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[spookydrreid]

Let’s Start the New Year Right

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

18+ minors DNI

desc: Spencer and reader get invited to a chill, casual NYE party. But things heat up right at the stroke of midnight.

cw: food mention, Spencer is a little awkward in the beginning, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, semi-public sex (in a bathroom)... Let me know if I missed anything

wc: 1667

...

“I can’t go dressed like this? People will laugh at me.” 

Spencer looks himself over in the mirror for the tenth time, running a hand down his sweatshirt. It was New Years Eve and you two weren’t doing anything too crazy, just spending time at your friend Andies house with a few others. She’d just bought said house and was desperate for you and the rest of your friends to see it. And what better time than New Year's Eve?

“They will not laugh at you. Andie said she wanted everyone to be casual and casual means jeans and sweatshirts,” you called from inside your closet. “And we’ll be out by the fire. You’ll be more comfortable like this. Trust me.” 

You peak around the corner to his portion of the closet, a small smile tugging at your lips. He looks cute, more dressed down than you usually see him. In fact, this is the most you’ve seen him in the past three weeks. Serial killers don’t take breaks, even during the holidays. So off he and the team went to bum-fuck-nowhere Alabama and missed Christmas.

It was disappointing to say the least. 

But it was his job, something he warned you of previously. However, it didn’t mean him missing important days didn’t hurt. But you sucked it up and smiled through it. Plus, it didn’t matter. He was home and he was safe. 

“I do trust you. But I don’t want to be underdressed.” He sighs moving to grab his tennis shoes, sitting on the little poof seat you insisted on buying. (And that he secretly loved. Not that he’d admit it.) 

You pull your hair out of the back of your sweatshirt, smoothing it down and grabbing a warm hat. “You won’t be. This isn’t like Rossi’s where we dress to the nines and get drunk on champagne.” 

You see him grin as he ties his shoes, a small blush rising on his ears. 

“Yeah he was sad we were coming this year. I, however, am excited we aren’t going. I have spent more than enough time with all of them. They’ll survive without me for a night.” 

You giggle, walking towards him and hugging him from behind. “Yes, baby, your friends will survive without you. You’re all mine tonight.” You kiss his cheek before straightening and checking your phone, “we should head out, sweetheart. Andie will be pissed if we’re late.” 

The drive to Andies was short, filled with Spencer's long winded explanation about why you and he bought your house at the ‘most perfect time’. You loved listening to him ramble, even if half the time he spoke gibberish. You were thankful you could google some of the super big words he used. 

The second you’re parked outside the house, big, beautiful and full of holiday cheer, you see Spencer tense. You’d think after six years together, he’d be more calm around your friends. They helped him with the proposal after all and he still has the group chat. The group chat where they send him memes he doesn’t understand. However, no matter the time, he isn’t the most comfortable with anyone but you. And more so in your bedroom. 

You find it… endearing to say the least. 

You reach over and grab his hand, squeezing it three times i am here. “Ready?” 

He squeezes back and nods, “I am… I think.” 

It’s all you need before getting out and never once letting go of Spencer’s hand. 

Andie stands at the door, smile on her face, two glasses of punch in her hands. “There is my best friend and her hot as fuck fiance!”

Spencer practically cringes at her words, never being one who could handle a compliment. Even if he was the most beautiful human you’ve ever seen. 

“Hi! Sorry we’re late. We had a late night. You know how it is, serial killers killing during the holidays. Dr. Reid forever having to save the day.” You pat his chest, looking up at him fondly. 

He loves when you look at him like that, eyes so wide, filled to the brim with love. He kisses your head and 

Andie fake gags, handing you the drinks in her hand. “Yes, yes. Get inside before we let the kitten out and before the cold air comes in.” 

You sip it, the vodka making your chest feel warm. Spencer looks down at the cup before looking back at you, “I can’t drink. Want this?” You nod, taking it and pouring it into your cup. “A-andie do you have water? Bottled? I don’t like sink water and fridge water tastes funny so bottled is better. Even though it’s not good for the environment.

“But it’s not really us that needs to worry. It’s the famous people who really pollute the envi-” 

Andie cuts him off, “Spencie baby, you don’t have to explain this to me. I have plenty of bottled water. Want a cold one or a room temp one?” 

Spencer curls his lips over his teeth, a small blush creeping up his neck, “cold is fine. Thank you, Andie.” 

“You’re welcome sweet thing.” She digs in her fridge and finds the bottle, handing it to him. “Now, time for a tour.” 

… 

It takes a good few minutes for her to show you both around the house, making sure she explains every single detail even down to the persian rug her current boyfriend bought her when he went to visit his mother. 

Spencer, of course, went on and on about this, that and the third. It was cute. 

But soon you were in Spencer's lap, staying warm by a fire and roasting a marshmallow while Spencer got the chocolate and graham crackers ready. You were two drinks and three shots in, happily buzzed but not even close to drunk. 

“You are so hot when you open chocolate. S’anyone ever told you that?” You say it quietly, not wanting to embarrass him in front of anyone. 

He smirks, using the top graham cracker to slide the toasted marshmallow off of the stick and smoosh it between the other cracker and chocolate. “No one has ever told me that. But there is a first for everything.” 

He takes the first bite before handing you the rest. You pout a little and he laughs. “You ate my smore! Not fair.” 

He kisses you, lips brushing over yours gently, “I will make you another when you finish that one.” “What happened to my shy boy? Getting bossy out here.” You smirk, knowing you’re pushing his buttons.

“I didn’t hear you complaining last night when I fucked you into the mattress.” He says right in your ear, nipping at it slightly. 

You shiver, squirming in his lap. “You-you can’t do this to me. We can’t fuck here.” 

He kisses your temple, “there are four bathrooms here. We totally could. They all lock, I made sure.” 

Andie claps her hands, “ten minutes till midnight!” 

Spencer grips your thigh, “what a way to ring in the new year? Me buried inside you.” 

You cross your legs, trying anything to get some friction. 

“They’ll notice, Spence.” You look around, no one is paying attention to you, most of them sucking face with their dates.

“Oh baby, they won’t notice.” 

Before you know it, your pants and underwear are on the bathroom floor, and Spencer's face buried in your cunt. You bite your fist to quiet the moan. For some reason, it was extremely hot getting eaten out with the possibility of someone hearing you. But that didn’t mean you wanted to get caught. 

“So pretty bunny.” He purrs from below you. He pushes two fingers inside you, easily opening you up. He knows your body better than you do, making mental notes of every little moan, gasp, and sigh that leaves your lips. Because of this it isn’t long before he has you falling over the edge, somehow keeping your moans quiet.

“Time,” He asks as he stands, towering over you.

You check your phone with shaky fingers, “11… 11:50” 

Spencer pulls at his belt with fervor, pushing his pants down till they pool at his ankles. “Gotta keep you quiet for another ten minutes.” 

His lips are on yours, swallowing your moans as he pushes all the way inside you. He doesn’t waste time, his hips snapping against yours. His lips travel from your lips and down your neck, moving your sweatshirt to the side to suck hickies where no one can see them. 

‘Just for me,’ he’d always say. ‘Only for me.’ 

“Spencer, please.” How you manage to whisper it is beyond you. But it doesn’t matter with the way he’s moving. 

“Shh… I’ve got you, bunny.” He snaps his hips faster. 

Your second orgasm comes right at 11:58. And it isn’t long before you can hear your friends counting down. 

Ten.

“Fuck bunny. Feel so good.” 

Nine

“S-spencer…” 

Eight

His hand covers your mouth, muffling your growing moans. 

Seven 

“I know you don’t want to get caught.” 

Six 

“‘Specially not so close to midnight. Right?” 

Five 

You shake your head no. Eyes staying locked with his.

Four

A wicked smirk crosses his lips, his confidence growing. 

Three

“S’what I thought.” 

Two 

His thrust grow more and more sloppy and before long his head falls into your shoulder and his orgasm rips through him, spilling inside you. 

One

His kiss is hard, hands on the sides of your face while he makes out with you, riding out the rest of his orgasm. He’s panting as he pulls back, Spencer's forehead resting on yours. 

“Happy New Years, sweet angel.”

...

I hope you enjoyed! This is my first fic in almost a year. Im nervous to say the least lmao. I love you all ❤️

[fandumb-whimsey]

Scarecrow Leg Observations/Headcanons

aka I thought about it too much and now it's everyone else's problem.

(important note: I am not in the medical field and I learned/looked up a lot of this with the help of Dr. Google)

The leg brace seems like a simple detail which can be overlooked in the larger design. On the surface, it's pretty straight forward: leg got damaged and now needs an orthopedic brace to function. This in and of itself is interesting since the artist undoubtedly referenced actual braces, specifically old ones, to fit Scarecrow's aesthetic:

This is a running theme with him; he seems to favor old, antique items and will repair things (like the use of duct tape or zigzag stitching for tears on his costume) before replacing them, which fits an image of someone coming from a background of poverty. Not entirely important to the conversation, just an interesting aside.

There is official material which states his leg is "permanently broken", which is probably the easiest, most succinct way to state this issue, but it's not entirely an accurate way to put it. If a leg is considered broken beyond repair, it's likely to be amputated. Bones which don't heal correctly the first time can be broken again and realigned to heal properly, often through surgery with the use of pins, rods, plates, and/or screws. However, "permanently broken" could also be implying he has suffered irreparable nerve damage which affects the use of the leg (more on that in a moment). One possibility: The bones in Scarecrow's leg do not heal properly due to the severity of his fractures likely needing surgery. Unable to access such resources after his run-in with Croc, this results in a malunion. In his case, the misalignment could be subtle as there is no obvious bend or twist in his leg, but still causes problems which requires use of a brace.

Another possibility: Perhaps he is lucky and his leg does heal well. Maybe there's no malunion at all. Unfortunately, whether the bones mend together well or not, evidence strongly implies that it was broken seriously enough that it damaged his peroneal nerve, leading to muscle weakness and foot drop, which necessitates the use of the brace to function.

If you look closely, you can see there is additional support around Scarecrow's ankle that would otherwise prevent rotation of that joint. You can see this in the game when he circles Batman on the airship:

When he takes a step with his good leg, the foot remains more parallel to the floor. Compare that to the foot in the brace, where the toes point upward with each stride due to being in a fixed position. I feel this is a strong indication of him having lasting damage here (such as foot drop) and part of why the leg brace is vital to his mobility (and undoubtedly one of many reasons why he's so furious at Batman).

Something like this often has trickle down effects. Having to compensate for a weaker limb can throw the body off balance, especially if it's a leg. This can create joint and back pain outside of (or in addition to) the issues related to the initial trauma. Combined with the other things he has had to deal with, there is something to be said of Scarecrow's tenacity. He is very driven and ambitious, even if it's the pure, seething drive for vengeance which causes him to persevere. It's a quality one can admire. :)

The rambling ends here, thanks for reading. And an extra big thanks to a very special someone who, without their help, none of this would be possible...I'm of course talking about my guy KILLER CROC for going absolutely feral in those Asylum sewers, really gave Jonny here a spooky glow-up, am I right?

Pictured: Scarecrow regretting his fear toxin frivolity into the sewers.

[thesinglesock]

I love you clowns I love you puppets I love you stop motion I love you animatronics I love you porcelain dolls I love you marionettes I love it when someone makes a stylized caricaturized character and wills it to exist in the real physical world and then breathe life into it with acting, be it by animating or in real time through their body. It's all about Creating a Little Guy and communicating the beauty of the things you observe around you: the sadness, the humor, and the absurdity of life. And the comfort your audience feels, knowing that even if the Little Guy you created can only be viewed through a screen, it exists somewhere in the real world. You know what it would feel like to touch it. It may not seem realistic, and the limitations of the medium may be very visible, but they can tell it was made with love, and that's why it's wonderful

I want to see more appreciation for these art forms. please. I understand there is a certain uncanneyness that can be off-putting to some people, but come on. at least try to move beyond your initial knee-jerk reaction and notice the real human emotions that were the driving force of the artists. If I have to deal with 5 more years of google autofilling "creepy"/"scary"/"killer" into my search bar when I'm trying to discover new works in some of my favorite art forms, I'm going to lose it.

where is your whimsy??? your sense of childlike wonder???

[motherofdogs1010]

A Jedi in Arrakis VI (Paul Atreides x Reader)

Summary: While on the run from Empire troops, Jedi padawan Y/N comes to find out that hyper-driving in a compromised craft can have some major setbacks when she discovers not only is on a new planet but a whole new galaxy as well...

Warnings: jedi!reader, angst, mentions of death, somewhat-canon Dune PT. 1 & 2, Paul is somewhat canon, talks of questioning the Force and teachings, spoilers for Dune Part I and II, eventual marriage

GIF is not mine, from Google

Banner @vase-of-lilies Dividers @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist

Duncan Idaho was dead.

Dr. Kynes recommendation was to use a thopter to fly, use the dust storm and find the Fremen in the South of the planet. A task that seemed easy to Y/N, but now sitting in the damn dust storm that was literally destroying the craft proved to be more dangerous than she thought as BB used his internal cables to keep himself in place as Paul did his best to navigate with the Sardaukar now behind them as well, jet flares chasing them.

"Paul! We're not high enough!" Lady Jessica shouted as the flares exploded around them.

The engine rumbled as the thopter shook and groaned.

"May the Force be with us", Y/N whispered and breathed.

Her heart was pounding in her ears.

"I must not fear", Lady Jessica whispered, "fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings obliteration."

The alarms of the thopter was blaring loud as she shut her eyes, reminding her of when her planet was attacked by the Emperor when she suddenly felt them drop.

Her breath left her lungs, her stomach felt like it was about to vomited out and she was speechless.

The fear that was surrounding her felt like when she watched her parents be murdered, seeing the Storm Troopers blast her parents to death. The way her mother had hidden her away, but she watched from the crack of the Storm Troopers asking where she was.

She could see visions of it all happening before suddenly, the thopter was thrown back into action and she opened her eyes to see they were out of the storm.

"We need to run for the rocks as soon as we land", Paul said before once again, they proceeded to drop and twirl into the sand.

The sand was different here, whiter and somehow softer in texture as they ran to the rocks. BB rolling away but needing assistance up to the rocks a bit before they begun to dress in the stillsuits.

Y/N frowned at the suit, unsure of how to put it on but watched as Paul took off his shirt and realized she had to undress to slip the suit on.

It was tight to the skin almost as if it was meant to be there as she found looked for where to attach her lightsaber when Paul walked up to her, grasping the mask and tube that hung around her neck.

"You'll have to breathe through this", he said, "and need to wear this mask while we are out here. Protects you from the sand."

"Did you learn this from the archives?" she asked, Paul let out a chuckle.

"How did you guess?"

Once situated and BB getting a small bit of extra charge, Y/N felt odd wearing this. She missed her robes from home, being able to wear her hair as if she was on Naboo but for now, her hair and head was trapped in the cap and hidden underneath a thin hood. Her face hidden by the mask and she felt her lightsaber clank a little against the suit.

"Let's go", Paul said.

Time passes differently on Arrakis as they walked along the rocks, trying their best to avoid the sands because, as Paul told her, any movement could cause the sand worms to be summoned.

They had reached where a Fremen settlement was but Paul had informed them that it was best to cross the sands at night when the worms would less active, just as the Fremen do for safety. Although, he mentioned that BB would be safe since he just rolls away on the sand.

And now that night had fallen, Lady Jessica and her followed behind Paul as they sandwalked as the Fremen do. BB was just rolling a bit ahead of Paul a pace where he did not lose them.

Her muscles ached as they climbed dunes and sandwalked when the thunderous rumbling under the dunes vibrated the ground.

"Is that a worm?" she asked.

"It's close", Paul said, "we need to move."

As they moved down the dune, the ground began to violently shake beneath them and the hard realization hit them that a sand worm was quickly approaching towards them.

"Run."

Running in the sand was different despite the floor underneath being hard, BB was ahead of them of course and letting off a series of beeps in a panic tone as they ran.

The suit felt like it was weighing down her feet as she ran, quickly looking over her shoulder to see that Paul had even lost his footing and tumbled into the sand. Lady Jessica had made her way safely to the rock structure with BB as Y/N found herself running back, grasping Paul by the wrist and helping him up before they both took off again.

She could still feel the vibration of the worm even on the rock as they both stumbled onto it, but as she turned to look at the massive worm, she could feel a distinct hum to it.

She could feel the Force around this creature as it paused, staring at them and it felt so... peaceful feeling the Force rolling off the sand worm. It did not surprise her, the Force was in everything from the water in a cup to the joy in emotions, but to feel how strong it rolled off of the worm felt practically religious.

She understood why the Fremen worshipped such a creature.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

It was that noise that broke her thoughts as Paul breathed, "someone's set off a thumper."

It made the worm slither and dive back into its home: the sand, and driving their trio deeper in the structure as protection.

The darkness of Arrakis was quickly peeking around them when Paul signed, We are not alone.

Her hand instinctively went to her lightsaber as BB rolled behind her, her eyes darting to the walls of the rock and she saw them: the Fremen, or at least a small group of them.

Perfectly hidden to the naked eye until this moment when they began to emerge, crouching on the rocks and surrounding them.

"Do not run. You will only waste your body's water."

She unclipped her lightsaber and held it in her hands as a precaution as Paul said, "Stilgar? I was there when you came to my father's Council."

Y/N had never seen any of the Fremen that had come to see the Duke, she watched as the man called Stilgar lowered the cloth that covered the bottom of his face.

"Oh, this is the Duke's son", Stilgar said as another man questioned Stilgar's relaxed stance.

"We need their water."

Water.

Paul had told her how valuable water was here as she felt Paul's hand gently grasp hers for a moment, their eyes meeting for a brief minute.

"This is the boy I told you about. We can't touch him."

That statement brought out a barrage of Fremen speaking in their native tongue as the man that questioned them drew out his knife, calling them weaklings.

"It was a brave crossing they made in the path of Shai-Hulud. He does not speak or act like a weakling. Nor did his father."

"My thumper saved his life. He is not the One."

Paul squeezed her hand as Lady Jessica said, "We have powerful friends. You help us off-world, to Caladan, you will be well rewarded."

Caladan: Paul's home world. He always described it as a planet covered in water, the seas crashing against the rocks, the salty air cold and tickling your nose so much you needed warm clothes to shield yourself at times from it.

"What can wealth do for us when it is the water in your flesh that we want? That is more valuable to us."

BB let out a series of nervous beeps as the Fremen around them stood, looking towards them to grab the water that rested in their bodies as Stilgar argued that Paul could learn their ways.

"But the women are untrained", Stilgar said, standing up. "One is too old to learn and the other is not even from our galaxy."

"Just because I am not of this galaxy does not mean I cannot learn", Y/N argued.

Stilgar hummed for a moment as he stared at her as she felt Paul's hand tightly grasping hers.

Silence befell as Y/N sensed that they were about to attack and she was right as the Fremen leaped to them. Y/N letting go of Paul's hand, activating her lightsaber as using the side of the beam to bump down one of them that came at her. She could see Lady Jessica and Paul dealing with their own as Y/N used the heat of the beam to slice down another's knife as the sound of the lightsaber's hum seemed to echo in canyon.

She jumped onto one of the structures as she could hear BB zap one of the Fremen in the leg before rolling away, using her lightsaber to its non-lethal advantage as the heat alone was enough to burn if one was not careful. She had no fear that one would try to take her lightsaber since its weight alone made it hard to grasp considering she had a dual-ended lightsaber, which was a bit heavier than most.

"Back off, you dogs", Stilgar suddenly said as Y/N watched the Fremen in front of her stop and back away.

It was then she saw Lady Jessica holding a knife to his neck, Paul had managed to get up to higher ground with a gun pointed at Stilgar and BB stopped tasing a Fremen.

Stilgar breathed for a moment, "Why did you not say you were a weirding woman? Or a fighter?"

He paused again, "Or that The One Who Carries Light travels with you?"

Y/N frowned at the name, confusion filled her and she knew she would have to ask Paul about this later.

"Conversation fell short", Lady Jessica said.

"Peace, woman. Peace. I judged hastily." It was then she let the knife leave him and backed away, Y/N jumping down from where she was to stand next to the woman, BB rolling up next to her and she patted his little metal head.

Stilgar spoke to his fellow comrades in their language, the others listening for a moment before Y/N heard a voice behind her say, "They always speak of The One Who Carries Light and their Blades of Light, used to bore me to death with stories about it. Especially the part of how She would appear with the Mahdi, but you two look children."

Whipping around to glance behind her, she saw a girl about her age with hard, bright blue eyes staring at her, calculated and ready to strike. She wore a hard breathing mask around her lower face, which she removed as she continued to speak.

"You fought well, you didn't even pierce anyone's flesh with it. Or is it rather you didn't char anyone?"

"There are many ways to use a lightsaber, not all are lethal. My Master was training me well."

"Chani", Stilgar called out, "take care of our newcomers and see that they are safe on the journey,"

"Will your metal pest fair well?" Chani asked as BB let out an angry beep.

"He did not appreciate that", Y/N answered, "he can understand you and what you say."

Chani looked at BB and BB was practically grinding into the rock from anger as she heard Paul approaching.

"You are not injured, are you?" Paul softly asked, she shook her head.

"I will not have them with us", a man suddenly angrily announced, stomping his way up to Stilgar and Lady Jessica.

"Jamis", Stilgar said as the man stared at her and Paul. "I have spoken, be still."

Jamis, the angered man, argued back against Stilgar as he stated that Stilgar was not a leader if Lady Jessica had bested him and was invoking 'the amtal'. Y/N concluded that meant he was challenging Lady Jessica, but Stilgar denied it saying that it was not allowed to fight Sayyadina (which again assumed was another term for the Bene Gesserit).

Y/N knew she was going to have to be quick on picking up the language if she wanted to be able to thrive amongst the Fremen just as Jamis demanded for another to fight in Lady Jessica's name.

"Where is her champion?" Jamis demanded.

Y/N knew Paul would volunteer himself, it was his mother after all as she squeezed his hand gently before she watched as he stepped towards Jamis.

"I accept her champion."

🪐

The sun had already risen and the beginnings of the Arrakis heat were beginning to be felt as Jamis and Paul readied for their fight.

"You will prevail, Paul", Y/N whispered to Paul as he readied for the amatal.

She brought a hand to his cheek as he leaned into it, "the Force is strong within you, Paul."

"If that is true, the Force must feel how nervous I am", Paul said with a slight smile that she could see was filled with worry.

"My Master told me to never doubt myself in battle. You must not doubt yourself, Paul or that will be your death."

Silence filled the two of them as Paul brought his hand to clasp around the one holding his cheek, his hand bringing it to his lips in a chaste kiss as Chani approached them.

"I do not believe you are the Lisan al-Gaib", she said, "but even you do not deserve to die without honor. Here."

Chani handed him a knife, expertly carved and balanced. Paul grasped it and nodded, "Thank you."

Paul chastely pressed his lips to hers before beginning to walk to where Jamis and Stilgar stood.

"The knife was beautiful", she said to Chani.

"It was a crysknife given to me by my great aunt", Chani revealed, "it's made of a tooth from Shai-Hulud. It is a great honor for anyone to die holding it."

"I imagine it would be", Y/N answered, "and it is kind of you to think of allowing Paul to use it."

"Even Fremen believe outsiders can die with honor."

Silence fell the two of them as they faced where Paul, Jamis and Stilgar were; Lady Jessica a little bit aways and BB rolling up to her, nudging her thigh with a worried beep.

"Paul will be okay", she said, patting his head.

"Jamis is a good fighter, he won't let him suffer."

BB let out a quick series of beeps.

"Chani is just kidding", Y/N nervously said, "Paul is going to be okay."

"Come, we must gather with the others to watch."

Chani let her and BB to where the others were, Y/N deciding to stand with Lady Jessica and BB closely behind them.

Paul stood across from Jamis, who looked sternly at him.

"He will be okay", Y/N whispered.

"He will", Lady Jessica replied, but Y/N could hear the worry.

Silence befell them all.

"May thy knife chip and shatter", Jamis stated.

Paul was silent as he brought his knife up to his chest then head before lowering his arm.

It was anxiety-inducing watching, no matter how confident she was in Paul.

Yielding was not a option as Paul asked Jamis if he yielded, but as Stilgar told them, "only death."

"Paul has never killed a man", she whispered to Lady Jessica.

It was not like her, the Clone Wars had brought death to her lightsaber whether she liked it or not. The Jedi taught them that while life was valuable, there were times were death had to come: both naturally and by their hands.

Lady Jessica grasped her hand, the two of them clasping hands in some form of comfort as BB trembled.

But she knew Paul was going to kill Jamis if they wanted to survive.

And so, as sad as it was, she felt no shock when Paul delivered the stabbing blow to Jamis's back.

She watched as the Fremen went to Jamis as he took his last breath and Paul making his way to her now, the Fremen around resting their hands on his shoulder as Paul stopped in front of her and his mother.

She could see the sadness in his eyes, the remorse, the final loss of innocence for him.

Slowly letting go of Lady Jessica's hand, she walked up to Paul and grasped his hand.

"A life for a life", Stilgar announced, "you are one of us now."

The sun felt especially hot now.

"Come with us to SietchTabr."

Lady Jessica tried to oppose, but Paul shook his head.

"The Emperor sent us here, but my father did not come for spice or the riches, but the strength of the Fremen. My road leads into the desert and if you'll have us, we will come."

Into the deep Arrakis desert, they walked and BB rolled over the dunes as they followed the Fremen.

"Look", Paul softly whispered to her, pointing out a small disturbance in the desert.

Fixing her eyes, they widened as she saw a Fremen riding a sandworm, hooks attached into the worm as they rode it.

"Amazing", she breathed.

"Desert power", Paul smiled.

"You say my world sounds amazing, but I continue to be more amazed each day I'm here."

"This is only the beginning", Chani said, turning to them with a small smile.

TAGLIST

@cloudlst @khlaeesihavilliard @colors-for-the-world-please @senhoritaapple @dark1paradise @chalametabingbong @aoi-targaryen @star-maker-rain-dancer @nj452896

[sleepy-grav3]

Shared Adoption Habits

A/n: This is a past oneshot that was probably meant to be made into a full plot fanfic that I found while organizing my google drive. Don't expect anything from it, I'm not sure what my thought process was for this.

Summary: Bruce is married. He's married to a City Spirit. Specifically, Lady Gotham.

Tw: Fenton Parents are out of the picture, take it as you wish; technical kidnapping/surprise adoption

Danny is the Ghost King; Bruce Wayne is called The White Knight; Batman is called The Dark Knight; Bruce/Gotham; All Gothamites are Lady Gotham's children through technical kidnapping

People loved to tease and bully Bruce about his adoption habit. Especially when they noticed the trend and shielded away adoption baits until they were grown enough to refuse adoption.

You could also turn to Batman with those dang Robins and Batgirls that spread further to even outside cities (and outer space). Nobody really knows the true number of members in the Batclan because of that adoption habit. But nobody knew that there was more to that. Nobody but those who knew of the other realm. Or should they say: the space that housed an infinite amount of them?

Denizens of the Infinite Realms were special and dangerous. Their hierarchy was based on power level. Their bonding activities related to fighting. Just mentioning their deaths would result in mindless rage, which was an instinctual defense mechanism.

Not to mention their obsessions! They would go all out, attacking those who got in the way of it. And they’re possessive of those they call their own. Never mess with their babies, their children. It was unknown what could be considered a threat with how fighting was a bonding activity, making the line practically invisible and terrifying to approach. So nobody messed with them.

How did this relate to Bruce? Well it’s pretty simple. Denizens from the realms adopted any child they find. Commonly, the child has the same or a similar core element as them. This is just like how Bruce has black hair and blue eyes, taking in those that are the same/similar.

This is just a comparison. This doesn’t explain shit. Well, what if someone told you that Bruce was spiritually married and heavily influenced by a denizen from said realms?

What denizen? Who would he ever be committed to long enough for him to share/mimic habits from them? Well, it’s none other than Lady Gotham! Whaaaat??? Haven’t you heard of Bruce Wayne being the White Knight compared to Batman, The Dark Knight? How everyone assumed them to be boyfriends or something but really they aren’t?

Well, that title is actually real. He’s the Knight to his Lady. That Lady being the city spirit of Gotham. Lady Gotham. Poetic really. But now it makes sense. Due to Spiritual Marriage, there are benefits. Such benefits include: An official title, a Name, certain abilities, a guaranteed citizenship to the realms, resistance against associates of the dead, and many other things. And with this marriage, they share things. Lady Gotham shares his ability to effortlessly stay on the mortal Realm, Bruce gets her adoption habit.

Since when does Lady Gotham have an adoption habit? The Gothamites hate outsiders! The city is proof enough. All Gothamites are hers. In fact, she goes further to open her arms to those of the dead/undead, inviting them to her haunt for shelter.

Her haunt houses a multitude of other haunts. Many are small. Rooms, apartments, houses. There are a few bigger haunts. Manors, which only 3 are occupied, The Swamp (Grundy), The Sewer Empire (Killer Croc), Crime Alley (Red Hood), and Clocktower. The Clocktower, however, was simply part of Clockwork’s haunt. He always held beacons everywhere.

She never liked it, even if she gained power if she rested there after the curses planned a sudden ambush. However, her Knights and his children did like it, the height of the structure soothing somehow. She understood, so she was neutral about it now. It was hers anyway. Part of her city, so suck it Clockwork!

Lady Gotham, clearly, has the classic adoption problem, even if it’s just part of her biology as a realms denizen. Bruce got that by becoming her knight. And-

Oh?

The Ghost King is a child?

And orphaned by human terms child?

Well Clockwork, you’re gonna have to share now.

Don't be shy now.

GIVE HER THE CHILD.

[steviesbicrisis]

The Choice is Yours, Steve Harrington

When Steve Harrington starts getting threatening texts from an unknown number, he tries to take matters into his own hands. Little does he know that every choice he makes could have major consequences. His choices matter, and so do yours. So, what’s it gonna be? (An interactive modern day AU! by @steviesbicrisis and @hairstevington)

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Ugh. Hargrove.

The guy was just - he really sucked, and Steve wished he was fucking gone. Now he was threatening Henderson? No way. Steve was going to settle this once and for all. Billy wasn’t going to mess with him anymore, he’d make sure of it.

Of course, Dustin was at the stupid concert. Steve really wanted to avoid it, but obviously he would do anything to protect his friends. He headed off to the Fairgrounds, practicing his speech to Billy the whole drive.

Listen to me, asshole. You’re gonna stay away from me and you’re definitely gonna stay away from my friends, or else. Got it?

By the time Steve got to the concert, it was winding down. People were pouring into the parking lot and speeding away in their cars. Steve knew that the kids planned on sticking around afterwards in hopes of meeting the band, so he figured they’d still be there.

It was kind of scary, being there alone at night. Robin was around somewhere, though, so that gave him some peace. He could probably just say her name three times and she’d appear beside him.

He continued looking for his friends as the place emptied out, feeling chills down his spine with every passing moment.

And then, he heard Billy’s voice. He sounded angry, as always. Steve followed the voice, puffing his chest out and trying to make himself look as intimidating as possible.

“Hargrove,” he said once he rounded the corner. Billy was alone, and he smiled the moment he realized it was Steve approaching him.

“Harrington!” he cheered wickedly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Steve rolled his eyes.

“You’re gonna leave us alone,” Steve demanded. “Me, Dustin, my other friends, all of us.” Billy smiled, fearlessly closing the gap between him and Steve until their faces were inches apart.

“Or what?” Billy teased between gritted teeth. “What are ya gonna do to me, Steve? You think you could take me down?”

Steve swallowed. Something about Billy always brought out his worst, most violent urges. Truthfully, Steve knew he wouldn’t win in a fight with Hargrove, and yet - he threw the first punch.

Steve’s fist clocked into Billy’s jaw. He laughed in response, then tried to hit back, but Steve dodged it. He was doing well at first - keeping up, at least - and then Billy got the upper hand.

Steve fell to the floor. Billy got on top of him. There was punch after punch after punch, and then everything went black.

When Steve came to, his ears were ringing and his head felt like it was going to explode. He’d failed. He’d come here to protect Dustin, and now who knew where he was or if he was safe? Steve sat up, and that’s when he saw that he still wasn’t alone.

Billy was on the floor across from him, sitting up with his back to the wall. He wasn’t moving. Steve couldn’t see much in the dim light, so he used his phone to get a better look.

Oh.

Oh, shit. There was blood everywhere, all stemming from stab wounds to the stomach and cuts on his arms.

Billy was dead.

Steve jumped backwards, falling over and skittering across the floor to get as much distance from the body as possible. This wasn’t happening. No, this wasn’t - who could have done this?

His shaky hand went back to his phone, which he’d dropped on the floor upon his discovery. He picked it up to call the police, because that’s what he knew he was supposed to do next. Even in his shock, he knew that’s what he had to do.

He dialed 9-1-1, and then his phone buzzed.

Same poll on Google Docs

The Choice is Yours, Steve Harrington | Ao3 Next

How to follow the story

[alexanderwales]

The BTK killer probably would have gotten away with it if he hadn't insisted on sending out communications, though there's also a chance that forensic genetic genealogy would have led to him eventually, as it did with Golden State Killer.

He sent a message asking whether they could track him if he sent in a floppy disk, and they said "no". (Specifically, he had prearranged that they put an ad in the paper with the words "Rex, it will be OK," if the answer was no.)

The floppy that he sent in had a single file, "TestA.rtf", which had no identifying metadata, but when the disk was run through EnCase, a digital investigation software, it showed that there was another file which had been "deleted". It was still present on the disk because a floppy drive doesn't (by default) write over deleted files, it just unallocated the space. That file was an agenda for a meeting at a church, and the metadata said the user who saved it was "Dennis", so they Googled the church name, found that the church president was Dennis Rader, drove by his house and saw the same car they already had on grainy video, tested crime scene DNA against his daughter's medical records, and that was basically it. The time from him sending the floppy to getting arrested was ten days.

So the police lied to him. It helped them to catch him, but this is now enshrined in serial killer lore, and I have to imagine that any aspiring serial killer like BTK will have read this account. I wonder if there was ever any consideration of the balance here. I've read some accounts that they "tricked" him, but I don't think that this rises to the level of trick, it was just a lie, albeit one that he set himself up for.

Part of the strategy with BTK was to stroke his considerable ego, to say that he was interesting, to get him to communicate more, hoping that he would slip up. This, too, is part of serial killer lore, and understanding of how serial killers work and how the police will attempt to catch them.

But as time stretches into the future, it seems like these tactics can only work once if the criminals in question are even remotely attempting to evade capture. Doesn't the "meta" evolve? The police will simply lie to you, so you can't trust any information from them. Do the police think this understanding is a net good? I kind of think it's not, especially since it seems like it torpedoes the other strategy of rapport and trust building.

I don't think they were wrong to lie, necessarily, but it does seem like a trick that you can't use too many times, at least not on those who are doing even a smidgen of research.

[funishment-time]

🔵 Kodaka BlueSky Q&As: Game Development & Sequels

⚠️ DISCLAIMER: Please be advised! Translations of all Japanese answers derive from a combination of Google Translate and my manager's three-quarters-remembered Japanese. We've tried our best to work out what he's saying, but there will be mistakes here and there. Do not take this as gospel!

To avoid spreading too much misinfo, where we're completely boggled about an answer, we've decided not to even make an attempt. We'll still list the post, but mark it accordingly.

💕 FEBRUARY 2024:

Q: How is the progress of the new work?

A: The game is progressing at a rapid pace with the death march. But it is a death march.

NOTE: From the date of posting, we can assume the above refers to The Hundred Line, which was not fully announced until June 2024. However, that's just an assumption.

/////

Q: How do the death games you have released so far get through the ratings system?

A: I try to recognize and avoid expressions that are not appropriate to use.

/////

Q: i have a question! will there be more raincode games?

A: I would like to.

/////

Q: What is the likelihood that you will really create an online killer training game that both adults and children will enjoy?

A: 0% which is as close to 100% as possible.

NOTE: Likely the above refers to a game idea Kodaka had where you train someone into becoming a serial killer.

/////

Q: Are there plans to make a sequel to Rain Code?

A: I'd love to do that...! Please support me...!

/////

Q: Are there plans for a new Danganronpa release? I've loved it for a long time❗️♡

A: Thank you very much! Plans…? Thank you very much!

NOTE: Please take this with a grain of salt, but Kodaka's use of 予定, yotei, for "plans," is interesting here. My manager tells me that if someone says yotei they intend to do something and/or are actively working on pulling it together. If our understanding is correct, this could mean...well, a lot of different things, but does tell us at the very least he wants to do more Danganronpa.

/////

Q: It would be interesting to see a battle game using characters from Danganronpa or Rain Code, but will there be any games in the future that use characters from Danganronpa or Rain Code in genres other than mystery games?

A: I'd like to try it, but there doesn't seem to be a demand for it...

/////

Q: If it's OK to ask a second question, I'd like to hear about the stories behind the casting of each cast member in Danganronpa and Rain Code.

A: Generally, we choose from the sound company's selection or candidates, but on rare occasions we specify the cast. For almost all roles in Rain Code, we held auditions and selected the cast.

/////

Q: When playing the Danganronpa series and Rain Code, I feel like there is a lot of impressive music, but what kind of image did you have in mind when ordering the music? Also, do the impressions of the finished music ever have an influence on the game's production? I'd love to know if you don't mind!

A: I just roughly present the direction and leave it up to Takada. I've liked Takada ever since he was making songs with Grasshopper, so I don't reject any of his songs. Although I might use them in a different way.

NOTE: Masafumi Takada's behind all the bomb-ass music in DR and Rain Code.

/////

Q: Is there a possibility of a sequel to Akudama Drive?

A: I think there is! If you haven't already watched it, please do!

/////

Q: Is there a follow-up story to Danganronpa v3? Also, is v3 the end of the Danganronpa series?

A: I'll do a crowdfunding campaign to motivate myself…Just to motivate. The reward is to make a sequel. lol

/////

Q: May I please ask again? 🙏 Are you working on any unannounced projects? Or what project or projects should your fans be most excited for? I am a big fan of yours, and I want to thank you on behalf of all your fans for all the creative works you and your friends have brought into the world! 🌎 🗺

A: We are working on all kinds of works at the same time. First of all, a collaborative work by kodaka and Uchikoshi will be unveiled soon.

NOTE: Again, from the date of posting and the reference to Uchikoshi, we can assume the above refers to The Hundred Line, which was not fully announced until June 2024.

🍀 MARCH 2024:

Q: What are your plans for the future of Danganronpa? Something I’ve been wanting to ask in particular is if there were any ideas for possibly rantaros game or maybe a v3 animation? :3

A: I don't know what will happen to Danganronpa since Spike Chunsoft has the rights to it. But personally, I would like to make it someday.

/////

Q: Would you like to see your games in more languages? Along with English, Rain Code was released in French, Italian, German and Spanish. I'm Brazilian and I'd really like to see your games in Portuguese! Maybe even with voices in Portuguese, too...

A: I want to translate as many languages as possible in the game. And I want to visit many countries.

🥬 APRIL 2024:

n/a

🌺 MAY 2024:

n/a

☀️ JUNE 2024:

Q: Did you have any difficulties with CERO while creating Dangaronpa and Raincode?

A: V3 was canceled in South Korea right before its release, and when we tried to do a parody of Jibanyan with Jibakuma, the company stopped us.

NOTE: Jibanyan is a character from Yo-Kai Watch. CERO is the organization that applies age ratings to games etc in Japan.

🎇 JULY 2024:

Q: will a character introduction trailer be released soon for last defence academy? Also, can you tell a little about Suminos personality (not spoilers ofc)? 🙈

A: Wait a little longer! They are all wonderful characters!

/////

Q: Mr. Kodaka, do you have a policy when deciding on character names? What I think is amazing about Danganronpa is that you take impossible surnames in real life, like Fukawa and Pekoyama, and mix them with common words like river and mountain to make them less incongruous, so I'd like to know if you have any other policies when deciding on names.

A: We put a lot of importance on the sound and the appearance of the names. But we changed them a few times along the way. We can't know the balance between normal-sounding names and strange names until all the names are finalized.

🌭 AUG 2024:

n/a

🍁 SEPT 2024:

n/a

🎃 OCT 2024:

Q: If we have a chance to release a game to celebrate the anniversary of Danganronpa in the future, could we hold an event where fans can submit their own character designs, and then officially select the best characters from the submissions to participate in the game as a way to give back to the fans?

A: Is it possible to move characters created by other people?

/////

Q: How involved were you and the rest of TooKyo Games in Tribe Nine? Did you write any of the stories or handled any of the directions? Or was it limited to worldbuiding and designs?

A: I do not write the story. We do the character design and music.

/////

Q: You said before that The Hundred Line: Last Defense Academy will be TooKyo Games' last game. Is this true? Is it also your and/or Uchikoshi's last game? We, your fans, love TooKyo Games and all of the projects that have come out of the company ❤️ We want you guys to be able to make more cool stuff!

A: [Written in both English and Japanese:] In the meantime, please buy it. It is absolutely a masterpiece.

🦃 NOV 2024:

Q: IS this arts related to The hundred line?

A: Since then, it has been rebuilt and is no longer relevant.

[The art in question:]

/////

Q: Regarding Final Defense Academy, how involved is Mr. Uchikoshi in character design and settings?

A: I made it while consulting with others.

NOTE: Presumably the "others" here = Uchikoshi and "it" = the design/setting.

🎄 DEC 2024:

Q: How did you come up with the plot for Rain Code? 🌧 I've seen some people reference a similar plot twist from Xenogears. Was Xenogears, the Xenosaga, or the Xeno franchise an influence on the story of Rain Code?

A: Actually, I have never played it. When I was writing the scenario, the staff pointed out that there was a slightly similar development, and I looked into it, but since it was not exactly the same development, I decided not to fix it as it was.

[itz-darktrax]

I find it really funny that no one is talking about this but the cyberpunk era is undeniably here. We have the creepy robot dogs from Boston Dynamics that now wield firearms and flame throwers, the emergence of the AI revolution, self-driving cars, and now the assassination of a greedy health insurance CEO. You wanna know what this reminds me of?

Yep, this parallels the Laughing Man Incident from Ghost In The Shell SAC. A healthcare CEO was assassinated after their company proved to be oppressing and scamming patients while they were supposed to be helping. It can't be a coincidence, right? What I find really interesting is that the shell casings the killer used contained the words "Delay, Defend, and Despose" which references a 2010 book, Why Insurance Companies Don't Pay Claims and What You Can Do About It. Meanwhile, the Laughing Man is a direct reference to JD Salinger's novel of the same name. Coincidence? I think not.

This assassination is truly a warning to all corporations and CEOs who oppress. People are tired of corporate control. They want individuality, freedom and justice. And people will do anything to get it. Won't be surprised if someone tried to replicate the Night City Holocaust on a major corporation like Google anytime soon.

What's next, Trauma Team will be invented to protect corpos from future threats and assassination attempts?

The cyberpunk future is here, whether you're ready or not.

Legal Disclaimer: I do not condone violence against corporations or CEOs. I merely am explaining the fact that if corporation oppression doesn't stop, the people WILL fight back.

[jackhues]

―the devil and the runaway au!

about:

Contrary to popular belief, the Devil doesn’t have red skin, graphite horns, and a wickedly sharp tail. He’s not a fallen Angel, he doesn’t carry a pitchfork, and he definitely doesn’t look like a monster.

The Devil wears three piece suits, expensive watches, and can hit a running target from about a hundred metres away. He’s the heir to an Empire, he carries fourteen knives and three guns on him at all times, and he’s got killer dimples.

He’s heartless, the people of Monte-Carlo whisper. His prince-like eyes and silver-tongued compliments will pull you in... before he leaves you with a bullet between the eyes.

The people of Monte-Carlo know better than to catch the eye of the Devil. 

You knew better.

And yet there you are, hiding from the chaos around you, calling for help with the Devil's own phone.

summary:

Y/N lived for her father. She spent her childhood hoping he would love her, even if he never asked for her, even if he saw her as nothing but a weapon.

Y/N lived for her lover. Teenage sweethearts, loved by her father, this was the one person who Y/N hoped would change her life. He did... just not for the better.

Y/N lives for her son, Nico. Two years old, and a mixture of the past she ran away from, she never realized she could love someone as much as this tiny human.

Charles wants Y/N to live for herself.

gangs:

The Ferras

The Ayrbees

The Mercs

The Martins

The Lars

notes:

this is a mafia!charles leclerc x reader!au. that being said, there will be typical gang violence, death, swearing, etc

the name of the reader is y/n meadows, a 24 year old who's currently residing in monaco and is the owner of a small cat cafe (les chats de l'amour). she resides in a two-bedroom apartment built above the cafe.

i will try to include most of the 22 grid and maybe even the new members of the 23' grid, but idk if they'll all be there

the gangs are based off of ferrari (ferras), mercedes (mercs), redbull (ayrbees), the martins (aston martin), and mclaren (lars). there will be interchanging between the gangs/teams, meaning ppl who drive for mercedes might be with the ferras and vice versa. it's just a loose basing

the lars are a small gang

the prema boys are based off of prema racers / fda, and is the step below being a member of the ferras

google translate was used for anything i don't know how to say in other languages

this will most likely have a prologue + 10 parts of about 3k words each!

be sure to like, rb and comment as it makes me really happy!

masterlist:

PROLOGUE

TAGS

[postpunkindustrial]

Karera Musication – Koroshiya Ichi Original Soundtrack

Were you an Edgelord in 2001? Made some real knee slappers about 9/11 that you kinda cringe about now. Barely contain yourself from making those jokes now because no one 100% stops being an edgelord.

Well then you are very aware of the movie Ichii The Killer.

The best part if the movie is the soundtrack by the band Karera Musication. The band is Yoshimi, Hira, Kazuya Nishimura and Seiichi Yamamoto. It is pretty much the Boredoms without Eye.

Get it from my Google Drive HERE

[mads198-9]

The Alcott

POV: the WIP made it out of the google drive

Summary: “If he’s a serial killer then what’s the worst that could happen to a girl that’s already hurt?” - Lana Del Rey

Warnings: None really, some explicit language though. Just some fluffy angsty dialogue to either help you sleep or keep you up at night. This is my first time writing for Joel (and practically ever) so I apologize if it isn’t Hemingway-esque. This is not edited but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I’m debating a smutty pt. 2 😗

@amydunnewithmen (where the delulus run wild)

————————————————————————

3 minutes.

It had taken Joel all of 3 minutes to set fire to a year of your life. A year of longing, patience, resentment, guilt and every ounce of shame that Joel had clutched to his chest since September 26th, 2003. 

It took you over two decades to find an ounce of peace. A place to, finally, let yourself breathe. To close your eyes out of comfort rather than necessity. You’d barely crawled out of the last city you scavenged. A metropolis that fell into a desolate isle. All you’d ever known of people was the way they’d looked with fungi crawling through their veins and seeping out of their orifices. Never a true person. The closest you’d come to other conscious humans were those who had already abandoned their humanity for the sake of surviving. What they didn't realize was that for them to live, they had to give up everything they’d ever lived for. You didn’t consider these men to be ‘people’. 

Looking at your facilities it was nothing short of a miracle, it was a miracle that you’d found Jackson. A single woman dragging her depleted muscles through feats of snow, a trail of blood broadcasting your vulnerability to anything within a mile’s radius. 

You don’t remember how you’d found it but you remember your pleas. Your claw marks on Jackson’s fortifying wall. You fell to the ground the moment they’d opened the gates. Almost relieved to have had a gun pointed at your head, because at least it was a person. Someone to end your suffering. You didn’t care in what way. A saviour in the form of a man nonetheless, one you’d come to know as Tommy. Tommy Miller. 

He was how you’d found Joel. How Joel found you. 

It was Tommy who’d found what was left of you, Maria who had housed you, but Joel who’d really saved you. 

-

It started pure. For you at least. 

The first you saw of Jackson’s newest constituent was his and Tommy’s embrace. Maybe that’s why you were never scared. Not of him, not of what he'd done, because you saw the best of what he could do. His reason for all that he had done. Family. 

You hadn’t felt your heart stop in ages. Up until him, fear was the only thing that had the power to constrict your chest. 

No words were spoken between the two of you for months. As the Tipsy Bison’s bartender you were the loosener of lips. An observer by nature, a listener by force, a tolerator of none. His drink order spoke for him those first few months.

Whiskey. Neat. No ice to dull its sting. A welcomed burn to the back of his throat but he sipped it like water. Years of practice of not only enduring pain, but learning to think he’d deserved it.  

It was the first thing of substance you’d ever said to him. Your words numbing him like the whiskey in his glass. It took two minutes of silence for him to scrape the floor of the bison with his barstool and drag his ass out of the bar. 

You blew it. Or so you’d thought. If anything, you had initiated what would be the most painful and pleasurable experience of your life. One that brought you to your knees in more ways than one. It felt stronger than any romantic pull you’d experienced. Every pace further from him began to hurt. A religion. 

- 

From that moment on Joel thought about more than just the glances you’d given. Your perception of him wasn’t wrong in the slightest but it gave him something new to think about. To dwell on and give his fist motivation when the house was silent and his needs too great. 

-

Months of simmering tension and lenghtneing conversations that tugged the corner of his lips up led you to what would become your favourite place. The eventual route of all your pain. 

His arms.

Before the age of 25 you’d experienced every horror the world had to offer. You’d spent your life running, burning the memories of your old life with every fire you’d lit to warm your skin. All while everything within you froze with time. You’d never had a moment to explore your thoughts let alone your body.

Joel was the first. In every way imaginable.

Even in heartbreak. 

-

In all of Jackson, Tommy was the one to know Joel best. He’d seen the colour come to his brother’s cheeks at the mere mention of your name and he’d seen the way his eyes bored holes into those who gave the two of you suggestive looks in public. 

The jealousy of the men who thought they had a right to fuck you and the envy of the women you ‘stole’ Joel from. The looks of outrage that painted the churchgoers faces chipped away at his resolve every time the two of you were together and only reinforced his shame. 

Echoed his anxieties of whether or not he was ‘too old’ for you. Too destructive to be around such innocence. Too hardened by his years alone. How your presumed father issues were the only thing that drew you to him.  

The hunter’s voices won out in the end because he lost you, at the alcott. 

The last thing he wanted, he’d done to you. 

-

You’d once loved it here. The Alcott. A space delegated to the books that once littered the halls of the ravaged homes across Wyoming. A place that Maria saw as a solution to your lack of a purpose. 

Even after everything, you can’t imagine leaving. 

You hadn’t left in the weeks since Joel drove a knife through your chest. Weeks you spent curled up in the back of the shop, surrounded by books, their pages riddled with love stories and sonnets, ridiculing you with their happy endings. 

Draped in the flannel he’d long left, finding yourself relating to it. At first glance, an abandoned piece of cloth, but you saw it as much more. It was something he no longer had use for. Something he chose to leave. A landmine of memories. Its scent sending you into a spiral with every inhale. 

-

It took less than a day for his resolve to crack and less than twelve hours for Ellie to tell him that he’d been a dick and only six for Tommy to see the change in him. For once in his life Joel Miller was cold. The left side of his bed that once held you now held the weight of your pain, his loss. The shattered look in your eyes as he’d told you to move on painted itself to the backs of his eyelids. His own voice haunting him, telling you to find yourself outside of who you are with him. That he’s too old for you. That you were only a kid and no matter how bad the world had gotten he wouldn’t take advantage of that. 

What he didn’t know was that the time spent with him made you feel like a woman, not the solitary girl everyone else saw you for. The days spent with his lips against you were the only times in which you’d believed that your skin was your own.

But he didn’t realize that, or did not let himself because he was bad. For all intensive purposes Joel Miller was a serial killer. A lethal weapon. Nothing that could provide you with the warmth you sought. The warmth he knew you deserved. And god did he want to be the one to give it to you. Joel had spent the last twenty years of his life preserving life, not experiencing it.  Hell he still was, patrolling the outskirts of Jackson four times a week. This time taking the long way home just to pass by your house. It was as he expected, as much as he’d kicked himself he knew you, craved you, understood you. So it was no surprise to see no light coming from your house. No noise either. At first he panicked. His mind his own greatest enemy in how it conjured up a thousand scenarios of you leaving Jackson, all ending with your heart stopped and skin blue. 

Where on god’s green earth could you have gone. Where you’d never left.

The Alcott. 

-

You hadn’t heard him come in.

“You're still here.”

Questioning you in his thick southern drawl, draping across his words like honey. Damn it. Damn him for still making you blush. 

His presence isn’t what startled you, it was the fact that it was Joel. Your Joel, now just Joel. 

“I never left.”

He regretted everything he’d ever done to you the second he saw your wide eyes boring into his own. Glossed over in every shade of pain.

He didn’t have to ask why, he was sure he knew, but he asked anyway. Never a man to stumble over his words he could barely get two syllables out. 

Looking down to his shifting feet then back to you he asked you what he already knew. 

“Why?”

“Because I love this place. What used to feel like our house. Even if it’s cursed now.”

He thought his heart would start screaming with the way it was beating. 

“I, uh” clears his throat “I didn't want to darken y’doorstep. Anymore than I already have I’spose.”  

“Funny. I’ve had the lights off since you left.”

You practically slurred your words. What was left of you both had been draining you emotionally, in only the 2 minutes he’d been here. 

“So… I, uh. I was g’nna ask ya, how’ve ya been?”

Your laugh was as dry as the Texas heat Joel had come from. But less familiar. 

“Why are you really here Joel? You’ve always been shit at small talk, didn’t suppose that changed in the last week.”

“Jesus” A week? “Feels like a lifetime since the last time I saw ya.”

“Funny how a ‘lifetime’ is what seemed to be between us. Different generations and all that bull shit.”

“Look kid -”

“No. Don’t you dare call me ‘kid’. Don’t make me feel smaller than I already am. Those people out there may have beaten you into submission but I am an adult! I’ve been one since I saw my first infected. I’ve been on my own, and just fucking fine, without anybody since I was a so-called kid so I dont want to hear another god damn word! You and everybody else think I can’t so much as cross the street without holding your hand but I've done more than that with less.

You know I survived on my own.

Before you.

And if it’s up to you, I will after, but I don’t want to.

For the first time in my life I got something I wanted, needed, and I don’t want to give it up. 

You.

Ellie.

Tommy, Maria, the baby.

Jackson.

Living.

It’s more than surviving.

But apparently not to you.”

“That is not true.”

You didn’t realise you’d stood up until you could feel the heat radiating off of Joel, his flannel, everything.  

“Then what is huh? I was a quick fuck. The first wet thing you’d felt in twenty years or what?”

You were yelling at this point and Joel hadn’t moved an inch. Not giving you anything. Not even a response except for the pinching between his brows. And it was killing you. 

“You know it wasn’t like that -”

“Then what the FUCK was it if. not. real?!” Emphasizing each word with a pound to his firm chest. 

Nothing you said from then on was comprehensible. Just sobs ripping from your chest as you threw your weight into him. Sinking into the floor, dragging him down with you. 

His arms shooting out from his sides to enrapture you the second he felt your knees buckle and tears flow. Pulling you into his lap as your body shuddered. Immediately finding the crook of his neck. Inhaling him again. Finally, you couldn’t tell if it made you cry more or less but all you could notice was Joel. All you could feel, hear and smell was Joel. The smell of firewood dotting his skin mixed with the old spice soap he’d managed to scavenge on last week’s patrol. The feeling of giving into his arms again, coming home, and the sound of him cooing, and sniffling? 

He’d lost it. Thought he’d lost you and that was his breaking point. Feeling his own tears seep into your hair you knew it was real. You knew he meant everything he’d said back then. Back before Jackson got to him. Before he’d let his own mind turn on him. And as much as it’d hurt then, it felt good now.

“Shhh, shhh.

I gotcha baby. I know, oh I know. More than you could imagine.”

“Please, please, please.”

Holding your face, and your heart, in his calloused palms he looked you in the eye.

“Please what, baby?”

Looking like a doe at his doorstep, your crumpled frame fitting perfectly within the confines of his lap.

“Please don’t leave. Please stay. I tried, I tried so hard to be good to you, for you.”

“Oh honey, you were,

fuck - you are baby. 

The best I’ll ever get, all I ever want.

I’m not leaving baby girl. 

Never. 

Even if you ask me to, I’m not going anywhere.”

And this time, he didn’t.

————————————————————————

This sounded so much better in my head -

W o w

I actually wrote something… hot damn.

I’m debating a second part?? of smut??

[guppyfeeis]

Nah fuck this you Jesus freaks are INSANE. I love god I believe in god- god does love all but god does not love the fucking teenagers that have the ideology that god is dead and then decide to KILL PEOPLE and when she was only able to get away with two before getting caught fucking pussied out and killed herself.

Like seriously if you’re gonna wish prayers to anybody… pray for the VICTIMS??? She was not a damn victim like no she’s not I’m sorry she was plain stupid and thought ooo murder fun and all that like most of yall don’t fucking get that some bitches are just losers.

everything abt her fake ass tcc personality is FAKE she thought being an edgy femcel made her different she literally admitted that in that so called manifesto like girl u r not different finish high school dumbass 😭😭😭 I know she just wanted attention in her death but do u think she rly wanted to be in the list of like “memorable” killers? Bc if so then FUCK no lmfao she’s retarded she doesn’t even KNOW how to spell retarded like “high iq” then she literally uses repetitive phrases and didn’t check her fuckin grammar when writing her last words

THE FUCKING MANIFESTO ISNT EVEN ACCESSIBLE BC SHE DIDNT KNOW HOW TO FUCKING WORK GOOGLE DRIVE like yes she is some type of mentally ill but I truly believe she gaslit herself into believing those fucked up ideologies she claimed to have cause its copy by copy word from word what fuckin like Eric Harris or fuckin Vladimir believed in fuck she’s so stupid it genuinely makes me mad and I needed to say this because if you idolize her just know you’re idolizing a complete sissy lmfao. Like a literal bitch that’s not something u should be fucking proud of it makes u a LOSER.

[joelswritingmistress]

Last Halloween: Chapter 2

Summary: After a tragedy involving Joel happened on Halloween one year prior, the town now shuns him while ignoring the details of the now closed case. You are seemingly the only one to offer empathy to a man the town is making out to be a monster.

Warning: Angst

Pairing: Joel x f!reader

You went back to the house you were renting with your three friends once your shift ended. Honestly, despite them being some of the closest people in your life, you didn't know how they would feel about your interaction with Joel. Rather than speculate and guess, you simply put it out in the open.

"I talked to Joel Miller today," you blurted out while the four of you mindlessly toyed on your phones with the television playing in the background. The mindlessness paused at the mention of his name and suddenly all eyes were on you.

"You talked to him?" Your friend Chrissy asked.

"Where?" Winnie asked a second later.

Shit. You knew by making it sound ominous that you weren't doing him any justice. You had unintentionally added to the local folklore, or worse, the slander of this man's name.

"He stops in at the coffee shop," you said with a shrug. "I feel bad for him."

"Bad?" Chrissy asked, her eyes bugging wide. "He's a killer."

"He's not a killer," you countered.

"Ooo, I don't know," your third roommate, Jessie, chimed in. "I heard-"

"Everyone has heard something different," you cut them all off. "At a trial he was found innocent. I heard he was the one who was attacked and he defended himself."

"Who the hell knows," Winnie said. "Whether he's a killer or not, I'd stay away. You just can never be too careful."

She isn't totally wrong, you knew. What if the people in town had it right and Joel had skated by on a loophole? Or what if he was attacked and it was all just a tragic mess that ended badly? From Joel's body language that you saw almost daily, you could almost see the guilt steaming out of him. Monsters didn't feel guilt.

"I just don't think he ever got a chance to tell his side of the story," you explained with a shrug. "I don't know."

"What did you talk to him about?" Jessie asked.

"I just sat down," you explained and then reluctantly admitted, "I asked him to go out-"

"You asked him out!?" Chrissy shouted. "He killed someone!"

"It was an accident," you assured her. "And I didn't ask him out like that. I just.. asked him to do something. He just looks so lonely."

Chrissy looked to Winnie. "Girl, can you talk some sense into her before she ends up on Dateline."

You all laughed and you shook your head. "I don't know. I l figured you guys would react like this." You stood up and went to retrieve a bottle of pumpkin ale from the fridge.

As good of friends as Chrissy, Winnie and Jessie were, you knew they wouldn't understand your empathy toward Joel, the man your town had branded as some kind of boogeyman. And so you decided to drop it and watch the scary movie one of your friends had put on. Deep down, however, you were silently thinking about Joel.

..

A deep dive into Google had lead you on a bit of a wild goose chase that night and the next morning. You had Googled Joel Miller, and after finally getting past the plethora of articles revolving around the accident, you finally discovered a link with some valuable information - like his employer.

Stalker! You called yourself in your mind. If anything it made you smile and roll your eyes at yourself. Everyone Googled everyone. Right? Joel Miller would be no exception to that. When you found the address of where he worked, you grabbed your keys and began your drive across town to a notorious junk yard and car repair center.

The gates to the grounds were wide open when you arrived. Despite living in town your whole life you had never been down here. It was stereotypical, with rows and rows of cars that seemed to stretch on for miles. With your window rolled down you could hear a loud humming or buzzing sound coming from somewhere in one of the big, open garage bays.

A hefty man with a bushy mustache approached your vehicle as you eased inside the gates.

"Can I help ya?" He asked, slightly out of breath as he placed a meaty hand on the car.

"Um, yeah, I have an appointment with Joel. He's supposed to take a look at this ratting noise in my car."

The man scratched his head and looked down toward one of the open bays. "You can pull it down in front of the last one there. He'll take care of ya."

"Thank you." You smiled and slowly cruised down between two rows of cars, a cloud of dirt trailed your vehicle as it bounced over the uneven landscape.

When you got to the last bay you glanced inside, seeing Joel working up a sweat and he whipped around the workspace. A Jeep was perched up on a lift inside.

For a moment you drank him in. Rolled up sleeves of a black thermal over jeans and beat up work boots. Grease was smudged in random places on his face and he carried a silver tool as he walked.

As you clicked the door open, he turned in your direction, only to do a double take when he saw it was you. Butterflies emerged in your stomach and you took a breath as you met him by the door's entrance.

"Hi." You greeted him.

"Hi." Skepticism continued to hang in the tone of his voice.

"She's got a rattling noise in her car." The man with the bushy mustache seemed to come out of nowhere, patting Joel on the shoulder as he quickly passed by to enter the garage.

For whatever reason, the interact left you at peace, at least to a small degree. Someone was friendly with Joel, at least.

"Yeah, um." You motioned to your car and you could tell Joel knew it was more bullshit.

"A rattling noise?" He asked.

"Yeah, look, I didn't come here about my car," you confessed, though you knew Joel already knew that.

"You can take off after that one!" The other man shouted to Joel. "I'll finish up the oil change on the Jeep and then lock it up for the night."

"Thanks," Joel called back and then returned his attention to you. "Why'd you come here?"

You eyed a motorcycle off to the side and before you could answer his question or ask him one of you own, Joel said simply. "It's mine."

A smirk formed on your face and you walked over toward the bike, placing a careful hand on the handlebars. "Teach me to ride it?" You said, half-kidding.

Joel finally cracked a barely-there smile and joined you by the motorcycle. "Fine. Hope on."

Your eyebrows raised and you smiled wider at him before doing your best to straddle the bike. When you placed your hands on the handlebars you looked back at him. "Now what?"

Joel crept in behind you and the butterflies in your stomach escalated again. You feel a twinge of pleasure when his hands came down over yours. "Believe it or not this is the break. And this is the throttle. If you bring your hand this way toward you, you accelerate." He moved your hand backwards a bit and you continued to grin to yourself.

Joel immediately backed off once he was done showing you some of the basics and you turned to him, still positioned on the bike.

"Do I look cool?" You asked, making him actually chuckle this time.

Progress, you thought.

"Cooler than I do," Joel answered.

"Well, let's judge." You got off the bike and waited as he hesitated before getting on. "All you need is a leather jacket."

"He's got one hanging in here," Joel's coworker called out, making you laugh at the fact that he was obviously eavesdropping.

"Thanks Ron." He shook his head and looked back to you, attempting not to smile but one finally broke through again.

"I've never been on one before," you admitted, creeping closer to him. Your eyes were sparkling with excitement and you could wholeheartedly sense Joel's hesitation again.

On the same note, you saw a flash of something change in his expression and could tell when his guard was let down just enough. "Get on."

You flashed a wide smile and straddled the back of the bike, wrapping your arms securely around his midsection. When Joel started up the bike you felt a rush of adrenaline that you hadn't ever felt in your life.

"Hold on," he instructed before taking off back up through the rows of cars.

Your hair whipped in all directions as you flew out of the gates and onto a wooded back road. What a rush!

A part of you wanted to look down but you knew it could ruin the experience and so you squinted ahead into the incoming darkness and smiled wider.

The chill of October air kissed your cheeks, leaving a little sting as you whipped through the town. Joel half-looked back at you when you cruised past your coffee shop and you held onto him a little tighter.

Everything whipped by in little flashes - couples walking the town green, ghosts hanging from trees, lights from the little businesses about town that were close to shutting down for the night.

As darkness fully submerged the two of you, you almost felt like there was no one else on earth; that you and Joel existed in this exclusive world build for the two of you without hurt, pain or prejudice. You didn't want the ride to end. You didn't want that feeling to end. It was a feeling you knew you would chase again.

When the motorcycle finally came to a halt in front of the now-locked gates of the junkyard, you could hear your chorus of heavy breathing for the first time. It matched Joel's, and when he got off the bike a second after you, you could see he was equally basking in the afterglow of the ride.

You ran your hands through your hair and you could almost feel the energy that radiated out of your wind tossed hair. "Wow." It was all you could say.

Joel smiled at you more genuinely now. "Hope I didn't scare you."

"You don't scare me." You shook your head. "Quite the opposite actually."

There was a silence that lingered as you stood there at the desolate entrance to the junkyard at the edge of town. Leaves from the surrounding trees swirled down in elegant, twirling patterns. One stuck in your hair and you didn't notice until Joel leaned a hand in your direction.

For a second you were prepared for a kiss - a smoldering, adrenaline-ridden kiss. But as your eyes began to close in anticipation you quickly realized Joel was reaching for the bright yellow leaf that had clung to your still-wild strands of hair.

"Oh." You felt the tiniest flush of embarrassment but it was fleeting and certainly didn't ruin the moment. "Thanks." You gave a quiet chuckle and Joel smiled.

"Let me get you to your car." He unlocked the gate and walked the motorcycle down into the junkyard with you by his side.

If Joel hadn't been beside you, you would have been freaked out. The place was eerie at night with no one around; but somehow that added to the thrill right then and there in the moment.

You weren't ready to call it a night. It felt as dark as midnight but it was only seven o'clock.

"So," you turned to him as you used your key fab to unlock your car. "Do you want to go down to the East Bend Tavern with me tonight? There's a costume party."

Joel seemed to cringe. "I don't know."

"Come." You knew you were sounding a little desperate, but it didn't matter. The motorcycle ride and the intensity you felt being in Joel's company was a bit addicting. Even if it ended up being just one night, you wanted to really live it.

"Costume party.." He toyed with the idea in his head.

"I picked up a couple of cheap masks." You gave a laugh and popped open the trunk of your car. You reached in and pulled out a plastic scarecrow mask and a plastic black cat that covered down past the nose. "I have dibs on the black cat but uh.." You extended your arm toward Joel with the scarecrow mask.

He looked down, slowly taking the mask in both of his hands. Joel stared at it for a moment and then looked back up. "Maybe no one will recognize me." He immediately added, "What time?"

"Meet you there at nine?"

"Nine." Joel looked back down at the mask and he let out a deep breath. Anxiety oozed out of him but he nodded. "Nine it is."

CLICK HERE FOR CHAPTER 3

@untamedheart81 @amy172

[a-sin-to-be-rin]

Murdoc + Bazooka

Mac wakes up with a runny nose, a dry mouth, and someone’s boot in his side.

“Oh. So you are alive. I thought I’d killed you for sure.”

Despite everything, this is possibly the worst case scenario. The middle of nowhere. Injured. Alone- well, actually, he’s not alone. God, Mac wishes he was. After all, it’s much easier to survive when Murdoc isn’t pointing a gun in your face.

---

“Damn. You’d think it'd be easier to find a pharmacy around here. Where are we? Do they have pharmacies?”

Mac lifts his head from the cool glass of the car window. “We're in Vermont,” he mutters, kneading his forehead with his knuckles. “Of course they have pharmacies.”

“Yeah, tell that to Google Maps,” Jack gripes, tossing his phone Mac’s way.

“You don't have reception. Google Maps thinks we've fallen off the face of the Earth.”

Jack groans. “We’ve been driving through the woods for ages. This is like, the perfect place for a serial killer to hide out.”

“We’re still pretty far out from the nearest city,” Mac says regretfully. “Just keep going.”

“Only you would get a cold after the mission is done. Why can't you be a normal person and get it before the mission? Then you can't go on the mission, which means I can't go on the mission. I would kill for a break, Mac.”

But Mac doesn't have the energy to argue. He waves Jack off, slumping against the window again.

“You better be grateful.” True to form, Jack continues the argument alone. “Nobody else on this team would drive your sick ass through serial killer woods to get you cough drops. I want you to remember this when you're picking out my birthday present-”

BAM!

There's fire. The Jeep rolls. Glass shatters everywhere, metal bending and screeching.

And then, there's nothing at all.

---

The world is hazy when Mac opens his eyes. Frost coats the frozen earth and tinges the underbrush. Cold, dry air fills his lungs and a wheeze escapes them.

“Oh. So you are alive.”

“What-?”

Dirt, too dry to be mud, but only barely, presses into the side of his face and brushes his ear. He tries to lift his head, but the effort it takes only makes his face plant that much harder when his head drops again.

“It’s okay,” the voice says. “It’s just me.”

Mac can’t place the voice. It’s familiar. Chillingly familiar. It makes Mac’s stomach clench. But he can’t recall why.

“I’ll be honest,” the voice continues. “At first, I really thought I killed you. I mean, you weren’t moving, and head wounds just bleed so damn much. You know how it is.” Footsteps circle around Mac, light and even.

Even surface distribution, Mac notes. Large surface area. Men’s size 10, maybe 11. Wide foot. And the dissonance from the toe means it’s a stiff shoe. Either new or rarely used.

And then a pair of black dress shoes, far too shiny for a dirt trail in the middle of the woods, steps into view. Mac rolls onto his back, shoulders and leg and head aching from the movement, and finds himself staring down the barrel of a hunting rifle.

“Stay right there, MacGyver,” the voice coos, and Mac doesn’t need to look past the gun to know who’s holding it.

“Murdoc.”

“Oh, good. I didn’t shake your brain up too bad then. That bazooka can be a real doozy on the noggin.”

Bazooka?

“What did you-? Why are you-?”

“Ah, ah.” Murdoc tuts reproachfully. He squats down, slinging the rifle onto his pack and aiming a pistol at Mac’s forehead. “I know your mind is inquisitive to its own detriment, but you’ll need to have a bit of patience today.”

Mac groans, wincing against a killer headache. He can’t be sure if it’s from the car crash or his cold. Or maybe it’s both.

“You're a tough man to track down, MacGyver,” Murdoc says, standing again and planting his boot on Mac’s chest, gun still at the ready. “Fortunately for me, I have this nifty little program. Lets me know any time the Phoenix assigns a case to one Angus MacGyver. And since you were in the remote edges of Vermont and I was in the remote edges of Vermont, I figured I’d stop by. Say hello.”

For a moment, Mac drowns out Murdoc, trying to assess his situation.

In the middle of the woods. Trees. Maple, birch, spruce, pine. Northeast US, maybe still Vermont, though all bets are off with Murdoc.

On his back. Hands bound. Rope and duct tape. Feet are free.

Injuries. Head wound, concussion probable. Arms are okay. Pain and swelling in his left leg. Suspected femur fracture. Right leg is normal. And something about the abdomen. Something’s wrong…

Wait. Where’s-

Mac coughs, trying and failing to push Murdoc’s foot off. “Where's Jack?”

“Hm… Jack? I don't know if we've met.”

“You-” Mac coughs again, this time succeeding to push Murdoc away. He sits up slowly, head pounding. “You blew him up.”

“Ugh, Mac, you know you need to be more specific. I’ve blown up so many people that they've started to blend together.”

“He was in the car with me,” Mac growls. “Where is he?”

“I imagine he's still in the car.” Murdoc studies his nails, gun still trained on Mac.

Mac swallows hard. Jack must have survived. There's no alternative.

“Oh, don’t look so sad, MacGyver! Come on! I’ve got some fun things planned today, so why don’t you-” He jerks his head to the side. “Up, on your feet! There’s a good soldier.”

But Mac doesn’t stay on his feet for long, falling with his first step.

“I will admit,” Murdoc sighs, squatting down beside Mac again. “I wasn’t sure the bazooka was the best idea. Too many variables. But I also couldn’t not take the risk. I mean, I’ve been trying to kill you for years. When would I get a better opportunity?”

Mac groans. Pushes himself up on his hands.

“It does increase the risk of leg injuries, which makes moving you around a real pain in the ass. But there are ways.”

Well, if Mac’s heart wasn’t racing before, it definitely is now.

“This will be easier if you don’t fight me. Trust me; this is a mercy.”

And then the pistol cracks against Mac’s head, and everything goes dark.

---

“Så flådde han kråka og lema ho sund, hei fara og lema ho sund- oh.”

Mac frowns against a stabbing headache and a leg burning in agony. He’s not as cold as before, and the ground is drier. Wood.

“Forgive me,” Murdoc says airily. “I was workshopping lullabies. Still new to this parenting thing.” He sighs. “My mother used to sing me to sleep with that one: kråkevisa. It’s about a man who thinks a crow is out to kill him, so he kills the crow first. Then he makes shoes out of its skin and hangs the crow’s neck in the church. I suppose it’s her own fault that I tried to emulate the man. And there were no crows near my home, so I made do. Mother did make a lovely pair of shoes.”

This is far too much information. Mac can’t even process it. All he can do is look around, searching for threats.

“Where are we?” he murmurs.

“This is where I come to get away from it all,” Murdoc explains. “Cozy place, isn’t it?”

Mac sits up slowly, hands (still tied together, regretfully) immediately going to the dark red drenching his shirt. “Wh-?” He lifts the hem, finding a metal shard sticking out of his side. The wound was clotted, but sitting up tears it open again, bright red flowing over deep maroon.

Murdoc hums. “Car accident, I suspect. Not important, really. Just don't pull it out.” He shrugs. “Really, MacGyver, we have bigger fish to fry here.”

“Like what?” Mac grits out, holding pressure against the wound.

“You really have no sense of drama. But that’s okay. I like that about you.” He paces to a table. Mac can’t see what he’s doing. “So I’ll throw you a bone, just this once.

“You, my friend, have been an insufferable presence in my life since the day I was hired to kill you. I planned everything perfectly. I was stronger than you, more prepared than you, faster than you.” He picks up a tray and returns to Mac’s side, kneeling to look at Mac properly. “But you still managed to-” He sets the tray down with a sharp clatter. “-slip through my fingers.” His voice remains even, rhythm never faltering. “You were the one who got away. And ever since, I’ve been chasing you like a dog, trying to rectify that.”

Murdoc hums. Puts on a pair of white rubber gloves. “I think enough is enough, don’t you?”

Mac can’t stand up. Not with his leg swollen and (most likely) broken to hell. There’s no getting out of here. He sees two options:

He stalls long enough for someone to find him. But this requires someone to realize he’s missing. Even if Jack survived (and he must have survived, because Mac can’t live in a world without him), he’s probably just as lost as Mac is. Their best bet is that Riley or Bozer notice they’re missing. That will take a minimum of three hours, maybe four.

Or,

2. He incapacitates Murdoc and uses the items at his disposal to contact help.

It’s not a difficult choice.

“Remember, back in LA? When we had that little chat over nightshade and handcuffs?” He smiles, and it’s scarier than when he’s angry. “That was a good day.” And then his voice hardens to steel. “But you cut it short. I never got to pry Cassian’s location out of you.” He sighs. “I don't need his location anymore - obviously - but wouldn't it be a treat to have you give it up anyway? A nice dose of humiliation before I kill you.”

Mac glares up. He's not sure how effective it is when he's on the ground and bleeding. “So what? If I don't talk, I get to live?”

“Of course not,” Murdoc scoffs, screwing a needle to a syringe and stabbing a vial with it. “Living was never on the table. You either talk and die or get tortured for nothing and die. Your call.”

Mac shifts backwards. He can't help it. With Murdoc leering over him, needle glinting and malice-driven eyes gleaming, Mac’s every cell is screaming at him to get away. But in his state, moving just jars his leg, pain choking the breath from his lungs.

Murdoc is less than enthused. “You should leave the torturing to the expert.” And then he stabs Mac in the arm with the needle and depresses the plunger.

At first, Mac feels nothing at all. Just that absent but nagging concern about the mystery drug in his body. And then, things start to sink. The pain doesn’t go away - if anything, it’s worse - but his awareness is fluttery. Sounds are muffled at first and then ring for eons in his ears. The world is filtered with a blurry blue haze. Murdoc’s face comes in and out of focus.

“The belladonna clearly wasn’t enough last time. So I made my own… adjustments. But I’m sure you figured that out by now.”

Yeah. Mac definitely does not remember the sewers being like this.

“So I’ll ask nicely. Once. Where were you hiding my son?”

Mac coughs. Maybe it’s his cold. Maybe he’s about to vomit. He can’t decide. “I didn’t… I never knew… I didn’t even know he-”

Murdoc’s ring cuts Mac’s face as he backhands him. “Liar! You knew, and you kept it from me! You took a son away from his father, all under the guise of ‘protecting’ him.”

“No one… ever told me,” Mac swears.

And Murdoc nods once, expression stony. “You made me do this.”

Shiny. Cool steel. Brand new. Long and sharp and strong. Clamping. Pulling. Pressure. And then-

Mac can’t help it. He screams.

“Oh, come now, MacGyver,” Murdoc chides. “What’s one fingernail between friends? A ring fingernail, no less. Hardly important. Though the index nail is looking awfully tempting.”

“I…” His voice shakes so badly, he can barely speak. “I told you all I… all I know.”

“I doubt that.”

And then the middle and index nails are gone.

“Okay, so fingernails aren’t your kryptonite,” Murdoc says, barely sparing the writhing figure on the floor a second glance. “That’s fine. We can move on.” He hums, scanning his tray of tools, and then sighs. “I’m not feeling it. Nothing’s speaking to me. I’m going to have to get creative.”

Mac thinks, for only a moment, that perhaps this will be his reprieve. Maybe he’ll have a few seconds to breathe. But then there’s a sharp, twisting, cutting agony, ripping his insides to shreds.

“Funny thing about the human body: it will do anything to stop the bleeding. Even if there’s a foreign object in the wound, the body will still try its damnedest to heal around the sucker. So before you know it, that thing is basically melded into the skin. And even the slightest movement-” and here he twists the metal shrapnel viciously “-will tear the skin open all over again. Hurts so good, huh?”

Mac is leaning more towards “hurts” than “good,” but Murdoc doesn’t really want Mac’s opinion. He just wants to hear himself talk.

“So what do you say? Want to tell me now? I already have him, so it’s not like you’re hurting anyone. Barring yourself, of course.”

Mac doesn’t have the air to defend himself. But Murdoc interprets this as defiance. And in his own act of defiance, he rips the shrapnel from Mac’s side.

“Ooo, that must’ve hurt.”

But Mac can’t hear him over his own screams.

Murdoc drops the metal, returning to his tray. “How’s that leg feeling?”

Oh god. Not his leg. The leg that’s still throbbing, even under the agony of his side. Mac has a plan - thinks he has a plan - but if he wants it to work, he needs to act now.

Murdoc grabs a hammer and turns it in his hands. Then he shakes his head and grabs a meat mallet instead.

Mac has his hands on the shrapnel now, cutting away at the ropes. Murdoc doesn’t notice, though it’s only a matter of time before he does.

“So, tongue feeling looser yet?” Murdoc hasn’t looked up yet. He hasn’t looked up yet. He hasn’t-

“What are you doing?” Murdoc hisses, reaching out to snatch the metal away. But Mac is in pain and drugged and still has his stupid head cold, and his survival instincts are far past active. With a sudden burst of adrenaline-powered strength, Mac rips the last of the ropes and tape away and swipes out with the shrapnel. He catches Murdoc in the hand, but this only seems to make him angry.

Murdoc holds his injured hand to his chest and pulls out his pistol.

Mac doesn’t waste another moment, kicking out with his good leg and hitting Murdoc’s head. As he jerks to the side, Murdoc hits his head against the corner of the table and falls still. Later, Mac will look back with horror at how ridiculously lucky he was, but in the moment, Mac is just desperate to escape.

As gently as he can manage, Mac drags himself across the floor, grabbing Murdoc’s gun and pocketing the cartridge. Best to keep Murdoc away from loaded weapons.

Then, Mac grabs the rope hanging from the table (excess from the rope used to tie him up, no doubt), and secures Murdoc’s wrists and ankles. It’s not foolproof, but it’s a temporary fix until Mac can find something stronger.

After a moment to brace himself, Mac slowly, painfully slides himself around the room, trying to get a lay of the land. There are a multitude of torture weapons on the tray, of course, though few look like promising supplies. (Mac does grab the meat tenderizer though. Just in case Murdoc gets loose.) There’s an alarm clock on the table, which Mac manages to knock to the floor. There’s probably more up there, but Mac can’t see much past the table’s edge. Mac himself has a few paperclips and a stick of chewing gum. (Something about that feels cliche, though he has no idea why.)

The best find, however, is a drawer in the kitchenette. The moment Mac opens it, despite it being above his line of view, he instantly knows what it is: a junk drawer. Lord bless the person who invented junk drawers. They’ve saved Mac’s life on more than one occasion.

Feeling around, Mac procures a few tubes of used lip balm, more bullets, a pair of scissors, and a small coil of wire.

And Mac has all the makings of a quick and dirty spark-gap transmitter.

With shaky hands (and three fewer fingernails than usual), Mac removes the battery from the alarm clock. Then he connects it with the wire, leaving the rest of the coil to act as an electromagnet. Then he adds a paperclip across from a nail in the floorboards, forming a spark gap. Now Mac just needs a second battery.

Mac searches the junk drawer and the lower cabinets, coming across a forgotten smoke detector. It’s perfect. Just one problem though:

Mac can’t get the smoke detector open. He tugs and pries at the battery door, injured fingers curled into his palm. He uses the wires and the tenderizer and everything he can find, but nothing will open it. He hangs his head before trying to pry it open with his fingers again. He’s so close. He can’t lose now. One more battery  - just one thing to complete the circuit - and he’ll have his transmitter. He’ll be able to signal for help. He’ll get out of here alive.

There’s a crash. Mac jumps, sending shockwaves of pain up his leg and through his abdomen. There’s clattering around the room. Cursing and rustling. Yelling and breaking glass and gun safeties. And then, footsteps approach Mac. Someone is trying to talk to him.

“Get… get away…” he pants, refusing to look up. “Back off.”

“Whoa, hey,” the voice says, and it’s that awful Texan drawl that makes Mac’s spirit soar. “It’s just me, hoss. I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

“Jack,” Mac breathes, allowing Jack to help him sit up. “I thought you were…”

“Yeah. Well. I’m not.” He jerks his head to the side. “No thanks to Jerkwad von Bazookaface over there.”

Murdoc is still bleary-eyed, surrounded by at least four SWAT officers.

“How did you…?” Mac looks at the nail on the floor, then back at Jack. “I didn’t finish the radio.”

“I don’t need a radio to find you.” It’s almost sweet, in a weirdly them type of way. “You left blood all over the place. Followed it like breadcrumbs to the witch’s candy house.”

Mac blinks. “You and I remember that fairytale very differently.”

“No, you just lack imagination.”

Mac sighs, sagging against Jack’s steady hand. “I am too high for this.”

Jack pats him reassuringly. “Definitely, buddy. Now, let’s get you outta here. There’s a bag of cough drops with your name on it on the plane.”

Mac doesn’t reply right away. He’s overwhelmed by a strange sense of… safety. “Hey, uh, Jack?”

“Hey, uh, what?”

“Thanks.”

Jack just smiles. “S’what brothers are for.”