Peacemaker - Blog Posts
Which The Suicide Squad Members Do You Think Will Live or Die?
I made the same post a year ago and thought about updating it since new info has been released since the movie was announced.
Here’s my list:
Alive-
Harley Quinn
Rick Flag
King Shark
Polka-Dot Man
Ratcatcher 2
Captain Boomerang
Dead-
Bloodsport
Peacemaker
Thinker
Savant
Sol Soria
Blackguard
T.D.K
Weasel
Javelin
Mongal
What do you guys think?
found an image i made forever ago
Just some peacemaker sketches! Got bored and decided to do an Aged up AU—
Enjoy these random sketches! There’s another post I have to figure out how to link to this about Nightwings powers, I liked the head cannon so much I put my own spin on it, where if there’s a night wing hybrid even if they don’t get the powers, they get false marks, but don’t worry, in this AU, peacemaker still has the ability to see the future, but only every now and then, and it’s usually just something happy!
Help, i have a chronic obsession with nerdy and weird mfs
Bumblebee and Peacemaker!
I only know; Batman, Doc Ock, Matt Murdock, Mando and Moon Knight but the sentiment is still the same lol 😅
tbh
Don’t think I’ve posted much wof here(??) but I love the series so much
Peacemaker time!!!! Watch out for the ominous big dragon right behind you
Lighter version !!
⭑*•̩̩͙⊱ About Me ⊰•*⭑
▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂
This is a never-ending editing mess of things I'm interested in and the things I post, changes are to be expected obviously
Current Life Events |
✑ Currently preparing for my first semester next year to study chemistry (and hopefully become a forensic medical examiner) also living with the fiancé :3
Reading ATM |
A Year Like None Other by aspeninthesunlight (Ao3)
3 part series
Deku? I think he's some pro... by Clouds (myheadinthecloudsnotcomingdown) (Ao3)
6 parts (not completed)
Master List |
-WIP
Interests |
My Hero Academia (NSC)
Harry Potter (Neville, Draco, F&G)
Our Flag Means Death (NSC)
The Owl House (and most other shows produced by the same people)
HTTYD (NSC)
Marvel/Avengers (NSC)
DC (NSC)
TWD (NSC)
TVD + Associated shows (NSC)
Horror (Slashers namely Jason, Ghost Face, Pyramid Head, etc.)
Genshin Impact
Roblox (DTF)
JJK
Music | Current Playlist
Re arranged slightly so now it’s more organized :D
My Adrian themed phone layout (slightly chaotic)
Feel free to use for Inspo or something :D
So, im from Brazil. And Castlevania had a very solid dubbing cast. I will bring some of them but i will talk first about Ogum brazilian Voice Actor
This guy was dubbed by Eduardo "Duda" Ribeiro in Brazilian Dub
Who is the Brazilian Voice Actor of these guys
1-Batman (Since 2004)
2-Franky
3-Oscar Proud (Proud Family: Louder and Prouder)
4-Tiana's Father
5-Electro
6-Peacemaker
7-Collin (Kung Fu Panda: Dragon Knight)
But most important...
He is also Muhammad Avdol!
Now that i gave this random fact i gotta go
Bye
HOLY FUCKING HELL IM AN ABSOLUTE WHORE FOR THIS
Chainsaws and Parking Lots
A/N: Adrian Chase x F!Reader Wordcount: 1.9K Warnings: Rough Smut. Blood Kink. Public Sex. Oral. Sex near dead bodies. Hurt/Comfort ish. Pain kink. Summary: Adrian never knows how to deal with tears. A/N: lol dis is wild and written in a daze
“I do bad things.”
“Correction,” Adrian exclaims. “You do bad things to bad people.”
You shoot a glare at him - your brows knitting together.
He loves the violence of you. He loves watching you tear people apart.
“What the hell did you use?” he murmurs - already hard - already half-blind with it. You turn toward him - your sneakers are stained red. You're not even dressed in your suit. Civilian clothes. Interesting. You wordlessly point to the gore-ridden tool that is nestled between the pieces and parts of dead bodies. Hot as fuck.
“Is that a chainsaw?” He places his hand on his chest - feels the thump thump thump of his own heart beginning to beat too fast. His cock twitches.
You nod mutely.
He wants to breathe i love you against your carnage-drenched hair. He wants to shove you against that tree by the road, ruck your shorts down and lick your pussy. He bets you get soaked - dripping with that punch of girl-flavor he finds addicting. Adrian Chase could eat pussy all day every day. He’s great at it. He thinks - or so he's been told by like three people.
“What I’d do?” you ask no one in particular. Your eyes are round and big and your voice is small and hushed as it slips from your mouth.
He gingerly pulls you away from the massacre you’ve caused. He wants to tell you how Tobe Hooper has nothing on you, but that might not fly. Your shirt is dark and soggy. Your cute white sneakers branded in arterial spray. He needs to be tactful here. He tries to think how Chris would react? If he’d react at all? They’re just extras. They just got in the way. They’re regrettable casualties except they’re not too regrettable because they did work for the mad scientist that we are currently hunting!
He controls himself. Shouldn’t come on too strong.
Instead - he pinches your cheek with his clumsy, gloved fingers. “You’re adorable.”
You blink at him - mouth parting in surprise. “That was - was not adorable.” He sees it - he sees your throat bob and your lashes flutter and your eyes go all glassy with tears. You swallow thickly and scrub a hand over your face. “You’re so fucking weird, Vig.”
He thinks that means that you're fine, but then he's wrong.
Your face goes flat before it collapses. You start melting down. Your chest heaves (he’s totally not looking). You press your hand to your stomach - choking on air.
Fuck. Shit. Fuck.
He could wax poetic about how the both of you are born killers - how this is strictly the job even though he’s about 92% sure he hasn’t been hired to do any of this in particular. You’re the Waller puppet with the enhanced strength and fighting prowess and he really wants to ask you if whatever experimentation you got as a kid made you like ten times prettier? No one should have tits and bone structure like that and also be able to wield a chainsaw like it’s a baton.
“Okay,” he murmurs as he studies your stricken face. “It’s alright?”
Great. Excellent job. He was making strides in human empathy.
You wrap your arms around yourself. Your face is still screwed up - still very lost and confused and he finds himself stumped.
“Chill out?” he advises as he steps toward you - palms-up like he’s attempting to gentle a bucking horse. “It’s fine. It’s totally fine.”
You chew your lower lip - expression anxious. “I didn’t - I didn’t mean to kill them all.”
“Okay...” He slowly peels off his mask. You’ve seen him before. “Just as an FYI, people tend to bleed to death when you cut off their body parts.”
You huff out a laugh. Your teeth vibrantly white against all that dark red. He wants to eat your mouth - your skin. He thinks you're going to cry again - maybe start sobbing.
He makes a decision - selfish as it is.
He can’t help himself. He grasps the curves of your hips and yanks you toward him. You go rigid. He presses his lips to your throat - wet and insistent. You sigh - relaxing into him - going to putty. He trails them up your jaw before he tucks your ear lobe between his teeth and bites. You shudder - your blood-caked fingers digging into the backs of his arms - trying to rip through his tactical suit.
He’s going to fuck you. He’s going to fuck you covered in blood because how fucking spectacular would that be?
You grip his face to wrench him down to your mouth. It’s a saliva-laden kiss. Messy and wet and tastes like metal. He doesn’t mind - not at all. In fact - he really fucking likes it.
***
“Fuck,” you gasp as Adrian rails you into the cold, hard pavement. He’s got you trapped beneath him - pinned like a pretty butterfly on stark paper (but not the alien variety)
He sucks in a breath when you hitch your knees higher over his waist. Your pussy clutching at him - tight and hot as a fist. “Um,” He kisses your cheek - drags his tongue along the ridge of your jaw. “This - like not to be weird - but this is probably the sexiest thing I’ve ever done.”
You arch an eyebrow and he draws his hips back - the head of his cock catching on the fluttering rim of your hole before he drives forward. “Shit, Vig,” you wheeze, which really kind of gets him going (not like he already was). He’s had to think about mile-long CVS receipts in order to keep himself from blowing his load. It’s nearly impossible because the air is swamped with that copper-stench of blood, there’s the evidence of your extremely violent tendencies just above your head, and the stimulating thought of them getting caught screwing in public next to a pile of dead bodies. Fucking cool.
He almost - almost - hopes that Chris would show up looking for them.
He lifts himself up slightly - forearms framing your face. He bears his weight - glancing down between you to watch as his cock disappears inside your sex - the thick of him obscenely shiny with your slick. Your thighs are splayed open - your shirt is hiked above your perfect tits where there’s more gore - more and more red just painting you like an abstract splatter piece.
You’re making really hot noises - high-pitched, breathy uh uh uh’s that stroke him off. “Can we like do this more than once?” he asks as he eases himself out of you. Your expression morphs into displeasure - your teeth click in your mouth. He’s already got you before you can complain. He licks his fingers and shoves two of them into your fucked-out cunt. He grinds his thumb against your clit - making you jerk.
“Sure,” you reply in between hitched moans. “Sure - fuck - whatever you want, Vig.”
He simpers. It could be sort of kind of romantic if he thought about it. The night sky is plumb-purple blue as a liver. The stars faintly twinkling behind the wash of smog that swells from the city. The subtle smell of decay and pungent oil from the chainsaw. His glasses fog up because of the cool temperatures while the two of you remain fever-hot. He finally has to remove them after they slide down his nose for the tenth time. He grins as he watches you writhe on his hand. Each pump of his fingers - straight to the knuckle - creates crude, squelching noises.
“You’ve got the juiciest fucking pussy,” he praises as his eyes bare down upon your exposed cunt - watching it bloom around his ministrations. He’s gotta get his cock back in there, but he also doesn’t mind this honey-slow pause - this moment that he can really look at you fully as he massages in and out and his thumb circles your perky little clit and he smiles at you in the cold dark of this abandoned parking lot outside an abandoned warehouse. “Can I lick it?”
You nod - furiously - desperately - and it really gets him charged up - to watch you splayed on your back - spread out and needy. Fuckk, it's nice.
He removes his fingers and lowers himself so that he can force your knees over his shoulders. Your heels knock against his suit - his spine. There’s your cunt - gaping and glossy and clenching on air. He glances up at you - the heave of your tits - the blood staining your face - caught up in your hair. You’re clean down here - just all wet from him and his fingers and his cock and -
“Adrian,” you plead and it rumbles through him - rides him hard - the delicious bite of your voice calling him by his name.
He goes to town - his lips kissing your parted entrance - his tongue thrusting inside you to taste your heat. You're soapy - the slim tang of salt and sweat and flesh. The brush of cordite and iron in the creases of your skin. He suctions his mouth over your clit - flicking it until you fist your hands into his hair and yank. He sucks a fold into his mouth - he nips the other. You’re panting - nearly grinding down against his face - potentially breaking his nose, which he genuinely wouldn’t mind because he’d be able to tell Chris that it happened because he was tongue-fucking you on the hard cold ground next to a bunch of dead bodies.
He licks and licks and worships. He traces the tip of his tongue over the tiny nub that throbs and swells and sometimes he teases his fingers inside you - relishing as they contract around his knuckles. He feels you come - a muffled scream against the back of your hand. The rush of your liquid - your pleasure - the sticky feel of it on his chin and jaw and the way your eyes dance over him - provocatively - sweetly -
“C’mere,” you demand and he goes - sliding up and over your body - his cock so hard that it bounces against his stomach - the rough texture of his suit. He buries you beneath him - frantically kissing you with his pussy-soaked tongue. Your thighs widen - your heels digging into his ass to maneuver him just right. He sinks back inside the molten ache of your cunt. You gasp at the stretch of it - the slight burn he imagines as he barrels into you without caution because he knows you can handle it. He fucks you hard - leveraging his weight - your nails digging into his throat - his cheeks. “Does it hurt?” He presses his face where your shoulder meets your neck - he laps at the spots of blood. “Is my cock hurting you?”
“Yes,” you sigh - hips bucking up and into him. He grabs a handful of your ass - forcing your thigh up higher.
“Let me get deep,” he mumbles as he takes you in long, tortuous strokes. He eases himself out - right to the tip - before plunging forward - forcing a whimper out of your mouth. “My little killer queen,” he calls you. The blood in his nose and the ripple and rock of the Queen song in his ears. The moon glinting off the chainsaw that rests not far from their tangled bodies.
You shudder - going tight around him. The burst of a surprise orgasm pushing through your core and curling around him as he tries to dream up more CVS Receipts and blueberry muffins with tentacles and his grandmother in a top hat, but it does nothing. He drags himself through the dripping clenching bite of your cunt - fucking you relentlessly as you take it like a champ. The sloppy, messy thrusts are met with your lips murmuring don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop, Adrian. Vig. Adrian.
His pace stumbles - he hits his high - fills you right up with spurt after spurt of his warm spend. He’s surprised - falling back on his heels while you sit up on your elbows. Your thighs hang open and he watches his own pearly spunk drip from your puffy, swollen pussy. Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
“You’re pretty good at that.”
He frowns. “At what?” He needs his glasses. He needs a burrito and idly wonders if you’d grab one with him and then let him eat you out again.
“Comforting.”
He forgot that’s how this started. “I’m totally an empath,” he smirks - slapping his hand across your cunt and making you yelp. You kick him in the chin. “Shit,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Okay - I deserved that.”
“You can make it up to me.”
“Fuck yes I can.”
the way I wanna dom adrian chase SO bad😩
Five Times Vigilante Definitely Does Not Have Feelings (and the One Time He Does)
Characters: Adrian Chase/Vigilante x f!reader
CW: Crude language; yearning.
Word Count: 3982
Adrian Chase will tell anyone: he doesn’t have emotions like people do. He doesn’t feel sad or angry or embarrassed. When Peacemaker gave him the nickname “Thimble,” he certainly didn’t cry. When Peacemaker was sent to prison, he certainly didn’t feel lonely.
Not having emotions is what makes him a more evolved human.
And yet, when ARGUS springs Peacemaker and sets up a black ops outfit in Evergreen, Adrian finds himself toeing the line of feelings. He doesn’t have emotions like people do, but he comes awfully close a handful of times…until he crosses the line entirely.
The Time Vigilante Definitely Does Not Feel Vulnerable
As the Vigilante, Adrian gets hurt all the time. He’s become proficient at stitching up his own wounds. His body is littered with the scars of his own handiwork.
But when Goff tortures him for information, and when the ARGUS team comes to his and Peacemaker’s rescue, he finds himself missing half of a pinkie toe. It’s the most important toe on the human body, and he’ll probably never walk again…and no one seems to care.
Except for you. In the van as they return to headquarters, you sit across from him, watching him as he studies his mangled foot. You murmur something that sounds sympathetic, but he barely hears it over Peacemaker laughing at him.
At headquarters, you look at him and jerk your head in the direction of the back office.
“I can stitch you up, if you want,” you offer.
He starts to shake his head, but the mean blonde woman—Harcourt, her name is—makes an offhand comment about your superior patch-up abilities, so he accepts your help. He limps painfully behind you, follows you into a room that has been converted into a rough sort of exam room and budget clinic.
“Hop up on the table,” you tell him, and even though he doesn’t trust you—or any of your team—he does as you say. It’s clumsy. He hurts in a hundred different places: his half-amputated toe, his electrocuted crotch, all the scrapes and bruises from the fight with Cobra Kai.
“I won’t take off my mask,” he warns you. “I take my secret identity very seriously. If you saw my face, I’d have to kill you.”
“Duly noted,” you reply dryly. “But I only need to see your foot.”
He pulls off his boot and regards his mangled half-pinkie toe sadly. You pull on a pair of latex gloves and turn on a bright lamp, angling it at his bare foot.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you say as you prod the wound gently. “In fact, you really didn’t lose anything but a couple layers of skin.”
“The blade was as dull as fuck,” he replies.
You wheel your stool over to a cabinet, then pull out some supplies: needle and thread, disinfectant, gauze and tape. Then you wheel back over to him and set to work.
The mean blonde woman was right—you’re quick, efficient. He looks down at your bent head as you stitch him up, and he sees that your needlework is better than his own. He doubts he’ll even have much of a scar once it heals.
But it’s the strange feeling that creeps over him: makes his vision waver, makes him feel a little light-headed. Your hands are deft but also gentle. Adrian can’t remember ever being touched so gently. Maybe when he was really small. Maybe his mom was gentle like that when he was so small that he can’t remember it now. It makes him break out in goosebumps. He shudders at the touch of your warm hand bracing his foot, and you misunderstand the involuntary gesture.
“Almost done,” you murmur, and a moment later you tie off the last stitch and snip the thread. You wrap his toe in gauze, pat his knee softly in a reassuring way. Then you straighten up and ask if there’s any other injuries he needs patched up.
“Goff electrocuted me,” he blurts out. “With a car battery.”
You look at him, level, but the corner of your mouth quirks in a near-smile. “You want me to look at that for you?”
“Oh, no. No. No, I just wanted to mention it. I’m not asking you to look at it.” He’s grateful for the mask; he can feel his face heating up at the idea of taking off his suit in front of you, and the sudden flush confuses him. Irritates him. Something about the thought of being exposed makes his stomach churn in a way he doesn’t understand.
You hum thoughtfully, then turn back to the cabinet of supplies. You rummage around, then pull out a small white tube that you hand him.
“Antibiotic gel for cuts and burns,” you say. “You can put a cool cloth on…well, any burns you may have. If there’s blistering, don’t pop them.”
“Okay.”
“And, you know…if you have any lingering side effects of being electrocuted, you should see a specialist.”
Vigilante reaches down and pulls his boot back on, but already his toe feels better. “What sort of side effects?” he asks.
He looks up at you in time to see that same half-smile. You peel off your gloves, toss them in the trash.
“I can imagine where you were electrocuted,” you reply. “So if those parts don’t typically work the way you’re used to, see a real doctor.”
Adrian Chase is not good at nuance or subtlety. “Huh?”
You blink at him before you say, “if you can’t get or maintain an erection, see a urologist.”
“Oh.” He blinks too, behind his visor. “Okay.”
You turn to leave the room but then glance over your shoulder before you do. “Thanks for your help tonight,” you say. “The mission was a success because of you.”
Neither Vigilante nor Adrian Chase ever get any thanks. He flushes even hotter under his mask, and he grumbles in reply, uncomfortable to be seen, to be recognized for the first time.
To be vulnerable.
The Time Vigilante Definitely Does Not Feel Embarrassed
The next afternoon, he’s at Peacemaker’s trailer, helping him clean up from when the police tossed the place. They are blasting Guns and Roses, drinking beer…it’s like the old days, almost.
A knock at the door then, and Adrian has only a second to pull on his mask before you stroll in.
“Hey, Chris. Vigilante.” You nod in greeting, then reach into your bag to pull out a thick manila folder. You hand it to Peacemaker.
“Murn wanted me to bring this by. It’s the latest intel we got from Goff’s place.”
You stand there as Chris takes the folder and sinks down onto his couch, already paging through the information. Vigilante stands there too, awkward, so he crosses his arms to keep from fidgeting. There’s a long stretch of silence once the Guns and Roses record ends, and Vigilante struggles with silence.
“I got hard last night,” he tells you. “And this morning too.”
“Dude, what the fuck?” Peacemaker sputters. “She doesn’t want to hear that!”
“She mentioned it last night!”
Peacemaker scoffs, twists his face into an expression of disbelief. “Yeah, I’m sure she mentioned your dick last night. Sure. Okay. Fantasize much?”
“She did!”
“You seriously need to get laid, dude. Stop making shit up.”
“He’s not lying,” you tell Peacemaker with a sheepish shrug. “Though I mentioned it in the context of his injuries and not…some other context.”
“See?” Vigilante says, and Peacemaker rolls his eyes, makes a jacking-off motion with his hand.
You don’t linger. You beat a hasty retreat, waving over your shoulder as you leave the trailer, and Peacemaker gives him more hell—calls him weird, calls him annoying.
“No wonder you’ve never had a real girlfriend, dude,” he says as he turns back to his folder of intel. “You say the creepiest shit the minute a cute girl is around.”
Vigilante doesn’t think about it much more until later. That night, in bed, he lies awake for far longer than he usually does. He replays that moment, tries to understand why he just blurted that out.
He wonders if you would have stayed at the trailer longer if he hadn’t been creepy. His face burns in the darkness of his bedroom, and his stomach twists painfully as he replays the moment over and over. He replays his stupid blurting out about his dick, and he has no idea what it means. He never obsesses over his stupid mouth like this.
If he had feelings like other people, he’d recognize the emotion as embarrassment.
The Time Vigilante Definitely Does Not Feel Despondent (and Comforted)
Adrian gets himself arrested on purpose. It’s the best way he can help Chris: get arrested, get booked into the same prison as Chris’ racist supervillain father, then kill said racist supervillain father.
Easy enough. It’d set Chris free and make his life so much better. Allow him to move forward and not be bogged down, like Adebayo said.
Adrian fails. He only manages to make things worse—clues Auggie into his plan accidentally, possibly points law enforcement in Chris’ direction. So Adrian doesn’t just fail—he fails miserably.
He’s released that night. He’s surprised at first, but as he changes back into his clothes and collects his personal effects from the guards, he realizes that ARGUS has its sticky fingers in all sorts of things and probably sprung him with just a few keystrokes.
When he leaves the prison, you’re sitting out front in your car. You lower the passenger window and call out to him.
“C’mon,” you say. “Harcourt sent me to take you home.”
He’s too upset to even feel bad about his cover being blown. He climbs into the car.
“I think I made things worse,” he says, and he tries not to cry. He only wanted to help his best friend (even if he’s not Peacemaker’s best friend). Somehow he messed up, and it could ruin everything.
“Okay,” you reply softly. “It’s okay.”
You drive him home. He doesn’t give you his address, but you know it—another screw-up, he thinks, getting tangled up with people who easily cracked his secret identity. You know his name, his face, where he lives. Some instrument of vengeance he is. You probably even recognize him from his job at Fennel Fields.
Outside of his apartment, you park, then turn to face him. In the half-light from the streetlamps, he can just make out your soft smile.
“This entire ops is nothing but mistakes,” you tell him. “And yet, we’re doing okay. We’ll figure out how to handle Auggie Smith. Don’t worry about it.”
He nods, and something about the barest bit of comfort—paired with your smile—makes him turn to face you too.
“I’m Adrian,” he says, even though you know his name.
Your smile broadens and you say your name, even though he knows it. You hold out your hand and after a beat he takes it.
“Good to finally meet you, Adrian,” you reply as you shake hands.
For whatever reason, as low as he feels, he falls asleep that night with a weird lightness in his chest—because he doesn’t dwell on his failure at the prison.
Instead, he falls asleep with the memory of your smile, your kind words. Your warm hand in his.
The Time Vigilante Definitely Does Not Feel Protective
The attack on Goff’s house yielded some leads, and the team travels three hours away to take out a nest of Butterflies. Everyone is exhausted, filthy, and bruised up.
It’s in the van—you sitting beside Adrian—when you start to nod off. He catches it the first few times, the way your head dips forward, the way you jerk back awake. It’s cute, the way you fight sleep, and then it happens.
You fall asleep and you don’t wake up. Your head drifts towards him, then settles against his shoulder.
Adrian freezes.
He and Peacemaker—they used to go out together, looking for crimes or bitches or both. He’s no virgin. He fucks. He’s no stranger to touch, and he’s certainly no stranger to women. And yet…this feels different. It feels new.
Peacemaker notices. “You got a new girlfriend, dude,” he points out with a laugh.
Harcourt rolls her eyes at the teasing. “Leave her alone. She puts in way more hours than you, asshole.”
“I put in plenty of hours,” he replies, defensive. “It takes a lot of time to maintain this impressive physique. Do you know how long I work on my small muscle groups alone?”
Harcourt rolls her eyes again, then returns her attention to her phone. Peacemaker turns back to where Adrian sits, rigid, as you sleep against him.
“If you get hard, just don’t tell her about it,” he advises the younger man. “You’ll creep her out again.”
It’s strange, the feeling of your head against him. It’s not sexy at all, obviously—in fact, it’s a little uncomfortable. He doesn’t want to move you, doesn’t want to jostle you and wake you up. Harcourt said you’re tired, and you took a hell of a beating as you fought the Butterflies.
Adrian has always approached his work as Vigilante from a perspective of vengeance, not protection, so the feeling is strange: how he wants to let you sleep, how he wants to protect your sleep. How he wants to make you comfortable.
A quiet falls over the team; the swaying of the van lulls everyone into comfortable silence. Adrian breathes in carefully through his nose, then shifts his body. Slowly, carefully. He leans away from you, allows you to lie against him more. He changes the angle enough that he can get his arm out from where it’s trapped between your body and his. He shifts again, gets his arm around you. Gently moves you—changes it from your head awkwardly pressed against his hard molded shoulder pad to your head tucked against his chest.
You wake, a little, as he moves you. You blink up at him sleepily, say his name—Adrian, not Vigilante or Vig or V—and your voice is husky with exhaustion. There’s a questioning lilt to how you say his name, so he shakes his head softly.
“Go ahead and rest,” he says, quiet. “Everything’s fine.”
You nod, then settle back against him. It takes only a moment until he feels your breathing slow down, deepen. He feels your body go heavy and lax against him. Tucked against his chest, his arm holding you against him, he can smell you, feel how warm you are. If he moves his head just a little, he can press his cheek against the top of your head.
Go ahead and rest, he thinks. Everything’s fine. I’ll keep you safe.
Vigilante has always been an instrument of vengeance, but this is the first time he’s felt protective of anyone.
The Time Vigilante Definitely Does Not Feel Fear
The 11th Street Kids have one chance to eradicate the Butterflies forever: if they can kill their only food source, the so-called cow, they will eventually all die off. When they make their final assault on the farm, the team splits up: Adebayo and Economos stay back, while the warriors—Peacemaker, Vigilante, Harcourt, and you—charge into action.
Whether the cow is killed or not, Adrian doesn’t find out until after the battle is over. He fights off the onslaught of Butterflies, but for the first time, his attention isn’t entirely on his own fight.
His attention is on you, now, too.
He manages to keep you in his sightline for the beginning of the fight. He sees you, admires the sight of you when you’re in your berserker mode: furious and deadly, well-fitted black suit, guns flashing as you empty clip after clip into the skulls of the Butterflies.
Then he loses sight of you.
His chest clenches in an unfamiliar tension, and when he finally catches sight of you again, that tight-chest feeling cedes to something else, something worse: an ice-cold shard of fear that lances through him, settles in his gut where it sits like a stone.
When he finally catches sight of you, it’s the exact moment you are shot by a Butterfly.
One shot hits your shoulder, spins you around.
Another shot hits you square in the chest, makes you stagger backwards as the force is absorbed by your vest.
The final shot hits you low in the belly, and Adrian (who has studied your gear closely) knows you have little protection there. The icy fear blooms in him, fills up every bit of him until it feels like it’s in his veins.
He screams your name. He barely even feels the bullet that hits him (“oh, shoot” he mutters, and tosses a knife behind him to kill his own attacker), but then he stumbles and falls, and he loses consciousness.
He wakes a moment later. He has no idea how much time has passed, but he manages to get to his hands and knees, then to his feet. He makes his way to where you fell and he finds you.
It’s bad. It’s so bad that the icy fear turns acidic in his veins, makes him burn with fear. With terror. You gaze up at him but you don’t seem to see him, and each breath makes a fresh pulse of blood trickle from your mouth.
Adrian has never been very good at social situations. He never knows the right thing to say and if he does, he doesn’t know the right time to say it. He wishes these things came more easily to him; if it were Chris here right now instead of him, Chris would know the right thing to say. He’d know how to keep you awake, how to give you comfort.
All Adrian can offer is what you told him the night he got out of prison, when you drove him home. Now, as you lie under the night sky, dying in front of him, as he presses one hand against the worst wound to try and staunch the bleeding, he repeats your words back to him.
“It’s okay,” he says, and he says it over and over and hopes you believe it. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.”
The Time Vigilante Definitely Feels Love
You have no memory of the fight at the farm. The last thing you remember is the drive there, but everything after is a blank. Adebayo stops by when you finally wake up and fills you in on the salient details.
She tells you how Vigilante—who was also shot, who had been blown up earlier in the day—carried you to safety. How he kept you from bleeding out, how he held your very life in his hands and kept you from dying. How hospital security had to separate him from you, once you were laid out on the gurney and being wheeled into surgery.
How he still tried to fight to stay by your side, and how he only failed because of his own injuries and blood loss.
“That man is stupid crazy about you,” Adebayo chuckles with a shake of her head. “I don’t even think he’s really a psychopath.”
You chuckle with her, wince when the action pulls at the thousand stitches and staples that are keeping you held together. “He’s not bad, right?”
“We’re literally the Island of Misfit toys,” she replies. “But yeah, he’s alright.”
-----
Adrian is hospitalized too, and once he’s healed up to a point, he starts sneaking into your room to visit. It’s not really sneaking—every time he undoes his IV and heart monitor, it sends the nurses into a panic—but after Adebayo’s press conference revealing the existence of Task Force X, the hospital staff is pretty tolerant of his harmless shenanigans.
He helped ward off an alien invasion, after all. You both did.
You have to agree with Adebayo. You’ve never quite believed that Adrian is a psychopath or a sociopath or whatever. You certainly never believed him when he said he didn’t have feelings or emotions. The guy is nothing but a walking ball of emotions: obvious love for his friends, a yearning to belong, a sweet desire to be liked and included. Sure, he kills without compunction, but he seems to love in equal measure, even if he doesn’t believe he does.
When he visits you, he doesn’t talk about feelings. He chatters endlessly about his and Peacemaker’s exploits—criminals they’ve busted, ways they’ve destroyed old appliances in the woods behind Peacemaker’s trailer. He talks about how it was when Peacemaker was in prison, how he kept calling and leaving voicemails to make it seem like everything was normal. He talks about his job at Fennel Fields, all the terrible customer service stories he has.
He discharges himself against the advice of the doctors (he’s healed enough, he tells you), and you think he’ll stop visiting, but he doesn’t. He visits every day still, and when you start physical therapy to build up the muscle tone and endurance you’ve lost, he sits in a nearby chair, watching you. Cheering you on.
Adebayo wasn’t wrong. You know Adrian has feelings for you. You’re more socially adept than him, and you’ve had relationships before. You’ve had crushes and been the object of them. You guessed his infatuation early on, and you can guess that it’s only grown for him since then.
It probably confuses him, you guess. You know what love feels like. What a crush feels like. All that feeling, in so many places: the fluttery stomach, the pounding heart, the thoughts that just circle ‘round and ‘round about a single person.
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have similar feelings for him. He’s easy on the eyes, sure—but he’s earnest and sweet, a brutal killer with a heart of gold.
You can also guess that Adrian might never make a move. This has to be unfamiliar territory for him. You know he’s no virgin (he’s chattered endlessly about his and Peacemaker’s exhaustive threesomes too), but he seems to have no relationship experience.
But your entire short working relationship with him has been give and take. You stitched him up, comforted him when he was feeling low after his failed attempt to kill Auggie Smith. He let you rest against him, held you gently as you slept after a mission. He saved your life, kept you from bleeding out.
Give and take. The best kind of relationship, in your opinion.
“Hey, Adrian,” you say one afternoon after PT. You’re exhausted and sore, but you’re quickly approaching your own discharge. You are healing up nicely. You have things to look forward to.
“What’s up?” he asks, and he bounces over to your bedside like a Golden Retriever puppy, eager.
“Doctor says I’m good to go in a few days.”
“That’s great!” His face breaks open in a wide grin that transforms him from nerdy-handsome to downright gorgeous. “That’s good news!”
You swallow, push down the nerves that flare up. “I thought maybe we could celebrate.”
“Yeah!” He grins at you. “I can call Chris—”
“I thought maybe just me and you,” you cut in, clarifying. “Just this time. Maybe we include Chris some other time.”
“Oh.” The smile falls from his face, and he looks at you. His brows are knit in confusion.
No sense in backtracking now. “Like a date. Would you like to go on a date with me?”
“Oh.” A beat. “With me? Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
What you’re asking him finally sinks in—a beat longer than it might with someone else, but that’s just part of Adrian’s charm. The smile returns to his face, brighter and wider than before.
“Yeah,” he replies. “Hell yeah, dude. I’d love that.”
FREDDIE STROMA as ADRIAN CHASE/VIGILANTE
Freddie Stroma in every episode of PEACEMAKER (2022-)
😘😘😘
not me having a school girl crush on two nerdy characters who are funny, enjoy playing d&d, have a good heart, and are portrayed by white british men
I’m trying to write an Adrian Chase fanfic but I have no motivation 😭😭😭😭
If I may
You absolutely may!!!! I will treasure this silly meme forever
Currently obsessing over Peacemaker, in which a character I find attractive has his pinky toe cut off. I also really like OFMD, in which a character I find attractive has his pinky toe cut off.
What the hell is this?
• Peacemaker Header Pack
Some things to point out
It a James Gunn film
It’s Michael Rooker IN a James Gunn film
And the slogan is “Don’t get too attached”
Conclusion = he’s gonna die (LIKE HE ALWAYS DOES!🤬)
Actually kinda looking forward to this though, not gonna lie 😏