#KILLING

[castielsprostate]

venom not healing eddie a lot in venom 3, only pivotal points where they absolutely had to, because he knew that eddie would have to be without them. venom was silently getting eddie used to hangovers and pain again to make themselves believe it'd be easier for eddie to live without venom that way

[fitsofgloom]

Kriminal Tango

[bloghrexach]

🤔 … here we have it again!! Kinda — you reap what you sow vibe!! … 🤔

@hrexach

[americanmarketplace]

CONSTITUTIONAL REPUBLIC NOT A DEMOCRACY!!!!!!

PEOPLE WE ARE NOT A DEMOCRACY WE ARE A CONSTITUTIONAL REPUBLIC !!!!!!!!! DEMOCRATS WANT A DEMOCRACY TO TAKE AWAY YOUR INDIVIDUAL RIGHTS !!!!!!! DEMOCRACY HAS NO INDIVIDUAL RIGHTS MAJORITY RULES !!!!!! PLEASE STOP THIS DEMOCRACY CRAP ITS A TOTAL LIE < FOR THE LOVE OF GOD START THINKING FOR YOURSELVES DO SOME RESEARCH AND LEARN THE FACTS !!!!!!

[mikufunfacts]

if miku shot someone . would she go to jail

miku fun fact #152

in order to go to jail, there must be evidence. miku wouldn't be so sloppy.

[thegoodmorningman]

Good Morning! Are you even looking at the corner?

[fandomfairyuniverse]

God the fact that fadel begged style to leave him. To make his own worst fear come true because the only thing worse is style dying. Only for style to just go “yeah no I love you and you love me and I believe in that enough to have faith that we’ll be okay.” And it just perfectly encapsulates why they’re perfect for each other because fadel has no faith in things going right for him but style has all of the faith in the world. I’m going to scream

[undertale-and-deltarune-kinner]

ME AND MY PARTNER REAL!!!! You cannot say otherwise. >:)

[chernobog13]

Italian poster for the 1966 film Golden Bat (aka Ogon Bat).

They got the head and shape of the costume mostly right, but then they went off the rails.

I guess, with the (translated) title The Return of Diavolik, the Italian exhibitors thought they would be able to fill theaters with people who thought this was a film based on Diabolik. Diabolik, an Italian comic book character created in 1962, was a mega-popular at the time, an anti-hero thief in an all-black costume that only showed his eyes. Diabolik made it to the big screen in the Mario Bava-directed film Danger: Diabolik (1968). American actor John Phillip Law (who would later star in 1974's The Golden Voyage of Sinbad) played the titular super-thief.

As you can see, there isn't really any resemblance between the two characters.

However, there is another Italian comic book anti-hero, one whose comic book costume was basically copied for the Golden Bat poster: Kriminal.

Inspired by the success of Diabolik, Kriminal debuted in Italian comics two years later. He was another anti-hero thief, and the similarities with Diabolik didn't stop there. He was, though, much more sadistic than his inspiration. His stories included a lot more sex and violence, especially against women, whom he would murder to protect his identity.

Never as successful as his forbear, Kriminal nevertheless had a ten-year run in comics, and spawned two films:

Kriminal (1966). He really looks like Golden Bat in that second poster.

The Mark of Kriminal (1967).

Of course, none of these characters should be confused with another fellow with a skeleton motif: Sadistik, the Diabolical Super Kriminal!

Originally named Killing when he debuted in Italian comics (fumetti, to be more precise) in 1966, Sadistik was inspired by the excesses of Kriminal. There's just one thing: Sadistik didn't think Kriminal went far enough, so he made sure to out-do his idol (whom he had a crossover with, the first in Italian comics). This guy didn't pretend to be an anti-hero; he was an out-and out villain who occasionally wiped out other crooks who got in his way.

He was known as Satanik in France (Killing just seemed a little on-the-nose), and Sadistik in the English-speaking world. His fumetti exploits only lasted 62 issues over three years in his native Italy. In Argentina, where he was still called Killing, the publishers there created their own stories when the original ones ran out. The Argentinian series lasted into the 1980s.

Additionally, the character was called KiLiNK in Turkey, where he was the star of several unauthorized films (I sometimes wonder if that's the only kind Turkey made) in the late 1960s and early 1970s. The best known of those films is 1967's Killing In Istanbul.

Apparently, the son of a scientist KiLiNK kills somehow gains super-powers, and calls himself Superman. His battle with KiLiNK carries over to the sequel, which was released the same year.

Anyway, what was I talking about when I started this post?

[cryonvin]

I had no sleep tonight I hope this doesnt flop BUT OMG GUYS THEM?!

[fitsofgloom]

A Phantom Killing

[nalyra-dreaming]

Louis said he killed ~7000 people,do you think that's a lot even for a vampire knowing he stopped around the year 2000?

I'm wondering if we will ever see why he stopped killing and if he will go back to his instinct after the Loumand divorce.

It's so funny because Lestat and Claudia were begging him to kill but he really started killing after her death and stops when he will probably go back with Lestat.

So both of them will never witness in his full glory the hunting-machine-killer-Louis

... Louis didn't kill 7000 people. He killed way more. He killed 7000 people THEN. In that time frame he refers to. In the time of NOLA and being in Romania.

Let's do the math.

Happy/good/mediocre years in NOLA: at least 1 per night, until Louis tries to feed on rats: roughly 3000-4000, would be my estimate.

The time laying low, feeding on rats, then feeding again after Claudia came back: Another 1000 at least.

Now as per Europe: They say the blood was bad, and not satisfying. They're cold, and malnourished. They probably had to kill more to sate the hunger. They were in Europe, traveling, for roughly 5 years. We are shown how they kill the soldiers at the street check - at least 5 soldiers, and the way they looked at each other makes me believe that wasn't a singular occurrence. They had to feed a lot when they could, too, so my guess would be at least 2 per night, so another 3000 at least.

That brings us to that 7000 (or more).

In Paris Louis tries to live of pigeons, until the trial is over. Then he goes on a killing spree. We hear he regularly goes off and "fucks and kills" from Armand later.

Between 1949 and 2000: 51 years. Even by keeping it low, keeping the killing sprees out of this, that's roughly 20000.

Young vampires (as Louis is still) need more blood, not less, so the number is likely way higher, even with him withholding and trying to control his hunger.

So the number we're looking at is likely more like 30000 to 40000, imho.

---

All this said^^: I do not think he will go back to killing just yet. He will though, book canonically. Because by accepting himself he accepts his vampiric self as well, and thereby accepts the hunger.

Lestat and Louis go hunting together in the books when they're back together. As this is where we're headed for, ultimately, I do expect Louis to hunt again, eventually.

And they will revel in it then, I bet.

[knoepfl]

Shadows of Halloween Night

Characters:

Michael Myers: The infamous and silent figure known as "The Shape." Relentless, emotionless, and terrifying to everyone—except for the reader. Michael possesses a unique connection with his girlfriend, which brings out a rare, protective side in him. Although still driven by darkness, he shows her an unexpected tenderness that few would believe.

Reader: Michael’s girlfriend, drawn to his quiet yet deadly nature. She is fearless when it comes to him and understands the depths of his loyalty and protectiveness. While others see only a monster, she sees the complexity within, knowing that she is the only person Michael would ever let close. She walks by his side, knowing full well the darkness he holds.

Masterlist

Trigger Warnings: Violence, brief depiction of murder, possessive behavior, dark themes

Words: 758

---

It was Halloween night in Haddonfield, and the streets were teeming with laughter and excitement. The houses were decorated with grinning jack-o'-lanterns, their flickering candles casting eerie shadows on the sidewalks. Fake cobwebs hung from porches, ghosts and skeletons dangled from trees, and children darted from door to door, bags bulging with candy. The whole town was alive with an electric energy, but your heart was set on a different thrill.

You waited at the edge of an old playground, hidden in the dim light as you scanned the streets for him. It felt like he was everywhere and nowhere, the chill in the air whispering that he was close. And then, just like that, he emerged from the shadows.

Michael Myers, his mask pale against the night, approached you with that steady, silent stride. Your heart pounded, but not from fear. He had that effect on you, a strange mix of danger and comfort, the thrill of knowing you were the only one he allowed close. When he extended his bare hand, scarred and calloused, you slipped yours into it without hesitation.

Together, you wandered through the crowded streets, watching costumed figures drift past like ghosts. Some laughed, some screamed, and some even pointed at Michael, assuming his outfit was just a costume. You felt a dark amusement in knowing they had no idea who he truly was.

As you passed by a haunted house attraction on the corner, the muffled sounds of chainsaws and screams floated out. You glanced at Michael, catching the subtle tilt of his head as he listened, almost intrigued. You gave him a small smile, tugging him forward. "Come on, the real scares are right here," you whispered, a hint of mischief in your voice.

The two of you made your way to a quieter side street, away from the crowds. The sounds of Halloween were distant here, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl. You were about to say something when a stranger stumbled out from behind a tree, reeking of alcohol and slurring his words. He was dressed like a pirate, his eye makeup smeared and hat askew, clearly intoxicated.

He glanced at you, his gaze lingering a little too long. "Hey there, sweetheart," he said, his voice dripping with misplaced confidence as he took a step toward you. “Got some candy for me?”

You tensed, instinctively stepping back. "Not interested," you said firmly, trying to move away. But he reached out, his hand brushing against your arm, and a cold anger flared within you.

Before you could react, Michael was there. His hand clamped down on the man’s shoulder, squeezing hard. The pirate spun around, his confident smirk vanishing as he looked up at Michael’s emotionless mask.

“H-Hey, man, chill. It’s just Halloween…” he stammered, attempting to laugh it off.

Michael didn’t move, his grip tightening, and the man’s laughter faded into a frightened silence. In one swift, brutal motion, Michael’s hand wrapped around the man’s throat, lifting him effortlessly. The pirate struggled, his eyes wide with panic as he clawed at Michael’s wrist, but Michael didn’t waver. You watched, heart racing, knowing that Michael was protecting you in his own terrifying way.

With a final twist, Michael released him, letting the pirate crumple to the ground, motionless. The sound of distant laughter and faint Halloween music was the only noise breaking the silence.

Michael turned back to you, and for a moment, his dark eyes met yours, a flicker of something softer than usual flashing behind the mask. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. It was a silent reminder—you were safe with him.

You slipped your hand into his again, squeezing it lightly. "Let’s keep going," you whispered, the thrill of Halloween night settling over you both as you continued down the darkened streets.

As you walked, you passed by children giggling over their candy, couples taking selfies with spooky decorations, and families marveling at haunted house displays. But you felt separate from them, drifting through the night with your own dark companion. The two of you were like shadows in the flickering orange glow of the jack-o'-lanterns, slipping through the night unseen, yet ever-present.

The town was none the wiser to the man behind the mask, and to them, Halloween was just a fun, spooky holiday. But for you, Halloween was more—a night to embrace the darkness, a night to be with Michael, hand in hand, until the first light of dawn chased the shadows away.

[kekwcomics]

KILING photonovella (Argentina, 1974)

"Chilling photostories!"

[rose24207]

Anything for you

Summary: A devoted girlfriend takes deadly measures against anyone who ruins Lando's career, believing her actions are for his benefit, until he discovers the horrifying truth.

Genre: angst, dark, murders

TW: killing, knife, reader literally murdering people

A/N: thought I try something more darker. Huh. English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist pt. 2

Lando sighed, tossing his race gloves onto the table in the motorhome. His face was twisted in frustration, his usual sunny disposition clouded by yet another disastrous race. You leaned against the counter, watching him, your arms folded. He didn’t need to say anything—you already knew the issue.

“The strategy team screwed me over again,” he muttered, running a hand through his curls. “How hard is it to make the right call? I lost points because of their stupid pit stop timing.”

You moved closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. “They’re idiots, Lando. You deserve better.”

He sighed again, leaning into your touch. “I don’t know why I even bother. They never listen to me.”

Your eyes flickered with something darker, something you carefully kept hidden from him. Lando was kind-hearted, passionate, and loyal, but you… you were something else entirely. You would do anything to protect him, to make him happy—even if it meant doing things he would never understand.

“Who was it?” you asked softly.

He frowned, glancing at you. “What do you mean?”

“Who messed up the call?”

Lando shrugged, too consumed by his own frustration to notice the edge in your voice. “Tom. He’s been making mistakes all season.”

Tom. You filed the name away, your mind already whirring.

Later that night, you slipped out of the hotel room while Lando was asleep, his face peaceful for the first time all day. You had memorized Tom’s schedule, his habits, and where he was staying during race weekends. It wasn’t hard—people in the paddock were careless, always posting their whereabouts on social media.

You pulled the black gloves tighter over your hands as you approached his hotel room door. The corridor was quiet, the late hour working in your favor. You knocked lightly, disguising your voice as you called out, “Room service.”

When the door opened, you struck quickly, your gloved hand forcing him back inside before he could react. The knife in your other hand glinted under the dim light of the room.

“Wh—what—” Tom stammered, his eyes wide as he stumbled backward.

“Shh,” you whispered, closing the door behind you. “You’ve caused enough problems, don’t you think?”

His face turned pale. “I-I don’t understand—”

“You ruined Lando’s race today. You’ve ruined so many of his races,” you said, your voice cold and detached. “That’s unforgivable.”

He tried to reason with you, but you didn’t care. All you saw was Lando’s frustration, his disappointment, his anger. And you would do anything to take that away.

When it was over, you left the room as quietly as you had entered, the blood wiped clean from your blade and your tracks covered.

The next morning, the paddock was buzzing with news. Tom hadn’t shown up for his morning briefing, and rumors were spreading. Lando looked up from his phone, frowning.

“Have you heard about Tom?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

You sipped your coffee, feigning ignorance. “What about him?”

“They found him in his hotel room,” Lando said, lowering his voice. “He’s… gone. Someone… someone killed him.”

You tilted your head, trying to appear shocked. “Oh my God. That’s horrible.”

“Yeah,” Lando muttered, staring at his phone. “I mean, he wasn’t great at his job, but no one deserves that.”

You reached out, placing a comforting hand on his. “I’m so sorry, love. That must be such a shock.”

He nodded, leaning into your touch. “Yeah… I just can’t believe it.”

What he didn’t notice was the way your lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

Weeks passed, and the paddock adjusted to Tom’s absence. Another strategist took his place, and for a while, things seemed to improve. Lando’s mood lifted as his races became smoother, and you reveled in his happiness. But it didn’t last long.

“They did it again!” Lando exclaimed one evening, pacing back and forth in your shared hotel room. “Why can’t they just listen to me? I told them the hard tires wouldn’t work, but no, they thought they knew better!”

You watched him silently, your expression unreadable.

“Who was it this time?” you asked eventually.

“Michael,” Lando said, throwing his hands in the air. “He’s the one who made the final call.”

You nodded, your mind already working.

Michael’s death was messier than Tom’s. He had been more cautious since the first incident, always looking over his shoulder, but it didn’t matter. No one could outsmart you.

You found him in the paddock late one night, working alone in the strategy room. It was almost too easy.

When the news broke the next morning, the paddock was in chaos. Two murders in such a short span of time—it was unprecedented. Security was tightened, and everyone was on edge.

Lando was shaken, but you were there to comfort him, to reassure him that everything would be okay.

“They’re saying it might be related,” Lando told you one evening, his voice hushed. “Both of them were on the strategy team.”

You looked at him, feigning concern. “Do you think someone’s targeting McLaren?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But it’s scary. What if—what if I’m next?”

You shook your head, pulling him into your arms. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” you promised, your voice firm.

And you meant it.

As the weeks turned into months, the pattern continued. Every time someone upset Lando—whether it was a team member, a journalist who wrote a scathing article about him, or even a rival driver who made a careless comment—you made sure they paid the price.

The killings became more elaborate, more calculated. You were careful, always covering your tracks, always ensuring that nothing could be traced back to you. But the thrill of it, the power you felt as you removed anyone who dared to hurt Lando—it was intoxicating.

Lando began to notice the pattern, though he didn’t want to admit it to himself. He started piecing together the timing of the murders, the way they always seemed to align with his complaints.

One night, he confronted you.

“Y/N,” he said hesitantly, his eyes searching yours. “I need to ask you something.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “What is it?”

He hesitated, as if unsure how to phrase the question. “Do you… do you know anything about what’s been happening? With the murders?”

You stared at him for a moment, your expression unreadable. Then, you smiled softly. “What makes you think I’d know anything about that?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just… weird, you know? The timing, the people… it’s like someone’s trying to protect me.”

You stepped closer, placing a hand on his cheek. “Lando, I love you. I’d do anything for you. But you’re talking like I’m some kind of… of killer.”

He swallowed hard, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I don’t know what to think anymore.”

You kissed him gently, silencing his doubts. “You don’t need to think about it, love. Let the police handle it.”

He nodded, though the uncertainty lingered in his eyes.

As the body count grew, so did the suspicion within the paddock. Investigations were launched, and the media frenzy intensified. But you remained calm, careful, always one step ahead.

Lando, however, was starting to unravel. The weight of the murders, the fear and guilt he carried—it was taking its toll.

One night, as you lay in bed together, he turned to you, his voice barely above a whisper. “Y/N… do you think I’m cursed?”

You frowned, brushing a curl from his forehead. “Why would you say that?”

“Because everyone around me keeps dying,” he said, his voice trembling. “And I don’t know why.”

You pulled him close, holding him tightly. “You’re not cursed, Lando. You’re just unlucky.”

He didn’t respond, but you could feel the tension in his body, the unspoken questions he was too afraid to ask.

The turning point came during the final race of the season. Lando was on the verge of securing a podium finish, but a mistake by his pit crew cost him the race. He was livid, his anger barely contained as he stormed back to the garage.

That night, he didn’t say much, but you could see the fire in his eyes, the frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

When you left the hotel room, he didn’t stop you.

You returned hours later, your clothes clean but the faint scent of bleach lingering on your hands. Lando was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

“Lando?” you said softly, closing the door behind you.

He looked up, his eyes red and filled with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Was it you?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

You froze, your heart pounding. “What are you talking about?”

“The murders,” he said, standing up. “Was it you?”

You stared at him, the mask you’d worn for so long slipping away. “I did it for you,” you said finally, your voice calm. “They hurt you, Lando. They deserved it.”

He took a step back, his face pale. “You… you killed them?”

“I protected you,” you said, your voice steady. “I did what no one else would.”

He shook his head, his hands trembling. “This isn’t protection. This is—this is insane.”

“Everything I did, I did because I love you,” you said, stepping closer.

He didn’t respond, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and betrayal.

For the first time, you felt a flicker of doubt. But it was too late. The blood had already been spilled, and there was no turning back.

Lando never reported you. Whether it was out of fear, love, or guilt, you didn’t know. But something between you shifted that night, an unspoken truth hanging in the air.

You continued to protect him, to eliminate anyone who dared to hurt him. But now, there was a distance between you, a shadow that neither of you could escape.

And yet, you didn’t regret it.

Because in the end, everything you did was for him. And you would do it all over again.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hxxi3, @same1995, @amatswimming