Fandom: DC, The Suicide Squad, Peacemaker (antagonistic)
Word Count: 1329
TW: light torture, capture, knives, language
Note: Takes place before Peacemaker show and Reader used to be in a relationship with Rick Flag.
Alternate POV of this drabble: Sing For Me
“Wake up!”
Chris slowly pries open his eyes with a groan. His head is throbbing in time with his heartbeat as he slowly raises his head. As soon as he does, he sees you staring down at him with a sinister smile on your face. He can’t remember your name… just that you were Flag’s bitch inmate girlfriend who was with the first team in Corto Maltese. You had gotten hurt on the initial beach attack and had remained back at the resistance camp while everyone else went to Jötunheim. Where Chris had… Uh oh.
While Chris couldn’t remember your name, he did remember you from back at Belle Reve. There was always a saying amongst the other inmates: There were two kinds of crazy. One, like Quinn, who was relatively harmless for the most part unless directly attacked. And two, like you. The kind who would lash out for no reason. Who would take down an entire team of guards just because you felt like it. And if that kind of crazy found a reason to target you, then God help you!
Chris eyes you cautiously, not quite sure what is about to happen. He shifts slightly only to realize for the first time that his arms are chained behind his back and strapped to the chair. But it isn’t until you pull the knife from behind your back that he really begins to worry.
“Hello, Chris. Long time no see, huh?” You coo with a sickly-sweet sing-songy voice. “Honestly, I’m surprised to see you at all. I was told they killed your sorry ass back where you killed my Rick.” You reach out and lightly run your fingers over the bullet scar on his neck. “The thought of your body laying under all that rubble same as his was the only thing that kept me together. Then to find out you were still alive…” You stare at him intensely for a moment before spinning on your heels and walking to the other side of the room.
“Yeah, well, I’m surprised to see you too. Shouldn’t you be back in Belle Reve where you belong?” Chris calls out.
You whirl around, a crazed grin on your face. “Oh, didn’t you hear? We leveraged that drive you cared so much for and bought our freedom.” Your face drops some, but Chris can see a fiery rage burning behind your eyes. “Well, they leveraged it. Included me in the deal even though I want nothing more on this planet to release it to the public. The world should know what he died for. What you killed him for.” The last part came out as a hiss as you glare daggers at him. But in a second, the deranged grin is back on your face. “But I was outvoted, so freedom it is.”
You grab an audio recorder from that side of the room and walk back over to him. Setting it up next to Chris’s face, you pull out the knife once more. “But now that I’m free and you’re free, now we’re free to have some fun!” You place the tip of the knife on the back of his hand and begin trailing it lazily up his arm, though it was light enough it didn’t break the skin. “Come on. Why don’t you sing for me? I haven’t had someone sing to me in quite some time.”
Chris tries to jerk away from you, but it just drives the blade deeper into his arm, causing him to wince as the first drops of blood bubble to the surface of his skin.
You tsk at the sight. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You might make me nick something important and I would hate to end our fun this soon.”
Chris is just starting to realize how much trouble he is really in. That this isn’t a joke or some sort of game. You mean to hurt him and hurt him good. “You bitch. Why are you doing this?”
“You know why.” You gently place your hand on his face, and he tries to recoil in disgust. But it seems as if you didn’t appreciate that. Grabbing both sides of his cheeks between your fingers, you squeeze them painfully tight and force him to look you in the eyes. “You’ve known since the moment you opened your eyes and saw me standing over you. This is what you deserve. You took away the one person who mattered to me in this world, and for that, you have to pay.”
“I was doing my job.” Chris tries to reason to you through his pinched cheeks though he can see in your eyes it won’t do much good. “Flag was going to release information that would have threatened the peace of our nation. I did what I had to in order to keep that peace.”
“Yeah, and now I am doing what I have to do to keep my peace of mind.” You dig the tip of the blade into his arm, drawing more blood. He flinches more visibly this time. You smile as you trail the blade back down his arm, leaving a bloody line as it goes. You continue your rant. “Did you know he used to sing to me when I was scared or hurt or would wake up screaming in terror in the middle of the night because of all the things I have seen? All the things I have done? Before I met him and that happened, I used to be inconsolable. Yet somehow, his horrible, off-key crooning managed to calm me down. I finally had peace for the first time in years. And you took that away from me. You took him away from me. So now, I have to find another sound to soothe my fears. And I think you will do nicely.”
So, that’s your game. You want him to scream and cry and beg for mercy. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. As you drive the tip of the blade deep into the muscle of his arm, Chris bites his tongue to remain silent. He refuses to give you the satisfaction of even a murmur of pain.
Your grin drops into a slight scowl as you remove the knife. “Still nothing? Not a whimper, a groan, a grunt of pain? Come on now, Chris,” you trail your fingers down his cheek once more, pressing down painfully hard. “Why won’t you sing for me? Your screams are music to my ears and I so long to hear music again.”
Chris puts as much fury and anger into his voice as he can as he growls, “Fuck you!”
The smile is back as you scoff and say, “Yeah, you wish.”
He watches you turn and lay the knife on the table, just to instantly whirl around and backhand him across the face with a surprising amount of strength. His head snaps back painfully as he feels blood welling up between his lips. As he rights himself, you reach out and wipe away the blood that has spilled down his face. Chris wants nothing more than to try and bite your fingers off, but he knows if he misses, the consequences will be severe.
You smile as if you could read his mind and you give him a small nod. Then, you grab a thick set of pliers off the table behind you. Chris’s eyes grow wide at the sight and he struggles against his chains even as he knows it is useless. But he has seen tools like that cut straight through bone with one snap. Hell, he’s used tools like that on others for this same torture.
When you approach him and trail your fingers up his thigh, his blood runs cold and the last ember of hope within him is snuffed out as you say, “Maybe it’s time to change things up. Maybe we will turn this baritone into a soprano.”
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Warnings: mild blood, implied torture, capture, self-sacrifice (no death)
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“Please…”
Villain towered over him, casting a dark shadow across his prone form. A didn’t move from his spot, though. Wouldn’t move. Not unless Villain killed him first.
“Please, don’t hurt him.”
A wide, evil smile spread across Villain’s face. “How absolutely precious. So touching, really. But tell me...I have not one, but two of you right here, weak and vulnerable, mine for the taking. Why in the world wouldn’t I take advantage of that?”
A bent further over his friend, raking trembling fingers through his hair. B was just so still. Eyes closed, face slack. A trickle of blood still ran down his temple and stained the dirt.
“I’ll come with you,” A whispered. “I-I’ll do anything you want. Just, please. Leave him alone.”
“Such a generous offer.” Villain crouched, arms propped across his knees. “Here’s my counter. I take both of you, and if you don’t want me hurting him, you have to keep cooperating, long term.”
He snapped his fingers, and more enemy soldiers appeared. Before A could react, he was yanked up off of B, his arms wrenched behind his back and cuffed together. Others were reaching for B, picking him up off the ground, leaving his head lolling.
“Don’t, don’t you dare...swear to me that you won’t -”
Villain stepped forward and grasped A’s chin in his fingers, and A hastily blinked away the tears that had formed. “I solemnly swear to you, if you’re a good little boy and do exactly as I say, I will not lay a finger on your poor, pitiful friend.”
It would have to be enough. A went limp, allowing himself to be dragged away.
a meme i can’t find
for: @theasteriae ft. @shrrlock / @consultingsister
verse: main
status: always accepting
The chill shivered down her spine, cold despite the duvet pulled up to her shoulders. She always get cold, but this… it was like it was hard to shake. In the half light, she felt like she knew every piece of the pebble dash ceiling by now. His room, his sheets, him. His breath was steady and soft, sinking back to its normal rate now the afterglow was fading. Alex liked to think he chased her, that Sherlock was the one running around on her heels. But not for the first time she had been waiting for him to come home, trapped in a spiral to which he seemed to be the only release. Lonely didn’t cover the crushing weight of isolation.
“ If I die… promise me. Promise me you won’t forget me.”
It was pathetic. She sounded like a child, desperate and naive. What difference would remembering make? But it plagued her mind, more often than she dared to examine. It was there, every intrusive thought telling her that if the worst was to happen then no one would care. She would fade out of existence, if anyone even noticed.
Almost immediately, Sherlock moved onto his side to face her. His hand reached out to cup her cheek as she mirrored him, shuffling closer across the mattress so that she could feel his breath on her skin. So that she could find some warmth with him.
“ I see the universe in you Alex, if you were to die, all the stars would go out for me. Do you understand? All that dark but all those lights too. And I would go on living with nothing. No morning, no night, just the vast emptiness. Your death would be a terrible moment. A catastrophe not yet imagined. If you can hear and take in one thing I have said to you, let it be this. My universe would be empty; that's not something I wouldn't notice."
It was too much. He was too much. Everything about him read of genuine kindness, deep felt emotion that cut to her core. She pulled him closer at the waist, anything to close the gap between them but her grip felt so frail. His voice floated, so far away.
The squeeze of her hand had her living her lashes, shivering again. She opened her eyes, squinting at the cold florescent light above where she crouched. Her body ached, stiff and weak. And yet she had motivation to do little more than wheeze. AJ swam into view, trying his best to wipe some of the sweat from her brow with the dirty blanket. It wasn’t much. He pulled the blanket up beneath her chin, sitting by her side to watch the door in the way she didn’t have the strength to do.
“ I could never.” His voice distant to, but closer than London. A million miles, between cobbled streets and the cold damp stone walls that seemed to be all she could see. Maybe it was the slip back into her slumber, drifting off to a place shrouded in memories as her body felt consumed by fire.
@prophecytorn sent : 😨 for a scared voicemail » VOICEMAIL PROMPTS .
“ hey , uh , nora ? ” he pauses before clearing his throat , trying his best to remove the slightly CRACKED tone to his voice . “ listen , i didn’t want to do this , but i don’t think i have many bones left that they can break and --- ” he trails off when he sees the look they’re giving him ; a sign that he needs to get to the point . “ i’ve tried telling them that calling you won’t make a difference , but they’re really having a hard time believing me ----- i mean , who can blame them really ? ” chuckle is weak and hoarse , void of any real humour . “ but could you maybe just drop them a line ? say hello or whatever ? i think they’re gonna kill me either way and like , that’s fine ----- i always thought i’d die YOUNG . but they’re super pissed and they won’t shut up about wanting to chat to you , so , uh ------ i don’t know . i’m not going to even try to tell you what to do , really . i mean i doubt you’re even listening to this ---- ” another look , followed up this time with a glance to a rather menacing looking tool . “ but yeah , uh . hope you’re having a nice time wherever you are . maybe if you get a bit BORED and in the mood for a conversation with some rather fine gentlemen you could call back ? or drop by , even ? i’m sure they’d appreciate the latter the most but , you know , it’s up to you really . yeah , uh , have fun . gotta go , bye ! ”
“ quite . ” she isn’t the one he’s LOOKING for , but she’s the best option he currently has . capturing her really hadn’t been too difficult at all . stepping closer , he LOOMS over her , dark eyes boring into her sweet , sweet gaze . “ so i suggest you tell me what you know as quickly as possible . there’s no point in WASTING time . ” / @shesdaylight
“aren’t you lucky?” » ST TRINIANS SENTENCE STARTERS .
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Fandom: DC, The Suicide Squad, Peacemaker (antagonistic)
Word Count: 584
TW: light torture, capture, knives, language
Note: Takes place before Peacemaker show and Reader used to be in a relationship with Rick Flag
Alternate POV for this Drabble: Sing For Me (Alternate POV)
“Come on. Why don’t you sing for me? I haven’t had someone sing to me in quite some time.” You trail the edge of the knife lazily across his skin, tracing the veins and muscles in his massive arms. Arms which are currently chained behind his back as he is strapped to the metal chair in the center of the room. He tries to jerk away from you and your blade, but the motion only drives the blade deeper into him, drawing blood.
You tsk disapprovingly, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You might make me nick something important and I would hate to end our fun this soon.”
Peacemaker looks up at you, hatred burning in his eyes. “You bitch. Why are you doing this?”
“You know why.” You rest your hand gently on his face. He tries to pull away, so you squeeze his cheeks between your pointer finger and thumb and drag his gaze up to meet yours. “You’ve known since the moment you opened your eyes and saw me standing over you. This is what you deserve. You took away the one person who mattered to me in this world, and for that, you have to pay.”
“I was doing my job.” He protests. “Flag was going to release information that would have threatened the peace of our nation. I did what I had to in order to keep that peace.”
“Yeah, and now I am doing what I have to do to keep my peace of mind.” You dig the knife deeper into his arm, breaking the skin this time. He flinches but doesn’t make a sound. You smile as you once again trail the blade down his arm, this time creating a thin red line in its wake. “Did you know he used to sing to me when I was scared or hurt or would wake up screaming in terror in the middle of the night because of all the things I have seen? All the things I have done? Before I met him and that happened, I used to be inconsolable. Yet somehow, his horrible, off-key crooning managed to calm me down. I finally had peace for the first time in years. And you took that away from me. You took him away from me. So now, I have to find another sound to soothe my fears. And I think you will do nicely.” You tip the blade up, driving the point into his arm, deep into the muscle, but still, he didn’t make a sound. You scowl slightly but remove the knife.
“Still nothing? Not a whimper, a groan, a grunt of pain? Come on now, Chris,” you trail your fingers down his cheek once more as you pout. “Why won’t you sing for me? Your screams are music to my ears and I so long to hear music again.”
“Fuck you,” he growls.
You scoff softly. “Yeah, you wish.”
You turn to lay the knife back on the table before whirling around and backhanding the enormous man across the face. His head snaps back, blood blossoming from between his lips. You smile gently as you wipe away the crimson line dripping down his chin. Then you pick up the thick set of pliers that are laying on the table. His eyes grow wide and he pulls desperately at the chains as you trail them up his thigh.
“Maybe it’s time to change things up. Maybe we will turn this baritone into a soprano.”
Warnings: lady whumpee with male whumpers, brief (unrealized) fear of noncon, capture, mild blood, forced labor
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The smell of the ocean and the sun on her face is exactly like she had always imagined it. Adelaide leans onto the rail of the deck of The Golden Rose and breathes it all in, a smile playing on her lips.
She’d purchased passage on the ship using part of her own dowry. It seemed appropriate. The dowry came with her, after all, so why not leave with her? She didn’t take all of it, of course. Some of it had already been spent, and some she left as consolation for Charles.
Now they’re three days into a week long journey that will take her down the coast to a new port, hopefully far enough away that no one she knows will ever find her. She’ll start her life over there. It’s an intimidating thought, living as a single woman with no parents, but it will be far better than married life had been. It has to be.
Suddenly the ship bursts into a flurry of sound and activity. Adelaide whirls around, watching as the captain barks out orders and rushes to take the wheel for himself. Sailors practically fly around the ship, untying ropes and letting out sails and scurrying up and down stairs.
She looks out to sea again, searching the water for any sign of what’s happening. There’s nothing but choppy, deep blue as far as the eye can see.
The captain shouts another order and Adelaide darts across the deck, unable to fully appreciate her newfound range of motion past the pounding of her heart in her chest. Practically slamming into the rail, she grips it with both hands until her knuckles turn white, staring back behind them.
There’s a ship there. A large ship, easily twice the size of The Golden Rose, with a hull and sails that haven’t seen nearly as much care and attention. A black flag flies from the mast, its crest hard to make out in the harsh wind.
And it’s gaining on them, fast.
“Captain! What is that ship?” She barely remembers to drop her voice into a deeper register. But no one is paying her any mind, anyway, and her question goes unanswered.
A horrible scraping sound fills the air, and Adelaide is nearly knocked off her feet by the jolt that shakes the deck. Did they just...run into us? The expressions on the faces of the sailors are growing more frantic, sending her heart racing even faster.
Then the ship is pulling up beside them, huge and looming above her head, still bumping up against the side as it goes, and she stumbles backwards away from the railing. Just in time, too, because people are beginning to swing down onto The Rose’s deck, and they have weapons.
Adelaide scrambles further away until her back hits the railing on the other side, eyes wide as she stares at first the rough-looking men landing one by one, then the flag whose crest she can finally see.
It’s a skull over crossed swords.
Pirates.
They spread out quickly, some disappearing below deck to do who knows what while others immediately set upon the sailors. The men are strong, but they’re not fighters, not like the pirates. Thankfully there’s no bloodshed, but it’s not long before each sailor is either knocked down or pinned.
And another pirate is headed straight for her.
Part of her wants to cower, but she steels herself, clenches her fists, and stares him down. No fear. She can’t show fear. Fear is to these men like blood to a shark.
A hand hooks into her cravat and yanks her forward, and she tries her best not to flinch. He’s dirty, beard unkempt, missing teeth as he sneers at her. Everything she would expect a pirate to be.
“You look young and fit enough.” He looks her up and down as if to confirm it, and her skin crawls. For a moment she forgets she’s not a girl, and suddenly it’s Charles hovering over her again, and her heart lodges somewhere in her throat.
“‘Ey Marshall! You wanna keep this one? He looks like a good enough worker.”
He. Worker. Her throat feels slightly less constricted at the realization, but she still doesn’t want to be kept. Her eyes dart up to the dark-haired pirate that hangs over the rail of the upper deck.
“Sure. Take him back.”
Suddenly she’s being dragged by the neck across the ship, toward the pirate ship. “No, no, I don’t -” She doesn’t even know what she’s trying to say, or why she thinks it might do any good, but there’s no chance to complete the thought before the man wraps a strong arm around her waist and they’re being ripped upward, feet leaving the deck without warning. A yelp escapes her involuntarily, and it’s far from masculine. The pirate only guffaws at her.
Once they’ve safely landed on the second ship and the rope they were hanging from is put away, she’s mostly ignored for the next several minutes. She even wonders if she could make an escape, but there are so many men everywhere. Crates are being tossed from hand to hand, barrels rolled up planks from one ship to the other. The Golden Rose is being swiftly stripped of all the goods that she was carrying.
Three more men are brought onboard, members of The Rose’s crew. It seems in addition to taking her cargo, they plan to leave the ship with hardly enough men to sail it. The only other passengers besides Adelaide are an older man and his wife, and thankfully, they seem to have been left alone.
As the last of the crates is loaded on and the pirates unmoor from the cargo ship, moving much too quickly away from safety and freedom, Adelaide and the three sailors are lined up side by side. A man with a black and grey beard who - based on the relative finery of his burgundy coat - must be the captain approaches, looking them over one by one.
“Welcome aboard The Dark Storm,” he sneers. “The name’s Payne, but you lot can call me Captain.”
One of the sailors, a young man who can’t be much older than Adelaide, raises his voice. “What makes you think that we’ll work for the likes of you?”
In a flash, the gold-tipped cane in Captain Payne’s hand flies up and slams into the side of the sailor’s head. Adelaide gasps, hand flying to her mouth. The sailor is sent sprawling onto the deck, a bright red stream of blood trickling down onto its surface.
“Anyone else have any...objections?” The Captain smiles, gold teeth flashing in the sun. “No? Good.” Turning, he beckons with the cane to the same dark-haired man that she had seen earlier. “Marshall, get this man a bucket so that he can clean up his mess before it stains the wood.”
Moving on to the other two men, he asks their names and gives them an approving grunt, before finally coming to her. “And what is this?”
It isn’t the same way that he asked for names before, but she answers, anyway, too frightened not to. “Gray, sir. John Gray.”
His upper lip curls. “And whose idea was it to bring Mr. Gray onto my ship?”
Marshall steps up beside him. “I approved him, Captain. He probably doesn’t know a weaver’s knot from a bowline, but he can swab decks. And maybe if he does that for long enough, he’ll actually build enough muscles to be able to pull a line.”
The Captain stares her down for what seems like an eternity more. She isn’t sure whether she wants his approval or not, but has a feeling that failing to gain it will mean something much worse than swabbing decks.
Finally he cocks his head slightly to one side, face relaxing. “Fine, then. You heard the man. Our defiant friend here seems to be done with his bucket, so get busy.”
It isn’t until he walks away that she realizes she was barely breathing. She sucks in a shaky breath now, trying hard not to make eye contact with anyone around her as she collects the bucket and brush and finds an unoccupied corner to start in.
There’s a lot to think about while she scrubs. Her life has been turned upside down twice within a week, first by her own doing, and now by pirates. This isn’t just a bad dream. This isn’t something that’s going to last for a few more days until she arrives at the new life she’s been looking forward to. Unless she can somehow escape whenever they make port, she’s stuck here. As a...well, basically a slave. Certainly not the way she was hoping to start things over.
She can’t let them find out her secret.
If they find out that she’s actually a woman, there’s no telling how they will react. Badly. That’s all she knows for sure.
So she keeps to herself. Doesn’t speak to anyone unless required, tries to stay unnoticed as much as possible. Scrubs the deck. Hauls crates around. Occasionally helps pull a line. Her hands are constantly shriveled, the ends of her sleeves always wet, and there are permanent bruises on her knees. Blisters quickly form on her palms, then burst, then form all over again until they’ve turned into her first ever callouses.
But she keeps scrubbing, and she watches.
For the first week or two, she was determined not to be one of them. She may be working on a pirate ship, but she’s not a pirate. Eventually, though, she started thinking harder about what it might take to survive this whole ordeal, not just until the next port, but possibly for a very long time.
What if the Captain decides she’s not useful enough? What if he decides to get rid of her while they’re out in the middle of the open sea?
So she watches. She shadows Marshall, the first mate, whenever she can, and tries to learn knots and terms and the way things work. She doesn’t push to be included in the process, not yet, not until she’s certain that she’ll make a good impression.
Like it or not, Mr. John Gray is going to be a pirate.
