrist into his mouth, biting down hard, causing their grip to loosen, and at the opportunity, he decided to throw himself backwards onto the mattress, effectively crushing Lone beneath him. They felt the breath get knocked out of them as he landed, now settling himself on top of them, grinding the back of his head into their chest in an effort to make himself more comfortable in the most obnoxious way possible. 

Well… that could have gone better, but hey, at least now I’m on the bed. 

“Alright, you win.” They said, their voice coming out strained due to the pressure on their lungs. 

“Damn right I do. Old timer… fuck you.” Lone laughed at that, reveling in the way he took their name calling so seriously. 

“Alright, alright. I get the point, can you get off me now?” 

“Nah. I think I like this. It’s real comfortable. Think I’ll just sleep this way.” Lone groaned at him, trying weakly to tousle him off their body before giving up with a loud sigh, being sure to blow their hot breath of frustration straight onto the top of his head. They felt his body shudder. 

“Fuckin’ fine, little tike, I’ll get off.” 

“Uck, don’t call me that.” Lone said as he rolled off of them, falling onto the mattress at their side. They peered over at him to see his reaction, pleased at the dark-eyed glare that bore into them, a glint of humor shining in their depths. 

“Look, I’m allowed to complain,” They told him, shifting onto their side so they could see him better. “You friggin’ bit me.” The ex-raider smiled deviously at that.

“Hmm. Yeah, I did. And I’m about to do it again.” With that, he lunged at them, an arm wrapped around their waist to hold them in place as his teeth met their neck. 

“Hey! What the--?” A moment later, the sharp pain dissolved away and was replaced by something soft as Jericho pressed his lips to the tender spot, soothing over the mark he had left. Lone’s eyes fell closed as his mouth moved up to their jaw, peppering kisses as it moved across their jawline to their chin, before finally drawing upwards to meet their lips. 

“I hope you know.” Lone heard him say as he pulled away from them, “This ain’t over yet.” They felt the mattress shift as he collapsed back onto it, and they smiled at his words, scooting closer so they could throw an arm over his stomach as they pressed their head to the crook beneath his shoulder. Lone meant to say something cheeky in response, but before they could utter a word, they felt themself dissolve into sleep as the soft sound of Jericho’s snores filled their ears.

Here is the original post with the Fallout 4 M!Companions

Here is the post with Fallout New Vegas M!Companions

[reidsmemory]

Echo

Spencer Reid

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Y/N is abducted while working a case and the team has to find her before it’s too late.

Genre: Fluff with a touch of angst

Warnings: Mention of death of minor character, torture

not my gif!

The team had been looking into case that had targeted girls with Y/H/C hair and Y/E/C eyes. All had looks strikingly similar to you and if anyone were to see either one of the victims in a room with you, they would say you were related. You all had been on the case for about a week now and you were still no where close to catching this guy. 

     “Agent Y/L/N,” a voice called as you whipped your head to face them, “these came in for you,” the officer was holding a bouquet of red roses with a small white card on the top of it. 

      “Do you know who these are from?” you asked as he shook his head and walked away. 

      “What does the note say?” Emily asked as the whole team had watched the interaction. 

     You opened the envelope and read the note as you furrowed your brows, “echo.” The team looked at each other with puzzled faces, “what the hell is that suppose to mean? Have we already dealt with this unsub?” The rest of team began theorizing as the same officer walked up to you again.

     “Agent, we’ve got someone that say he needs to speak to you.”

      “Can’t they come here?” Hotch asked, getting defensive.

      “He says that he won’t go into a place of justice, whatever that means,” the officer began to lead you as the rest of the team followed. You began walking towards the entrance of the station as the officer looked around for the mystery man. “He was just here,” the man spoke. 

      “Spence,” you spoke out as your boyfriend looked to you before you collapsed on the ground. You head hit the flooring as a ringing sounded in your ears as well as their being two of everything. Two Spencer’s holding your head, two Hotch’s yelling and pointing fingers, two lights blinding you from seeing anything. 

     What felt like hours later you were being lifted onto a bed. Two men had arrived with an ambulance as shouting and yelling was all that was heard. “Are you family, sir?” the first responder asked as Spencer opened him mouth and closed it again, “I didn’t think so, you all can follow in cars.” The man said as his colleague gave him as weird look as the both of them lifted you into the ambulance as the rest of the team rushed to get their keys and get into the SUVs.

     The ambulance sped off as the sirens wailed and your team rushed to the cars. “What in the fresh hell?” Derek said as he looked at the tires on one of the SUVs. “My tires are popped, what about you, Hotch?” 

     “Same here,” the raven haired man said. 

     “It’s a set up,” Reid spoke as fear flooded his face. 

***

     You awoke in a cabin where you had been tired to a chair and had a gag on your mouth. Your vision still hazy and your thoughts even hazier. 

     “Oh good, you’re up,” a male voice said from the corner of the room. You tried to get a good look at him, but he stayed in the shadows. “Ben Cyrus,” he said as you furrowed your eyebrows. The name sounded so familiar, but you couldn’t quite remember where you had heard it before. 

      “Who are you?” you asked as the man chuckled. “Let me go, I’ll talk to my team and we can work this out.” He scoffed at your words and began to walk towards you. 

     “Ben Cyrus. He ran the greatest church known to man and you,” his face was hardened and his eyes had a crazed look in them, “took away our faith!” He struck his hand across your face as a burning sensation filled your cheek. 

     It all rushed back to you. A few year back you, Prentiss, and Reid had all gone undercover in a cult-like church. The leader, Benjamin Cyrus, had been suspected of child abuse and sexual harassment and the government had wanted the BAU to get involved. 

     “I remember,” you said as the man smiled. 

     “Good, Agent,” he grabbed a chair from the side of the room and brought it over to sit across from you. “Now,” he started again, “you might not know me. My name is Joey Cyrus and I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I’d be lyin’,” he studied you as you did the same.

     “What do you want, Joey?” 

     “Well my daddy would be nice for one, but I don’t believe you have the power to do that. So you’ll do just fine,” he got up from his chair and walked over to the bag that you had seen from the corner of your eye. He dumped the contents on the ground in front of you and a spill of tools came out. A hammer, pliers, a baseball bat, a few knives, and other things that could do damage. “Let’s get to know each other.”

***

     Back at the station, Spencer was frantically trying to figure out who had taken you and why. The note on the roses had been laced with a medicinal herb that had knocked you out and the ambulance had been found in a ditch on the highway with all but one of the first responders on it. The medics had been killed in a brutal way that even made Spencer sick to his stomach as he thought about what this guy was doing to you.

     “Reid,” Hotch’s voice broke his train of thought as he met eyes with the older man. “Go ahead, Garcia.”

     “Alright. Our mystery medic is Joseph Mulgrew , he moved to Utah just a few years ago and before that he has been off the map,” Garcia told the team. “This guy, he’s like a ghost. No records of his name anywhere else and no former address of any kind.”

     “Did you say Mulgrew?” Spencer said as the team looked at him.

     “Yes I did Doctor, what about it?”

     “Look up Joseph Cyrus,” Spencer told her as they heard the taps of Garcia’s keyboard. The team looked at him for an explanation, “Benjamin Cyrus, he was an unsub we had.”

     “Yeah,” Emily started, “he was that guy that ran that church and...” she trailed off as the team got the gist of what she was saying. 

     “He was Charles Mulgrew before he made a come back at the church. It could be possible that he has unknown family, considering what he was really doing all those years,” Spencer explained, “Garcia, how old is Joseph?” 

     “He is 27 years of age and the good doctor is right. Joey here changed his name like dear old dad and oh...” Penny trailed off.

     “Penny?” JJ asked.

     “Joseph has been in and out of jail and juvie for as long as I can see. Charged with assault, petty theft, and oh my. Domestic abuse filed by his ex-wife who looks a lot like our Y/N,” a sounding on their tablets was heard as they opened it and saw a woman very similar to you.

     “But Spencer and I went undercover too, why would he pick Y/N?” Emily said as she immediately started to solve the puzzle, “you think it’s because of the looks of the ex-wife?”

     “I think so,” Rossi mumbled, “Penelope pull up the most current address to Joe and anything that could be used to store Y/N.”

     “I’ve got a home address and a storage unit and they have all been sent to your phones! Go crime fighters and get our princess back!” Penelope told them.

     “Thanks, Baby Girl,” Morgan hung up the phone.

     “Reid with me and JJ. Rossi, Morgan, and Prentiss take the storage. We’ll have to use squad cars until the SUVs are fixed so lets go get Y/L/N,” Hotch ordered as they all nodded ad went to the parking lot. 

***

     You muffled your screams and grunts as Joey had began to carve into your stomach. He laughed as you clenched your teeth and held your hands in fists, surely four crescent shaped cuts were to be found on the inside of your palms if you opened them. “You son of a bitch,” you struggled to get out as Joey wiped the knife off on your pants. 

     “Don’t you talk about my mama that way, girl. I’ll make sure you regret it.” You received at blow to the side of your face. You spit out the blood that formed in your mouth as Joey began to take the other tools out from his collection. “These look nice, don’t they, girl?” He held up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter as he popped one in his mouth.

     “Those things kill,” you said remembering Spencer tell you countless facts about the ‘cancer sticks’ as both of you had nicknamed them. “On second thought, why don’t you just keep smoking them.”

     He laughed, “you are a firecracker. My daddy always said the young ones are.” He stroked your hair as you tried to move back.

     “Your dad was sick in the head and you are too,” you spoke with such tenacity. 

     He looked at you blankly, “I thought I said you don’t speak of my family like that,” he took the cigarette from his mouth and stuck it on your exposed collar bone. 

     You grunted as he held your face in free hand. He leaned into your ear and whispered, “I want to hear those screams, girl.” He press the cigarette into your skin further, finally inciting a small scream to slip past your lips. “Good.”

***

     The team had arrived at both locations and there was no sign that you were there. Spencer paced around with his hands in is hair as the rest of the team was now even more worried than before, if that was possible. The team had no idea where you could be and if you were even alive. It had been at least 13 hours since you had dropped in the lobby and it was eating Spencer and the team alive.

     “You have nothing?” JJ asked Garcia over the phone,.

     “No, i’m sorry. I’ll keep looking and-” she was cut off by Spencer who had just had a revelation. 

     “Garcia, make sure the jet is ready. I think I know where Y/N is.”

***

     On the jet Spencer had explained the note and how it read ‘echo’ as saying that Joey might want to recreate the explosion at the church and now the team had touched down in Colorado where they got in SUVs to go to the church’s location. 

     A swat team followed them along the dirt roads that were bumpy and the night sky that was dark. The sun was starting to rise in the distance. Spencer remembered you always saying, ‘the same beams but a new day,’ and that made him the tiniest bit hopeful that they would find you in this new day. 

     The church came into view as they could see it was now a smaller wooden building. “What the hell,” Morgan said from the drivers seat as he say the building, “this guy built up a whole new structure to what? Avenge his father’s death?” The car came to a stop as the team hopped out of the car and Hotch began to go over the plan with the others.

     “From the front-” he was cut off by a ear piercing scream that came from no one other than you. Spencer looked at his boss in worry as Hotch returned the look and started again, “let’s go.”

     Joey drove a knife into your stomach as you screamed loudly. He left it in your body and quickly grabbed another knife from the ground. “You have got to work out your daddy issues another way,” you told him as he dragged the new knife down the side of your face as it cut into your skin. 

     “You wanna try something different, girl?” You immediately regretted your words and recalled Spence always telling you that your smart mouth was going to get you in trouble some day. He began to unbutton the top of his flannel, but quickly stopped as he heard footsteps in the distance. You heard them too. 

      “Spencer!” you yelled as loud as you could as Joey came over to you and cut the ropes on your ankles and arms as he quickly grabbed you and put a knife to your neck. 

      From the front of the house Spencer could hear your cries as his ears perked up as his heart rate grew faster and Hotch nodded as Morgan kicked the door down. The team moved through the structure and finally Spencer came face to face with you, “Y/N,” he said as you locked eyes with your boyfriend and smiled lightly, despite the situation at hand. 

     “Joseph, put the knife down,” Hotch told the man as the knife just dug deeper into your skin. 

     “I don’t think so,” he took grip on you and made it tighter. “You killed my family. He never did anything but help people in need of his guidance.”

     “Your father ruined the lives of young girls,” Spencer said matter-o-factly. 

     “No! He did them a favor, he gave them the greatest gift he could,” Joey said as he began to move his hand without the knife a bit more. You furrowed your eyebrows as you tried see what he was hold and finally saw a small remote concealed in his hand. 

     You moved your eyes to Hotch’s and blinked rapidly. You just hoped he would pick up on the Morse Code and get everyone out of the building. 

     “Let’s just talk this out, Joey,” Hotch started, “JJ get everyone out, I want to talk to Joey alone.” JJ furrowed her eyebrows at the man but he gave he a stern look as she understood and began to move the team out. 

     “No! Bring them back!” Joey yelled, “or she dies.” Spencer looked at JJ as she tried to get him to leave the building, but he refused to move so she quickly called Morgan who grabbed Reid as he struggled against him.

     “I can’t leave her!” he told them and Morgan ignored his pleas and called a couple SWAT members to help him with the genius. 

     “As much as I like her, I’ll do it,” Joey said as he continued to watch the men and women exist the building. “Bring them back!” Joey yelled as his grip on you faltered for a second which you took advantage of as you got out from his grasp and struggled to take the device from his hand. 

     “Go!” you yelled at Hotch but he jumped in and started to help you as the three of you wrestled and quickly the device was flung across the doorway to another room. You all freezed before you grabbed Hotch’s hand and dragged him towards the back of the building. 

     The team waited outside for Hotch and you as Reid screamed at Morgan, “you have to let me go back in there!”

     “You can’t Kid, you heard Hotch!” Morgan yelled back as the rest of the team cringed at the fight. “I know all of us want to go back in there, but we can’t! You gotta understand that, Kid!”

     “No! You don’t understand!” Spencer screamed, “she’s all I have! I didn’t even get to tell her that I love her! That I have been in love with her since that stupid dinner at that Thai restaurant in California!” 

     “That was two years ago...” JJ mumbled.

     “Yeah! Two years! I’ve only been with with her for a couple months now and I haven’t even told her!” Everyone’s hearts pained as they heard Spencer’s cries and saw the liquid that dripped down his cheeks. “I can’t-”

     All head turned as the house exploded a safe distance away from them. The orange flames roared as the team had their mouths’ open in shock.

     “No,” Rossi and JJ whispered at the same time. 

     Morgan’s grip on Reid was gone as he watched the flames and turned to Emily who had had disbelief and horror over her face. 

     Spencer’s mind raced a mile every second and now his mind was completely blank of everything but you. Your face, your smile, your eyes, your lips, your laugh, your touch, your everything. Spencer ran towards the flames as the team yelled after him. 

     “Spencer,” JJ’s voice breaking as she leaned into Rossi’s embrace. 

     “Kid. Come on, don’t do this,” Morgan called as Emily just watched in disbelief with a gaping mouth and teary eyes.

     Spencer didn’t care about their calls, he needed to find you. He scanned the firery rubble for any sign of you or Hotch, but there wasn’t any. Just ash and fallen wood covered in sweltering heat. “Y/N!” he yelled out, “Y/N! Hotch!” Spence continued to look through the wall of intense heat and for a second he saw a delicate hand reach up through the burning wood. “Y/N,” he whispered to himself as he began to walk through the blazing fire that threatened to burn his body and ruin his lungs. 

     He moved a piece of wood off of where he saw your hand and saw you and Hotch laying side by side. “Guys!” he screamed at his friends, “help!” The team gave each other confused faces before coming over to Spencer. JJ gasped as she saw your form next to Hotch’s as tears of joy spilled from her faces. Her and Emily joined hands as they worked to get the wood off of you. 

     “Medic!” Rossi yelled as people began to rush over to help. 

     Morgan and Reid worked to get a big piece of debris off of the two of you. Hotch’s eyes opened and he immediately looked to his side where you had been, holding his hand tightly. He coughed violently as the medics lifted him up and brought him to the ambulance. You blinked a few times and saw Spencer standing over you. 

     “Hey, can you hear me?” he asked as you gave him a thumbs up and he laughed at the simple gesture. He brought you up for and embrace as you struggled to keep your eyes open. The medic came over to you and began to carry you away as Spencer and the team followed you and Hotch to the ambulance. 

      “Can I?” he asked one of the nurses as she nodded and he climbed into the ambulance and held your hand as you drifted off to sleep.

***

     When you woke up, blinding lights had been the first thing you saw. The second was Spencer who was asleep in a chair next to your bed, his head resting on the bed and his fingers interlaced with your own. You blinked a few times and saw the rest of the team in the room with you. Hotch was in bed identical to yours, but he was up and had his eye focused on the TV in front of him. By his side was JJ and Morgan as the conversed with each other in hushed voices. Penny was writing in a card with a sparkling pink pen as she handed it off to Rossi who smiled lightly at her. Emily was just outside your room as you saw her talking with a nurse or doctor; rather it looked more like arguing.

     Derek glanced over to you briefly as he then turned back to JJ and then back to you. “You’re up,” he said quietly, a contrast to his usual booming voice. Everyone looked to you as you smiled.

     “You gave us quite a scare, Y/L/N,” Hotch said as you laughed quietly which then turned into a cough. 

     “Em! Get a nurse or doctor!” Penny exclaimed as Emily rushed and called a nurse in the hallway. JJ got up from her seat and made her way over to your bed.

     She examined your face before hugging you tightly. “God, you can never do that to us again,” she chuckled as you rubbed her back. You felt a few tears fall on your shoulders as JJ pulled away and wiped her cheeks. “He’ll be happy to see you,” she gestured to Spencer.

     “Glad to have you back, kiddo,” Rossi told you with a smile, “you need anything?” As soon as he said that a doctor walked into your room and started to go over your condition.

     “You are very lucky, Agent Y/L/N” she started, “you have a mild concussion and that wound on your abdomen will take some time to heal over. You received first and second degree burns all over your legs, arms, and torso, just like Agent Hotchner. Your eardrums are very fragile and I recommend no flying for at least 3 weeks. Your face has some minor bruising and cuts that should heal over time.” She set her chart down. “The both of you should be able to leave in a few days time, but for now just relax.”

     “Thank you,” you said as she smiled.

     “Dinner will be up in a few minutes,” with that she left and Morgan was seen grinning widely. 

     “What?” you said.

     “She didn’t mention one thing.” You furrowed your brows at his words and he started to rub his head which just made you more confused.

     “I have a concussion, you’re going to have to actually say it.” He laughed at your words.

     “Do you think pretty boy will like the new haircut?” he asked as it finally clicked and you ran your fingers through your hair. 

     “Oh my, God,” you said as everyone laughed. “Oh my, God!” you repeated as Emily handed you a mirror and as you brought it up to your face your jaw dropped. Your hair was cut in jagged parts, but none shorter than your chin. The team laughed as you continued to gape at your reflection.

     “Some of your hair ended up burning off, just a bit,” Emily said as you looked at her with wide eyes. She laughed as you began to laugh too and soon everyone joined in as you all smiled at your stupidly, funny haircut.

     Spencer rubbed his eyes as he saw your smiling face and immediately hugged you tightly. “Thank Goodness,” he whispered as he pulled back from the embrace. “Why are we laughing?” he asked as you gestured towards your hair and smiled widely at the tall man.

     “Is this gonna be a deal breaker, babe?” his cheeks flushed at the nickname.

     He laughed a bit, “no, I still love you,” he said as the team froze at what he said as did he.

     “Awh, I love you more, Spence,” you told him without skipping a beat as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

     “Even if you do kinda look like David Bowie,” he said as you opened your mouth and smacked his arm playfully.

     “Spencer Reid!”

[bloodstainedxmelody-a]

The beast's eyes shoot open the moment they're edging back to consciousness. Ethereal crimson orbs that shine with their own infernal power. Remaining that way as he naturally tries his bonds, not struggling too hard but just seeing where he's bound, finding himself in an awkward position with not a lot of leeway. However the restraints aren't made of silver or holy materials it seems. First mistake when trying to hold a vampire. So he considers the ways he can escape. Half expecting a hunter's blade to be at his throat or a gleaming stake aimed at his heart. He was taught never to let the vampire wake up unless secure.

The slithering serpent he takes notice of when his mind finally fully wakes however quells those fears. Ah. That's right. He was still in hell. Leonora was going to give him an earful if she knew he got caught by being so careless. It's just a sinner 'demon' though. Former human. He blinks and the red of his eyes recedes back to form more human looking irises, revealing the white of his sclera. Slit pupils revealing themselves as well.

Though he keeps his expression deliberately neutral as the other looms and speaks. Knowing better then to betray any sense of unease or fears. Inwardly he muses that under different circumstances the threat of torture, the binds and knives is just another Thursday night at the castle. Though he doubts his safeword will work on this hissing stranger. Examining him in return. He hasn't seen a demon like him before. Appreciating the various eyes and shape of his hood. Reminded of his beloved nagas and gorgons. A shame for the humanity of his soul. He was no true monster.

He ends up a bit cross eyed staring at the blade hovering so close to his face. If it's not silver or blessed then he'd find that any incisions he made would stitch themselves back together. At least until Dante ran out of blood reserves and the means in which to regenerate as quickly.

"Well since you asked so nicely~" He begins. Eyes closed and head turned to rest against the slab he's on, as much as the brace around his throat will allow. Voice as confident and 'charming' (or arrogant depending on who you asked) as ever despite the circumstances, "One. I don't recognize the borders you human types made when cutting up the city as this circle of hell belongs rightfully to Lucifer and the hell born. Plus I'm not bound by any of your rules, real or made up. So I can go wherever the god damn I please, thank you very much. Two. Through the use of magic and forbidden arts. And three."

He snaps his head back straight in an instant with incredible speed and bites through the scalpel held so close and threateningly to his face. Almost catching the sinner's fingers in the process but missing them with his razor sharp fangs. His throat protests with some mild discomfort and easy enough to ignore pain from the action, as he doesn't have much room to pull the act off. The cost of his theatrics. But he's gotta make his own impression. Spitting the metal blade out to the side. Considerate enough not to spit directly at his capturer. Not yet at least, he'll wait till the guy pisses him off first to do something like that.

"I'm a fuck mothering vampire." He growls out with a rumble from his chest. Narrowing his eyes and meeting the demon's gaze straight on. Baring his teeth in a wide cocky grin.

@bloodstainedxmelody

This predicament was quite the vexing one, one that Pentious wasn’t quite sure how to deal with. But at the same time, a potential opportunity, nonetheless. A creature, infernal in nature, given it’s clearly monstrous features and it’s lack of any obvious celestial ones, but yet one that was not that of Hell, as they were also all too human in appearance, despite the presence of such massive fangs and deadly looking talons. It was something that had Pentious puzzle to himself as his eyes narrowed, hood splayed and shivering, letting out a menacing rattle as he gazed toward his captive, bound on a metal table by cuffs that not only clamped over his wrists, but his elbows, his ankles, his neck, his chest, his knees, all the way to his ankles. He was not taking any chances with this strange beast, this monster that somehow found itself in his clutches, and he intended to make that clear as he slowly moves to pick up a metal scalpel from a nearby surgical tray, covered in various arrays of vicious looking knives, scissors, saws, and various other cutting instruments of torture, gleaming and glittering in the harsh lights that shone down from above.

His own eyes were glowing, a dark, deep pink, and he made sure to push himself up on his coils to loom above his captive, his shadow creeping over the table and blotting out the light that surrounded them, menacing and malevolent. “It would do you well to avoid ssssstruggling. You’re not getting out of those bindssss any time soon. I made certain of that.” His voice is a low, slithering hiss, his tongue flicking free of his fangs to slither through the air, and he moves to bring the scalpel down, slowly, until it was hovering right in front of the creature’s nose, right where he could see it. “Now then…You’re going to explain to me jusssst what you were doing around my territory, just how you got into Hell when you clearly aren’t a demon, and, mosssst importantly, jusssst what the Hell you are. Or elssssse I may have to sssstart taking ssssamples to figure it out mysssself..” He gestures with a flick of his tail toward his tray of various torture tools. “Sssso please. Sssstart talking.”