#ch: luke cage

[brw]

Marvel men with a pregnant disposition:

Exodus

Wolverine

Reed Richards

Colossus

Alex Summers

Frank Castle

Eddie Brock

Luke Cage

Marvel men with an abortive disposition:

Akihiro

Kraken the Hunter

Doctor Doom

Gabriel Summers

Julio Richter

Tony Stark

Cable

Bullseye

[lazybutsmexy]

Bird hunting

Ghost x fem!reader x Soap

Chapter 9: Broken Cage

Ch. 8 <; Series Masterlist

Warnings: violence, blood and injury, character death.

Summary: Canary will make them pay for everything. All at once.

Do not read this work if you're under 18. This work contains mature and triggering themes.

Word count: 2800~

“Luke is taking too long.” Alan comments to no one in particular, his cup of coffee in front of him left untouched after the first few sips - it tasted like sewage water, truth be told. 

Charlie simply hummed in acknowledgment as he munched down on some crackers he had found in his backpack - the only non-stale food in the cabin. He gulped them down with cold coffee, and Alan decided not to think too much about the state of his taste buds. 

“He’s probably just avoiding the cops,” Charlie finally commented after a few silent minutes, “maybe there are blockades and shit.”

Alan said nothing, limiting himself to smoke his cigarette and watch out of the open cabin door towards the road. It was almost noon, and he had returned to the cabin hours ago. He had planned on getting some shut-eye once Luke had come back, but the hours passed with no news and he was growing antsy. 

He knew that as far as Luke was concerned, the only thing the police could arrest him for was driving a stolen van. If that was the case, it would be only a matter of time until he received a call from the police station and he would have to present himself as his friend to bail him out, or as his lawyer and demand his release until a set court date. He had done it with Charlie a couple of times before, it would be a first for Luke. 

A quiet grumble interrupted his musings, and both men looked at the direction it came from. Alan suddenly remembered that their cute little hostage hadn’t had anything to eat in almost two days, and he sighed. “...Right.” He took one cracker from the sleeve and stood up, stepping slowly towards her. 

Canary froze up, inwardly cursing her stomach for being so impatient and calling their attention. She had been painstakingly rubbing the hilt of the knife against her bindings, keeping her wrist movements hidden from her captors with the rest of her body. She had managed to avoid detection so far, and it seemed as if her greatest traitor would be her own body. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears as Alan approached her, and she wormed away from him in an attempt to hide her little plan. 

He stopped right before the bed, and showed her the cracker held between two fingers. “If you try to bite me, I’ll tear your teeth out one by one, understand?” 

Canary gulped and nodded, knowing that her best chance of escaping would be by them letting down their guard. That would only happen if they didn’t see her as a danger, and the only way she could accomplish that, was to be obedient and submissive. Only until she got her damn restraints off, though. 

Alan nodded and leaned down, pressing the cracker against her lips. She took it with her teeth as slowly as she could, trying her best not to touch his fingers with her lips. Alan smirked, releasing the cracker and stroking her cheek with his knuckles. “Good girl.”

She felt like lurching whatever remained in her empty stomach as she heard him - it definitely sounded much better when it was Simon saying it - but she ate the cracker in silence. It was a little humid, but it would do for now. 

“If you behave,” Alan hummed, pulling away, and walking back to his seat, “you’ll get another one later.” 

She now really wanted to bite his fingers off. 

“I can think of something else for her to eat, though,” Charlie leered at her, licking his lips with a wolfish grin. 

She narrowed her eyes. I dare you to try, see how my chompers work, she thought, but stayed silent as she swallowed the cracker. Canary had resumed her work on the ligatures as they were distracted, slowly grinding the knife against the bindings, which were giving away little by little. The more they loosened, the more she could feel the rope burn around her wrists. She kept her breathing steady, not looking away from the men as she worked. 

Alan seemed to read her thoughts, though, as he cackled out loud. “You want to live the rest of your life with half a dick? Be my guest then.” Charlie simply shook his head, lighting a cigarette and clowning the smoke towards her. 

“She won’t be able to if I dislocate her jaw, though,” he chuckled darkly, enjoying the mental image that his brain conjured, already feeling his blood pooling to his crotch. 

“That’s for the buyer to decide, and you know that,” Alan scolded him, and put out the butt of his cig on the table. He checked his wrist watch and stood up with a grunt, patting down the front of his jacket. “I’m off to check if we got an answer from our buyer,” he walked to the door and sent Charlie a last warning, “I’m serious, if you do anything to her that can’t be covered with a band-aid, I’m going to kill you.”

Charlie watched him go with a snort, taking a long drag of his cig, “You’re no fun.” 

The last thread of the rope snapped away at the same moment the door closed shut behind Alan, and Canary nearly cried in relief. She managed to stealthily pull the pieces of rope away from her wrists and hold the knife tightly in one hand. Her blood pounded through the bruises and into her hands, cramping the tips of her fingers, but she was well aware that she had no time to relax. Charlie had stood up from his chair. 

He downed the last bit of his coffee and lit another cigarette, his eyes leisurely traveling from her chest to her feet. He took a step closer to the end of the bed, his eyes shifting to her face. 

“I’ll be quick, I promise,” he grumbled with a smirk, fiddling with the cigarette and leaning in to hold her ankles with his free hand. 

Canary kicked back half-heartedly and let out a small whimper while her eyes fixed on his openings, she needed to make him think she wanted to crawl away from him, that would make him lean in even closer. She was dangling the bait in front of him, and her hand clutched the knife, ready to swing at the smallest chance. “Try not to scream so much, okay? Alan is busy, after all.”

Charlie used his leg to press down on her thighs, unknowingly offering her a full view of his back. His free hand clutched her ankles while the hand holding the cigarette inched closer to her skin. He failed to see the shadow over his shoulder as the knife came down. 

Canary was significantly weakened from her usual strength, due to the drugs, the hunger, the dehydration. But she still managed to dig the knife halfway into his back - more or less where his upper-lung should be. He let out a painful howl and tried to flinch away, but her hand clamped down on his upper arm and pulled out the knife, before forcing it down on his neck as fast as she could. 

The thin muscle gave way to the steel and Canary pulled the knife out just as quickly as she stabbed it, and blood began spurting out in the same rhythm as his heartbeat. Charlie’s legs managed to pull him away from her only to tumble down onto the floor, taking the chair down with him. 

Canary jumped on her feet, ignoring the stinging pain in her soles, and readied herself to attack again. Adrenaline pumped through her veins and fueled her with almost the same energy she felt in the battlefield. A sense of euphoria surrounded her when he looked up at her with a mixture of fear and rage, desperately trying to put pressure on the hole in his neck. He opened his mouth but only a gurgling sound came out, and she knew that he was starting to drown in his own blood.

Canary raised her hand holding the knife and took a deep breath, before smirking down at him. He was going to pay for everything, all at once. 

~~~~~~

“Get in,” Luke did as was told, or attempted to, since his hands were still handcuffed behind his back. A strong hand pushed him into the car and he groaned in protest, before setting down in the middle of the backseat. 

He allowed himself a moment to take a deep breath, until he realized he wouldn't be alone. The Sergeant with the mohawk and the Lieutenant with the skull mask climbed in and sat on his sides, their enormous bodies barely fitting in the back of the patrol car - and big weapons held between their legs. Suddenly the air in the back of the patrol was stuffy and he barely had room to breathe.

An officer sat behind the wheel and Hartford climbed in the passenger seat. “Where?” He simply asked, looking at Luke out of the corner of his eye. 

“T-take the road around campus and cross the bridge,” Luke could barely let the words out of his mouth, feeling two pairs of eyes practically digging through his flesh, “then take the first turn to the right.”

The patrol car drove off, and Price’s jeep followed with him and Gaz inside. 

~~~~~~

Alan stopped dead in his tracks as he was walking down the road. He knew he had heard a shout, but wasn’t sure of whether it was the girl or Charlie. He slowly turned around, weighing his options. 

If it was the girl and Charlie lost it again and tried to ‘shut her up’, they would surely lose another product before he even got a sale confirmation. If it was Charlie, and the girl had managed to hurt him in some way, it meant that he would fight back - the girl was tied, drugged, and hungry; he was at an advantage and would certainly bust her head open. Again, lost product. 

A third possibility crossed his mind, but he dismissed it quickly - it couldn’t be possible that she had managed to untie herself. Even if she did, he was still stronger than her, there was no way…

A few moments passed in silence before he began walking back to the cabin. Minutes passed when he finally reached the cabin and opened the door, his mouth instantly slackening in shock. 

Charlie was on the floor with his limbs spread out, lying in a pool of his own blood, and their hostage was kneeling on top of him with her hand holding the knife that was still buried to the hilt in Charlie’s chest. She was disheveled, her clothes were covered in blood and her eyes shot up to meet Alan’s. He felt a shiver travel down his spine - her eyes were cold and deadly. His hand reached under his jacket where he hid his holster at the same moment she stood up. 

Canary held the knife tightly in her hand and ran forward, nearly slipping on the blood with her bare feet, as she stormed to her enemy with a battle scream that nearly drowned the bang of the shot being fired. 

~~~~~~

“Um… Take the road up north and drive on,” Luke gulped as he sat up straight. He had the feeling that if he relaxed just a little, he would die. However, both Soap and Ghost remained silent, simply watching out of the window and only occasionally sending Luke a glare, just to make sure he couldn’t try anything funny. They both knew that their presence in the car alone was enough to inhibit any fighting plan he could conjure up.

As the car turned right on the intersection, a few minutes passed before Hartford recognized the scenery and his heart dropped. A day prior, Melanie Kirk was shot and killed in that road, and the detective remembered exactly which tree had stopped her car. Now, he was traveling down that same road, with one of the men involved in her death, to rescue the woman she had tried to help. 

He looked into the side view mirror and saw Ghost’s eyes on him. He seemed to be thinking the exact same thing as him. 

They will pay for everything. 

~~~~~~

The sound of the bed sheets ripping under the hilt of her knife was barely louder than her panting. Once Canary gathered enough strips of fabric, she took a large square of fabric and folded it several times to create a press, and held it against her open wound with a groan. The bullet had gone through and through, and although it passed dangerously close to her lung, she didn’t hear any whistling sounds coming out of her wound. 

Canary wrapped her makeshift bandages around herself as tightly as she could, knowing that it would be only a matter of time until her blood started to stain the cloth even further. She couldn’t sit still, though. She knew that the third man had been out for a while, and he would be back at any minute now. She was now too injured to hold a fight with an uninjured man who was probably also armed, while she only had a knife.  

Despite the risk of blood loss being too great, it was still a fighting chance that she wouldn’t have if she just stayed idle. If she made it to a road with more traffic, she would be able to find help. 

As she walked out of the cabin, she was faced with a difficult decision: should she walk on the road, or should she sneakily walk through the forest? She would be able to flag down a vehicle easier if she walked on the road. However, she would also be easily found by the third man. Besides, he was supposed to get another vehicle, so she may not recognize the danger until it becomes too late. 

The forest would definitely hide her from view from the road, but it would be hard to navigate in it without having been able to see the road when they got there. She glanced down at her newly acquired shoes, courtesy of Baldie’s corpse. They were a couple sizes too big, but they would help protect her feet from the terrain. 

Her wound stung, and she looked up at the sky. It was past noon now, and the sun felt nice on her skin. The wind made her shiver - she would have at least 4 hours of sunlight before she was consumed by the dark. She needed to find help before then. 

Canary took a deep breath and marched forward, decidedly walking into the forest, unaware of Alan’s eyes trained on her. He had somehow avoided death, and managed to get up as she left, his weapon still in his hand. He wheezed and coughed as the taste of iron filled his mouth at the effort, but his entire body was fueled by rage. Pure adrenaline pumped through his veins as he gripped his gun and staggered after her. 

Straight into the woods.

A/N: Canary made Charlie into a cushion pin for his own knife.

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[unusual-raccoon]

Wolves at the Door (Ch. 5) | by Unusual_Raccoon (JaceLuke)

@greeksorceress, @livinginafantasysposts, @bimyself06, @theartificialintellect, @angelicpraxis Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Jacaerys Velaryon, Politically Savvy Jacaerys Velaryon, Possessive Jacaerys Velaryon, Jealous Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra), Codependency, Manipulation, Unhealthy Relationships, Dom/sub Undertones, Disturbing Themes, Breathplay, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, Oral Fixation, Ball Sucking, Come Swallowing, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Explicit Sexual Content, Intercrural Sex, Thigh Job, Hand Jobs, Come Eating, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Emetophobia, Biting, Painplay, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Come Sharing, Snowballing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Allusions to Disordered Eating, Alcohol, Voyeurism, Accidental Voyeurism, Body Dismorphia, Coming Untouched, Hurt No Comfort, Non-JaceLuke Sex Scene

Summary: Part 4 of A Brother's Love Jacaerys is at his side, yet not close enough; he imagines his desired proximity to his elder brother would be sharing the same flesh - existing as some horrid two-headed beast with malformed limbs and two hearts.

WC: 7K

Ao3 Link

Their night had not ended in one another’s embrace as Lucerys would have preferred; rather, it had continued upon receiving an invitation to dine with the lord of Winterfell.

So, the young princes had roused and redressed. Lucerys is not pleased at having been summoned, but endures it regardless. He dutifully takes his place at the table and resembles something human for the moment.

Supper, he concludes, is a strained affair as they sit in the lord’s too-warm hall. Jacaerys is at his side, yet not close enough; he imagines his desired proximity to his elder brother would be sharing the same flesh - existing as some horrid two-headed beast with malformed limbs and two hearts. He thinks of their sister, Visenya…

The lord Cregan sits at the table’s head.

They begin with light salads of fresh spinach leaves and bitter turnip greens. Foods left raw, unembellished; naked.

He thinks of the training yard, the pear, as he hears the pointed crunch of greenery ground between their host’s sharp teeth. His heart thumps too hard in his chest as he feels the pulse of vibrant bruises, soft and sweet and dark as plums, stained upon his flesh.

The hearth growls a distant, drowsy tune, a snarling lullaby.

Lucerys chews, discerning the same crunch of crisp vegetation. His tongue wanders over the snapped spine of a spinach leaf, feeling the sagging tension before he swallows. He imagines the same pop of tendons in his ankles, neck, and knees; all ground to broken pieces between his brother’s teeth.

He pictures himself a puppet with slashed strings.

His temples pulse as he examines his plate. The ruffage is mere food for prey with flat teeth - square front teeth catch upon his lower lip.

His plate is taken away as the next course is to be provided.

Somewhere amidst the clearing of plates and provision of a hearty vegetable pottage, a hand settles upon Luke’s thigh.

He sits up straighter, listing into the cage of warm fingers that curl tight over his knee. The touch peels away the haze that clouds his mind, forces him into tense awareness, not to be lulled by the snoring of the hearth.

Jacaerys wears a proper smile while making conversation with the wolfman, not the practiced cordial smile of a disinterested prince, but a true smile; all teeth.

He doesn’t talk like a man preoccupied, he does not even look in Luke’s direction. Lucerys begins to fear the touch upon his thigh is a mere figment of his unraveling mind.

He leans away. Jace’s grip tightens - too tight, a warning, pain skitters through him like cracks in a stone; he feels only the ache of validation. Sweat beads at his temples beneath flouncy dark curls.

Luke shudders in his seat, clasps shaking hands together; shivers through prayer toward his deity made flesh, the being for whom all his woes and wishes were seen through.

Jacaerys’ hand tenses like he means to pop Luke’s knee. He sucks down the sound, the soft mewling sound, that gathers in his throat.

He prays for mercy. He prays for the strength to conduct himself in a manner befitting his station. He prays for a reprieve. He prays for more.

Amidst prayer, he is stunned by his brother’s face, as though witnessing it for the first time. The full swell of his lips and sharp angle of his nose. His brother’s beauty is an epiphany.

You are a dragon, he thinks at the sight of his brother’s prominent profile whilst Jace’s other hand pushes around a spoonful of pottage; a soupy mess of boiled cabbage, turnips, and carrots, Luke’s nose curls on his brother’s behalf, you need meat.

Vermax’s cry echoes in the brisk northern air. A far off thing.

Jacaerys’ hand creeps higher, along his finely stitched inseam. Fingers gouge fresh bruises through the fabric of his trousers. Blood flows to his waist and below as Lucerys is left short of breath.

If they are terribly conspicuous, lord Stark does not remark on it. No, his eyes are elsewhere, Lucerys notes.

Raw greens stick in Cregan’s teeth before being washed away with a mouthful of mulled wine. A pink tongue glides over pointed teeth at the mindful arch of a serving girl beyond the table’s edge. Dark hair is secured demurely beneath a servant’s bonnet, yet a stray dark lock beckons, fallen loose, the essence of temptation against fair skin.

Lucerys’ own curls flatten against the sweat that coats his nape and temples; unflattering.

Very, very slowly, he can hear it, swelling in the lord’s throat in accordance with the roiling flames; a growl. It is a sound beleaguered by hunger, in want of meat. Sara Snow ducks her head, coy curl dancing as she departs to the kitchens, an alluring swing in her gait and blustery gray eyes follow; possessed.

Jacaerys’ touch grows more torturous.

Lucerys whines, spoons more food fit for prey past flat teeth to keep the sound in, and feels broth dribble down from the corner of his mouth.

He shakes in his brother’s hold, feverish. Unwell.

Warm, familiar fingers tilt beneath his chin, in the too-warm hall, the touch is too much. He feels on the cusp of something awful.

“You’ve made a mess,” Jace scolds him softly as the folded corner of a serviette is gently pressed around Luke’s mouth.

I am sorry, Lucerys thinks, yet the words do not come as coy fingers stroke over the tender, bruised flesh of his inner thigh. They press and swirl over the indentations of teeth like the moist thumb that rubbed along his hole. His toes curl and breathing stutters. He imagines he might spill in his trousers as pleasurepain dances through him. The thought is mortifying, sitting in sticky smalls could make a miserable supper unforgivable.

His vision is blurred beyond the amber of his brother’s smiling eyes.

Hearing muffled.

Jace’s thumb lingers beside Luke’s mouth.

His teeth grind, stifling the ingrained response of an obedient mouth that threatens to fall slack for his brother’s amusement. Even now. Even here.

Briefly gray eyes flicker towards them, infinitesimal, yet it stings like a lash of icy, winter air down damp skin.

Fingers curl beneath the table, between his thighs. Demanding.‘Please’ he begs in sniffling silence, with the cascade of a single tear shimmering down his flushed cheek. His brother dabs that away with the serviette as well, just another careless mess made by a simple boy.

Jace’s head tilts subtly, so difficult to discern that the focus conjures an ache behind Lucerys’ eyes.

Lucerys hears the caw of Vermax’s song grow closer.

“You’ve hardly eaten,” his brother hums.

“I am not hungry,” Lucerys says in a mousey whisper.

‘You are all I wish to have in my mouth’ His eyes say instead with the beat of thick, wet lashes alone.

‘Then you will starve’ the displeased wrinkle of an aquiline nose replies, Lucerys’ throat aches,‘eat’ a tilt of his brother’s dark head adds.

He forces another spoonful of softened vegetables, like slop for a pig, into his mouth. Let’s himself be fattened like an animal awaiting slaughter; consumption.

It is more tolerable that way - eating, if only for his brother’s benefit…

He is rewarded with the press of the heel of Jace’s hand between his legs, unambiguous. Pressure pinches the leaking head of his manhood. It is pain. Blackened, blistering pain that sends vibrant streaks of light bursting behind his eyelids; it is pleasure that stings - blinding.

He shivers in his seat, nose dripping. A stray tear clings to the delicate line of his jaw.

Another spoonful is brought to his lips with shaking hands that yearn for more sustenance in the shape of his brother’s touch - more fulfilling than any meal, more essential than the air in his lungs and blood in his veins.

He swallows. Reaches for his goblet of mulled wine. Swallows that as well. Nearly flashes his brother an open mouth as a show of good faith.

Dark eyes linger upon his mouth, his brother smiles at something Lord Stark says.

A coarse thumb soothes the smarting head of his manhood, teasing in gentle circles through the damp fabric of his trousers.

Lucerys squirms in his seat, a fire wyrm shedding its skin.

Firelight catches a fine line of sweat at the flexing sinew of Lord Stark’s neck, that pulls taut when their next course is carried into the hall…by Sara Snow.

The scent of roasted meat wafts, heavy and spiced.

The thick knot of the lord’s larynx bobs as a platter is placed upon the center of the table; a few stray curls further escape the modesty of a servant’s bonnet, stains against pale skin.

The smoked flesh of a lamb lays adorned with small sprigs of green. Youthful bones blackened from an open flame.

It is no longer food fit for prey.

Cuts of lamb are piled high upon plates, the meat smoked a ravishing mahogany red.

Lucerys watches his brother pull the rosy flesh between sharp teeth, tearing fibers of meat away with relish.

The urge to lay himself upon Jacaerys’ plate is maddening in its intensity.

Fingers tense upon his thigh, ‘eat’, his brother reminds wordlessly.

Above the keep he can hear the beat of leathery wings.

Lucerys prods at a piece of meat with the dull side of his knife, frowning. He does not care to lift the bone between his fingers as Cregan and Jace do.

He cuts away a coarse piece of flank. Chews it endlessly between his teeth.

He cuts and cuts, pokes and prods. Shifts aside unfavorable pieces that do not suit him.

Cregan carves into the meat upon his plate, pries away the soft gem of sirloin, admires it with blustery gray eyes. He asks for wine and the serving girl provides it, her lissome form appears to tremble as the buttery pearl of meat is pulled from the prongs of the lord’s fork, held captive between sharp teeth.

Jacaerys sets a bone upon his plate, barren, a rib bone.

They speak and smile with sharp teeth meant for meat, but Luke does not listen.

He focuses on the fingers that tease him, and the gamey meat he chews. Lamb tastes of innocence, blood and smoke and innocence.

It is Arrax that shrieks, a devilish wanting sound.

He reaches for his goblet, hands shaking. He drinks deeply, swallows down the thickened taste of youth that coats his tongue.

His head swims. He gropes for the hand on his thigh, anchors himself to it until a brief bout of dizziness passes. When the feeling fades he is left…blissful.

Luke is pleasantly calm, empty-headed during the remainder of their meal. Spreads his legs wide so his brother might do as he pleases, and asks for more wine.

He feels sedate, deliciously so. Jace laughs at something Cregan says, and so Luke laughs as well.

He is amiable like this. He is courageous like this. He does not think of war once, only of how happy he is, how happy Jace is.

Desserts are carried out, various cakes and tarts and fruits are laid upon the table.

A servant that is not Sara places a large selection of sweets before the Lord. A moment later Sara hurries to rectify the mistake, brows slightly knitted.

my lord isn’t known for his indulgences, Luke recalls the training yard once more.

“Apologies, my lord,” She begins, rushing to remove the tray.

Yet, a large hand gives her pause.

“It’s alright, Sara,” he hums, gentle, intimate. He chooses a pear from the platter.

Her mouth seems on the verge of falling slack as pointed teeth consume sweet flesh.

Luke’s ears burn. He distracts himself with sweets of his own. 

Lucerys unabashedly licks away the custard top of a fair few lemon cakes. 

Jacaerys watches him; pleased. Kneads a hand over the bulge of Lucerys’ cock, drawing forth a moan muffled into the moist sponge of a nude lemon cake.

A hand strokes at his thigh, tender, slow, digs into the flesh of fresh bruises. His toes curl.

He nibbles upon the candied rinds of the lemon toppings as more servants flock from the kitchens to clean.

Sara arches over the table to gather platters and utensils, Cregan steadies her elbow with a large palm. Weathered fingers are raised to tuck stray curls, the essence of temptation, out of sight beneath the cover of her bonnet.

The moment seems to last an eternity, the pair of them frozen in time, before Jacaerys speaks.

“My lord,” Jacaerys begins, “you have our gratitude for such a fine meal, and finer company.”

Luke nods. Rather inebriated and aroused.

“Ah,” Cregan sighs, pulling away from his quarry, “You honor me. I am only pleased the lamb was to your liking.”

Jacaerys smiles, and it is Vermax’s smile, and Lucerys wishes to live inside of it. To be held captive between sharp teeth like the iron bars of a cell.

“Most certainly worth the wait.” His brother says with a nod.

This seems to please their lord who nods, a shadow of a smile upon his lips.

“Well, I shan't keep you any longer - rest well.”

“And you, my friend.” Jace replies as Cregan rises from his seat at the table’s head - a towering figure, made even more striking with the comely Sara Snow by his side.

Both pairs of unsettling silver eyes follow as they depart.

__

Upon leaving the dining hall, Jacaerys steadies a hand upon his back. They are returning to their rooms, or at least, Luke imagines that’s where Jacaerys is taking him at such a late hour.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink so much.” Jace says as Lucerys stumbles, evidently on nothing, he discerns when he looks down at his feet.

“Th’ wine was…nice.” Luke murmurs, growing slightly defensive as he adds, “Besides, I ate a lot.”

Mayhaps he says it with spite, spite that turns to pride. Jace offers a small, pleased smile that is more disorienting than any drink.

“You did.”

Luke pauses, “Mm…you were mean.” He rests his head against Jace’s shoulder, the position is a comfort in the endless maze of dark corridors.

“Was I?” His brother asks, voice dripping innocence as he guides Luke along. As always, he follows where his brother leads.

“Mm,” Lucerys confirms with a short hum. Shivers at the memory of the pinched head of his cock. His mouth waters.

“Jace,” Luke warbles, lacing their fingers together. He blinks hazy dark eyes at his brother, squints behind full lashes and laughs at nothing in particular. He is happy. He hates the north but is happy.

“Want you,” he slurs suddenly, body flush with want, feverish, “gods, Jace-”

His brother’s eyes blacken ravenously, like a predator in want of meat. Lucerys flashes a smile with square front teeth, prey happily caught. Excitement zips through Luke’s limbs. He is thrust against a wall, the cool stone bites through the layers of his clothing and he yelps like a wounded animal. It stings like ice upon bare flesh. His skin pulses hot. After an evening of torture, his brother’s lips descending over his is relief-

Vermax gives a cry above the keep, they halt, startled, lips not yet one. The sound soaks into the icy gray granite.

Lucerys huffs a childish sound.

“I should see to him, he has been restless tonight…” His brother explains, rubbing at Luke’s pouting mouth with a roughened thumb.

Lucerys welcomes the digit with practiced ease, sucking contentedly.

“I’ll tend to Vermax first,” His brother says, slowly, for his benefit, “and when I return, then-”

Lucerys moans around Jace’s thumb.

His brother pulls away, roughened thumb and warm body; in the absence of his warmth Lucerys feels himself begin to wither against the cold stone. Jace stares down at him with eyes darker than the night sky.

“Can you find your way back from here?” His brother asks, fingers teasing at dark curls. Lucerys nods, though foolishly feels on the verge of tears.

His brother tilts his head and licks into his mouth, brief and wet and Lucerys’ knees knock together before Jacaerys is straightening his doublet and marching down the hall…

He licks his lips and tastes his brother, rubs a clammy palm overtop the piddling strain of his cock through his trousers.

And then, the promise of more is his motivation.

The halls are glazed in bronze and gold in torchlight, every door is identical, every hall the same…

Lucerys savors the taste of Jacaerys in his mouth as he wanders, staring at his feet to avoid any falls. And then, he reminds himself. 

He finds an ajar door, through the scant opening he spies a large bed, oiled furs hang from the side…

His relief is short lived as voices drift through the crack in the door, humid breath and damp skin…

His throat tightens, a clammy palm tugs at the hem of his doublet.

The broad expanse of a bare, brawny back is visible.

Lucerys shuffles closer. 

A whine pulls taut in the air, tapering into a gasp, a cry. A dainty hand claws at the broad back.

Then he hears it, building low in the base of his throat; a growl. The sound is sobering. These weren’t his chambers-

“Cregan…”

The shock smarts like the crack of an open palm. It leaves his cheeks warm and ears ringing.

Oh.

The bed’s wooden frame shrieks with the frantic pace of ardent movement.

Through the open door he sees the violent sway of bare love-bitten breasts, rippling with every harrowing thrust. The lord’s form is doubled over the slight shape of a woman, the moaning voice of which he had once feared cried out his brother’s name…Sara Snow.

His head swims at the startling realization. He thinks of the crude comments made by guards in passing,  I could make the bitch howl.

“I- Gods!” Sara cries, her hips rocking off of the bedding to meet the glide of his. His heavy manhood is buried between her thighs, again and again. The sheer size of him bloats her belly. The sight is…arresting.

“I cannot-” She whimpers, words broken and unintelligible as she wails at a particularly powerful thrust that Lucerys thinks will wreck the bed’s frame, if not her own.

Cregan growls, hips halting in their punishing pace to grind against hers, slow, tortuous. And oh, his belly aches with desire; he knows the agony well. A lily white leg dangles over the edge of the bed, foot arched, toes curled. She is weeping, he cannot see her face, but he can hear it. Utterly ruined with pleasure.

He worries square front teeth at his lower lip. Saliva pools in his mouth.

Lucerys watches as Sara dips a sly hand between their bodies aiming for something, what, precisely he does not know. Delicate fingers brush below the shallow divot of her navel before her hand is torn above her head, out of sight with another guttural sound.

Her breathing shakes, too pleased to be terrified.

“Brother, please…” She pleads, her words more of a howl than a cry, ripped between sharp teeth.

Lucerys stiffens. His eyes spring open wide, a gasp snags in his throat…

I await my brother, you await your master.

He can scarcely process the revelation when a large hand takes a firm hold of her throat.

Cregan lowers himself over her, her form eclipsed beneath his, she appeared so small beneath him; a pearl of sirloin destined for consumption. Their faces must be close, Lucerys reasons as he cannot see either of them from the gap in the door…

But he pictures them quite clearly with matching silver eyes, and identical dark heads…

“You either come on my cock, or not at all.” The wolf of Winterfell snarls and Lucerys trembles, rooted to his spot. Drool wets the corners of his mouth.

His mind is numb with arousal…and envy.

He imagines them, wolves with too many teeth, feasting upon one another.

What I would not give to be in your place, he thinks, not pinned beneath the wolfman assuredly…but pinned beneath his own brother. His minds tips empty, incapable of thinking of naught but the prospect of fucking; the vulgarity sends a pleasant buzz to his head. Drunk twice over upon the thought of being fucked by his elder brother. To be made a meal for his brother’s teeth.

Arrax’s neck held between Vermax’s jaws like a lover’s embrace.

Thighs spread for Jacaerys to do as he pleased. The head of his cock weeps. A hole oft left ignored spasms, empty. He thinks on the swirl of his brother’s thumb over the puckered cleft of his rear and his knees buckle.

The resounding impact of their bodies meeting, wet and harsh, oozes into the air, the sound sticks to warm granite.

His temples ache. He licks his lips and tastes the innocence of lamb and the spices of mulled wine and Jace.

Jacaerys, he thinks above the din of a passing rain shower and a howling she-wolf.

Oh gods, Jace!

The wooden bedframe shrieks once more, high, rapid sounds where the elaborately carved headboard beats an immoderate rhythm against the cold stone walls.

The realization digs its teeth in deep as a hoarse cry cuts through his skull - the shattering sound of a brisk, tearful climax shears through the air, his knees knock together in a blind retreat.

Lucerys staggers back through the hall, blindly.

He skids to a halt past an ajar door, he glimpses the glow of a lit hearth splashed along the far wall, and oiled furs draped upon a made bed…

It appears alarmingly familiar, though he had felt similarly regarding the lord’s chambers.

Firelight winks mockingly off of the flared fishtail pommel of his sword laying in its scabbard upon the settee.

Thank the Gods, he thinks with a huff.

__

Lucerys is drowsy and still a bit drunk when the door to his guest chambers opens. He is certain he appears akin to a wilted flower, though is enlivened by the sight of his brother; his very own sunlight. Jacaerys halts at the edge of the bed, the northern air adhering in a layer of cold to his brother’s clothes. He reaches out with needy hands for Jacaerys.

He anchors little fists in the embroidered finery of his brother’s doublet, pulling himself to his knees upon the bed. He blinks up at his brother through full lashes, his longing is a bashful thing that stirs lazily in his belly and balls.

“Is Vermax well?” He asks in a small voice as he toys his the very first button of his brother’s doublet. The fasten comes undone and unveils the bobbing knot of his brother’s larynx. He drags his tongue across it. 

Wriggles in delight at the hiss that is blown through his brother’s teeth and the hand that pulls at his hair until his nose itches with the urge to sneeze.

“Yes,” Jace answers, expression severe, tugging at the fist tangled in Lucerys’ curls. He whines, deprived of access to his brother’s flesh - to kiss, and love, and worship.

“Can we-”

“Yes,” His brother echoes, twice as fast.

Lucerys practically weeps when he is permitted to wrap his gluttonous lips around his brother’s cock - to lathe the fattened heat in drooling curls of his tongue. The tense grip of his brother’s fist guides him down the aching length. The upturned flick of his nose is pressed into the dark hair matted thick with saliva around his base.

Jace’s hips pulse forward, demanding. Lucerys steadies himself against a gag so violent his entire body lurches, acid burns bright and fresh and overwhelming at the back of his throat. Gods, he had eaten too much. Dark eyes must know this because his brother concedes at the brief slap of a shaking hand against his thigh.

Luke is pulled off of Jace’s cock, eyes watering and nose dripping.

Jacaerys lays back, cock jutting out between his legs, heavy and glossed with thickened spit…nude when not dressed in the soft, pink flesh of Luke’s throat. A mistake he would soon rectify.

Lucerys slinks closer on hands on knees, intent upon his true meal, lapping up excess fluid, eager to apologize for his weakness, delving his insatiable tongue into the lean line of muscle up to Jace’s hip bones.

He moans, drawing his cheeks hollow around the tip of his brother’s cock, just as his brother had done for him hours prior. Lucerys’ arms burn at the vigor of both hands working in tandem down his brother’s spit-slick manhood.

He stares at the furrow of his brother’s brow, the rosy shade upon his cheeks, the hard flex of muscle in his jaw as Luke’s grip persists - he is close. He presses a dripping tongue to the ridge of his brother’s crown, following a path to the briny nectar that oozes from the tip.

His brother’s eyes are darker than the night sky as Lucerys dutifully wrings an orgasm free from him with wet hands - moaning wantonly himself as though pleasing his brother was as potent as a climax.

Jace’s release splashes across his chin and waiting tongue, excess froths over his knuckles and clings wet and milky between his fingers. He sucks his fingers clean, before venturing between his brother’s thighs for more.

His brother’s cock wilts, half-hard yet still a sight to behold. Luke nuzzles beneath it. Jacaerys huffs a sound near laughter as Lucerys runs a meek tongue over the seam of his elder’s brother’s sac. 

I could die like this, Lucerys thinks, skull vacant and mouth full of his brother’s pulsing stones with Jace’s fingers in his hair.

He imagines it is closer to day than night when Jace relents and pulls Lucerys further up the bed. He nuzzles a wet face and fattened lips against his brother’s shoulder without fail.

“Jace,” Luke slurs, voice husky on account of the abuse suffered to his throat.

“Hm?” His brother hums, squeezes a handful of Lucerys' rear in recognition.

“Do you…” He pauses, worrying square front teeth at his lower lip.

His brother angles his head against the pillows, examining Lucerys more closely.

For a moment he longs for a carafe of wine, the kind that had given him courage during their supper.

He wrings his fingers together.

“Do you think we might lay together…some day?”

Jace’s brows knit together, the hand cupping a generous handful of his rear glides higher towards the arch of his spine. A chill sweeps over Lucerys.

“Have we not already?” His brother asks, and Lucerys holds his breath. Surely the gods had punished Valyria at its height for their hubris, and mayhaps his appetite had led to this foolishness - this wroth garnered by his deity made flesh.

I could die like this, he thinks for a second time.

His fingers tremble as he teases his nails through the dark trail of hair beneath Jacaerys’ navel.

“Properly” he says instead, words stick in his throat, “with you…inside.”

Yet, his brother does not strike him. He merely stares and blinks, slowly, reptilian. His hole spasms, empty.

“I - I do not know how to lay with a man.”

But I believe you do, he thinks, prays that the thoughts had stayed inside.

Lucerys is not a man, not truly, at four and ten he is scarcely more than a boy. Even perturbed as he is, the words are deliberate. He thinks of the burn upon his brother’s nape, a three-headed dragon - a wound not inflicted by a boy.

Jace exhales slowly through his nose, his fingers press down Lucerys’ spine, fan over his tailbone.

“It would be simpler had you been born a girl.”

It feels very close to rejection and Lucerys’ eyes well with tears. He nearly fumbles for his sword, to cleave the offending parts of himself away and carve a pretty red slit between his thighs for his brother to fuck.

He is pulling away from Jacaerys’ shoulder, when his brother pulls him back, an arm around his waist. It is an ugly, boyish waist, he thinks with abhorrence.

“Stop that,” Jace chides gently, trying to gather Luke into his arms, “I am glad you were not born a girl.”

“Liar!” Lucerys croaks, face blotchy and wet with tears.

Jacaerys takes hold of his chin firmly and his expression is displeased even through the blur of tears in Luke’s eyes, something for which Lucerys cries harder.

“I would never lie to you,” Luke wishes to denounce any claims that pass his brother’s full lips, yet Jacaerys speaks with such sincerity that even amidst his unraveling he would not dream of calling it a falsehood.

Between us, you must always speak the truth, for I would never use it against you, he recalls their time upon Dragonstone as distant as a dream in the frigid north, but this he knows for certain. Jacaerys wouldn’t lie to him, Jacaerys loves him.

“Had you been born a girl you would have been married off…” His brother trails off, Lucerys still spasms with small involuntary sobs.

“W-what?” He hiccups.

“Had you been born a girl, you would’ve been married off,” Jace says again, slowly, “Likely to some lord…or,” his brother clears his throat, “a prince.”

“You would have been taken from me,” A muscle in his brother’s cheek tenses violently with unfettered rage, “made to warm another man's bed.”

The thought sickens Lucerys. He squirms deeper into the cage of his brother’s arms. He would crawl beneath his brother’s skin were it possible. He wanted none but him.

“I want you as you are - do not forget that.” His brother swears with sincerity that belongs only to him, pristine, princely Jacaerys. Roughened fingers trace the faint bump in the bridge of Lucerys’ nose. Jacaerys’ eyes are dark, blackened with desire.

Lucerys whines, clinging to his brother with all of his might. Lathes every inch of the skin within his reach in kisses.

“And w-would you lay with me still…as I am?” Luke asks, through wet lips with a meek voice.

Jacaerys laughs, deep, displaying a smile full of sharp teeth and amber eyes.

Lucerys squirms, uncomfortable, unsure of what to make of his brother’s amusement.

He loves me, Lucerys reminds himself, he wants me.

Lucerys yelps as the hand upon his tailbone swats at his rear, grabbing a crude handful of pale, nubile flesh and pulling it until his very center winks- oh. His skin stings before Jacaerys releases him, the tight flesh bouncing back with small ripple. His brother exhales a tortured sound. It is a sound beleaguered by hunger, in want of meat.

“I do love you,” Jace purrs, “more than you know.”

His ears sting hot at the realization he spoke the words aloud.

Jace’s manhood strains stiff, like a lance, against Luke’s belly; unperturbed.

“Can we lay together now?” Luke asks, need clawing up his throat.

“No,” Jace huffs quickly, “open your legs.”

He does as his brother commands - always, always. Jace’s cock nestles between his thighs.

He is too overcome by Jace’s building pace, thrusting between his thighs, to be angered.

His brother’s forehead nuzzles against his own, uncaring for the unflattering fringe of dark curls that adhere to sweaty temples.

“Every day,” Jace huffs, “when you bathe, you’ll press your smallest finger inside-” Their breath hitches in unison as a thrust kisses just shy of Lucerys’ hole.

“You’ll practice like this often,” Lucerys whines in mind-melting arousal, “in the bath is best, the water will help.”

Jace hisses, expression nearly pained in his desire.

“When you’re able to fit all-”

“All?!” Luke cries.

Jace tugs Lucerys’ lower lip between sharp teeth in punishment, but the sparkling ember of pain only worsens his desire.

“Do not interrupt me,” Jacaerys chides with blood upon his lips, his tongue licks into Lucerys’ mouth, “Your hands are smaller - all five fingers should open you up nicely.”

The prospect of being open for his brother is too much, Lucerys writhes, cock twitching, pulsing his release without so much as the brush of a hand, nor warmth of a mouth.

His brother groans, incensed, maddened. He fucks between Luke’s thighs under his bones ache.

Jace’s release follows soon after, pulsing hot and thick between lily white thighs.

“Mm,” Luke sighs, lapping sleepily at sweat upon his brother’s neck.

“When I am able to take all five fingers, then?”

The question hangs oddly in the air, their rooms smell densely of sweat and semen.

“Then.” Jacaerys agrees.

When the morning comes, it is with the drowsy recollection of the previous night that leaves Lucerys grinning madly into his goose down pillow.

“Good morrow,” His brother’s voice, ragged from sleep, purrs beside him, a finger traces over his nape.

Lucerys mumbles his reply into his pillow, shuffles to his knees, squinting against the morning sunlight that streams white as snow into their chambers. He teeters upon his knees before pressing a chaste kiss to his brother’s lips.

The Lucerys of but weeks past had been so bold as to think he knew happiness, that they had known happiness despite the many losses they had faced in their childhood, they had lived well. Certainly other children of ignoble birth had faced far worse than lives of luxury as princes. Oh, how foolish he had been-

He squeals in delight as his brother drags him into a smiling embrace, with the demand of more kisses. This is happiness.

So vibrant it nearly hurts.

They dress before long, Lucerys decides with a smile, as he wiggles his feet into his boots, that he will have a bath in the afternoon, mayhaps after they stretched their wings on dragonback.

He admires his brother’s bare back where Jace gazes out the window, tunic in hand.

They venture into the hall for a small meal to break their fast.

Lucerys feels his cheeks grow warm instantly upon the sight of the Warden of the North - the Wolf of Winterfell.

Cregan pauses in a small, intimate conversation with Sara Snow, to greet them - blustery gray eyes send a race of gooseflesh over Lucerys’ arms and legs. Lucerys feels his body torn between cold and hot as Jacaerys’ gaze settles upon him as well.

“Good morrow, prince Jacaerys, prince Lucerys,” Sara greets, spritely - smiling, her dark hair is uncovered, wound in a long flowing plait that spills down her back…

“My lady,” Lucerys says with a nod as he takes his seat - it feels conspiratorial. A day prior he hated the woman. Yet now, he only feels a strange sort of kinship.

Strangely, her smile widens, relieved.

Lucerys gladly accepts watered wine when it is offered. He sips it slowly, between small bites of fresh bread.

He presses his foot against the instep of his brother’s boot. Jace’s hand lifts Lucerys’ goblet of watered wine, brazenly bringing the very same rim that had touched Lucerys’s lips to his own, before Luke can correct his elder brother. It is not until Jacaerys sets the goblet down, a faint smile upon his lips, that Lucerys divines how very intentional the act had been.

Sara teases a few fingers across the breadth of one of Cregan’s shoulders, the touch is careless, affectionate.

She glances at him briefly, with identical silver eyes. The air seems to scream with contentment.

“My lord-”

A guard erupts through the hall’s main entrance. Sara’s hand retreats instantly.

“Forgive me, my lord, your highness,” he swallows, out breath by the time he addresses Luke, “your highness.”

“Edric,” Cregan greets, expression frigid once more, “go on.”

“There is a - matter in the Godswood, milord.” The northman’s gaze lingers on Jacaerys.

“A matter?” Cregan repeats, silver eyes narrowed.

“A dragon, milord.”

Lucerys chases after his brother to the Godswood, his hands shaking. All present in the main hall travel to bear witness to the matter the guard spoke of.

They are escorted through the main entrance of the Godswood, his skin prickles.

Lucerys gasps at the sight of the heartwood tree, its blood red leaves casting shade over Vermax who laid upon the ground, limp. Luke clambors for his brother’s hand, feels his eyes brim with tears when Jace denies him.

They couldn’t have been more than ten paces from his brother’s dragon when from behind the heartwood’s white trunk, Arrax emerges, the spines upon his back standing stiff.

“T-the other one wasn’t here before, milord-”

Lucerys scarcely recognizes his own dragon, who splays his wings wide before them with a deafening screech. Vermax rumbles a weak sound in Arrax’s shadow.

“Arrax,” Luke calls, the brief flick of slitted golden eyes are his only acknowledgement.

Yet, Jacaerys steps forward, unflinching as the young pale dragon lashes his tail against the ground in warning.

“Jace,” Luke pleads.

“Arrax!” Lucerys calls once more with intention, “Lykirī!”

His dragon gouges scars into the earth with the claws of his feet, hissing, before lowering his wings.

His dragon’s snout inhales rapidly around Jace as his brother steps towards his own dragon.

Jacaerys kneels down wordlessly, presses a hand to Vermax’s thorney brow. His dragon blinks lethargic amber eyes at his rider and Lucerys smothers a small cry into his palm.

The larger dragon merely warbles an exhausted sound.

For a time Jace remains there, upon the ground with his dragon. Stroking over his head and its numerous spikes. 

“Lykirī…” His brother murmurs gently, not a command, but a request.

Luke wipes frantically at his cheeks as his brother climbs to his feet and returns to his side.

“What is wrong with it?” Cregan asks.

Jace sighs, “I don’t know. He’s never -” Jace pauses, voice drawn tight, “...I don’t know.”

Cregan dismisses the guards swiftly, giving orders to deny all entry within the Godswood.

“That will anger people,” Sara says in a whisper.

“I am well aware, but it is for the safety of my people that the decision is being made.”

“They would not attack, not unless commanded,” Lucerys explains, temples aching.

“Or threatened, it seems.”

“Arrax did not, he would not-”

“It does not matter,” Jacaerys intercedes, drawing all conversation to a halt.

“It does not matter, he is a danger here, as well as in danger here.”

Lucerys stares at his elder brother, stunned.

“I- Jace, you cannot mean-”

“You must leave.”

The words are a dagger through the spine, a sudden, swift betrayal that would lead to nothing but his own demise.

He does not think before he speaks, “I won’t-”

Jacaerys’ expression is murderous, his jaw flexes powerfully.

“And if Arrax kills someone in your selfishness, a person merely in search of prayer, hm? Do you think the Northerners will favor our cause then?”

“Then I will stay with him, I will calm him.”

“And should he take ill as Vermax has? What will you do then? Should we deprive our mother of two dragons simply because you could not do as you’re told?”

He loves me, Lucerys thinks, he longs to beat the words into his own skull if only to never be rid of them. To remind himself of their truth in the face of his elder brother’s callousness.

He clings to his brother’s arm in earnest, unwilling to part. Arrax chitters an irritable sound.

“Please, Jace, please-”

His brother’s expression is impassive.

“Calm yourself.”

He cannot think, he cannot breathe-

“Allow me to stay,” He pleads, a thin string of mucous hangs from his nose as he weeps openly, “please, just until - you swore we could - Jace, please, please-”

He warbles his words, hardly conscious let alone coherent, rambling between sobs and manic pleas.

“I will not leave without it.” His disobedience is met with a firm fist hauling him close, his brother’s full lips flatten over his teeth in a snarl.

‘I will not survive without it’ Lucerys says with the dig of square front teeth into the meat of his lower lip.

His brother releases him with a shove, Lucerys’ legs shake so violently he fears they may give out.

The reality of his brother’s rejection stuns him, his body aches cold. He struggles to hide his madness, it twitches upon his face as he stands, dazed.

“Gather your things,” Jace orders, “Prepare for the journey home.”

Lucerys concedes, beaten, broken - he smiles, it is an empty pacifying gesture, shuffling along like a mindless husk.

He does as his brother commands - always, always.

__

The air of joviality that had resided within the keep that morning, had been burned away like infection from a wound, leaving only a red agony in its wake.

“Be well, my prince.” Sara Snow says, expression mournful as he makes to depart.

The lord of the keep bids him a farewell, though their mere presence is a mockery. With their dark heads and identical silver eyes. He yearns for dark eyes, eyes like his own, darker than the night sky. Yet, Jacaerys is nowhere in sight. His brother cannot be troubled to see him off.

He loves me, Lucerys thinks with tears in his eyes, struggling to make sense of the shattered state of his fragile little heart.

He climbs upon Arrax’s keeled saddle, clasps his chains in place with numb hands.

A tear shimmers cold down his cheek as he stares longingly towards the mouth of the Godswood - he is certain his mind is tricking him when he glimpses a flash of dark hair.

Do not make me go, he thinks, agonized, selfish, do not make me go where you are not.

The wind turns brisk and he reminds himself that he detests the north, that he would be glad to be home.

“Arrax!” He calls, throat hoarse, “Sōvēs!”

As he leaves Winterfell behind, eyes watering against the wind, he hears Vermax’s mournful wail rip through the sky - he loves me, he tells himself again and again, for every second of every minute of every hour he spends in the sky.

He loves me, He weeps, and there is no love like that of a brother.

[blackincomics]

[marvelsrp]

HEROES FOR HIRE

While many marvels take to hiding their powers, there are those who have learned to monetize their unique skills. Heroes for Hire is an organization offering its services out for a price, performing superhero antics throughout the city. While on the books they operate as investigators, bounty hunters, and collectors, their operations often cross into the realm of vigilantism, putting them in increasing opposition to local law enforcement. But you got to make a living somehow.

THE KNIGHT NYPD Detective Mercedes Knight has given up a lot to protect the city of New York, included her arm, since replaced with a bionic prosthetic. On the front lines with the rise of superpowered individuals, the knight is confronted by those who operate outside the confines of the law. These people may be extraordinary, and may intend to do good, but theirs are opposite sides of a thin blue line.

THE UNBREAKABLE Luke Cage was an innocent man, incarcerated and experimented on for a crime he did not commit. Once released, he found himself blessed (cursed?) with impenetrable skin, and incredible strength. He may want to live an ordinary life, but times have changed, and his town has changed. New York suffers, and he has the strength to carry some of its burdens, and the resilience to take on its wounds.

THE FIST Billionaire CEO of Rand Enterprises, Danny was once thought to be lost with his parents in a tragic crash. He was saved by the warriors of a mystical kingdom called K'un-Lun, where he trained and earned his power by taking it from his vanquished foe: a dragon. Armed with new power, the fist has returned to New York, but finds problems more complicated than what he's trained for. His company has turned corrupt in his absence, and its effects trickle down into the streets. It's his obligation to make amends, starting by funding and sheltering a new heroic team.

THE HAWKEYE Young Katherine Bishop is the daughter of a wealthy Manhattanite family, whose riches protected her from the consequences of a rebellious lifestyle. Perhaps it was her hellion attitude that prompted her to take the title of “superhero” after a chance encounter with an arrow-launching Avenger. She’s the (real) world’s greatest marksman, and no, it's not "just a phase". Kate Bishop is here to stay and out to prove herself, and becoming a successful Hero for Hire seems like a good place to start. She has a keen eye for the team as her name suggests, with the invaluable perspective her youth and mortality provides.

THE P.I. A hardboiled detective, scraping out a living in the rough streets of New York. After falling into a coma due to a severe car accident, an experimental treatment brought her back to the world, but left young Jessica Jones with enhanced strength. When grown, she established her own private investigation firm, developing contacts throughout the city and beyond. Orphaned as a child, Jessica finds an opportunity for a new family in a ragtag group of “heroes”.

THE SAMURAI A descendent of a long line of samurai, Colleen Wing was trained since youth to be a martial artist and to wield the family’s thousand year old katana. Determined to unveil the mysterious circumstances of her mother’s death, she developed the skills of a detective, particularly in finding missing persons. These gifts of mind and steel have allowed her to support herself while seeking the truth of her mother.

This ad is brought to you by Marvels, a unique Marvel RPG coming soon to Jcink Premium. Join our Discord for details.

[seize-the-droid]

The Endless List of Favorite Characters ☆ Luke Cage [ Luke Cage ]

↳ “You can’t fix me. I’m unbreakable.”

[janiedean]

Yo I’m in the same boat as you, I’m only going to watch Luke Cage for Danny. Is it worth it?????? I mean it’s Danny of course it’s worth it. But I haven’t even seen season 1 so I’m both dreading and looking forward to this. Gosh the things we do for our precious lil cinnamon roll. Does Colleen make an appearance at all? Or is it just Danny?

first of all HELLO FELLOW DANNY STAN WELCOME TO THE APPRECIATION BLOG :DDDDDDD

other than that: I think LC is an excellent show all-around tho S1 was better (I haven’t finished 2 yet and likely won’t until monday) but it’s admittedly not to all tastes - I really liked S1 tho so if you want to give it a try you can, but if you just care about danny and colleen, she’s in ep. 3 of LC S2 and danny is in 10 but they have an adorable shippy thing offscreen in 4 (IS2G THEY SENT JOINT LETTERS THAT LOOK LIKE WEDDING INVITATION THEY’RE SO PRESSHHHH)

THAT SAID, RE THE THINGS WE DO FOR THE CINNAMON ROLL: I KNOW. I KNOW. DOING THE MARATHON YESTERDAY WHEN I COULD BARELY KEEP MY EYES OPEN WAS A LABOR OF LOVE BUT MAN IS2G IT’S ENTIRELY WORTH IT THAT EPISODE IS GOLD

[amanitacaplan]

[ratherdieasthedevil]

Fucking...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Matt: "I still hear neon"

Luke: "Who hears neon?"

Jessica: "My blind but maybe not lawyer"

Luke: WTF

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny: "Are those pork?"

Matt (while visibly having a very stressful 'goddammit I'm not supposed to be doing Daredevil shit but I'm getting dragged into this and I can't hate it because I like doing this' moment): "No, those are shrimp. Oh wait, this guy's got pork."

Danny: "Sweet"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Stick walks in the room talking his mystical shit*

Matt very clearly thinking something along the lines of "forgive me father because I'm about to punch this old man in the face": 🙃

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They're all sarcastic, hilarious assholes and I love them so goddamn much holy shit

[athenadcvell]

Anyone else got that one fanfic they started writing like two or three years ago, and it’s kinda cringy and not really good but you keep updating it every couple of months because there is a tiny group of like four people that still reads it and enjoys it? Because ya, same. 

[fictionxlover]

i want misty’s black leather jacket.

[brw]

ranking random marvel men by how helpful i think they are in domestic settings

tony stark – 0/10 cannot cook cannot clean if you tell me otherwise ill bite you he has never cleaned a day in his life and that's okay.

simon williams – 0/10 has also never cleaned a day in his life and sure as hell won't start now.

thor odinson – 0/10 like he thinks he's being super helpful but he keeps accidentally breaking things and smashing plates and making a mess in the kitchen but he acts real cute about it so nobody gets mad at him really.

bruce banner – 1/10 he does his best but disaster follows him wherever he goes. he can't help it. everything that can go wrong will go wrong. he tries to make a nice meal and the fridge breaks so nothing is cold and the oven destroys the meat and the vegetables all get overboiled and he drops the wine bottle and it smashes on the carpet and and and it's just a bad time. he's doing his best.

roberto da costa – 1/10 you didn't marry him for his domestic skills.

bucky barnes – 2/10 keeps putting knives in random ass places n doesn't tell you.

logan howlett – 3/10 look he's a good cook and remembers to stock the fridge but he tracks blood in like at least once a week and it takes forever to remove from the carpet.

remy lebeau – 4/10 points deducted for not washing himself

bishop – 5/10 he grew up in a dystopia with on rations and it shows. the only thing you're eating with him is rehydrated beef or some shit. keeps the cleanest sparsest environment you've ever seen though

hank pym – 6/10 generally good at cooking, cleaning, buying shit etc but uhhh succumbs to the Horrors bimonthly

pietro maximoff – 7/10 will clean everything that gets messy, he likes a clean environment, but hates buying food vocally and gets kitchen rage when making food, his food is very good though

reed richards – 7/10 has made various machines to do washing, cleaning, cooking, laundry etc but cannot be trusted in a supermarket unattended, struggles to cook generally but can be trusted to make a few really good meals

luke cage – 8/10 i don't think he can cook for shit but he is great for remembering shopping and keeping things clean and tidy and we know he's a great dad so .

scott summers – 8/10 cleans everything, has a photographic memory of what's in the fridge and seems to telepathically know when something is broken or needs replacing but the only thing he serves is soup.

sam wilson – 10/10 good at cooking, remembers groceries, loves hosting people, keeps getting nice expensive wines to enjoy over the weekend as a nice treat from all the captain america shenanigans

steve rogers – 10/10 likes to clean likes to cook enjoys just relaxing and doing chores when not captain america-ing, will absolutely pick up stuff for dinner back from a fight with hydra or whatever

[bynightafangirl]

My new Luke Cage Pop is up at my office! Soooo Happy! 

[acciolockscreens]

shades

like/reblog if saved/used follow us for more lockscreens ♡

[marvelsrp]

“Just because you're a woke superhero doesn't mean you have to be a broke superhero.”

Marvels Is a brand new Marvel universe reboot on Jcink Premium. We’re currently looking for members to fill in a Heroes For Hire roster, starting with the man with impenetrable skin and a mammoth heart: Luke Cage!

Visit our request here, and join us on Discord!

[bexterbex]

A Soul to Mend His Own | Ch. 65

Warning, PLEASE CHECK TAGS IF YOU SEE SOMETHING YOU DON’T WANT TO READ THEN DON’T READ. | Tag lists are closed | INBOX OPEN

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Will tag as I go along, Will update tags, Slow Burn, Influenced by Star Trek and other Sci-Fi themes, References to We Happy Few, Tons of References and quotes to George Orwells 1984 see if you can find them all, The First Order is the new Big Brother,  but who is really surprised, Blatant Nazi Symbolism, Interrogation Themes, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Really just drawn out Slow Burn, Don’t repost without permission, Torture themes, Suggestive Themes, Execution themes, Disturbing Themes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Controlling Kylo Ren, Physical Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, Possessive Kylo Ren, A character shamelessly based on Zelda

A Kylo Ren x Modern! Reader in a soulmate au with canon divergence. —————————————SLOWBURN————————————–

He is already the Supreme leader, searching the universe to find you, his Empress. Your name on his wrist has been the only constant in his life, while you have doubts about his existence and his acceptance of you. He isn’t in the database and why did the name Kylo Ren cover Ben Solo?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 65: A Rose by Any Other Name

You both entered your chambers, where your staff was waiting for you, Kylo ordered them to get out. You were to be alone with him, he told your ladies-in-waiting that there would be no need for them to get you ready for bed. You were to be his and his alone tonight.

“I will be leaving tomorrow, and I won’t see you until the ceremony, so I want you to myself tonight, Kitten.” His arms wrapped around your waist as he drew you close. Your eyes met the chrome of his mask, his muzzle.

He crashed his helmet down into your lips, you would be kissing but the helmet was blocking his reciprocation of your lips. You were unsure what to do, but you obeyed what seemed to be his command kissing the helmet, wrapping your arms around his neck, letting your tongue graze over the cool metal, feeling the red seams where it was repaired following them. You heard a synthesized groan come from the mask before, “Kitten. I do not know how much longer I can hold out. It is lucky for you that I will not return until you can be made Empress.”

His words sent shivers down your spine as one of his hands traced down your back. He released you for a second but not really, you felt the Force wrap its own protective limbs around you, in tendrils just like it had done with your brain.

You heard Kylo’s deep harsh chuckle once the mask was off, “I think my Force likes you.” You could see the smirk form on his face as one of the invisible tendrils moved up your bare leg, you felt the hem of your dress get tugged as you felt it wrap tightly around your lower thigh, “I think it likes you almost as much as I do.” He then pulled you back to his broad chest. You felt the tendrils slowly unwrap their hold on you.

His lips meeting your own, his teeth pulling your bottom lip with such a force you thought he was actually going to take a bite out of it. His teeth clashing into yours. He growled into the meat of your mouth like a hungry ravenous dog. His tongue bullying yours around like its own personal punching bag. You were held hostage in the cage of his arms, the rational part of your brain not really fighting back. Eventually, his lips abandoned yours to leave marks along your neck. Almost as if he was feasting on your flesh. In the crook of your neck, he laughed out, “Soon you will be known to the galaxy as the fair maiden that has tamed the bloodthirsty beast that is Kylo Ren.” His nips made way to your collarbone and down the neckline of your dress. Leaving deep bruises in the supple tender flesh.

“But I’m not a maiden, not really.”

He removed his head from your chest and met your eyes with an intense frown. “I know, and I am not happy about it.” His hand gripped your jaw, “If I didn’t have more important things to do I would hunt down every last one of them. You are mine and only mine.” His lips collided into yours, his hunger taking over once more. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

This was a question that you knew you were probably going to have to answer at some point. You hadn’t viewed your virginity as such an important construct since you were in middle school. You lost it because you doubted Ben/Kylo’s existence, he wasn’t in the database, he wasn’t on social media, you began to doubt his existence. You also knew that it was more common for people to have platonic relationships with their matches, and you didn’t want to break your heart with the rejection. So you mainly messed around in college, it wasn’t that big of a deal to most people, but then again Kylo wasn’t most people.

“Why didn’t you wait,” you countered. If he was going to accuse you, he couldn’t do so without being held accountable for his own actions.

“Because Kitten, for me it was a right of passage with the Knights, a way to break my previous training and vow against attachments. My uncle, Luke Skywalker, took the traditional vow of chastity and a vow against attachments. I knew that would never be the life I wanted, as your name was a part of me.” His hand then grabbed your wrist and his thumb glided over his name. “I was also inexperienced, something I would never have wished upon you, a lack of skill, but I promise that you are the only one I have ever been attached to.” His lips glided over yours, “But you still need to answer my question Kitten. Why didn’t you wait for me?”

“Because I didn’t know if I would ever find you. I also did not know if you would ever accept me as your match, so I prepared myself. I also have never viewed my virginity as something special.”

“Then why are we waiting Kitten?” He was slightly agitated either from regular frustration or sexual frustration.

“Because you are special,” you said sweetly. With a smirk on your face, “And because you promised that I would be Empress first.” You leaned in to give him a sweet kiss, which he reciprocated. For a moment before your stomach growled out of hunger, you had missed lunch and it was slowly approaching dinner time.

“Hungry Kitten,” he asked with a smirk. His lips teasing your ear.

“Yes.”

He then led you out onto the patio, where you sat in the lounge chairs. He ordered food for you both. Once you both finished eating he beckoned you over to his chair, to sit on his lap. You complied as you felt the Force wrap around you again. For a bit Kylo was content with you just laying back against his chest, while the tendrils of the Force caressed over your body. Eventually, a tendril played with a lock of your hair and Kylo’s hand came to caress your face.

“I do not know how long I will be gone Kitten, will you miss me?”

You sat up and turned around in his lap, you were now lying chest to chest. “Of course I will.”

His hand found the back of your head as he brought it forward, to kiss the crown of your head. You scooted down to lay your head on his chest and listened to his beating heart. The heart many in the galaxy claimed he did not own. He was a beast, a mutt of a man. He compared you to a fair maiden, but in truth, you were more of the rose that he kept under the glass. Something he cherished above all else.

You knew most of the galaxy couldn’t see this demon man be as gentle as he was right now. He was an absolute horrid creature in their eyes, something that would trample a rose like you instead of protecting it. But they didn’t know what his heart held. The spot he carved out for you long ago, when your name was the only thing that kept him going.

His fingers played in your hair, the pressure of the Force gone. “It’s time for bed Kitten. Tomorrow I shall leave you and when we see each other again you will be crowned Empress.”

You moved to stand and he followed. You made your way to your dressing room and got ready for bed. When you exited Dr. Dabrini was speaking to Kylo in a hushed tone. As you approached them the doctor faced you. “M’lady I have returned to administer the sleeping medication. I suggest you lie down as it will take effect quickly.”

You nodded in response and did as you were told. He gave you the drug and a glass of water to take with it. Once taken he told you that he would be back in the morning to access its effectiveness, and took his leave.

Kylo joined you on the bed, only after stripping off the lounge pants that he wore for the doctor’s sake. He crawled up next to you. “I’m sorry I am unable to protect you like I should.” A kiss fell on your lips.

“It’s all right, you heard the doctor earlier, we are too compatible and for this it's a bad thing but for everything else it's good.” You carded your hand through his raven hair. Kissing him again.

He settled over you as he kissed over your love mark riddled neck. Unlike before the kisses and nips were gentle as you felt sleep take over. And not just a normal sleep, a black sleep of nothingness for which you were thankful.

No dreams. No surprise dream visits. Only blackness, that was now a comfort as it reminded you of your match, your black eyed monster that only cared for you. A twin soul that shared the galaxy with you.

A/N: A short chapter because I was busy and then my brain couldn't brain.