#why does everyone have some sort of thing with lab rats now

[stabbynunchuckss]

I have a friend who adopts retired lab rats and now my brain is combining that with all ur lab whump posts. Whumpee who was used for experiment after experiment and Lab Whumper finally runs out of uses for them. So then Pet Whumper sweeps in and takes them home and everything is so different, but it's better, isn't it? Sure, Whumpee doesn't love the collar and they wish they were allowed on the furniture, but they only have scars now, no more wounds. They don't wake up every day wondering what experiment is coming next, hoping Whumper will be generous enough to give them painkillers, so why would they complain about still sleeping in a cage?

RAAAAAHHHHHHHH

#THIS IS AMAZING #why does everyone have some sort of thing with lab rats now #you're the second person #whump #stabby answers asks #animal experimentation

[cricket-reader]

Treasure Left Unprotected…

Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox

Summary: Bucky remembers someone from his time at Hydra in a nightmare and goes to find them.

Warnings: language, Bucky’s guilt/self-hatred, death, grief, crying, message in blood

Word Count: 1612

Prompt: "Get in." | Sobbing | Survivor's Guilt | Salve

A/N: Day 2 of June of Doom by @juneofdoom

Bucky woke from nightmares almost every night. He didn’t want them to be real; he wanted them to stop. But they always haunted him, a memory of what was—each terrifyingly real in their own way. It only would take him a few minutes for him to give up on sleep altogether.

Sometimes his dreams revealed things to him; things that had previously been missing from his fried brain. But nothing was as shocking as this nightmare.

It wasn’t a conventional nightmare from his time at Hydra. Nothing like the electroshock therapy or missions he went on.

It had been the aftermath of a mission gone wrong. But it wasn’t the Soldier who was punished, not in the physical sense anyway. No, his punishment got passed onto someone else. A woman. A woman that the Winter Soldier seemed to care about if his screams and pounding at the wall were anything to go by.

His screams went on until Bucky couldn’t stand it anymore and finally woke himself up.

That dream was why he was there now. In Stark’s lab, trying to find anything he could on the woman that was with him. The Hydra files had been leaked, so she had to be in there somewhere. He jumped when he heard a voice next to him.

“Didn’t Rogers tell you not to go looking up stuff about yourself?” Tony Stark questioned, peeking over Bucky’s shoulder.

“Stark! Oh, uh…. What are you doing here?”

“It is my lab, isn’t it?” Tony questioned, a sarcastic grin on his face. He watched Bucky try to hide whatever he was searching behind his back.

“Right, of course,” Bucky mumbled, “but it’s like three in the morning.”

“Well, when Friday alerts me that someone is in my lab, I have to go check it out, right?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you… I just wanted… well, I just wanted to find something.”

“Nightmare?”

“Huh?”

“You had a nightmare and something came back to you, am I right?”

“How…” Bucky looked so lost. How did this man know? He’s never interacted with him much due to the fact that his alter ego killed Stark’s parents. They had a sort of agreement: you stay away from me, I’ll stay away from you.

“Rogers talks, gives me updates on how you’re doing.”

Bucky came to a conclusion: “Because you don’t trust me.”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t say that. I just want to know how your recovery is coming along.”

“And why would you want to know that?”

“I’m not a heartless monster despite what everyone seems to think,” Tony sardonically countered, a rueful smile on his face. Sure he’s made mistakes in the past, but so does everyone else. He just had his mistakes laid out for the world to see since he was young. The pitfalls of fame. “So, what are you looking for?”

Bucky sighed. He wasn’t sure he wanted anyone to know about her. He didn’t want her to come to the tower and be some lab rat. It hadn’t happened to him, but he couldn’t be too sure when it came to her.

On the other hand, if anyone could find this mysterious girl, it would be Stark.

Bucky looks back at Tony who is looking at him expectantly. “There was this girl…”

Tony raised a brow, unsure to where this was going.

“She was a captive with me… I think…”

“Another one of you?”

“No! No, she was different… I’m pretty sure, at least.”

“So what? You want to go rescue her?”

Bucky sighed, his head down. “I just feel like I owe her, y’know? I just left her there. All on her own.”

Tony frowned. Everything in him was telling him it was a bad idea. “And what if she’s not like how you remember? What then?”

“I don’t know!” Bucky runs his hand through his hair. “We could take her to Wakanda?”

“And how would we get her to agree to come with us in the first place?”

“Stark, please. I don’t ask for much. I didn’t even ask for you to provide me with a home. Maybe I haven’t earned any favours from you, but I’ll just have to owe you some more, okay?”

Tony frowned. “Sure, Terminator. Whatever you say.”

“Wait, what? You’ll-you’ll help me?” Bucky looked so confused, like a lost puppy almost.

“Don’t tell the rest of the team, but I actually don’t hate you… not as much anyway.” Tony shrugged, brushing Barnes aside so he could do some research. “She have a name?”

“They always called her Angel ‘cause she had wings, I s’pose,” Bucky shrugged, looking at the ground.

“How original.”

Bucky hummed at Stark’s quip, blanking out.

His mind went to a time when they were together. In his cell. Where he stayed until he was needed, had to be reset, or had to be put back in cyro. The soldier liked that cell. It meant safety to him. The only semblance of comfort the Winter Soldier ever received.

He remembered.

Gentle hands on his torn flesh, mending every blemish on his body. Gentle kisses on his hairline through the pain. Encouraging words, getting him through his dismal life. She was one of the good ones—no, the only good one.

“Found her!” Stark smiled, looking at Barnes who had snapped out of his trance upon hearing the billionaire. “Says they relocated her to Austria.”

Bucky furrowed his brows. Austria? Why there? Hydra never took him there. In hindsight, that was probably why they took her there. So that their former asset didn’t come looking for her at the bases he had been dragged to.

“I’m going there now,” Bucky grumbled, stalking out the door.

“Wait up there, buddy. You’re not going without a team.”

“I can’t be reprogrammed. The Wakandans got rid of everything.”

“That’s not why, Barnes. This could be a trap and Steve would kill me if he were to find out I left you to go out there alone.”

Tony sighed, noticing Bucky’s unwavering stance. “You owe me one, yeah? I’m calling in a favour.”

Bucky spluttered. “That’s not- why- I didn’t mean…”

“Go to bed Barnes. Get some rest. We’ll have a team ready bright and early.”

The next morning, bright and early as Stark had promised, a jet was being loaded up. Tony, Steve, Sam, and of course, Bucky were all geared up to go.

They arrived in Austria not long after. They had a while to walk, but Bucky knew it was going to be worth it. Seeing her again would be worth everything. He needed her like he needed oxygen to breathe. That part of the Winter Soldier was all that seemed to remain. The part that loved Angel.

When they arrived at the base, it was deserted. No one was there at all. There were no heat signatures, and no Hydra soldiers trying to kill the group of Avengers.

“Are you sure this is the place, Stark?” Sam questioned.

“It’s gotta be,” Stark frowned, examining his surroundings.

“Maybe we’re too late,” Steve said, caution lacing his words. He could only imagine how much this woman meant to his best friend with how he had been acting.

Bucky froze in front of one of the cells, his face blank.

“You find something, Barnes?” Tony called out, noticing him pause.

Bucky’s heart had stopped upon seeing the figure in the cell. Her white wings were painted an ugly crimson colour as was the rest of her body. She was mutilated for lack of better words. He could tell it was her, though. They had left her face in pristine condition. Almost as if to mock him. Crimson letters across the wall read: “You’re too late, Солдат.”

His heart shattered. Tears that he didn’t know he still had from all the years of torture and abuse streamed down his face. He didn’t even realise he was screaming until Steve pulled him into his arms.

Steve shushed him, reassuring words falling on deaf ears. He turned Bucky away from the horrible sight, brushing his hand through his hair in a comforting gesture. They rocked back and forth as Bucky sobbed.

It wasn’t fair. It was so fucking unfair. Why did he get to live? He was a monster that didn’t deserve to get out of Hydra alive. She was the embodiment of good. She deserved so much better. She deserved to make it out of Hydra alive. It was his fault that she died.

No pain medication, no salve, no bandage could make it better—the ache in his heart. She had meant the world to him. In a world of pain and misery, she was the only good thing. She was a treasure that he should have protected.

“Guys this place is set to blow! We need to get out of here, now!” Tony yelled.

Steve tried to get Bucky up, he tried to make Bucky run out of there with him. All Bucky kept murmuring was that he deserved to die. He didn’t protect his Angel. He should die with her.

Steve had to carry him out of that building in a fireman’s carry. Call him selfish, but Steve could not let his friend down again.

“C’mon, get in!” Stark urged, having flown in his Iron Man suit to get the jet closer.

It was something straight out of a movie the way that they flew out of there, explosion in the background. In any other context it would have been a cool moment. The team couldn’t, however, seem to care.

The ride back to the tower was nearly silent. All that could be heard was the engine and Bucky’s whimpering cries.

#marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu fic #avengers fanfiction #domestic avengers #avengers angst #avengers fluff #mcu whump #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes one shot #bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #bucky angst #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fic #steve rogers #sam wilson #tony stark #marvel angst #angst #bucky barnes x oc #marvel #the avengers #june of doom #bucky barnes

[honeybunhalo]

Kara/Lena adopt Superboy AU Notes (Part 1)

I’m finally delivering on the content for this Supercorp AU

This is a Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor and Superboy (Kon-El) centric story. Specifically focused on exploration of one's identity and how you define yourself with the many aspects of your life and choices you made as well as what you consider important and precious to you. The effects of being constrained by how you were born and finding those who love you for who you are and don't ask you to change the core of your being to fit in. — this is not an action packed story at all.

Here are some of the ideas I have for this or things I thought Kon had in common with Lena and Kara that I find compelling.

Lena concepts:

Lena gets to know another Luthor, her biological nephew, who isn’t a trash person and is someone to not just for her to protect but who’s existence assures her that it isn’t blood that makes someone bad and maybe she isn’t so different from other people and she’s not “irredeemable”. Sometimes he reminds her of her older brother when he was kind to her growing up. Likewise, everyone usually sees the Lex in Kon as an inherently bad thing and thus he learns to hide it and hate himself for it. Lena presents an alternate because she remembers bittersweetly a simpler time when she looked up to her brother. Not everyone sees the Luthor genes in him as a threat, Lena finds it comforting to be able to help someone like her in a way she was never helped as a young girl. 

Lena thinks she can’t interact with kids well, much less the kid Lex had grown in a lab, but she totally warms up to him and can talk to him about familial rejection (via Clark) and if it’s because he’s a Luthor and if that makes him wrong. Is it because he’s artificial? Is it because he’s some strange illegitimate lab child? Smothering this kid with love and protection.

Plus Kon is like Kara in more than just being kryptonian but also in dorkiness. Lena’s life is just trying to wrangle an overpowered golden retriever and her lab puppy. She can’t stay mad at them for long.

Lena finding she is capable of loving and being loved and being with Kara makes it harder to ignore the crush she has on Kara. They talk together about love and acceptance now they have a shared kid they don’t want to hide personal things from that could later hurt him and many things become open secrets in their now shared house. Soon enough, it becomes obvious she needs to be truthful with Kara about her own feelings for her. 

Lena could learn about the difficulties of hiding being an alien that Kara had to deal with and the onslaught and exhaustion of developing powers in young kryptonians. She gets to see first hand what it does to a child and wonders how that must have affected Kara’s emotional development and sense of self. 

Lillian and Lex won’t get anywhere near this kid if Lena has something to say about it. Lena knows what it’s like to be the odd one out in a family and for people to reject you for simply existing from other people's sins

Kara concepts:

Kara recounts how she felt like a failure waking up on earth to find out Kal had grown up without her. Now she can maybe make peace with that by taking in Kon even if everything that motivates her choices with him is primarily for kons sake. 

Kara can share with another person krypton's history and culture which is something she’s had to keep seperate from her primary identity for years now *cough* it’s almost like she’s an immigrant who has to hide her identity and culture to be accepted and you could use that in the story *cough* 

Kon lived through being created as a lab rat and the only living experiment left. Kara could sympathize with his own grief from her experience with survivors’ guilt. 

Being open with Kon so that he doesn’t feel that same overwhelming pressure when she was told to hide with a human family also gives room for Lena to learn more about the world Kara came from beyond what she knows from interviews from Superman. Having Kara speak openly about her life on Krypton is much more personal and feels much more real than any article could do. 

Teaching Kon how best to control his powers and her and Lena being able to have the resources for him to do so safely 

Alex is very alarmed by the new addition to the family, mostly because how shitty Clark was in relation to the kid. From her perspective, this is not the first time the guy has dumped an unwanted kryptonian child on someone else’s doorstep. Whatever, she gets to buy leather jackets for her new nephew and be scary overprotective of him. “I don’t care if you think you’re nearly invulnerable at your age, do you have ANY IDEA what type of trouble your mother got us into when we were growing up? Or even when she just started hero work?”

Conner Kon-Cepts:

His sort-of-aunts can be his adoptive moms and be much better to him than his biological dads ever were to him in the comic canon. Kon actually being allowed to be close to other Superman family members!!! I need it like the air I breathe. Kon could get to know a Luthor that isn’t trying to hurt him or use him. Someone who defies part of why (Kon thinks) Superman could never accept a thing like him. 

(I have too many things to say to put in a brief bullet point just know that he’s my fav little boy and I think that he deserves parents who would love him unconditionally and Lena and Kara deserve to live a slower life where they can be cute and domestic)

(If he’s raised by these two then I can give a solid reason as to why we just ignore all the blatant misogynistic and horny writing from the 90s comics that made me really uncomfortable and didn’t completely fit with his given backstory especially with how over the top the specialization was. It helps make up for that)

Kon has to deal with being constantly compared to his two genetic fathers mirroring how Kara and Lena both are constantly being compared to Superman and Lex Luthor as they are the female counterparts of those two more infamous members in their respective families

Kara and Kon have very complementary stories and could become what the other needs to fill a hole in each of their hearts. Canon is way too personally tragic. I’d rather have a bittersweet world that’s also soft so I can spend more time with slow paced character analysis.

(In the beginning, Kon’s much more timid given he’s still so young and is coping with being rejected by superman. The tone at the beginning of the story is very serious. As the story unfolds, kon will loosen up to be goofier like his comic counterparts personality)

Both Clark and Lex don’t deserve this kid in any way. If all they are gonna do is mistreat or neglect him in their own ways, Kon is better off with his aunts. 

Conclusion:

Kara and Lena can be happy together by fully trusting themselves with each other in domestic bliss for once AND Kon doesn’t have to cry his eyes out knowing he’s an unwanted experiment child who is “undeserving” of family and home who never got to experience childhood

Everyone who's always saying “you can’t trust a Luthor” better shut their trap when Kara walks in with Kon-El Luthor, her newly adopted son, and her fiancé, Lena Luthor. These new moms will tear you apart if you try to instill that internal hatred of being a Luthor in their son’s young mind. 

Kara and Lena both defying what people say about them and instead raising a well adjusted boy from both their warring families. 

Kon is gonna be raised by a true power couple.

DC refuses to deliver on giving this boy a home or parents so I’m gonna do it instead. Just look at the family they could be together:

(FYI: This has nothing to do with the version of Superboy in the Young Justice cartoon TV show, so if you’re only familiar with that you may be a bit confused about this Superboy who that one was loosely based on. This whole punk fitted kid is indeed a real character and I stay pretty close to his original design from 1993.)

#Supercorp #Supergirl #Kara Danvers #Lena Luthor #Conner Kent #Superboy #Kon-El #Kara Zor-El #my art #my au #Supercorp + Kon AU #Supercorp and Superboy AU #long post #Feel free to comment or tag because I love reading peoples reactions/ideas about this #i just have a lot of feelings about this

[dreamsclock]

Hi! I know you have a lot of asks you need to get through but I wanted to say that I just read that prompt where the Anon talked about Quackity killing Dream where Sam coming to the sobering realization that Dream was still human and I gotta say... that was a fucking banger. But I had an idea that's a little bittersweet in a "lab rat" way. What if Dream's let out, mask off and nearly everyone goes "damn he was human? I thought he was a humanized blanket with a customized paper plate for a face". So everyone is so curious with him. He's obviously not okay so he lives with the Syndicate (or chills out with big brother Foolish!) And people stop by to watch him. Just, like, fascinated by the fact he wasn't a monster at all. He was literally some kid who went mad. Techno, Phil, or Foolish step in and is like "he's not a zoo animal, jerks". But yea.

this was such a good idea !! i’m not sure about what warnings to add for this, so i went overboard to make sure all the right things were tagged,, it’s actually a relatively fluffy fic despite the warnings!!

warnings: blood, injuries, aftermath of torture, trauma, dehumanisation, wounds, near-death experience, trauma responses, abuse

“Hey,” Ranboo says, voice low, gentle, “stop staring.”

Tubbo drags his gaze from Dream, expression guilty, defensive. “I wasn’t.”

“You were a little.” Ranboo squeezes his arm lightly, before turning back to his book. “Don’t make a big deal out of it, okay? It’s fine.”

And it is fine, sort of. Fine in a way that could only ever classify as fine in this SMP, fine in a way that would have anyone outside the server running for a therapist, fine in the only way they all know how to be fine, which is to say, things aren’t devastatingly awful anymore. Dream is quiet and docile, shattered after prison, Ranboo is still recovering from a particularly vicious bout of memory loss while enderwalking (which only seems to be getting worse) that had given him a migraine for day, Tubbo can’t leave his house without taking his nuke button with him (“just in case, Ranboo, just in case I need it”) — yeah, no, they’re messed up, but they’re... They’re fine.

The way Tubbo is looking at Dream is... not fine. There’s such hungry curiosity there, desperation to see the vulnerability and humanity in the face of the man who had almost killed him, and Ranboo can’t blame him, because he’d been the same at first. Nobody has seen Dream without his mask off — nobody except Sapnap, who avoids looking at him whenever they have to see each other — now, everyone jumps at the opportunity to do so.

(“Don’t stare,” Techno had told him gruffly one night before meeting Dream at the Syndicate, “he’s not a zoo animal. Go stare at Steve instead if you want. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ranboo had said dutifully, but it had been hard, so hard, not to stare at the man — not monster, not masked terror — tucked into his chair like it had been drowning him, staring down at the table like his life depended on it.

He has freckles, Ranboo thinks. Dream has freckles.)

“He must’ve laid in the sun a lot before prison,” Tubbo says wonderingly, quiet enough that only Ranboo can hear, but he knows Dream is more than oversensitive to staring, “otherwise his freckles would’ve faded. He has actual freckles, Ranboo. Like me, or Fundy.”

Ranboo sighs, setting his book down, glancing out of the window at Dream, who, along with Techno, is working diligently in the garden to create a nice little area for flowers in the summer. It’s the most strenuous work he can do, and Ranboo knows it exhausts him, and maybe that’s why it’s fascinating to see. It’s not as if he doesn’t understand Tubbo: he does. But after spending a month or two with Dream in the Syndicate, he understands Dream a lot too.

“Tubbo, c’mon.”

“And...” Tubbo darts his eyes away, before they return to Dream, almost in the same second. “And he has a scar. An actual scar. I wonder how he managed to get that. D’you think it was in prison, or before? I wonder if it was Tommy or me or Techno or-”

“Tubbo,” Ranboo says, firmer now, “don’t speculate on his scars. Don’t do that, yeah?”

Tubbo looks instantly guilty, dragging his gaze back to Ranboo. “I didn’t mean to, that wasn’t what I was doing. I just- I didn’t think anything could ever hurt Dream. I didn’t think it was possible. At times I wasn’t even sure he bled human blood.”

Ranboo knows the feeling. It’s why he smiles faintly at Tubbo now, why his voice is still calm and gentle - he knows Tubbo isn’t doing it to be mean or invasive, and it’s why he shuts the curtains for Tubbo’s sake as well as Dream’s, blocking out the outside world and Dream.

“I know,” he tells him, genuine, “but he’s just another guy. I think that’s where everyone went wrong, you know? I think that’s where he went wrong. Thinking he was some sort of evil creature or monster was a big mistake, considering he’s just some guy. I mean-” Ranboo frowns, sitting back down and picking up his book again. “He’s, what, twenty one? That’s only four years older than us.”

Tubbo looks struck. “Jesus Christ.”

“You can say that again.”

“...Jesus Christ.”

Ranboo laughs. “I didn’t mean literally,” he tells him fondly, “but yeah, no, tell me about it. Look, just... treat him as normally as you can, at least in terms of him being maskless now. You don’t have to like him or forgive him - I don’t think I forgive him yet - but just don’t be weird about staring at him, yeah?”

“I know,” Tubbo sighs, looking guilty, “that’s my bad. It’ll just take getting used to. But I’ll stop. I just- didn’t expect him to be so human.”

Ranboo remembers the night Techno had brought Dream home from prison: remembers the fury on the man’s face as he’d laid a semi-conscious Dream down in a chair, remembers Phil coaxing him to take potions while Techno sat by his side for three and a half days to make sure he recovered, remembers being ushered out of the room in stunned silence at the sight of Dream, bloodied, bruised, human, face on display.

“Nobody did,” he says, guilt blooming inside of him, “c’mon. Let’s cook dinner, yeah?”

Tubbo smiles at him, properly smiles at him, and gets to his feet, playfully pulling Ranboo up too, Dream forgotten. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, “but only if we get to have cake afterwards.”

Ranboo laughs, and lets Tubbo pull him into the kitchen.

#> my asks !! #> my writing !! #> syndicate dream au #tw blood #tw injuries #tw injury #tw aftermath of torture #tw torture #tw trauma #tw trauma response #tw dehumanisation #tw wounds #tw near death #tw abuse

[notmrskennedy]

Friendliness

A/N - ha so i just wrote this - no editing we die like men. here’s the alternate ending to my other post Likeability (this one is the more predictable one y’all will probably like whoops) if you’ve read the other one, just skip to the end it’s all the same in the middle 

Summary - The Team meets a very unfriendly scientist which Spencer’s taken a fancy to

W/C - 2.9k (whoops)

Warnings - Mild Anatomy/bones/etc discussion, a pinch and change of swearing

----

Luke is holding his stomach in his hands. He could usually pride himself on keeping his cool, keeping his head—and stomach—together during a case. He’d seen enough dead bodies that this shouldn’t have thrown him like he’d just sailed twelve foot waves in a dingy. 

But he is, after all, standing over a mass grave. Watching a too giddy scientist dig up the bodies. 

You’ve captured everyone’s attention, for various reasons. Rossi is vaguely amused by your joyous shouting of bones and your rat moustached assistant. Luke can’t tear his eyes away from the car wreck—are you supposed to swing bones around like baseball bats? Reid seems more interested in your bad jokes and coveralls than he is in solving the case. 

The rat assistant—Stewart Walsh—squeezes between Luke and Reid, scuttling like some kind of diseased turtle. “Doctor Y/L/N!”

You barely stop pouring over the mud covered pelvis in your hands to even acknowledge him. 

“I just thought you should know that Dr. Evanston just got here.”

You look up, toss the bone to him, and snort. “Tell him the soil samples are four miles due east from here.”

“What’s wrong with Evanston?” Luke asks to no one in particular it seems, waving Stewart off to run for a group of approaching nerds in coveralls. 

Ignoring the question or maybe Luke, you just turn back to your search. Elbow deep in mud, being nice must not have been on the to-do list. Reid leans over, hands in his pockets, and whispers, “Evanston stole one of her research papers. I thought he was going to get his teeth kicked in—“

“Skull!” you holler. Luke isn’t stupid enough to miss the glare reserved for the sheepish Dr. Reid.

He clears his throat. “Thoughts so far, doctor?”

“I’m thinking beetles,” is all you say before turning back to your skull. Luke might not know many scientists, but he doesn’t think that most of them look at human skulls like its the Mona Lisa. Like this fat piece of bone held the answers to the universe inside its empty eye sockets. 

“Beetles?” Luke coughs. Rossi just shakes his head. Pretends this isn’t a conversation he’s having. Reid is still studying you like Luke might study infiltration schematics. Stewart runs up, out of breath, very rose coloured. 

You’re eyes are sparkling as you wade over to them with a new radius bone in your hands. Everyone bends like they know what they’re looking at and you point along the edge of the bone. “It’s a subtle difference but these bones have been cleaned before being buried. My guess is carrion beetles. They’re very hard workers. And—“ you switch to pointing at the radial head— “minute scoring and kerf marks. These look pretty old, so I’m assuming we’re getting close to the bottom.”

“So our unsub dismembered his victims,” Rossi begins, “then cleaned the pieces?”

You nod and hand off the bone to a very blushing Stewart. “I won’t know for sure until I’ve had a chance to examine all the bones. There’s nothing definitive yet. What a hobbyist though, right?”

You chuckle to yourself and dive back into fishing out more finger and wrist bones. Luke turns, runs his hands over his face, and hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Where did we find her?”

Rossi shrugs, “FBI easter egg hunt.” Luke blinks, while Rossi chuckles at his gullibility. “Come on, the doctor’s the best in the field. Good kid, I can tell.” 

“Y/N’s great,” Spencer absently adds on, too busy staring at you. You’re explaining different types of dismemberment to Stewart like you’re discussing the rain. Luke grips onto his stomach just a little tighter. 

“Y/N, huh?” Luke teases, momentarily forgetting the unsettling feeling in his gut about you. “You two, uh, friends or something?”

It’s Reid’s turn to stumble. “Yeah, but it’s—we’re just—we’re just—.” 

Rossi shakes his head, slaps Reid on the shoulder. “Oh yeah, just friends. So, tell me. Do you talk about dismemberment before or after you make out?”

#

JJ wants to beg Emily not to make her go down into the basement. You’re down there. She knows it’s childish to be this avoidant—you are just a person after all. A creepy, psychopathic weirdo that makes JJ’s gut churn. She gets why Spencer’s taken to you—shared love of science and random trivia. She does. But that doesn’t mean JJ enjoys the cold ass morgue, smiling along as you ramble. Most of everyone’s limited contact with you has involved random facts and Stewart’s too intimate knowledge of fracture patterns. 

There had been ten minutes of reassurance from Emily that you were, in fact, not a horrible person. Ended with JJ making the cold and dark trek down to the morgue. She couldn’t imagine working down here all day long. No one to talk to, no one to strategise with, no where to go. Maybe it suited you. No one would have to listen. 

“—don’t know what to do!” echoes across the bottom of the stairwell, the morgue’s doors cracked open. The distress breaks JJ’s heart. Your voice stops her dead in her tracks.  

“They don’t hate you,” Spencer’s voice comes after. Gentler, softer. “They—they just don’t know you yet.”

“They don’t want to, Spence!” and JJ winces with the words. It always hurt more when the truth came out in that tone. “I get it! You know? I work with human remains and don’t bring my people skills with me when I’m on the job, but—that shouldn’t matter!” 

JJ winces again, tries to ignore how those are nothing short of teary sniffles echoing through her ears. She leans back against the wall and has no idea what to do. Spencer had obviously been down here for hours. Knew you well enough to get the teary truth. What could she do now? Interrupt? 

She’d walked into hostage situations less freakin’ stressful than this. 

“You’re right,” Spencer soothes, steadfast and strong, “it doesn’t matter. This isn’t—“

“It’s not your fault,” you sigh. JJ doesn’t want to hear the strangled touch to your voice. Doesn’t want to hear the break. “They’re your friends and I’m just your—“ 

 “Doctor!” Stewart calls and JJ could scream. You’re his what? 

At least, it’s as good as any moment to intrude. 

“What, Stewart?” you snapped, already broken away from Spencer with wet cheeks and stained glasses. You wipe them off haphazardly with the tail end of Spencer’s sweater sleeve—JJ couldn’t help but smile, even if it’s a little strangled. 

Stewart jumps like a wet cat and tosses a bundle of files into your hands. “Beetles.”

One word snatches the tears from your face. Snatches you away from Spencer’s side for one of the dozen skeletons on the tables. There was no reason to think that she’ll get her report from you now. With a rib bone in one hand and contemplation in your features—JJ can’t decide how unnerved she is—you’re a little too concentrated. 

Stewart scuttles around you. A little too attentive. A little too cherry tinted. Yep. No reports to be had from either of you. JJ turned to Spencer instead, hoping that maybe he’d be helpful. Plastered up like a billboard, JJ knows that saccharine smile isn’t going to get her anywhere. 

“Spence?”

He hums, halfheartedly tearing his eyes away. “Yeah?”

“I need the latest report for Emily, but I don’t think—“

“I’ll—just a second, JJ.” Spencer grins, sugary sweet, and slips away. JJ doesn’t miss how he places a hand on your shoulder as he passes. How you barely even notice that quite intimate contact. She also doesn’t miss how Stewart’s face sours at the action, how his eyes narrow enough that Spencer feasibly should’ve noticed. 

Reports in hand a minute later, JJ leans over to Spencer. Elbows him in the arm. “Stewart seems pretty jealous. Any reason for that?”

Spencer shrugs. “Wouldn’t know a thing about it.”

#

Rossi doesn’t have an opinion. Everyone keeps asking—oh Rossi, you’re the wisest of us all, what should we do about poor little Y/N? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. You are just some scientist who is doing a thousand percent better job than any other forensics ‘expert’ he’s had the pleasure of working with. 

Your lab doesn’t smell. You don’t smell. Is there anything more to ask for? 

But he does get the brute of having to make the trek down to the morgue—god, his knees alone—and receives most of the reports from the not as horrible as everyone thinks Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. Who is joyfully humming while squinting over one of the skeleton’s hands. 

“Hey, doc,” he calls and you look up at him with an adorable sort of grin. “Got anything new?”

“Sure,” you chirp. Hesitate to wave him over. “If you want the details, that is.”

Rossi shakes his head, pulls up a stool to sit next to you and your subject. “I like to have as much knowledge as I can. You never know what will lead you to your un-sub.”

You settle your elbows on the table, straighten a stray finger bone. The team shouldn’t be worried about you being a psychopath. You’re dedicated, careful, attentive. Rossi hopes that if he ever gets turned into human remains, you’re the one looking over him. There’s been more care put into one skeleton than into his three combined marriages. 

“You’re in luck,” you answer, “I’ve got a lot to tell you about our attacker. You’ve got time, right?”

Rossi nods, smiles. “Plenty.”

#

Penelope still hasn’t met you and that kind of pisses her off. You haven’t made it upstairs once? She flies into some dingy Wyoming hovel of a police station for like a week and no one’s thought to bring you upstairs? Rude. 

She’s sitting in JJ’s desk chair, waiting for her and Luke to get back from interviewing a potential lead—some ex-felon who fit your makeshift profile. Reid’s scouring over some boring geographical profile, trying not to get annoyed as she nervously—angrily—rants about the case to him. She knows he’s tuning her out, but her work’s been put on the back burner until someone comes up with something to give her. 

There’s only so much a computer can find and she’s no profiler. 

It’s about five minutes after Reid snapped and left to get a coffee refill, when she picks up a call from the desk. “Hello?”

Creaking metal and shuddering breathing comes first. “Set the scalpel down” comes second.  She swallows, silent, and panicking. What the heck is she supposed to do? Paying attention to those hostage negotiation seminars that she definitely didn’t go to would’ve come in handy right about now. 

Said scalpel clatters onto some metal table, followed by a strong, “You really don’t want to do this. Please put the gun down.”

Oh god, this is happening. 

“You just—“ a male voice snips, bellowing out, “YOU DON’T LOOK AT ME.”

“I do look at you, Stewart,” you plead just as JJ and Luke clamour through the bullpen’s door. Penelope puts the call on speaker, mutes it, and screams for them. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Penelope sobs professionally, “someone’s got a gun.”

JJ runs for Emily’s office while Reid returns heedlessly. Luke puts a soft hand on Penelope’s cold one and squeezes. Newbie or not, it’s appreciated as the man’s voice returns. “I’ve tried for so long to get you to—to just—just look at me! I’ve done so much!”

“I know, Stewart,” you ease and Reid tenses. Nearly drops his coffee. “It’s not your fault. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Yeah,” Stewart sobs; Penelope can only imagine how crazy this kid must be. 

“Did you leave all those bodies for me, Stewart?” you question and everyone holds their breath. Luke squeezes harder on her hand. Reid’s twitching like a rabbit’s nose, a death grip on his mug, frozen as a Michigan pond. 

Stewart sniffles. Probably nods. Penelope doesn’t know whether to run or sit or cry. She decides it’s probably cry, but instead her fingers start moving to record the call, trace the office origin. 

“It was a great puzzle, Stewart, it was really genius. It was a fun case to follow, you know that.” You swallow hard, metal tinkles through the speaker. Please, Penelope begs, don’t let them kill each other. I haven’t met the doctor yet!

“Why did you kill these girls, Stewart?” your voice is so gentle and lulling Penelope almost forgets that she’s listening to you try to save your own life. 

 “I wanted you to look,” he says, sniffles. “I wanted you. I want you, Y/N. I want you to love me.”

It’s either her computer beeping or someone falling through a table or a gunshot. She doesn’t know. She’s crying too hard to care. 

#

Tara doesn’t know when she started to run—probably just after JJ, Luke, and Reid barrelled passed her by the bathroom shouting about the situation—but she’s almost to the morgue doors, right on Reid’s heels. Lord almighty, she feels so stupid. She’d had enough little one on one chats with Stewart to know he was some sort of psycho in disguise. To know that something was wrong with that kid. No one could last more than three minutes with your grad student assistant without wanting to take an eyeball out—his or theirs it didn’t matter. She’d let herself believe you when you told her that all forensic anthropologists seem like that. That there was nothing to worry about. 

Nothing to worry about her ass. 

Luke’s the first to storm the morgue, expecting what Tara is: you, dead, on the floor with Stewart on the brink of killing himself. But they stop and they stare and Reid beams on with the absurd look on your face. 

You’re shaking with rage, pointing a gun at a very unconscious, crumpled, bleeding Stewart Walsh. Your teeth are bared in what Tara would consider out of a comic book—ludicrous and of someone who’s completely lost their mind. JJ makes the mistake of asking if you’re alright.

“Alright?” you chirp, feral and ravenous. JJ and Luke shrink back as you shout, “I lived in Honduras for three years! This isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me. It’s my third fucking kidnapping!”

“T-third?” Luke croaks. 

“Third!” you shout again and recklessly set your gun on the table. Spencer grins, which sets you off further. “I’ve been nice. I’ve been accommodating. But this is my fourth psychotic grad student! I fucking swear—!”

Stewart groans—thank god he’s alive—and Spencer, thankfully, rushes forward to catch you before you can take anything else out on the kid. Tara’s heard rumours about mysterious other instances of your being under arrest. Illegal transportation of goods was one thing, police brutality was another. The scalpel sticking out of his knee is bad enough. 

She helps Luke haul Stewart to his feet, reeking of desperation and a much needed psych eval. JJ follows close behind, closes the morgue doors behind them. But not before they hear your muffled sobs and Spencer’s smiling. 

“You got him, Y/N.”

“No, Spence,” you correct, and Tara can’t help but be proud, “I kicked the snot out of him.”

#

Emily is barely awake when she sees it. JJ’s soft breathing next to her is lulling by itself, let alone if you add in Rossi’s rhythmic snoring and Luke’s idle whispers of sleep talk. Emily could do with some sleep and maybe a few days off. They could all use a few days off, especially after coming to terms with the fact a grad student had killed 12 women just to get a little action. 

From a scientist who freely admitted to enjoying the company of bones over real people. 

Alive people. 

No wonder Stewart had done what he’d done. 

Emily turns in her spot, lays back against the wall of the airplane and the seat. After nearly five decades—she’s never thinking about that again—of plane rides, she can comfortably say she can sleep anywhere. With any amount of noise, or cold, or pain. 

But her eyes are accidentally open when she peaks around the seat cushion. Spies the Wild Dr. Reid in his natural habitat, reading some ridiculously long book and…carding his fingers through your hair? He’s got a lock curled up around his finger, gently twisting it as he reads. You’re sleeping—knocked the fuck out—in his lap, gripping loosely onto his leg. 

You deserve the sleep, Emily decides with a smile. You’d worked the hardest on the case, up for nearly four days with as little rest as you can manage. How Stewart managed to stay awake enough to attack you is beyond Emily. She’s missed out on a few hours just today and she’s losing the battle with her eyelids. 

No one ever asked her opinion of you. Probably didn’t have to. You were not the easiest to like, but you’d captured her respect and a bit of her heart when you’d said at the beginning of the case: “I’m an excavator by trade—I’m at archeological digs most of the time—so it’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that these ladies are murder victims. I don’t think I’ll sleep until I’ve got names for them. And maybe the murderer on my table.”

Emily understood the unease, the apprehension. Why everyone was relieved when you’d turned down the plane ride she’d offered you. How they all bit back groans when Emily had insisted. But they’ll have to get used to it, Emily thinks and she settles again. Because they’ll see you again. No doubt about it. The way you’re wrapped up around Spencer, how you hold tighter when the jet bounces a touch, says just that much anyway. 

#no editing lads #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #reid #reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction

[parkersbliss]

Together | Minho

pairing: minho x female reader

warnings: swearing? violence?

wc; idk like 1.6k??

summary: kicked out of the maze, only to run into the people that did it to you in what should be the safe haven. how ironic.

a/n: bruh it’s been so long I don’t even remember how to type me thing up there ^

request by: @elizabeth-brown

—

Hate is a strong word.

That’s why it was so perfect to describe how you felt about them.

You hated them, all of them. It was their fault you were cast out, left alone to fend for yourself. It was because of their actions you were taken, tortured, and then escaped only to be met with nothing.

Trauma doesn’t just disappear, and forgiveness doesn’t just happen.

...

“What does it say?” Newt asked, pushing his way to the front and grabbing the note from one of the other Glader’s. His eyes skim over the paper, mouth parting slightly before crumbling it back up and shoving it in his pocket.

“Newt?” You questioned with furrowed brows.

He coughs, extending a hand to the greenie, “welcome to the glade.”

“Are we just going to ignore the note?” Gally asked arms crossed over his chest.

Newt glares at him, “yeah, we are mate.”

Gally scoffs, “We’re a team here. I think we deserve to know what the note says.”

The other gladers nod in agreement, crossing their arms as they stare expectantly at Newt, you included.

“It said if we sacrificed (Y/N), they would let us out,” The glader who first had the note blurted.

Newt slaps him upside the head, giving him a stern look as murmurs pass through the crowd.

Of all the things to be written on a note, it was that. All eyes are on you, suffocating you with their stare and whispers. It was only a matter of time, wasn’t it?

“Who’s (Y/N)?” The greenie asked, eyes blown wide as he realizes he was trapped in here. “Please, I want to go home.”

Alby drags a hand down his face, “Keepers and (Y/N), meeting hut, now.”

The gladers watch as you all disappeared, their gaze burning holes in your back until Minho slams the door shut.

“Well?” Gally starts.

“We’re not sacrificing her,” Minho said firmly. “Are we supposed to suddenly trust them?”

Winston purses his lips, “They do supply us with food and what we need to live. We don’t exactly have a reason to not trust them.”

Newt rolls his eyes, “How about the walls they trapped us in?”

“We don’t have to be trapped if we let her go,” Billy said softly.

“You want to risk that?”

“Yeah, maybe. It’s not fair to us if we don’t try.”

“How many more people have to die before we’re free?” Zart questioned.

Alby exhales, “we’ll take a vote.”

The minute the note was read aloud, you knew your fate. It wasn’t something that had to be thought about much. Was it fair? No, but it’s not like you got a say in this anyway.

“All in favor, raise your hand.”

The only people without their hands raised are Frypan, Minho, and Newt.

“Then it’s settled.”

“This isn’t fair,” You protest. “What if they’re lying?”

“And what if they’re not?” Billy retorts.

Gally seizes you roughly by the arm, throwing you in the dungeons until dusk.

…

“You’re alive?” Minho asked, still reeling in shock. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around it yet. The morning after you had been thrown into the maze he went after you. He ran the entire thing until the cycle was complete.

He never found you or anything that even convinced him you had been there. It was almost like you just vanished.

But everyone knows when someone just vanishes, it means they were dead.

So he came to terms with that fact. He accepted it and tried to move on.

It was harder than he expected. After all, people only realize the truth when someone is gone. It’s not until someone is dead that people begin to care.

Miss you when you’re gone, didn’t care when you were there.

Cruel place, isn’t it?

“I am,” You said bitterly. You quickly notice that the group you had been in the maze with was reduced to almost nothing. More specifically, the people that had voted you out were gone. At least, you presumed that.

“Who’s that?” You asked, pointing to the brunette who had not been part of your original group. Two other girls flanking his side, it burned you from the inside out. Had they been part of the maze? They probably weren’t kicked out like you were.

He shuffles awkwardly on his feet, “I’m Thomas.”

“He’s the reason we got out,” Newt explained. “I don’t think we’d be anywhere without him.”

“But what about you?” Minho asked, “How are you alive?”

...

The night was cold. You had been too afraid to even move from your spot in the vines. You can hear them, the creaking and whining as they stomp past. God, you wished you never had to experience this.

You wouldn’t even wish this upon the people that cast you. Actually, you just might. You keep yourself awake, digging your nails in your palm every time your eyes get heavy.

Survival means staying awake, just a few more hours.

A few more hours…

And then you woke up in a lab, and that’s when things got worse. Being someone’s lab rat was certainly not ideal. You sat in your room all day, with nothing but a bed until they took you away, running all sorts of tests.

At first, it was painful, but then you just felt numb. Some people tried to fight it, but you’d just relax and let them do whatever it is they’re doing. You figured that’s why they tested you so much; you were the calmest.

There wasn’t a point to fighting it; there wasn’t a point too much now. Every day was the same, and although sometimes you missed the runner with a bit of sass, you endured this.

You didn’t know why, but there was a bit of hope. It was quickly diminishing but it was still there, a small flame that maybe you’d see him again; that you might escape.

And that day came. After what must have been a year of all this testing, WICKED had lightened up on you. They gave you full freedom, no longer locking you in your room.

But they made the mistake of keeping a door open, a door to the outside. You didn’t think; you just ran.

You ran until your legs gave out, and you were gasping for air.

You had escaped.

…

“I could ask you the same thing,” You said bitterly.

The people before you had voted for you to stay, and you should forgive them, but you don’t. They didn’t do anything to save you, to stop the others from throwing you in the maze. They stood by, and they watched.

They watched as you begged and pleaded for your life.

“I’m sorry,” Minho said, reaching out to you, but you back away.

“Sorry? You’re sorry?” You laughed, “Sorry doesn’t make up for being tortured by them, by having to survive on my own, to fight for my life because of a stupid note. Tell me, did they keep to their promise?”

Newt hesitates, “no.”

“That’s what I thought,” You spat. “Look, I’m glad you’re alive, but don’t come here thinking we can all be friends. You go your way, and I’ll go mine.”

They watch you leave, Minho biting his lip as he watches you walk away from him again. He can’t lose you, not when you never really left.

Minho chases after you, grabbing your wrist. “Please, hear us out. Our story isn’t that different from yours.”

“I bet her’s is, I bet she didn’t get kicked out of the maze,” You said, motioning toward the other girl and shrugging Minho off.

“We fought the grievers,” Fry said suddenly. “All of us and we were taken by WICKED.”

“And they told us it was safe, but it wasn’t,” Minho chimed in. "They tested us, some more than others, but we escaped.”

“Don’t forget how Thomas threw a gun at the guard,” Fry added.

Newt shakes his head, chuckling. “or how Minho totally kneed one!”

“Right that, and we escaped into the scorch. We lost Winston to a group of cranks, we found the city, and then Thomas was drugged at a party.”

“We took a guy hostage.”

“Grabbed his car.”

“And now we’re here.”

“Oh and Gally died, Minho shot him.”

“You what?”

Minho rubs the back of his neck, “it was bound to happen eventually, he killed Chuck, but you didn’t know him. And he was gonna kill Thomas. He also… killed you, in a way.”

The boys smile sheepishly, “look you don’t have to forgive us, not right now, but (Y/N) we’re here.”

Minho nods, grabbing your hand and you let him this time, but not without a warning glance.

“You went through a lot more than we did, but we’d like to take down WICKED together.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

— END —

#minho #maze runner minho #tmr minho #minho fluff #minho x y/n #minho x reader #minho x you #tmr minho x reader #the maze runner x you #the maze runner x reader #the maze runner #the death cure #the scorch trials

[unohanadaydreams]

Someone sent me a very funny video and now it’s everyone’s problem.

Who would or would not let Remy the rat from the Disney animated feature Ratatouille stay under their hat and fuck for them by using their hair like marionette strings?

Features: 18+ I GUESS? nothing you want to read, just straight up cursed content.

Who would:

Shuhei Hisagi: He will do anything to up his game. No longer is he sifting through paperwork and countless favors for sex. Now he’s fucking like a god and THEN running your errands for you. Hierarchy of simp needs achieved.

Rangiku Matsumoto: She will do anything to get out of doing something. Plus it’s so fun to pop off her hat and yell ‘surprise!’ to varied results that all result in her laughing until she can’t breathe.

Kugo Ginjo: What screams ‘I don’t care about you and will only ever treat you like shit’ as loud as rolling over, lighting a cigarette, and revealing that it wasn’t even him doing anything. It was a rat. If he could have mentally been texting other people to hook up while fucking, he would’ve.

Sajin Komamura: He senses Remy needs some self-esteem. He’s not praising you for responding so wel, he’s praising the rat under his bucket on a job well done. He’s honestly learned a lot of new moves.

Mayuri Kurotsuchi: He is losing his mind over it; how does it work? It’s not how the nervous system functions. He must figure this out immediately. Remy, lab rat be thy name.

Yhwach: He gives Remy a piece of his soul and let’s him feel useful since the rat isn’t good at war crimes. He starts asking you how it was more and saying ‘excellent’ ‘a true asset to the cause’ and more after sex.

Who would not:

Ikkaku Madarame: He didn’t want to hear any alternatives after being told he’s too bald for it to work. Too bald? He keeps poison on his weapon and it works just fine on rats.

Kon: If the rat wants to fuck, it can get its own gigai like HE had to. But it’s not a bad shtick and he’s pissed he never thought of it. Why aren’t shinigami lining up to let HIM fuck for them while they inhabit a teddy bear? He rants about it for ages.

Kenpachi Zaraki: It’s not about the rat, it’s about the concept. When does it end? Soon the rat will want to fight and drink for him too. Over his dead body.

Nanao Ise: She attempts to murder Remy half way through the explanation. It’s on sight.

Jushiro Ukitake: He lets Remy down easy. Sits down with a good cup of green tea. Asks him if there isn’t some special rat waiting back home for him; time is precious, you know.

Yasutora Chad Sado: Is this some sort of last wish before the rat moves on kind of thing? Is it a human soul trapped in an animal? He forcibly ejects Remy from his body using Kon and can only say ‘huh’ as the very rat soul of Remy loudly freaks out in tandem with Kon.

#me: happily working on a scenario #also me: gets sent a banger of a video #me now: beyond hope or salvation and unquestionably a cursed object tormenting the mortal realm

[downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles]

We Met Within This Screen [chapt. 7]

[Donnie x reader]

chapter 6 here

"Nothing gets past me, especially not you and your nervous habits, Donatello," Splinter's voice bounced around Donnie's head. 

The brothers all looked at each other incredulously, Donnie's anxiousness replaced by complete bafflement. Everyone was wondering the same thing: How did he know?

"You wonder how I knew," Splinter said pointedly, "as if you four are any good at keeping a secret."

They waited for him to go on, but instead there was another uncomfortable pause, Splinter assumedly expecting them to say something. It was Mikey who finally broke the silence. "Are you gonna, like...tell us what we did wrong? How you knew? So next you can't—"

Splinter scoffed and brought his staff down on the youngest's foot. Mikey yelped, bouncing away on one leg. "Teach you how to lie? I have taught you many skills, but one that will always elude you is how to keep something from me. Parents have a sixth sense, you know." He turned to Donnie, regarding the rest of them with a dismissive wave of his hand, "You three, to your rooms. Come to the dojo with me, Donatello." 

The three were quick to scatter, Mikey whining into Raph's ear about being sent to their rooms so early, and Raph huffing that he'd been dragged in too. 

Swallowing, Donnie followed behind him a few paces, not sure what to expect but nervous all the same. He was lead in and instructed to sit down on the floor, Splinter settling down in front of him. Donnie's fingers brushed along the ridges of the knuckles of his other hand again and again as he tried to find something to occupy them with. 

Resting his palms in his hands, Splinter began to talk, voice less harsh than Donnie had anticipated. "I know that we lead a very isolated life, my son. But you must keep your priorities in perspective. You four need each other, and betraying one another's trust does not help that case."

"I'm sorry, Master Splinter," Donnie apologized and hung his head. 

"Perhaps you should apologize to your brothers, just as they should to you." 

I did put them on the spot, especially Leo, thought Donnie, considering now that he had put him and Raph in a weird position. They had to choose between ratting on him to Splinter and keeping it under wraps for the sake of not stirring up the pot needlessly. As much as Leo was a stickler for the rules, he didn't want to create dissension between him and Donnie. So, they chose the latter option, and now all four were in trouble with their father. 

"Okay. I guess...but, Master Splinter, how did you know?" 

"About your secret antics?" 

Donnie let out a humorless chortle, feeling a twinge of embarrassment that he had actually thought at some point, he was getting away with anything. "Yeah, it...it wasn't very much of a secret."

Stroking his chin, Splinter plainly said, "It was only a suspicion, until you confirmed it."

That night a few weeks ago when Splinter came to him in his lab. The way he squeaked when he was confronted just prior to them going to talk alone. Why didn't I think of that? It was a classic trick, one their father had deployed quite a few times on them. He'd been baited into giving himself away. None of them could tell when he was bluffing or if he actually knew. Save for Leo, who managed only twice in their time to make heads or tails of it. 

"I really walked right into that one," Donnie whimpered under his breath, palms pressing down on his knees. 

"You did. But," his tone turned more serious, looking him dead in the eye, "you must fix your mistakes, son." 

 "How?" asked Donnie softly, searching for his father's guidance, but it would find no purchase. He was hard pressed to find a solution immediately. 

Splinter shut his eyes and thought. It was a tricky situation, indeed. He gathered that if anything, this was an excellent lesson for Donnie, as well as the others. Under his own supervision, of course; there wasn't room for any more blundering. 

Standing up, he placed his staff under his hand. "I trust that you will find a way. You have a brilliant mind, Donatello. Use it well," he told him, and went to leave the training room. 

Donnie was still sat on the floor contemplating Splinter's words, honored yet uneasy at the same time that he was being entrusted to fix things. How, he didn't know. Truly. He was at war with himself trying to balance his logic with his emotions, trying to make the two meet gracefully, but it felt impossible. Whichever road he chose, it was a betrayal to the other. One left behind while the other took the wheel. And thoughtlessly, he blurted out, "What if your heart is telling you something completely different, Sensei? What if everything feels contradictory, and—and like there's no right answer, even though you do have this mind, you just can't seem to…" 

Donnie's voice tapered. Slightly surprised, Splinter stopped in his tracks, brows high as he looked back at him, who was so clearly riddled with a deeper kind of conflict. Critically discouraged, but still the sliver of will in those eyes of his. His heart went out to him. 

Splinter had known that Donnie was interacting with a human. What he hadn't known was that he was in love with the human. 

There was a moment of understanding, and Splinter realized that Donnie could not do this on his own. It reminded him of the times the turtles had all been children, the way Donnie looked to him for wisdom as he grappled with himself. Sighing, Splinter sat back down, this time close to him. Donnie was despondent, reverting to staring at the edge of the mat he sat on. "I know your struggles, my son. It seems like there's a sacrifice no matter what you choose, does it not?" 

"I don't want to let you guys down. But, I...you know, I'm sorry, Master Splinter, but you don't understand." 

He didn't want to say bluntly that he wanted to think of himself and his needs, unlike usual. He knew Splinter would probably not approve of that. None of them had much of a chance to make a selfish decision, aside from everyday things such tucking into the pizza before it even made it back to the Lair. So far, the number of times he could recall making a consequential choice for the sole purpose of indulging himself, was an astounding zero. 

"What makes you think I would not understand?" questioned Splinter, and Donnie regretted that he'd said it. He didn't miss how Donnie looked to be becoming mildly sour (among other things), though not at him specifically.

It was then Donnie clammed up, shut down the conversation, he was not going to say it. "It" being what he assumed Splinter wasn't privy to, that he had undoubtedly fallen hard for his friend. But knowing his father, he could totally have had a clue. Splinter didn't always need the details to make an assessment when it came to his sons, whom he knew all too well.

Letting out a crestfallen huff, Donnie rested his chin on his knee, arm obstructing the better half of his face. "It doesn't matter," he mumbled. 

Splinter stayed quiet. He didn't want to drive Donnie off—not when he was in such a turmoil. The atmosphere changed to a cold one. Donnie didn't acknowledge him until he put his hand on his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze and saying, "I will tell you again: I trust that you will figure it out." 

What if I make the wrong decision? 

"For all of our sakes, I hope you're right, Sensei," Donnie responded. Splinter smiled and got up, prepared to leave the matter at that until any further updates. Until the phone in Donnie's back pocket began to vibrate out of the blue. He wanted to answer, but what, at that point? What should he say? 

A minute went by of more persistent vibrating, and Splinter's ear twitched, certain he knew who it was. He was disappointed with the carelessness that had brought them to that moment, but what was done was done. None knew if the girl had any suspicions. "Are you going to answer it?" he asked, sort of prompting him to pick the phone up. 

"May I?" Donnie thought he might have sounded a little eager.

Splinter let out a calm hum and motioned for him to do it. Donnie lifted his finger to press accept, but Splinter interrupted firmly, "Speaker, Donatello."

Eyes flitting to Splinter, he accepted the call and reluctantly turned on the speaker. 

"Bo, what was all of that earlier, dude? You had me worried sick!" spoke [y/n], more concerned than angry (which Donnie was somewhat relieved about), but he sunk down sheepishly upon seeing the look on his father's face. He gave Donnie a questionable glance at the word "Bo", as he wasn't aware of the details. Donnie wasn't about to correct her right now. 

"I–...hey, [y/n]," he said, forcing himself to turn to the side so he wouldn't have to look at Splinter. The eyes on him made him feel put off to the point he couldn't focus on her voice, but the fact that Splinter was right there, listening in, and both were fixing to find out just what kind of mess they had on their hands. "Believe me when I tell you, you don't want to get caught up in this," he told her, "I can't—"

"Listen," she started, exasperated, "I've heard it before. 'I can't tell you this', and 'I can't tell you that'," she went on, "Be honest with me, Bo; is it that you can't or you just won't?"  

Splinter's thoughts were undetermined. Donnie couldn't read anything from his stoic expression. 

"It's not that I won't," he rebutted, pitch going up involuntarily, "Why won't you listen to me when I say I can't?" 

"Because there's something going on, with you, and I know my eyes weren't just playing tricks on me. I saw something crazy—I heard it, too, when I called you the other day!" 

I am so dead. Donnie's stomach did a flip. He couldn't face his father, but behind him, Splinter placed his hand on his face, covering his eyes. He shot Donnie an intimidating glance, and Donnie waved his hands nervously, listening to her go on as he backed up. Pivoting around from the jabs sent to his side by Splinter's staff, he jumped away with his comically long stride, trying to avoid the onslaught while juggling the phone. He muffled a grunf of pain when the cane managed to whack his head. 

"Hold on!" he said, and Splinter stopped and narrowed his eyes, the voice on the other end of the phone also going silent. Donnie couldn't regain his composure while being chased around the dojo, so he finally was able to sputter out, "W-what did you see?" 

"I was on the balcony, 'Don'. I heard your voice on the phone and saying the same thing from the roof, and saw two giant...turtles! With weapons, fighting what looked like ninjas?! What even is this?" she yelled. 

She'd put two and two together. There was no fixing. 

Only acceptance. 

Blinking, Donnie nearly dropped the phone. Splinter shut his eyes, slowly shook his head, and turned around. The sound of his cane tapping the floor as he walked was the only thing he could hear after he tuned out the speaker. 

He was now alone in the dojo, under the light that streamed through the grate above him, standing in the hush. 

He turned the speaker off. She, on the other end, was quiet, too, in disbelief. And probably rightfully feeling betrayed, in a way, Donnie thought. The friend she'd come to care for so much turned out to be someone she couldn't have even imagined. 

Licking his lips, he put on the most level tone he could and said in a struggle, "You can't tell anyone. I-if you say something, I'll... we'll…"

I could never threaten you, [y/n]. 

"You'll what?" she asked, voice low.

Then, all the could hear was her breathing. The dojo was completely quiet, the room was large, and there he was, in the middle. Donnie liked smaller spaces. Darker spaces, like his lab. He felt exposed in that moment, even when no one could see him.

"Be in danger," he said in earnest.

There was some rustling, then the sound of wind on her end. He barely heard a sliding door shut.

"Come here," she told him firmly. 

His eyes went wide. "What?" he questioned, stupefied.

She sighed, "No more lying, Bo—Don—I don't know. If what we have really matters to you…"

A mix of emotions swirled in him as he waited for her words. She hesitated.

"I'll come," he whispered, finishing her sentence. 

"You'll come." 

Blowing a breath out from between his lips, and nodded. Sorry, Master Splinter. 

He snuck through the Lair to the exit of the sewers.

#teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt #tmnt x reader #tmnt donnie #tmnt donnie x reader #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt bayverse #donatello #tmnt donatello #donatello x reader #donnie x reader #tmnt leomardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt leo #tmnt raph #tmnt mikey #fanfic #fanfiction #teenage mutant ninja turtles fanfiction #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt fanfic

[solara-bean]

 Grimmjow Headcanons Plus a Few x S/O ones 

( pretty sure I read some of these somewhere but I forgot so here's a self indulgent list :)

He died in his early twenties so he's still pretty young mentally but physically as a hollow he's old as hell

He's European

He takes a lot of naps in random places such as the roof of Las Noches

In fact he does a lot of cat like stuff and doesn’t realize it

He can purr but rarely and it’s mostly in his sleep 

When he became an arrancar he had long hair similar to his release form. It kept getting in the way so he cut it

he doesn’t like wearing clothes

Him and his fraccion use to sleep close together in case they were ambushed by other adjuchas and still did even after they became arrancars

They didn’t think much of it. Except Di Roy. He’d say it was weird and ‘un-masculine’ to which Grim would tell him to shut up and go to sleep after laying an arm or a leg over his face. 

Di Roy would also occasionally guilt trip him

Grimmjow: You’re too weak to fight with us.

Di Roy: I wouldn’t be if someone didn’t bite my face off. 

Grimm:..........fine! do whatever you want. See if I care. 

He was actually much closer to them than he let on

Most of the epsada knew it. Especially after Syazel threatened to experiment on them since they were ‘expendable.’ He did his best to avoid Grimmjow after that.

He only really got to grieve of their deaths when the war against Aizen ended

As much as he genuinely enjoyed fighting Ichigo it was also a distraction from all the pain he tried to burry

Harribel and Nelliel helped him with his grief

They became sort of friends afterwards tho he still tries to fight them both on a weekly basis 

Refers to Pantera with female pronouns 

One perk of most of Los Noches’ inhabitants being defeated is the nearly infant amount of space. So he was able to choose his own room

He keeps it surprisingly tidy aside from the nicknacks he’s hoarded from wandering around Hueco Mundo

His bed is full of pillows as a substitute of having a pack to sleep with

When asked he’ll say its for comfort

Nelliel: Have you seen my pillow? 

Grimmjow: * sitting on it in his pillow pile* No.

He steals everyone’s stuff now and then but mostly Nel’s cuz he likes to mess with her ( insert low key sibling energy )

He talks to animals like people

Grimmjow: I told you to stop crossing the street at the red light idiot!

Cat: Meow

Grimm: Don’t talk back to me you little shit!!

Hangs out at Urahara’s place when he’s in the living world and not trying to fight Ichigo

Likes human food. Especially meat.

Grimmjow: *eating bacon for the first time* hmm tastes like hollows but better

Ichigo:.....I’m sorry what??!!

Was dared that he couldn’t beat Yoruichi at twister. He won five crates of snacks to bring back to Hueco Mundo ( may or may not have shared them cuz “ they gave me too much so take it or I’ll throw it out” )

Says things around the characters in the living world about his terrible experience under Aizen’s rule like it’s normal

Grimmjow: *having another rematch with Ichigo* Damn that almost hurt as much as Tousen slicing my arm off

Ichigo: *pauses the fight* Tousen did WHAT?!!

Becomes friends with Ichigo but won’t admit it.

Somewhat apologizes to Orihime and Rukia for what he did. But not Ichigo cuz he’ll do it all again but with less deadly intent.

Learns how to cook

Likes just about any kind of movie/show. He isn’t picky 

Would get his 6 tattoo edited to something else if it bothered him

Would freakin die for Kazui!!! 

Here are the S/O ones:

Is pansexual so gender isn’t an issue

Prefers someone who can beat him up but is ok with a human if he feels a very strong connection to them

Doesn’t really have a physical type honestly 

Will admire things about their appearance cuz he likes it on them and not in general

Will be in complete denial about his feelings at first 

Like “hollows aren’t meant to love” and all that ish 

Makes up excuses to hangout with them but it’s mostly for his own benefit

“ I don’t like them. They just have a nice movie collection.” “ I don’t like them. They’re just nice to spar with.” “ I don’t like them. They’re just nice to talk to.” “I don’t like them. They just make me feel safe when I sleep next to them.” 

Gives them random things he’s found when wondering around Hueco Undo’s desserts like gems and cool sharp bones

Let's them hold and even use Pantera

Starts to unconsciously turn off his hierro when he’s with them. It causes a lot of fliching and embarrassing gasps when they touch him since he’s not use to feeling so much

Did I mention he’s touch starved?

Like a lot.

Holding his hand for too long would literally kill him

Once he’s gotten use to feeling something other than pain from another person he starts to let them touch him more. Like hugs. Lots of hugs. 

He even lets them rub his release form’s cat ears

Then here come the purrs. Louder than they’ve ever been before! It startles them both. He denied it but the blush gave him away.

He’ll do his best to purr more often since his s/o likes it so much. Such as when they’re cuddled up for a nap. Though he doesn’t really have to try.

Is confused as to why they like to squish his toe beans but lets them do it anyway

Wraps his tail around them in his release form

Will let them braid his long hair

Will also let them paint his claws as well as put makeup on him

He’s a total pushover ( insert the ‘please for me’ meme )

Is very protective of them

“ Why are you sad? Do I need to kill someone?”

If asked will follow his s/o when they’re out at night so they feel safe. Potential muggers? Thrown by an unknown force. Stalker? Punched by an unknown force. Cat callers in a car? Car gets flipped over by an unknown force.

Eventually no one bothers them at all cuz word goes around that they’re protected by a ghost or something else supernatural.

They’re of the few that can call him by a nickname and survive. Grimm, Grimmy, Grimmykins, Grimmy-kun, Kitty, Kitten, Catboy, Stinky cat, Baby boy, Baby boi, Big guy, Tough guy, My Arancar, My love, My one and only, Handsome, Blueberry. Literally anything is fine with him.

But call him My King and he’s done for. Dead. A second time. Deceased all over again. His heart will reform just to burst out of existence. 

Takes them to Hueco Mundo a few times 

Makes a pillow fort with them with his hoard of pillows 

Will be skeptical as to why they like him and won’t be surprised if they get tired of him and break up

But oh no! They’re in it for the long run! You’re stuck with them Grimmykins:)

Would most likely say I love you without even realizing it till later

Grimm: *blushes* F*CK!!

Harribel: *pauses the meeting* Is there something wrong?

Grimm: I told Y/n that I love them before I left without realizing it! *puts his face in his hands and groans* I’m so screwed.

Nel: Well it’s about damn time!

Harribel: Congrats Grimmjow

Grimm: *groans and blushes some more*

If he really loves them he’ll find a way to weaken his immortality so they can grow old together ( yes it’ sappy but he figures he’ll get bored after they long gone )

Might go to Mayuri for help and becomes his lab rat in return. Won’t tell his s/o till it’s done so they won’t try to stop him.

It’s not fun. Like at all ( insert angsty fit energy here ). But it works and as an added bonus him and his s/o can have kids if they’d like

A great dad. Incredibly supportive and loving. Mess with them and you’re dead. Or at least scarred for life. No one messes with his cubs.  

Grimm: Isn’t it weird that our kids are best friends?

Ichigo: No. We’re friends.

Grimm: I tried to kill you.

Ichigo: Who hasn’t?

Grimm: I’ll drink to that.

Ichigo: That’s a juice box.

Grimm: Have you seen my kids? The last time I wasn’t sober they ceroed the roof off and beat up a hollow. There’s no way I’m missing that again.

#bleach #grimmjow #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #grimmjow jaggerjack #grimmjow x reader #grimmjow headcanons

[charmspoint]

what i know abt qifrey from u talking abt him uhh ok so he's genuinely just a nice guy but also he's evil and irredeemable but also he's literally just a pleasant gentleman

I know ur not asking for a rant about this but by god ur gonna get it.

So the thing is, I don't think Qifrey is evil or irredeemable at all. We joke around the fandom (at least i hope its mostly jokes) that he's evil and crazy but he's really not. If id have to pin Qifrey on a morality spectrum I'd say morally gray but leaning towards the good.

Did Qifrey do some messed up stuff? Yes, fo sure. But I've always gotten more of an impression that he's teetering towards the edge and not completely over it. He does do damage but so far he's mostly made sure that damage was extremely localized and not actually harming other people (I talked about before how Qifrey's own memory erasing spell seems weirdly specialized compared to what we were brought to believe memory erasing spell actually does when used by anyone else).

But now comes the question

Do I think Qifrey will get worse?

Yes, 100% I believe this is where we are going towards, I said before that I'm p convinced he will become some kind of obstacle for Coco down the line.

Qifrey is going through a LOT rn. He's already got ptsd from, you know being stripped of his identity, buried alive, almost drowned and then remembering he was experimented on like a lab rat, but now it's getting worse. Before he could at least relay on the fact that even though his past was horrible, his future was bright. He genuinely loves his job, he loves his girls, he loves teaching. This monolog gets me every single time

Now he's losing his future, he's losing not only his eye, but the whole identity he built out of nothing, he's losing his teaching position, he's losing his kids, he's losing Everything he gained after he had already lost Everything.

It leaves him rushing against an uncertain time limit, desperate, stumbling, sloppy. I don't think he's thinking straight anymore, not really. I think he's convinced he is being methodical and calculating but in actuality he's stumbling forward, grasping at straws, unable to hold on to anything but his need for revenge and the empty words that his actions aren't only for his own sake.

It's all very striking, in his relationship with Olruggio in particular. Olruggio is very clearly supposed to be the guiding light for Qifrey, the one who pulls him back when he goes too far, the one who helps him resist the growing darkness. It's very meaningful how as Qifrey continues on his path he makes sure Olruggio doesn't even know about it. He said it himself, if Olruggio knew, he'd try to save him. He'd try to bring Olruggio to light again and Qifrey doesn't WANT to be saved, he has decided on a road he wants to take and he won't allow anyone to change his course. Not even Olruggio.

So do I think Qifrey is evil?

No

Do I think he'll get worse?

Yes

Do I think he'll become evil?

Not really

See here's the thing. Qifrey's desperation, how quickly he's trying to work through this, how determined he is to throw everything else under the bus if he could just achieve his goals? All of that is dictated by the fact he's running out of time, the fact that once he loses his eyesight he can no longer be a witch. Eyesight is VERY important to witches since magic is a very visual art. We've seen with Tartar how something as seemingly miniscule as color blindness can basically doom someone, causing everyone around them to say they can't become a witch without good eyesight. So complete blindness is a death sentence to a witches career. Now, it's funny how a lot of the Coustas and Tartars arc has to do with adjusting the world to disability and not the person to the world. How it's made pointed, over and over again, that people with disabilities shouldn't be written off but given proper tools that will help them function, how the world should adjust to be a more comfortable place for all kinds of people and not just those who are already adjusted to it. Without the threat of his eyesight going out and cutting his whole identity into bits, Qifrey wouldn't have to act like this, he would be able to sit and think and not rush and if he still wants to pursue brimhats he could do it more safely for himself and everyone else because the desperation factor would be gone.

So what I think is going to happen is that Qifrey will lose his eyesight but won't lose his standing as a witch because he, Olruggio and the kids will figure out how to make magic accessible to him.

Now there's of course a bunch more unaccounted for variables which I'll probably have a better grasp on after the current arc is done being translated. Ininia and Lord Restis represent a very interesting development because they are brimhats introduced specifically via healing injuries. The rule of 'medicine magic isn't allowed cuz it's a slippery slope' has been there since the beginning of the series and a big thorn in the 'yeah the witch world rules are good and fair' side cuz of course, everyone thinks healing people should be allowed. Now the brimhats we've had so far were fully ready to attack and experiment on children's bodies in order to further their own goals so of course that immediately leaves you disliking them and not putting much account into their rhetoric even though it does make sense at times, but ur not gonna listen to ppl experimenting on kids. That's why I think Ininia and Lord Restis are interesting, cuz if they aren't literally attacking children they might get a good case in about medicine magic being allowed. I think we are going towards at least some sort of medicine magic becoming acceptable considering Tartar's arc. But then the question is, if some sort of medicine magic is approved, will it be used to heal disabilities cuz like...that would kinda suck. I would much rather have a 'world should be adjusted so disabled people can participate in it equally' narrative rather than the 'just heal the disability with magic lol' narrative. But honestly this whole paragraph is pure speculation because the arc isn't fully translated or even fully out yet but I sure af am LOOKING at it. I think it will be v important in understanding where the story is going to go. I just hope Shirahama does a good job with it, but honestly she never once let me down up until now so I'm feelin positive.

Circling back to Qifrey, I do think he's one of the kindest, most understanding, most lovable characters I've had a joy of reading and studying. But he does have a black hole in him that is pulling apart all that kindness, leaving him a shattering shell. I don't think he's evil, I don't think he'll ever become truly evil and despite what he's done I don't think any of what he did is irredeemable, especially with how careful he tends to be not to take away from people more than he has to to further his own goals. But I do think that hole will eat at him more and more and that before he can get better somebody will have to notice it and help him plug it up. Olruggio noticed and Qifrey refused the help, convinced that he can't be helped, not in the way he needs. He will need proof that he can keep his future before he can ease up on the frantic hunt after his past

#megacarapa #witch hat atelier #tbna #lucy rants #im sorry ive been thinking many thoughts lately and you fell into it at just the right time #this is honestly mostly me feeling uncomfy when ppl call qifrey evil cuz he's really not :(

[burtonsdoodles]

Booboo Stewart is brilliant in this show! 🛹

I absolutely love how he portrays Willie - and it honestly caught me off guard (which I am totally okay with!) See the last thing I watch with him in was Lab Rats Elite Force after rewatching it last year (a show with A LOT of problems) - and I really didn’t like how he played Roman in that. He was very, what I like to describe as, ‘Teen Disney Villain’ in my opinion.

Now, I’ve been meaning to do a full post on this since my Elite Force posts last year - to explain what I actually mean by this - because it probably makes no sense. But basically, in the Disney shows, most of the teen villain/goodies-gone-bad I’ve seen are played in the same over the top/overly angsty way - which I find kinda cringey and annoying. These portrayals just aren’t very interesting or compelling - the villains are just ‘The Villains’ instead of being emotionally developed multi layered characters. That’s just my opinion though - so feel free to disagree.

With Elite Force being the last thing I remember from him - all I could think when I saw he was in JATP was that performance which I didn’t like. (Side note - he was decent in Descendants - but he wasn’t given nearly enough content to leave a lasting impression on me - mainly because they turned it into the Mal show - which is why I’m not commenting on it. Also I totally lost my love for it after the 3rd film.)

Anyway, he blew me away with his performance in this show and it makes me so happy!! He is definitely very talented - and I’m never gonna doubt that now. His portrayal is so real and natural and powerful. I love it so much. Nothing is over the top, or cringey, or annoying - which is so easy to do when doing the romance storylines - because the content is so cliche in how it’s written. It’s no different in this show, they use so many cliche moments for a number of things - but most especially for Alex and Willie interactions - yet amazing they never feel tacky or overused like they usually do.

They actually made the hair flipping moment work so well without making either Booboo or Owen look stupid - which I think is unbelievable and a massive credit to the pair of them as actors for pulling it off.

The other part that was brilliant was the emotion - especially in the scene where Willie reveals the truth about the jolts. Emotions are running high for everyone in this scene - there’s hurt, anger, confusion, betrayal, guilt, fear, regret, some other stuff, and love. The connection which has grown between Alex and Willie is sourced by a growing love which makes them emotionally affected by one another’s actions - this is what makes Alex feel so betrayed and Willie feel so guilty. In this moment we have the (sort of) ‘love confession’ - which is another cliche - where Willie officially admits his feelings for Alex - and the emotion plays out beautifully.

Once again it isn’t over the top, it’s controlled, Booboo creates vulnerability without needing to be overly expressive with his physical/facial performance. It’s all in his voice. You can hear the intensity of his guilt towards hurting Alex, his voice is on the verge or breaking as it raises just a tad higher than his natural soft tone. That’s why he switches to using shorter sentences with more pauses between them - to try keep control of the sound he releases and avoid any vocal cracks from being heard by the others. The emotion rises exponentially after he reveals his feelings for Alex - he opens himself up, which comes at the risk of him revealing too much and losing control of his composure - which he doesn’t want to do as he leaves soon after.

I think Willie is a bit like Luke, where he tries to avoid emotional situations because he himself isn’t comfortable being emotional in front of others. So the fact that he does let himself open up for Alex just highlights how impactful they have been for each other. Willie is willing to be vulnerable in front of Alex which means there’s a trust there that (maybe) hasn’t been for a very long time. All of which is perfectly illustrated through Booboo’s masterful performance.

Now there’s probably other stuff I’m forgetting but I’m calling quits on this post for now. (I’m sick of it being in my drafts.) I’m hoping to do some character based stuff for Willie and Alex at some point, as well as express my thoughts on the narrative structure of their relationship in regards to the overall structure of the season. (I may have a slight issue with how it concluded.)

But we’ll see what happens...

Until then, do tell me your thoughts on anything I’ve said or not said - I’d love to hear.

And thanks for reading! 💛

👻

#i love this show #i was wrong #my random thoughts #willie julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms #jatp #booboo stewart #performance #portrayal #emotion #character #character development #vulnerability #lab rats elite force #willie jatp #willex #alex mercer #fantoms #text post #long post #not my gifs

[jadoue1999]

The X-Men and the member they lost - Chapter 9

Summary: Erik and Wanda have a little talk

Previous parts: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Interrupted

After Erik left his son’s room, he decided to walk back to where he had been before. Charles was still in the library, reading the same book. He glanced up as he saw him enter.

“How did it go?”

“Wanda tried a spell and it backfired. Neither of them told me what it was but they both seemed shaken.” He sighed as he sat down on the sofa in front of his friend. “I just wish Peter would talk to me, it’s clear he’s not coping well.”

The bald man nodded. “You’re right, I might not be able to see in his mind, but what he felt just now was bone chilling terror. Unlike anything I’ve ever felt from him.”

That was worrisome. If the telepath hadn’t sensed anything similar to what happened just now in the whole year Peter had been in the mansion, that meant that whatever he saw must have been horrible. Especially considering how close he had been to die when En Sabah Nur broke his leg and almost killed him. There was no doubt that he must have quite the nightmares after that experience.

“Charles, I can’t help, but think that Peter really has changed.”

The man frowned at him. “What do you mean, old friend?”

He sighed as he looked pensively at the floor, trying to sort his thoughts. “I know that he’s physically fine, but he’s been acting different ever since we saved him from that place.”

“I understand, he hasn’t been as reckless since he came back. It seems his experience made him mature.” The telepath pressed his lips together. “But I’m not the person you should tell that.”

Erik nodded, “yes, but every time I try to talk to him, he pushes me away. He denies every nightmare and every sudden memory flash. Peter doesn’t seem to trust me.”

Charles watched him for a few seconds, probably wondering if he should say whatever he was thinking. He cleared his throat. “Well, there’s always someone else you can talk to.”

“No.”

The wheelchair bound man put a hand on his and gave him a serious soul piercing stare. “Erik, she is the one that started everything in the first place, she has answers no one else knows. You have to talk to Wanda.”

The telepath didn’t give him time to protest, he simply left the room. Erik was speechless for a few seconds before he started thinking about what Charles had said. He was, as usual, right, but he didn’t feel ready yet to talk to the woman. Especially since what had just happened in Peter’s room. Erik sighed as he contemplated the flames in the fireplace; he knew what had to be done, but he didn’t want to do it. Not tonight at least, not after the confession he just told them.

...

It had been about five days since he had made the decision to eventually talk to Wanda. Erik felt ready, he had to confront her. He waited until everyone was in bed before knocking on the woman’s door. She opened it and her eyes widened in confusion as she took him in.

“Hi?” She said, hesitantly. “Can I help? Is it Peter?”

Erik shook his head. “No, I’m here to have a conversation that is long overdue.”

The redhead nodded in understanding and opened her door all the way, letting him in. The room wasn’t all that personalized, but he did spot a picture of her, Vision, Peter, and the twins smiling at the camera. It was on the table next to her bed. He figured she had conjured it as a way to remember them. She sat down on her bed as he pulled out her desk chair. Her body language screamed anxiety as she kept pressing her lips together and readjusting her position. Finally, she spoke up.

“Erik, I know I haven’t said it before, but I’m so sorry for what I did. To you, to your team and Peter. It was wrong and I should’ve controlled my grief better.”

The man gave her a small nod, “thank you, it truly wasn’t a fun experience. As for your grief, I did mean it when I said we were similar. I hunted down the man who used me as his lab rat for years, killing every Nazis I could find, and I allied myself with a powerful mutant that wanted to destroy the world when my wife and daughter died. I’m afraid I know all too well why you reacted that way; even if I don’t agree with what you did.”

After he was done, neither of them talked for about a minute. Both probably trying to figure out what to say next. Erik spoke first.

“Did you feel bad, at least?” He paused, letting the question hang in the air. “Putting my son back under mind control? Living with the fact that you were lying to yourself?”

He could see how Wanda tensed up, but he didn’t care, he wanted to know. The redhead slowly nodded. “Yes, I did,” she fiddled with her bedcover, not looking at him. “I had many intrusive thoughts that kept reminding me of what I did. But I was so distressed about losing my brot-“ she quickly glanced at him, “-Peter, that I ignored them.”

He sighed at how she cut herself off, “Wanda, it’s alright if you consider yourself siblings. You are, in a way. I saw the bond you two shared when you went trick or treating. And I’m glad you were aware that your actions were wrong and that you freed him in the end.”

The woman squeezed her eyes and her features twisted in guilt. “Yes, but I wanted to keep him,” she sobbed. “Even as I removed the necklace, I had to keep myself from putting it back on.” The redhead was now crying, tears quickly running down her cheeks. “I’m glad to be here, but it’s a struggle to not want to put things back the way they were. I miss my family.”

Erik acted without thinking and took the woman in a hug, surprising them both. He wasn’t sure what came over him, but it seemed to help her as she sobbed on his shoulder. A question popped into his mind, it was a stupid and hurtful one, but he had to ask.

“If you could have your brother back, would you choose him over my son?”

Wanda’s breath hitched as she heard him, she removed herself from his arms and looked at him with puffy eyes. “I- yes, but I cannot see a future without Peter at my side. I would probably try to have them both.” She chuckled sadly, “we could be the Maximoff triplets.”

He smirked at her suggestion; one speedster was already a lot. Not sure the world could handle two. Wanda suddenly stiffened and stilled for a few seconds. Her eyes were unfocused, something Charles usually did when someone was contacting him mentally. She finally moved again and turned to him.

“We have to go, something’s wrong with Peter.”

He didn’t protest and followed her as she passed through the halls. She was going as fast as she could without waking up anyone.

They could hear some noise coming from the speedster’s room. When they opened the door, they were greeted with a messy bed and a silver blur that kept going around the room. Everything that was on his path met an unfortunate end as his superspeed literally tore through it. Wanda entered the room first, unsure of what to do, but wanting to help in any way. Peter stopped in his track as he started looking around wildly. His eyes were filled with fear and panic. It was clear he was experiencing a nightmare and some sort of sleep walking.

“Peter,” called out the redhead, “what’s going on?”

The speedster swiftly turned his head towards her.

“Trebuie să ne ascundem!”

Erik froze as Peter suddenly took Wanda’s hand and brought them both under his bed. He was certain his son didn’t speak Romanian, even in sleep he still had an accent. Still there he was, telling the redhead they had to hide.

His eyes were locked unto an unseen something that was a few feet away, almost in his face. His face was twisted in fear as he kept holding Wanda’s hand; either in a way of comfort or to keep her with him he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was both. Erik called out his son’s name, trying to make him realize it was only a dream. Only, he didn’t react and kept flinching every few seconds as whatever he was hearing. Wanda squeezed his hand, but he kept his eyes on the spot in front of them.

“Peter,” she said. He didn’t react to his name. Wanda seemed to realize something as she frowned in worry. “Pietro.” The speedster turned to her. “It’s alright, frate, it’s only a nightmare.”

Her voice was thick with her accent, something that he hadn’t seen her use before. Erik watched as the pair talked, both of them trying to reason with the other. Both in Romanian. Wanda finally brought a hand to Peter’s head and a flick of red filled his eyes. He seemed to suddenly relax, and he fell back asleep, still under the bed. The woman slowly removed herself from his side and shared a worried look with Erik.

“I can’t wake him up suddenly, his mind is too fast, it could hurt him.” She motioned him closer, intending to have him help her get Peter back to his bed. “He’ll wake up naturally in a few minutes.”

They slowly pulled him out and laid him down. His face was relaxed, there was no hint of the panic he had felt just a moment ago. Erik watched him sleep for a few seconds before turning to the woman.

“What happened?”

Wanda’s hand was brushing Peter’s face in a soothing motion. “That... wasn’t just a nightmare.” She looked at him, “that was one of Pietro’s memories.”

Erik turned to her with accusation in his eyes. “You have to remove them! Why does he still have them in the first place?”

She froze at his sudden anger, her eyes flickered between him and his son. “He- Peter didn’t want another person messing with his mind, I respected his wishes,” snapped Wanda. She breathed in, “I’ll see what I can do, but he has to be awake.”

As if on cue, the speedster groaned, complaining about the noise. Erik smirked as he muttered something about them yelling someplace else than his room. The particularity of the situation must have settled in his brain because he suddenly opened his eyes and looked at them in confusion. “Uh... hi? Any reason why you decided to settle your differences in my bedroom instead of, I don’t know... the danger room?”

Erik felt relief at the fact that it really was Peter, at least he didn’t wake up thinking he was Pietro. Wanda approached him with caution and took his hands.

“You had a nightmare.”

He suddenly tensed up and lowered his gaze. “Ah... you heard that.”

Peter wasn’t asking, that was a statement. Erik wasn’t sure how to react, it was obvious by what he had just said that his son had been having more nightmares than he let on. He doubted that singing to him like he did to Nina when she had a bad dream would do much. Especially since they weren’t just nightmares, they were actual memories of his alternate dead self.

“How long have you had them? Why wasn’t I aware?” Questioned Wanda, understandably shaken by the situation.

“Like I’ve explained before,” started Peter, “people don’t just get into my mind. And I suppose you’re usually asleep when it happens.”

In true Peter fashion, he was trying to shrug it off as nothing. But they wouldn’t let it slide, after what Erik had seen from the many files at SWORD, their lives had been riddled with war and trauma. But what they had just witnessed, he wasn’t exactly sure what it was. He turned to the woman.

“Show me,” Wanda looked at him confusedly. “What he saw, I want to understand.”

Peter suddenly straightened up in his bed. “Dad, I really don’t think-“

“I’m doing it,” he interrupted. He shared a look with Wanda, who gave him a quick nod. A red light glowed from her fingertips and she brought them to his temple.

Erik was immediately seized by a strong explosion. He turned to see two children on the ground, laying amongst the rubble. The little girl was pushing herself up in disbelief as she took in the destroyed building that surrounded them. While they both had dark brown hair, it was obvious they were Wanda and Pietro. There was a strong burnt smell in the air mixed with the metallic smell of blood. The girl was calling out to their parents as the ashes fell in her hair. She went to take a step, but her brother stopped her. He grabbed her hand and ran under the skeletal remain of the bed. The children were arguing about having to leave, but they were interrupted when a second bomb landed right in front of them. Erik gasped as he realized what Peter had been staring at when he himself was hiding under the bed. There was a beeping every few seconds. Erik watched as everything sped up, showing the children slowly starve and flinch at every noise that was heard. They were finally rescued, but it was obvious they were not alright. They clung to each other like their lives depended on it. The vision faded and Erik was back to Peter’s room. The pair was looking at him worryingly, waiting for the man to talk.

He first looked at Wanda, “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he apologized. He then turned to his son, “this is what you saw?”

The speedster nodded, “yes, that was tonight’s nightmare.”

Erik raised an eyebrow at him, “tonight?”

Peter flinched; it was obvious he didn’t mean to share so much. Why was his son so keen on keeping everything to himself? The speedster shared a look with Wanda, “I have Pietro’s entire life stored in my head.” He cleared his throat. “It was simple in Westview, I only had them. Ever since I’m back to myself, it’s a constant fight between my life and his.”

Wanda covered her mouth in horror. “I’m so sorry,” her eyes were wide in shock. She sat next to him, “please let me help.”

She brought up a hand to his head. He seemed to want to push her away, but ultimately let her continue. Her fingertips glowed red once again and Peter took a deep breath and closed his eyes as the red swirled around his head. Erik watched as both the adults seemed to sync in their little tics and twitches. Both jerking their heads and frowning at nearly the same time. Wanda was the first one to open her eyes and she met his gaze with an apologizing look. Peter’s eyes finally opened, though he seemed slightly dizzy.

“Did it work?” He knew it was stupid to ask, the redhead was obviously trying to hint at him that it hadn’t worked. But then again, he had been clueless to his true lineage with Peter. Which was really obvious when you thought about it seriously for a few minutes.

The woman shook her head. “I don’t understand it, the memories are mixed together. I can’t remove anything without a high risk of erasing some of his real memories.”

“So…” spoke up Peter. “I’m stuck with them forever?”

“I’m afraid so,” apologized Wanda.

Erik took a few steps forward, considering the consequences of his son’s situation. He hadn’t met anyone with a double set of memories. Even less of someone with those of their alternate dead self. The closest he had as a reference was Charles. With the number of minds, he sometimes accidently and purposely read, he was a little similar to what Peter was going through. He did remember the telepath complaining about nightmares and having trouble sleeping occasionally, but he seemed to be doing better recently. Perhaps the man could teach Peter some tricks? But there was one thing that was still on his mind.

“How will this affect him?” Both of them turned to him. “What if his nightmares get the best of him and he eventually doesn’t know which memories and his and Pietro’s? What if your brother’s memories eventually replace his actual memories?”

“You don’t have to worry about me, dad,” reassured Peter. “I know which memories are mine. There’s significantly less war and trauma in my life.”

Wanda waved a hand into the air and a notebook appeared out of nowhere. She had a worried frown on her face as she handed it to him. “Please try to fill in as much as you can. I’ll be able to know which are which.”

The speedster’s expression showed how he didn’t think it was necessary, but he took the notebook, nonetheless. He put it on the desk next to his bed and looked around for a few awkward seconds before speaking up.

“So, I know you guys are badass and powerful and probably don’t need that much sleep because of some freaky mutation, but I do. Not that much, but the twenty minutes I got before you barged in, are definitely not enough.”

Wanda smiled in amusement and gave him a quick hug before leaving the room. Erik walked over to his son who was slowly settling back into his bed. He pulled the cover over him, Peter didn’t protest, either because he didn’t mind, or he was too tired to care.

“I can’t believe it’s my first time tucking you in,” Erik joked.

The speedster chuckled before mumbling something and burying his head in his pillow. The metal wielder smirked as he heard the man lightly snore, already asleep. He brushed a hand in his silver hair before walking out the room and closing the door behind him. He mentally called out to Charles, hoping the man wasn’t asleep yet.

“I’m in my office,” came his friend’s voice.

Erik quickly headed towards the telepath’s position. He made an effort to try to open the door silently, but that door obviously didn’t care that people were sleeping. Then again, seeing how the telepath perked up his head to greet him, it might have been on purpose.

“You talked to Wanda?”

Right, his discussion with Wanda. That felt so far away now. “I did, but we have another problem.”

“Oh?”

“Peter and Pietro’s memories have mixed together. Wanda heard his distress and we found him reliving one of his alternate self’s traumatic event.” He looked at the man, who was intensely staring at him. His eyes were filled with concern as he listened. “I fear he might eventually lose himself if he doesn’t learn to control them.”

Charles nodded, “I’ll try to give him some tricks, but we have to keep in mind that my telepathy and his experience are barely the same thing.” The man looked up to see the worry in his eyes, he cleared his throat. “Still, it’s similar enough. I promise you, Erik, Peter will be just fine.”

With that, the man declared it was time for him to go to sleep. He closed the files he had on his desk and exited the room. Erik sighed as he repeated what the telepath had told him.

“Just fine…” he whispered. “Let’s hope you’re right, Charles.”

***

Notes: next chapter: Peter and Charles try to find a solution

#wanda maximoff #wanda and pietro #wandavision #pietro maximoff #peter maximoff #Elizabeth Olsen #Evan Peters #erik lehnsherr #michael fassbender #multiverse twins #xmen fanfiction #wandavision fix it #wandavision fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel #xmen #magneto #dadneto #x men quicksilver #quicksilver #scarlet witch

[starrysupercell]

Silly idea I just thought of: somehow, certain Brawlers lose the ability to lie. The cause could be as innocent as Jessie testing out a new Truth Ray, to something like Starr Park deciding that there needs to be more transparency between brawlers. Whatever the reason, there will be Shenanigans abound

Tbh this sounds super fun, >:) so, of course I'm gonna go into detail on some of them.

(This could be a whole story. Mind the messy layout.)

Brawlers who have to worry the most for business/socially/jobs: Piper, Byron, Belle, Griff, Mr. P probably?, Ruffs, Barley, Gale and, to a lesser extent, Lou (towards Mr. P),

Brawlers who have to worry emotionally: Stu, Penny, the whole Retropolis Gang, Edgar, Mortis.

Brawlers that would be fun if they were hiding something deep, deep down: Bo, Nani, Amber and/or Primo.

(Brawlers who are sus and would be more nervous about this than they should be: 8-Bit, Spike, Poco, Bea, Mike.)

~~

No more sneaky gossip for Piper, and to a lesser extent, Emz. Piper could hardly speak to anyone since she loves weaving so much secret details in her words. I wouldn't call her "fake" because she genuinely enjoys company and has friends, but.. well, you've seen how I've written her. She's just... opportunistic.

Anyway, I'm sure it was in the middle of a conversation that ended badly. I wonder with whom?

~

Byron can't pitch sales for the time being. 😈

Customer: Well how do I know it works? Is it safe?

Byron: my good sir, I can assure you that...it's a highly experimental concoction. I've never used it myself because I would never be a lab rat to my own mixtures, but I have gotten a few constant test subjects around the park. Besides which, I have the utmost faith in what I'm doing. Even if there have been several unfortunate incidents in the past, I'm undeterred with my skill. Mainly because I'm beyond compare in my abilities but I also know I'm never the one at risk. Hahaha....

Byron:

Customer:

Byron: ...why did I say that?

~

Sadly Barley is unintentionally rude to several people too. Since this hypothetical truth ray/correction would prevent anyone from keeping their thoughts to themselves, he answers and comments with no filter. Several people (Rico, 8-Bit, Shelly, Bibi, etc.,) find it hilarious, Barley does not.

~

I truly wonder if the honesty policy also seeps into not only verbal truth, but making somebody avoid anything that's not "Honest" Work?

What I'm saying is, Belle can't even plan heists or delve into thinking up ways to sneak around.

Cue her announcing herself in the midst of a Robbery, ruining the plan and trying to turn herself in. (Unaffected members of her Gang might be able to get her out of there.)

Or, more ridiculously, that "This Pen Is Blue" scene from 'Liar, Liar' with her trying to sketch out a heist.

Maybe this one is a stretch? I'm not sure, but it is for fun.

~

Ruffs already has a hard time hiding his tail wagging. He's a serious guy who wants to be taken seriously, but now everyone will hear how proud he is of Squeak and how great a friend MXY Kit is to him, and how soft his heart actually is. Which, fine, maybe everybody already suspected, but it was never confirmed until now.

In short, gruff exterior dog is actually fuzzy, but it wasn't that deep down.

~

THE RETROPOLIS GANG, EDGAR AND PENNY.

1) Bull with his tough guy attitude would have trouble verbalizing mushy stuff. Crow just plain doesn't want to. Bibi is a mix of the two. She's naturally tough, and she doesn't have practice. Imagine it-- the tough gang on the block sharing emotions with each other and being buddy-buddy with people they're fond of! After the ordeal, they agree they need some time apart.

2) Penny is emotionally constipated because she leaves the bad thoughts locked in a chest. Also, she was raised by robots, so it's a little difficult expressing herself... but now she can say exactly what's on her mind! ...if she can even sort through her feelings. The truth device makes you unable to lie, but can it get you to know what you're feeling?

Penny: Holy shit, this is way too philosophical for me, my head hurts, please make it stop

Jessie: D: I wish I could help you!!

3) We all know about this tsundere emo boy. He greeted Colette with a "Hey, Colette. It's really great to see you today. I had a bad morning and you always brighten up my day." And they both knew something was up immediately. Now, as everyone is trying to resolve this, Edgar's Scarf is wrapped tightly after his mouth tightly, lest he says anything else, like how cool he thinks a few certain other Brawlers are, like Shelly, Crow and Bibi. Or how he looked up to and misses

Sorry, he parkour-ed away before he finished that sentence :)

~

....Stu won't be able to handle this, will he 😔

Stu: Oh, I'm not s-s-sticking around. Rebuild me-e-e when this t-t-truth nightmare is over🤘

Pam: Rebuild? But you aren't--

Stu: *falls into a pile-- he force shut himself down*

~

People who weren't affected because they're already 100% honest: Jacky, Sprout. That's it. They're the only honest folks here. Everyone else has something to hide.

~

I think that's about all the ideas I have for the Brawlers.

As for the cause, I like the idea of it being "Starr Park." If they thought complete honesty would work in making things running more smoothly, they thought extremely wrong. In fact, Happiness is dipping at an alarming rate. Clearly, this decision has to be reversed.

If it were Jessie, there's a more peaceful way to resolve this situation, and it started in a more innocent way too. That is, she made a truth ray for fun, but didn't think to make an option that reverses it, so she works on a "Lie Ray" as fast as she can while everyone suffers. (Yes she feels guilty.)

#Brawl Stars #Brawlstars #Too Many Brawlers #Honesty: The Best Policy? #Long Post #Ask

[ssson-of-sparda]

WHAT FORTUNE GAVE - CHAPTER 1 (VERGIL X NERO’S MOTHER)

Summary: Vergil arrives in Fortuna and crosses path with a rebellious lady dressed in red. But even if he doesn't want pay attention, Fortuna seemed determined to intertwine their lives.

(PROLOGUE)

Tags: Romance / Angst / Fluff / Explicit Sexual Content / Explicit Language / Canon-Typical Violence / Blood and Gore / Religion / The Order of The Sword / Civil War / Rebellion / Demons / Action and Adventure / Sparda’s past

Author’s note: So, let me introduce you to Elissa aka Nero's mother. I've decided to make her rebellious and quite feisty to mirror Nero's impetuosity. After all, that kid had to take after someone, right? So why not mummy dearest? I know the story might seem slow to start but I need to set up the scenery for the events to come. Hope you like it anyway.

It all started on a Holy Thursday, on the first day of a most-welcomed vigorous spring that tinted the cityscape of the Castle Town of Fortuna in luminous shades of gold and blue. The cobbled streets were empty, the shops and cafes all closed, for all the inhabitants were gathered inside the Cathedral whose majestic dome overlooked the nearby Renaissance-style buildings, a sacred beacon calling the devotees to pray. But the religious establishment was nothing in comparison to the partially-veiled giant-like idol standing tall and massive within the ramparts of the city, a figure made of stone and marble with the face of Vergil’s father. It didn’t look very resembling to him. Sparda never had such delicate features, not in his son’s memories at least. But it did not matter. The young man wasn’t here to judge some clearly distasteful architecture. He was here for the answers and the promises of power that island kept in between its walls.             “The Order of the Sword, huh? They worship a demon as a god?” This reality sounded foolish, incomprehensible even. His father was no god. He knew that better than anyone. But what was religion if not idealisation, divinisation of a flawed man? Humans …

***

“Elissa!” A fearful whisper pronounced the girl’s name but it would take more than a whisper for her to stop her mischief. “Elissa! Come dddd-down!” The girl named Elissa smiled, enjoying the risk she was definitely taking. Degrading the Savior? Not her first time. But she had never climbed that high before. “What if sss-omeone sees you … sss-ees us?” She rolled her green eyes, weary of the perpetual anxiety shaking the already very trembling voice of her friend. “Agnus! Stop being such a pussy!” She shouted-murmured, not really knowing why she was murmuring at all. “Everyone’s at church!” Agnus fidgeted even more as he saw the young woman taking her time spraying blue paint on the statue, the tip of her rosy tongue out, an adorable display of her concentration and perfectionism. “Does it look like the Guard’s symbol to you?” She demanded, observing her rebellious art from all possible angles.     Agnus sighed and looked up, regretting to have left his lab for this childish yet dangerous adventure. He wasn’t a teenager anymore. He even had a woman and a baby daughter waiting for him at home. So why wasting time playing vandals with Elissa? He knew why. “You’re not looking under my skirt, are you?”          The man blushed, terribly uncomfortable. “What? Of cccc-ourse not!” But he was a scientist and scientists were curious beings. That’s what he was telling himself each time he was thinking about what was hidden underneath Elissa’s crimson clothes.The Cathedral bells rang loud, signalling the end of today’s mass. Soon, the people of Fortuna would invade the streets again to come back to their boring daily occupations. “We’re definitely gonna get ccc-caught.” Agnus told himself. “What am I gonna tell Marcus?” A suspect noise stopped Agnus in his alarming thoughts. It was coming from a few streets away. Squeals and growls of fury and pain. Demons? “Ddd-did you hear that?” Elissa listened carefully and recognized the screams. She had heard similar ones in Mitis Forest recently. She had shut a lot of them up too. They were demons alright but not the worst kind. “Just a few …scarecrows.” She tried to reassure Agnus but realised he was already gone. “Such a pussy.” She shook her head, slightly exasperated but not surprised. Agnus was not famous for his bravery, quite the opposite. He was a coward but Elissa was okay with it. After all, he had been providing the Guardians with very useful information concerning demons for a few years now, all that thanks to his natural talents as an alchemist. The girl jumped off the statue and, in order to remove the beige dust from the fabric, shook her old red dress typical of Fortuna fashion, one of the few clothes she had kept from her past life in the Order and that she now used to blend in among the Fortunans each time she would venture in town. She then cautiously pulled up her skirt to reveal a thigh belt hidden under the white petticoat and strapped the spray can, right next to a sharp curved dagger she kept in a thin leather sheath just in case.        “Hey! You!” Did we say cautiously? “Shit!” Time to run.

***

Yamato shone in the sun, casting a shadow on Vergil’s young face that even this small fight hadn’t manage to fluster, and once again the blade made one with the saya with a perfect clink that echoed like a lethal musical note in the demon-cleared street. “Just what are your true intentions?” He wondered out loud as he wrapped his blue frame under a linen cloak that looked foreign to anyone who would take a look.Elissa took a look, green eyes staring with curiosity from under her white hood she had carelessly thrown above her head in precipitation to cover her soft locks of fiery ginger when she had left the place of her previous mischief as fast as she could, successfully escaping the angry guards shouting at her.           She took a look, knowing exactly what this stranger had just done as she watched him crossing the crowd with purpose, alone, going up the street towards the Cathedral while everyone was walking down, their minds still lost in religious psalms.             She stopped in her track for a second to admire him, wondering who he was and where he came from. She imagined a distant city at first, somewhere far away from here, crowded with people who hadn’t been indoctrinated by the Order’s promises. But then, as she noticed his bearing, so stately and yet so lonely, she thought he wasn’t from a particular place but from many places. A wanderer, traveling the world, someone who held knowledge, who had seen what was beyond the horizon of Fortuna.            He probably noticed her stare as he concealed his face even more under his hood and slightly hunched his shoulders. So, out of respect and despite her devouring curiosity, Elissa walked away, certain that if Sparda wanted her to meet this mysterious strange again, then their paths would cross one more time.Vergil quietly made his way in the main avenue where the marble giant was standing and slowed down when he noticed a small crowd gathered by the statue’s feet. Everyone was gasping in shock, hands over mouths as if they were the witnesses of the worst sacrilege, the most terrible infamy.       Wondering what the fuss was all about, the Son of Sparda peered over everyone’s shoulders from a distance but close enough to spot a graffiti plastered on the leg of the thing the Fortunans seemed to call The Savior. It was a symbol of some sort, a pair of winged arms with sharp claws protecting Sparda’s horned head. It had been drawn with turquoise paint that was still running down the immaculate white stone and that was leaving a heavy odour of solvents in the ambient air, identical to the one Vergil had smelt when that girl who had stared at him with insistence had walked past him, an odour indicating Vergil when the degradation had been made and who had done it.He scoffed briefly, amused by the political provocation and the over-dramatic reaction of the bigoted crowd, and after glancing one last time at the spray-painted symbol, resumed his exploration of the city.       “Looks like appearances can be deceiving in this city after all.” Vergil said as he thought about the rebellious girl in saint clothes who didn’t seem to be new in the graffiti drawing business according to the devotees’ wrath. “Those rebels again! Soiling the image of Sparda with their belligerent propaganda. Hope the Order will find them soon.” They agreed with each other with angry nods. “They are worse than demons! They probably hide in shadows like the rats they are.”     Had Vergil just stepped in the middle of a civil war?

***

When her holy hood fell back on her shoulders, Elissa sighed in relief, glad to finally feel her soft ginger hair finally liberated from that awful religious cage of white cotton she couldn’t stand wearing anymore. Few more minutes and she would also get rid of that ridiculous dress that constricted her like a straitjacket. But right now, she had a meeting to attend.      Summoned by her leader, probably to claim responsibility for her new roguishness that had caused such a big turmoil in the city this morning, she pushed the door of Guardian Marcus’s office without an ounce of fear or apprehension. She knew full well she would not be reprimanded. She never was.  “Elissa! My child, come.” The white-haired old man welcomed her with wide opened arms and showed her a seat before him where she sat in silence and waited for him to say what he had to say.At first, he just stared at her, without a word but with half a smile and a look of amusement he couldn’t keep to himself. And finally he spoke with a cheerful tone. “You should have painted it red.” His loud laugh echoed in the room and he took a huge sip of the red wine waiting to be drunk in a fancy chalice next to his velvet armchair.            Elissa had a timid respectful smile; unable to act casual with this man who, even though was distant family, had been leading the cause she was fighting for for so many years, since even before she was born. “How did you find out?”           “Agnus told me.” He admitted and gauged the girl’s reaction who seemed more disappointed in herself than surprised. “Should have thought so.”    “Be careful who you surround yourself with, Elissa. Offering someone your trust can be as dangerous as any blade. Believe me, I know.” He traced the large scar along his wrinkled face, a reminder of an old betrayal that had made him lose, in addition to his left eye, a man he used to call brother and who was now leading Fortuna thanks to his lies and his dark secrets. Sanctus. “I shall remember your advice, sir.” “But you know what surprises me the most? It’s that Adel didn’t try to talk you out of this. After all, he follows you like a shadow … an enamoured shadow even.” Marcus smiled, trying to build complicity with this young lady, the granddaughter of the brother he had lost long ago, a child he loved like his own. Elissa smiled in return and shook her head, having trouble to believe she was having this conversation with her leader. “And yet you seemed keen on refusing his advances. May I know why?”        “I didn’t know this was a matchmaking appointment.” Elissa humoured, definitely amused by the situation. “I’m old and I’ve been at war for most of my life. So let’s say, the frivolity of youth and the burgeoning loves are like peaceful songs to my heart.”        Elissa sighed and her heart, in spite of this new attempt at making it yield to a man she didn’t love, once again refused to see Adel as nothing else than a friend. “I’m just not interested. Enamoured shadows are not my type.”         “ And what, pray tell, is your type?”

***

Vergil had visited many places in his short lifetime. Perpetually on the move – he refused to say ‘on the run anymore’ for running was for the weak – he had seen so many cities, so many different landscapes, some in shades of blue, some in shades of green and other in shades of gold, so many colours most men would have forgotten but that he had somehow always cared to remember. But there was something about Fortuna that made her unique, different from all the things he had had the chance to see.         Perhaps was it the anachronistic almost medieval atmosphere that had shaped the city architecture and the inhabitants’ lifestyle or perhaps was it because every edifice seemed to hold secret knowledge about his family.  Whatever it was, Vergil was sure of one thing; what made Fortuna special were clearly not the city’s filthy underground bars from Port Caerula, well hidden under the docks, away from prying eyes that would be easily outraged by the debauchery they held between their walls. That kind of place he was familiar with, despite his revulsion for them and the people frequenting them.           “Hello, sugar. You’re a new face.” An eccentric woman declared as she tried to take a peek under Vergil’s cowl, her voluptuous body leant against the bar. “And a handsome one. I would lower my price for a face like yours.” The young man glanced at the woman, shortly but long enough to see how she looked, the embodiment of repulsive tragedy that once looked beautiful.             Her makeup was smeared and barely hiding the bruises and the cuts on her young face and she was wearing a church outfit ripped at the thighs and purposely unbuttoned to reveal her generous cleavage. And in her velvet purse, she kept a wig made of dry artificial ginger hair some despicable men had certainly asked her to wear more than once.       “Not interested. Now leave.” Vergil’s tone was curt and cold but she insisted anyway.        “You’re sure? I make the best blowjobs in all Fortuna. Isn’t that right, Captain?” She nodded towards a young charismatic brown-skinned man carrying a crossbow on his back and drinking sitting the stool right next to Vergil. When he heard his name, he spared a glare at the prostitute and at the Son of Sparda as well for no particular reason but because he hated his occasional obscene deviations to be exposed. “He just looooves some naughty church girls. Do you like them too?” Vergil ignored her and focused again on his drink, lying untouched on the bar. He didn’t like drinking. “Or do you prefer them innocent and prudish? I can be either.”  “Quit with your lies and just leave, Pomona².” The dark-haired man ordered with a strong voice that made her smile.       “ Ha! Looks like I finally have my name back. See you around, sugar… Adel.” She winked and left to sell her body to someone else that would accept it in exchange of a bit of money.“You should not visit that sort of bar if women like Pomona bother you, stranger.” The so-called Adel warned before drinking from his tankard. He, just like everybody else here, could tell Vergil was not from around. All they had to do was looking at him. After all, everyone knew everyone else in a small reclusive island like Fortuna. “It’s sometimes the loudest, worst people that give all the information a man looks for.”     “So you’re looking for information then. About what?” Vergil was a curious man but he despised curiosity in other people, especially when he was the subject of their curiosity.            “Nothing a man like you knows about.”        The answer surprised the Moor who hadn’t expected such arrogance coming from a stranger. “Well, piece of advice. If you want information in Fortuna, there are two ways to get them. Either you don’t behave like an arrogant asshole or you pay for them.”     Vergil smirked slightly under his hood as he already knew how to react to such pathetic insult. Adel was not a difficult man to read. “Just like when you want a woman’s love, am I right?”             The provocation burnt and stang like the most vicious hot poker piercing through

Adel’s dignity and ego. It pushed him to stand up and grab his crossbow in retaliation.         But his weapon, as precise and strong as it was, was useless in close combat and it instantly met the sharp blade of a magnificent katana that would make any swordsman worth the name grow pale. And with a dexterous swift move, the crossbow flew across the room as if it was a paper plane.But the clients in the bar didn’t gasp at the legendary Yamato. They gasped at the silvery-white hair adorning Vergil’s head that had been revealed when he inadvertently had lost his hood in this express fight. “It’s the hair of Sparda.” People whispered, amazed.     With an expert graceful move, Yamato found his saya again and Vergil walked through the crowd, high-handed and resolved to escape this place and all those bothering eyes he felt upon him.But as he pushed the door of the establishment, he came face to face with the feminine figure he had noticed in the streets this morning. It stopped him in his track and for the first time in his lifetime, but certainly not the last, he looked into her deep green eyes.  They reminded him of an old poem he loved greatly, one he had read so many times and would never grow tired of, about a dark forest and a tyger burning bright³. And as he gazed in that girl’s look and witnessed that emerald wood, wild and dense, trying to conceal in vain the fiery fur of a predator, Vergil knew he would never read that poem the same way or imagine Blake’s colours in the shades he would normally imagine them.               And so he stared, longer than he wanted, almost the same way she gazed at the pale blue topazes and at the god-like silver hair crowning his head. But while fire is wild, the ice is timid. And thus, admiration only shows through the eyes of the red lady.    And when she finally opened her mouth to speak her mind, Vergil escaped into the night leaving lost shadows behind him. But that was fine. Shadows were not the lady’s type after all.It all started on a Holy Thursday, on the first day of a most-welcomed vigorous spring that tinted the cityscape of the Castle Town of Fortuna in luminous shades of gold and blue.      But among them there was this vibrant red and two sparkling amber-tinted emeralds reflecting brighter than anything else in a pair of icy eyes, a mirror who strangely wouldn’t mind seeing that reflection again.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: ¹ Marcus: derived from the name of the Roman god of war, Mars to highlight Marcus' status and personality. ² Pomona: From Latin pomus "fruit tree". The word "Pomme" is also the French for "apple", the fruit of temptation. Pomona will come back in other chapters. ³ a tyger burning bright : From William Blake's poem The Tyger

#devil may cry #devil may cry fanfiction #vergil #nero's mother #vergil x nero's mother #vergil fanfiction

[notmrskennedy]

Likeability

(GN!Reader x Spencer Reid)

A/N - I’ve rewritten this thing like six freaking times but oh well - I hope it at least goes over better than the last - please be gentle 

Summary - The team meets a very dislikable scientist that Spencer seems to fancy

W/C - 2.8k

Warnings - brief anatomy/bones/etc mentions (our scientist is a forensic anthropologist-ish) & a dash of swearing

Important! - this is the FIRST ending and the alternative ending that you’ll like a lot more will come along in the next day or so

----

Luke is holding his stomach in his hands. He could usually pride himself on keeping his cool, keeping his head—and stomach—together during a case. He’d seen enough dead bodies that this shouldn’t have thrown him like he’d just sailed twelve foot waves in a dingy. 

But he is, after all, standing over a mass grave. Watching a too giddy scientist dig up the bodies. 

You’ve captured everyone’s attention, for various reasons. Rossi is vaguely amused by your joyous shouting of bones and your rat moustached assistant. Luke can’t tear his eyes away from the car wreck—are you supposed to swing bones around like baseball bats? Reid seems more interested in your bad jokes and coveralls than he is in solving the case. 

The rat assistant—Stewart Walsh—squeezes between Luke and Reid, scuttling like some kind of diseased turtle. “Doctor Y/L/N!”

You barely stop pouring over the mud covered pelvis in your hands to even acknowledge him. 

“I just thought you should know that Dr. Evanston just got here.”

You look up, toss the bone to him, and snort. “Tell him the soil samples are four miles due east from here.”

“What’s wrong with Evanston?” Luke asks to no one in particular it seems, waving Stewart off to run for a group of approaching nerds in coveralls. 

Ignoring the question or maybe Luke, you just turn back to your search. Elbow deep in mud, being nice must not have been on the to-do list. Reid leans over, hands in his pockets, and whispers, “Evanston stole one of her research papers. I thought he was going to get his teeth kicked in—“

“Skull!” you holler. Luke isn’t stupid enough to miss the glare reserved for the sheepish Dr. Reid.

He clears his throat. “Thoughts so far, doctor?”

“I’m thinking beetles,” is all you say before turning back to your skull. Luke might not know many scientists, but he doesn’t think that most of them look at human skulls like its the Mona Lisa. Like this fat piece of bone held the answers to the universe inside its empty eye sockets. 

“Beetles?” Luke coughs. Rossi just shakes his head. Pretends this isn’t a conversation he’s having. Reid is still studying you like Luke might study infiltration schematics. Stewart runs up, out of breath, very rose coloured. 

You’re eyes are sparkling as you wade over to them with a new radius bone in your hands. Everyone bends like they know what they’re looking at and you point along the edge of the bone. “It’s a subtle difference but these bones have been cleaned before being buried. My guess is carrion beetles. They’re very hard workers. And—“ you switch to pointing at the radial head— “minute scoring and kerf marks. These look pretty old, so I’m assuming we’re getting close to the bottom.”

“So our unsub dismembered his victims,” Rossi begins, “then cleaned the pieces?”

You nod and hand off the bone to a very blushing Stewart. “I won’t know for sure until I’ve had a chance to examine all the bones. There’s nothing definitive yet. What a hobbyist though, right?”

You chuckle to yourself and dive back into fishing out more finger and wrist bones. Luke turns, runs his hands over his face, and hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Where did we find her?”

Rossi shrugs, “FBI easter egg hunt.” Luke blinks, while Rossi chuckles at his gullibility. “Come on, the doctor’s the best in the field. Good kid, I can tell.” 

“Y/N’s great,” Spencer absently adds on, too busy staring at you. You’re explaining different types of dismemberment to Stewart like you’re discussing the rain. Luke grips onto his stomach just a little tighter. 

“Y/N, huh?” Luke teases, momentarily forgetting the unsettling feeling in his gut about you. “You two, uh, friends or something?”

It’s Reid’s turn to stumble. “Yeah, but it’s—we’re just—we’re just—.” 

Rossi shakes his head, slaps Reid on the shoulder. “Oh yeah, just friends. So, tell me. Do you talk about dismemberment before or after you make out?”

#

JJ wants to beg Emily not to make her go down into the basement. You’re down there. She knows it’s childish to be this avoidant—you are just a person after all. A creepy, psychopathic weirdo that makes JJ’s gut churn. She gets why Spencer’s taken to you—shared love of science and random trivia. She does. But that doesn’t mean JJ enjoys the cold ass morgue, smiling along as you ramble. Most of everyone’s limited contact with you has involved random facts and Stewart’s too intimate knowledge of fracture patterns. 

There had been ten minutes of reassurance from Emily that you were, in fact, not a horrible person. Ended with JJ making the cold and dark trek down to the morgue. She couldn’t imagine working down here all day long. No one to talk to, no one to strategise with, no where to go. Maybe it suited you. No one would have to listen. 

“—don’t know what to do!” echoes across the bottom of the stairwell, the morgue’s doors cracked open. The distress breaks JJ’s heart. Your voice stops her dead in her tracks.  

“They don’t hate you,” Spencer’s voice comes after. Gentler, softer. “They—they just don’t know you yet.”

“They don’t want to, Spence!” and JJ winces with the words. It always hurt more when the truth came out in that tone. “I get it! You know? I work with human remains and don’t bring my people skills with me when I’m on the job, but—that shouldn’t matter!” 

JJ winces again, tries to ignore how those are nothing short of teary sniffles echoing through her ears. She leans back against the wall and has no idea what to do. Spencer had obviously been down here for hours. Knew you well enough to get the teary truth. What could she do now? Interrupt? 

She’d walked into hostage situations less freakin’ stressful than this. 

“You’re right,” Spencer soothes, steadfast and strong, “it doesn’t matter. This isn’t—“

“It’s not your fault,” you sigh. JJ doesn’t want to hear the strangled touch to your voice. Doesn’t want to hear the break. “They’re your friends and I’m just your—“ 

 “Doctor!” Stewart calls and JJ could scream. You’re his what? 

At least, it’s as good as any moment to intrude. 

“What, Stewart?” you snapped, already broken away from Spencer with wet cheeks and stained glasses. You wipe them off haphazardly with the tail end of Spencer’s sweater sleeve—JJ couldn’t help but smile, even if it’s a little strangled. 

Stewart jumps like a wet cat and tosses a bundle of files into your hands. “Beetles.”

One word snatches the tears from your face. Snatches you away from Spencer’s side for one of the dozen skeletons on the tables. There was no reason to think that she’ll get her report from you now. With a rib bone in one hand and contemplation in your features—JJ can’t decide how unnerved she is—you’re a little too concentrated. 

Stewart scuttles around you. A little too attentive. A little too cherry tinted. Yep. No reports to be had from either of you. JJ turned to Spencer instead, hoping that maybe he’d be helpful. Plastered up like a billboard, JJ knows that saccharine smile isn’t going to get her anywhere. 

“Spence?”

He hums, halfheartedly tearing his eyes away. “Yeah?”

“I need the latest report for Emily, but I don’t think—“

“I’ll—just a second, JJ.” Spencer grins, sugary sweet, and slips away. JJ doesn’t miss how he places a hand on your shoulder as he passes. How you barely even notice that quite intimate contact. She also doesn’t miss how Stewart’s face sours at the action, how his eyes narrow enough that Spencer feasibly should’ve noticed. 

Reports in hand a minute later, JJ leans over to Spencer. Elbows him in the arm. “Stewart seems pretty jealous. Any reason for that?”

Spencer shrugs. “Wouldn’t know a thing about it.”

#

Rossi doesn’t have an opinion. Everyone keeps asking—oh Rossi, you’re the wisest of us all, what should we do about poor little Y/N? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. You are just some scientist who is doing a thousand percent better job than any other forensics ‘expert’ he’s had the pleasure of working with. 

Your lab doesn’t smell. You don’t smell. Is there anything more to ask for? 

But he does get the brute of having to make the trek down to the morgue—god, his knees alone—and receives most of the reports from the not as horrible as everyone thinks Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. Who is joyfully humming while squinting over one of the skeleton’s hands. 

“Hey, doc,” he calls and you look up at him with an adorable sort of grin. “Got anything new?”

“Sure,” you chirp. Hesitate to wave him over. “If you want the details, that is.”

Rossi shakes his head, pulls up a stool to sit next to you and your subject. “I like to have as much knowledge as I can. You never know what will lead you to your un-sub.”

You settle your elbows on the table, straighten a stray finger bone. The team shouldn’t be worried about you being a psychopath. You’re dedicated, careful, attentive. Rossi hopes that if he ever gets turned into human remains, you’re the one looking over him. There’s been more care put into one skeleton than into his three combined marriages. 

“You’re in luck,” you answer, “I’ve got a lot to tell you about our attacker. You’ve got time, right?”

Rossi nods, smiles. “Plenty.”

#

Penelope still hasn’t met you and that kind of pisses her off. You haven’t made it upstairs once? She flies into some dingy Wyoming hovel of a police station for like a week and no one’s thought to bring you upstairs? Rude. 

She’s sitting in JJ’s desk chair, waiting for her and Luke to get back from interviewing a potential lead—some ex-felon who fit your makeshift profile. Reid’s scouring over some boring geographical profile, trying not to get annoyed as she nervously—angrily—rants about the case to him. She knows he’s tuning her out, but her work’s been put on the back burner until someone comes up with something to give her. 

There’s only so much a computer can find and she’s no profiler. 

It’s about five minutes after Reid snapped and left to get a coffee refill, when she picks up a call from the desk. “Hello?”

Creaking metal and shuddering breathing comes first. “Set the scalpel down” comes second.  She swallows, silent, and panicking. What the heck is she supposed to do? Paying attention to those hostage negotiation seminars that she definitely didn’t go to would’ve come in handy right about now. 

Said scalpel clatters onto some metal table, followed by a strong, “You really don’t want to do this. Please put the gun down.”

Oh god, this is happening. 

“You just—“ a male voice snips, bellowing out, “YOU DON’T LOOK AT ME.”

“I do look at you, Stewart,” you plead just as JJ and Luke clamour through the bullpen’s door. Penelope puts the call on speaker, mutes it, and screams for them. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Penelope sobs professionally, “someone’s got a gun.”

JJ runs for Emily’s office while Reid returns heedlessly. Luke puts a soft hand on Penelope’s cold one and squeezes. Newbie or not, it’s appreciated as the man’s voice returns. “I’ve tried for so long to get you to—to just—just look at me! I’ve done so much!”

“I know, Stewart,” you ease and Reid tenses. Nearly drops his coffee. “It’s not your fault. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Yeah,” Stewart sobs; Penelope can only imagine how crazy this kid must be. 

“Did you leave all those bodies for me, Stewart?” you question and everyone holds their breath. Luke squeezes harder on her hand. Reid’s twitching like a rabbit’s nose, a death grip on his mug, frozen as a Michigan pond. 

Stewart sniffles. Probably nods. Penelope doesn’t know whether to run or sit or cry. She decides it’s probably cry, but instead her fingers start moving to record the call, trace the office origin. 

“It was a great puzzle, Stewart, it was really genius. It was a fun case to follow, you know that.” You swallow hard, metal tinkles through the speaker. Please, Penelope begs, don’t let them kill each other. I haven’t met the doctor yet!

“Why did you kill these girls, Stewart?” your voice is so gentle and lulling Penelope almost forgets that she’s listening to you try to save your own life. 

 “I wanted you to look,” he says, sniffles. “I wanted you. I want you, Y/N. I want you to love me.”

It’s either her computer beeping or someone falling through a table or a gunshot. She doesn’t know. She’s crying too hard to care. 

#

Tara doesn’t know when she started to run—probably just after JJ, Luke, and Reid barrelled passed her by the bathroom shouting about the situation—but she’s almost to the morgue doors, right on Reid’s heels. Lord almighty, she feels so stupid. She’d had enough little one on one chats with Stewart to know he was some sort of psycho in disguise. To know that something was wrong with that kid. No one could last more than three minutes with your grad student assistant without wanting to take an eyeball out—his or theirs it didn’t matter. She’d let herself believe you when you told her that all forensic anthropologists seem like that. That there was nothing to worry about. 

Nothing to worry about her ass. 

Luke’s the first to storm the morgue, expecting what Tara is: you, dead, on the floor with Stewart on the brink of killing himself. But they stop and they stare and Reid beams on with the absurd look on your face. 

You’re shaking with rage, pointing a gun at a very unconscious, crumpled, bleeding Stewart Walsh. Your teeth are bared in what Tara would consider out of a comic book—ludicrous and of someone who’s completely lost their mind. JJ makes the mistake of asking if you’re alright.

“Alright?” you chirp, feral and ravenous. JJ and Luke shrink back as you shout, “I lived in Honduras for three years! This isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me. It’s my third fucking kidnapping!”

“T-third?” Luke croaks. 

“Third!” you shout again and recklessly set your gun on the table. Spencer grins, which sets you off further. “I’ve been nice. I’ve been accommodating. But this is my fourth psychotic grad student! I fucking swear—!”

Stewart groans—thank god he’s alive—and Spencer, thankfully, rushes forward to catch you before you can take anything else out on the kid. Tara’s heard rumours about mysterious other instances of your being under arrest. Illegal transportation of goods was one thing, police brutality was another. The scalpel sticking out of his knee is bad enough. 

She helps Luke haul Stewart to his feet, reeking of desperation and a much needed psych eval. JJ follows close behind, closes the morgue doors behind them. But not before they hear your muffled sobs and Spencer’s smiling. 

“You got him, Y/N.”

“No, Spence,” you correct, and Tara can’t help but be proud, “I kicked the snot out of him.”

#

Emily is pulling on her coat when the commotion starts. Penelope, JJ, and Luke are clamouring all over you and Reid, all asking a million too many questions for you to answer. She smiles as you hold your ground next to Reid, arms crossed and relatively relaxed. Emily hasn’t been asked to weigh in on the debate, but she likes you. 

And she hopes the reason will come out in the next five seconds. 

Penelope ensures that it does. She cuts through everyone’s chatter with a flourish of her hands. “Y/N, Spencer,” she demands, “you have to tell me: are you dating or what?”

It takes all of half a second for the pair of you to break out into laughter, fumbling over each other, bent up in hysterics. Emily hopes her own chuckles are well hidden. You elbow Reid hard, barely breathing enough to get the sentence out, “Tell ‘em, Spence.”

Reid shakes his head, elbows you back. “Siblings, guys, we’re siblings.”

“But—!”

“That can’t be—!”

“Biological?”

Penelope shakes her head, throws herself physically into the conversation. “Wait! No! I looked you up! You aren’t the other Dr. Reid, you’re Y/N Y/L/N!”

“Did you change your name?” JJ coughs. Her eyebrows can’t possibly get further up into her hairline as you nod. “Why? Why would you do that?”

You snort. “You don’t want to know.”

Readjusting her scarf, Emily doesn’t bother to hide her shit-eating grin. “Do something illegal, Y/N?”

“Of course not, Special Agent Emily Prentiss. I, a very upstanding citizen and Spencer’s lovely younger sibling, would never do anything that caused me to change my name lest I be arrested in six different countries. No, of course not.”

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #reid #reid x reader #reid x y/n #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #i'm serious please be gentle

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Dangerous Love (Pt. 08 of 13)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne (Batman) X Harley Quinn's sister!Reader

Word count: 2.9K

Summary: You're Harley Quinn's sister, Havoc, one of the many villain's of Gotham. But you've been caught, and has been tortured constantly for an year in Belle Reve. But when your think your life can't be anything else than the nightmare you find yourself into, Bruce Wayne, the Batman, takes you in for a project. He has a program to rehabilitate villains, and you're his lab rat. But soon enough confusing feelings start getting in the way. You know falling for Bruce is stupid. But can you keep your heart under control?

<- Previous part (07)

Next part (09)->

{Justice League - DC Masterlist}

×

Home isn't Always a Place

You're pushed forward, a gun on your back. You step down the ramp, the sunlight blinding you for a while. The headquarters were built here, in some sort of field. There as soldiers everywhere, and they're immediately aware of you. Of course they are, you're a threat. With a gun on your hand, seven bullets means seven men on the ground, crying in pain. You hardly miss.

“Sister!” A yell gets your attention, and you turn to its source. Harley comes running, throwing her arms around you. “So good to see you. Where have you been?”

In paradise. “Same place as I've been for the last year. Isn't it obvious?” Shrugging your shoulders casually, you try not to look to misplaced. Wait. Why would you look misplaced here?

“Well, now we get to have fun and some family bonding.” As she speaks, a soldier walking by gets her attention. “Hey, you. Can you help me with something?” She says in a flirting tone and walks away.

“Now it's a party.” A rough voice says, and you soon recognize the owner.

“Killer.” You greet him with a smile and a quick hug. “Nice to see you'll be here to have my back. Who else is here?”

“Deadshot is arguing with a soldier. Diablo is seated in some corner whining.” He smiles, gesturing at his left. “Long time no see. How's life?”

“Life's fine. As fine as it could be.” You start walking over where Deadshot is, watching as the soldier rolls his eyes. Floyd is gesticulating a lot, which means he's pissed.

“I won't have it like it was the last time. Now go, be a good puppy and tell this to your boss.” He says, turning his back at the man. “Havoc. Hi.” He says, exchanging a glance with Killercroc. “Ready for another stupid mission?”

“It's not like we have a choice, right? I–”

“Listen up, assholes! Your dirty things are in these boxes. So change and let's get the hell out of here. You have five minutes.” A man shouts, and everyone rolls their eyes.

You make your way to your things, and as you expected, your box is filled with your old clothes. All in shades of lilac, purple and pink. As usual, the soldiers just stand around you, not caring too much, as you change. You never liked that. Harley doesn't seem to care, and many eyes lay on her. But you do care. And you care a lot more now.

“Guys. A little help?”

Floyd and Killer grab some of the dark plastic bags that lie on the the floor, as you take a dark purple sleeveless jumpsuit. You move to stand near a wall, and the guys turn their backs at you, holding the bags high so you're shielded from anyone's eyes. They did the same on the first time, and you're very thankful for that.

“Thanks, guys. I'm done.” You tell them, fixing the jumpsuit on your body. The hard material makes you feel strong, like Havoc again.

“You're welcome.” Killer says.

“To the trucks! Now!” A man barks and you have no choice but to do as he says.

All of you go in the back of one of the trucks, together. Harley seems to be the only one excited about it, since she's trying to flirt with a soldier named Tom. You wonder what Joker would think about that. Oh. He's stuck on a bed for the rest of his life. He won't be saying anything, you bet.

As you move through the town, you can't help but think about what you did before leaving the house. The kiss. You can't believe you actually kissed him. What in hell were you thinking? You're very brave to do such a crazy thing like that. And you should've at least stayed to see his expression. To see if he was mad or not. But even if he didn't like it, you trust him enough to know he won't break his promise. He still keep helping you after you beat him up twice, so it's not a peck in the lips that will make him change his mind.

Being sure of this is a weird feeling. Your head is so much clearer now, you're not as scared as you were. And you're liking who you're becoming. This mission is just a inconvenience. It'll be over and you'll head back to the house, back to the way of getting a real life. A good life, a life you'll actually enjoy having.

You stop suddenly, and you're ordered out of the truck. “There's a small group here. Eyes open. They might have put mines here so... Don't blow up.”

You get two guns, one in your hand as you walk the perimeter. Harley stays close to Tom, but it doesn't bother you. You walk near Killercroc and Floyd, your head too far from this place.

“Hey.” Floyd elbows you. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I'm just... Thinking.” Shrugging your shoulders, you need to focus on being casual. “How's you daughter?”

“She's great. Best student of her class and she's in a hella good school. The best of Gotham.” He looks at the sides, making sure nobody is too close. Killercroc is a few steps ahead and he doesn't really care about these stuff anyways. “You will never guess who put her there. And also guaranteed her a good University, any one she chooses.”

“That's freaking amazing, Floyd. Who did all that?” It couldn't be Amanda. She's not that good.

“Batman.” The mention of Bruce makes you blush, your heart aching from his absence. You look down, running a hand through your hair.

“Batman? In like the man you hate with all your strength?”

“How can I hate someone who does that for my kid? No, no. I respect him. Even admire him now, doing this after I tried to kill him half a dozen times.”

“Floyd, he's...” You need to let out out your chest, and having someone to talk about it would be nice. And you know you can trust Floyd, even more now that his hate for Bruce is gone. So the words roll out your tongue in a whisper as you both stop walking. “...Batman is the one helping me... Rehabilitating me.”

“Oh. So the rumors are true. I knew they took you somewhere else, just didn't know where.”

“You two. Walk.” Someone says and you start moving again.

“Yes, he... I'm going well. I...” Floyd looks down at you, raising one eyebrow. “He said it was mostly just me, but he did help. He treated me with kindness, believed me. I don't know how to explain but I'm different.”

“I did notice something was off with you. But I'd never guess.”

“Really? I was trying to keep it cool.” As you speak, three man come from the corner, immediately shooting at you. You duck behind a car, peaking just enough to lay eyes on them and aim. But they're easily put down without you having to shoot.

“All clear!” Harley says, smiling.

“So...” You continue when you start walking downtown again. “I didn't want to come, but he promised me it would be the last time.”

“Uhm... He's making promises?”

“Yes.” You don't get his tone. “He's very kind to me. Unlike anyone else... He even threw me a birthday party.”

“Happy birthday by the way, and sorry it's a little late.” You turn the corner, carefully at first. “How kind?”

“Kind.” What else can you say? That his touch is so soft, so gentle that you couldn't help but fall in love with him? “He... Cares. I think.”

“You fell for him.” Floyd bursts out, and it's not even a question. It's an affirmative. How did he get there so fast?

But you're fast to dissimulate. “What? No.”

“It's called Stockholm Syndrome.”

“It's not like that!” You exclaim. “You know I've been kidnapped before. Twice by the Joker, who kept me hostage for five months... I did spent three of them just to play tricks on his mind and get some of his money but you get what I mean. Batman didn't held me hostage. He spoke to me, helped me get clean of the drugs they used to give me at Belle Reve, he... He won't let the door locked anymore. He wants me to be able to live in society again.”

“I was teasing you. But since you went into great lengths to defend your relationship with him... You did fell for him.”

“Shut up, Floyd.” You mutter, too much on your head. Increasing your pace, you reach Killer, walking beside him.

Your feelings are pretty clear, as much as you don't want to admit it. And hear it like that just makes it even worse. The kiss... All you think is about that kiss you shouldn't have given.

You're thankful when the action starts, because you have something else to focus on. It doesn't resumes in shooting, you eventually get into hand to hand combat. And you can deal with it pretty well. Of course, it's easier because the guys have your back. You guess they somehow noticed you have no pleasure on doing this anymore. Diablo, as usual, doesn't participate much.

When you stop, hours later, you feel your body complaining a little, but you know it'll get worse. But you also know you can deal with that. And you will, because this time you have somewhere nice to return to.

The commotion goes on for a couple of days. It gets messy, and it only gets worse when the granades start falling from the skies. You're all bruised up again, but not as bad as you were in the hell hole. How is it possible that you're in the middle of a war and you're not as much hurt as you were inside a prison?

As you approach the terrorists base, things get worse, and even the soldiers seem to get anxious. So that means they're extra evil to you. One of them denied you a bottle of water, what made Killercroc almost get his head blown out for arguing with the man. That reminds you that you don't have an explosive this time, but the soldiers told you they will put a bullet through your head if you try anything. But they can rest their minds because the only thing you want is to end this soon.

A week later, the soldiers decide to settle for the night, and push you into a half destroyed house. Harley uses all the hot water, so you have to endure the cold. But it feels good to clean up, and you can take a look at your wounds. A few cuts and purple bruises, nothing you can't deal with. The only bad part of the times you stop to rest a little before start moving again, is that your mind involuntary floats back to Bruce. You can't help it, everything comes back. When he left his gala to dance with you, the dreams, the birthday surprise, the kiss... Why can't you take this man out of your head?

You're alone in a room where half of the wall is down. The others are downstairs, but you want to be alone. You can see the stars from here, and you wonder if Bruce is staring at them too. “Hey, freak.” A soldier comes in, throwing a small radio at you, that looks like a very rustic cellphone. “Someone wants to speak to you. You have five minutes.”

Watching as he leaves, you lie back on the floor, approaching the radio from your ear and mouth. You know who it is, and your stomach goes crazy, with a thousand butterflies flying around.

“Hi.” He answers. “How are you?”

His voice is so familiar, like home. “I'm surviving. Enduring. Just want this to be over soon.”

“It will. And you'll be back here.”

“I hope so... We're near their base now. So only a couple of days more and we'll reach it. Take them down.” You close your eyes, hoping that his voice will be enough to make you dream of him tonight. You would give anything to have him here... Or to be back home. You mean, back at his house. “How's everything there?" Stupid question, he's fine, everything is fine.

“It's weird not to have you here.”

A smile comes to your lips. “Is it?” You whisper, taking a deep breath. You're scared you'll lose control, and the words will roll out your tongue. “Our time is almost over but... Thank you, I... It's good to speak to you.”

“Just remember I'm waiting for you.” You hear his heavy breath, as if he's suffering too, tired, exhausted.

Then you hear a little static, and you know he's gone... There's a weight on your chest and you can't help but let a single tear roll down your cheek. You keep the radio near your face, as if you could hold Bruce with a little longer. “I miss you so much.” You say, barely recognizing your weak voice.

“I miss you too.” The sudden answer scares you, your eyes widened.

“I- I thought you hanged up.”

“No, I'm still here. And I miss you very much, sweetheart.”

The pet name makes you lose it, and now you're crying. “Bruce, I–”

“Time's up, Havoc.” The soldier comes back, hand reached out. “Say goodbye to your protector.”

“I gotta go. I... I miss you.” You burst out before another sentence, far more dangerous, leaves your lips. You give the man the radio back, curling up on the floor, bracing yourself.

From tomorrow, you'll fight harder. You need to go back.

• • •

“Their base–” The soldier who announces is shot in the throat, right beside you. You're duck behind the barricades, waiting for the big guns to arrive. You cannot approach with the risk of being blown up, and they're not allowed to spend you just yet.

“That's it. Shoot to kill, that's an order.” The commandant yells, and the bodies start dropping faster. But not from your gun. You keep aiming for their knees, but another bullet always finds the man you leave collapsed on the floor. “Are you deaf, slut?” He barks at you, leaving his post and pulling you up by the shoulders. “Don't you think you can trick me just because the Bat took you into his wings. Do what you do best and kill those terrorists.”

“I don't kill, sarg.” You tell him, making your way back to your post. But the grabs your arm violently, squeezing right on a wound you got. You groan, trying to pull away.

“You don't kill? Nice try. You will do as I say!” He yells right to your face, and you can feel his disgusting breath. But you won't back down, and you won't take a life just because he told you to.

“I don't kill.” You repeat, standing as tall as you can, head up raised up to look the man in the eye.

His gun makes sudden contact with your face, in the apple on the right cheek. Your head jerks to the side, and you're knocked down, a sharp pain spreading through the skull.

“Hey! Leave her alone!” Killercroc comes running, and you see through the corner of your eyes as he engages in a fight with the man.

You're done here. Crawling away from the fight, you hide yourself behind a building, seated on the floor and resting your back against the wall. They seem to be dealing with that very well, so they don't need you. You're tired of fighting, tired of being in pain.

“Havoc?” Floyd calls, startling you a little. “Are you ok? Your cheek is–”

I'm (Y/N). “Yes, I'm ok. But I'm not going back there.”

“You'll have to tell them you're feeling unwell or else–”

“I don't care, ok? I just need to go back home. I'm sick and tired of this shit.” You burst out.

“Home?” He questions, not seeming too excited to head back to the battlefield.

“Yeah, just... I'm confused, I'm hurt. I'm not thinking straight.”

“I have to head back. Sorry.”

Nodding, you close your eyes, taking in the explosions and shooting. The only thing you want is peace now, silence... Bruce's arms. A heavy, cold rain starts falling, and you're soaking wet in a matter of seconds. Your head spins around, and you lie down, eyes closed tight.

Suddenly, you're pulled into a heavy sleep.

• • •

“Lucky bitch. We should be taking her back to where she belongs.” A rough voice wakes you up, and you sit up, eyes opening slowly. You're in a truck, in the back, on the metal floor. Your hands are tied by huge metal handcuffs, that cover both hands, reaching the middle of your forearm. It's heavy.

“Let's teach her a lesson. Just like old times.” A man say, and you recognize two out of six, both were your guards in Belle Reve.

“Don't leave too many bruises. She'll be with Batman in ten minutes, he'll notice.”

Ten minutes... You're going back. This truck in taking you back. Lowering your head, you smile, breathing deeply.

“She was with the Task Force. He'll think she got them there.”

“Fine then.” You're pulled back, a dark, heavy fabric covering your head. “This is just to remind you of who you are, Havoc.”

“And to give you a nice memory of home.”

The beating starts, and your body easily collapses to the floor again. But you're lifted up, again and again. You should fight. You should do something, but you can't. You're not the superpowerful girl you thought you were. You break too, and you get hurt. And you are hurt, with countless cuts and wounds through your body. When you were high on whatever they gave you, you could keep moving. Now you can't. Being vulnerable, weak, feels awful, but there's just no strength in you. You just need to make it through the last ten minutes that separate you from home.

Home.

When exactly did the house became that?

Or is it Bruce? Is he the one becoming your home? Is it even possible? You hope it is.

×

@redwolf-7 @glitterypinkkitty @mybabyboytony @chipster-21 @agustdpeach @yaakimoon2 @chloe-skywalker

#imagine bruce wayne #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne x reader #batman imagine #imagine batman #batman x reader #ben affleck batman #justice league imagine