#cujo will love you with all his heart

[finemealprompt]

DP x DC Prompt #43

Cujo was a good boy. He was! He promises! He just didn't want to sit still when Danny asked him to. How could he! There were so many scents to explore, so many spirits around, too many things to do to sit still!

Unfortunately, Cujo got lost. And scared. It's a big city, and he was told he wasn't allowed to turn big and go on a rampage or else he wouldn't get to go on trips with Danny anymore. So he wanders, trying to get back to where he was.

Then, a young boy runs across Cujo. He speaks softly, is kind, and doesn't seem off put by his abnormal coloring. So, Cujo decides to go with the boy! Danny won't be that mad ... right?

[bet-on-me-13]

The First Supervillain

So! A Typical "Early Start" AU where the events of The Show happen early in the Timeline. Like, in the 70's or 80's.

Danny never quite managed to fix his Public Perception, and even years into his career people still saw him as the Villain.

Coincidentally Valerie was seen as a Hero because of how often they were seen fighting. Even after they revealed their Identities and got together, they still had the occasional Battle. It was their love language.

His role as the Villain was Cemented when Pariah launched his Second Invasion of Earth after some dumbass accidentally freed him, and Danny took the Blame for it. Instead of being seen as the Hero who battled Pariah and stopped the Invasion, he was seen as the Tyrant to launched the Invasion in the first place, with Red Huntess being the one to defeat him in one final Ultimate Battle.

And honestly? He was fine with that. Now that he was the King of the Ghost Zone, he had the Authority to Regulate the Portal so villains stopped getting through. And that meant that he wasn't needed to stop random Ghost Attacks anymore. He could finally focus on College and his own Life, instead of sacrificing everything to act as the Protector of the Human Realm.

Val continued to be a Hero for a few more years, eventually retiring when it became Clear that the new generation of Heroes could pick up the Slack.

He went to College, got a Job as an Aerospace Engineer, and eventually proposed to Valerie.

About 20 years since his initial Accident, and he was doing great! He had moved into a humble home on the edge of town with his loving wife Val, his beautiful daughter Ellie, and his cute dog Cujo.

Yeah, life was good.

Until the day Danny accidently caused a Mass Crisis.

...

Superman was having some extreme trouble in dealing with his current Opponent. He had just been flying around the City, patrolling as Usual, when all of a sudden he had been attacked by a Flying Mech Suit.

At first he had assumed that Lex was giving it another Go, but he quickly realized that was not the case when the Armor seemed to Phase though solid matter in the middle of the battle. Lex had never made Tech advanced enough to do that on the fly.

This opponent was tough too. Strong enough and Durable enough to go blow for blow with him, and seemingly able to pull Advanced Weaponry from out of nowhere whenever he wanted. As tough as it was to admit, Superman as losing the Battle.

Then, without warning, the battle stopped. His opponent was staring at the space just behind him, with a look of pure dread. He turned around, and his heart stopped.

Floating behind him, staring right past him and directly at the Mech Suit, was the First Villain Phantom.

He looked much the same as when he had last been seen, although he was definitely Older. He had snow white hair, and glowing green eyes that seemed to stare right past him and into his very soul. He was wearing what seemed to be a costume of sorts, with an all black suit, white gloves, and white boots. Over his Shoulders sat a Cloak made of Stars, and above his head sat a Crown made of an Icy Blue Fire.

The Mech tried for a greeting, "Er- Hello t-Lord Phantom. How do you d-"

"Skulker."

"Y-yes?"

"What are you doing here? I thought I gave you explicit orders to stay in the Ghost Zone until further notice. You disobeyed me."

"Okay look. I got excited, that's my fault. It's just, I got anxious waiting. Can you really blame me? I've been waiting 20 years to take another Crack at the Human World, what's it matter if I left a few weeks Early?"

"I told you. You were supposed to wait exactly 20 Years, and you left Early. This calls for punishment."

"No wait!"

"Let's see how you feel after a few days as Soup."

The Villain pulled out a Thermos, and in a flash of green light, Skulker was gone, and the King was capping the Thermos. He then turned to Superman.

"I apologize for him, he decided to leave ahead of schedule." The King addressed him. "Now, Kryptonian. Rest and tend to your wounds, you will need to be in your best health if you want to continue saving the lives of those people below us."

With a dramatic flare, the King reached up and Tore a hole in Space. Through the Hole, Superman could only see an infinite Green Void, with the sound of screams cheering being heard through the rift.

The King departed through the Tear in Spacetime, and it closed behind him.

Superman tried to collect himself, and activated his League Emergency Comms.

"Attention All Founding Members, and Justice League Dark Members. This is Superman calling for an immediate Emergency Meeting."

He took a deep breath.

"Phantom is Back."

[bullet-prooflove]

I’ll be damned if I do give a damn what other people say

Tagging: @kmc1989

People start to talk when they see you around with Jake.

She’s not his usual type they say, she’s not pretty enough, attractive enough. She’s too nice for him, it’ll be over in a week. You take it on the chin because that’s the cost of doing business when you’re a woman in the military. You’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.

All that matters to you is that he treats you well and to his credit Jake does. He’s the first one up in the morning, taking Cujo for a walk so you can sleep in a couple of extra minutes, he checks the tire pressure on your car because he hates the thought of something happening when your driving off base at night. He even takes out the garbage, a task your last few ex-boyfriends went out of their way to avoid.

“Gotta make sure you have a reason to keep me around.” He says half seriously when you thank him for topping off the oil in your car and that’s when you realise this thing between the two of you means a lot more to him than you give him credit for.

“You know I don’t need a reason to keep you around.” You tell him that night when you’re in bed together. You’re tangled up underneath the navy blue sheets, his thumb lightly caressing the apple of your cheek. “I like spending time with you, being with you…”

“Jenna…” he says softly, his nose tracing lightly along yours. “I know I have a reputation, I know what they say about me on base…”

He trails off then because you know exactly what he’s talking about.

Hangman has more notches on his bedpost than all the pilots put together on the Top Gun programme, he’s left a trail of broken hearts in his wake throughout military bases all over the world.

But Hangman isn’t Jake, not the one you know.

He’s not the man you met one sunny morning whilst you were on a run with Cujo, the one that double checks the house is locked up at night or walks you to your car when the lights in the parking lot is out.

“I know.” You promise him, your lips brushing over his. “You are so much more than any of that.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[leviathanleva]

Cujo

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Supersoldier!FemReader

Description: A monster in human skin, a weapon disguised as a person, no thoughts, no emotion, as per design. He despises you and everything you stand for. He’s tried to kick you out of his squad and failed, he’s made it his mission to break you no matter the cost.

It comes as a surprise when he asks you to lie and say you love him.

[4.5k words]

[Angst, Blood and Injury, Graphic Depiction of Injury]

Chapter 4 "Brandy Bonbons"

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The abocath in your arm is pumping a translucent fluid in your veins, the medics refused to tell him what it was because he had no clearance. They also refused to put you in a cast in case you woke up and decided to fix your broken bones and displaced limbs yourself.

No matter how much Simon had insisted and yelled, they’d still refused, because apparently someone above him was pulling strings and had them all on a leash. Of course there was a big fish involved, your life was on the line after all and even through your hypothetically final moments they still refused to leave you in peace.

So he was stuck just helplessly lounging next to your bed in the cramped room they’d set you up in, nursing his bruised ribs and glass cuts while you lay there, silent and scarily motionless.

It’s been a week already and he hasn’t moved an inch despite John’s insistence that he at least get some proper sleep. He’d been glued to you since they’d extracted you from the remains of that car, all bent joints and speckles of blood. He’d been right next to you, rushing in with the doctors who tried to wheel you away but couldn’t get him to budge no matter how much they’d plead and tried to apply force. He refused to leave, not after what you’d done for him.

Your life for his.

You’d abandoned your primary mission because of a mistake he’d done, thrown your well-being to the side just to preserve the rotten heart he nurtured. You’d jumped from the roof of a twenty-story building for him, no protection, no plan, no fear, just for him, because it at least gave you a small chance at saving him. You’d selflessly thrown him to safety, thinking of him before yourself as always, and had taken the full fall all by yourself.

He should have been there with you, you should have just perished together and been freed of the limitations of your lives.

Now you were bed-bound, your body was shattered, you couldn’t breathe without a special apparatus they’d wheeled in to try and preserve you. You were blue and black all over, pummeled to a pulp. Simon wanted to touch you, caress your cheek tenderly and whisper in your ear that it’ll all be okay, that he won’t leave until you’re better, but he was scared that even your skull was fractured.

He was scared to breathe in your direction.

Even though you were their best soldier, they still treated you like a dog, didn’t even add any pain suppressants to whatever concoction they were feeding your bloodstream. Whether it was because they didn’t know exactly how to help you or because they knew you’d eventually rise again and couldn’t be bothered was uncertain.

But what about the pain you endured? Did nobody care?

He cared…

All of this because of him. He couldn’t stand the thought.

No matter the lack of expression on your face in the presence of any injury, he knew you still hurt. He’d do anything in his power to make it better, would take you away if he could, somewhere far away where the clutches of your creators couldn’t reach you, somewhere where you could be free to do whatever you wanted.

And if you still wanted him around even after he’d set you free, he’d happily oblige.

But he couldn’t. He had no power here, he was as useless as they came.

All Simon could do was keep you company and renew the cluster of orchids placed on the nightstand by the bed. You’d said they smelled the best, he hadn’t forgotten.

It was a gut-wrenching existence, but one he was willing to soldier for you. He was ready to do anything for you. Just like you were for him. The only difference was that his devotion came from the heart while yours was embedded into you during training and was strictly professional.

But then again, you’d gone against everything you stood for a week ago, just for him. You’d blatantly disobeyed orders in favor of his life. This gave him hope that maybe somewhere deep down, there was still a small flicker of humanity left in you.

It gave him hope that there was still a chance for you… and for him.

He’d never realized just how human he was before he’d met you. He’d thought himself a stone-cold military weapon. Then you’d come along and everything he’d believed in had been wiped off the board.

The more anomalous you were the more human he became so he could bring you back to the world you’d left behind with your augmentations.

He sighs and shifts uncomfortably in the foldable chair that’s too small to hold his large frame properly.

The sun is finally rising, he sees it peeking beyond the window – lazy and unbothered. Another day of sitting around waiting is ahead of him.

Simon rubs the sleep from his eyes and stretches the stiffness out of his joints before standing, and even though you can’t hear him, he still mumbles that he’ll be right back.

He’s at the door, holding onto the frame absentmindedly because he has to duck to walk through it.

One last longing glance in your direction before he heads off to grab a cup of coffee and sober up. The staff probably have it prepared already, it’s become a ritual, every day at sunrise he was at the coffee machine waiting his turn for a cup full of a bitter, scalding dose.

But then your eyes shift beneath your lids and he’s frozen in place for half a second before he’s at your bedside. His hands are looming over you, desperate to glide to your shoulders and shake you awake, but he doesn’t dare. Too much is whirring in his head that he wants to say, but he settles for something simple.

“Hound?”

The first signs of awakening begin. You groan, throat most likely parched, then shift slightly, and your breath hitches and he can’t fathom how much discomfort you’re experiencing at that moment.

You barely manage to roll your head on the pillow to face him and when you see it’s him the haze in your eyes starts to dissipate.

“Lieutenant?” The word leaves you as a weak rasp and he reaches for the water bottle sitting on top of your nightstand.

The distinct deaf sound of your bones popping back in their correct order makes him sick, he sees your bent wrist snap back into place, your legs move under the thin white blanket, creaking softly until all damage is repaired completely. It’s amazing as it is cursed to see something so unnatural – regeneration polished to perfection. You roll your neck, cracking it thoroughly before taking the needle out of your vein and the oxygen mask off your face. Supposedly, the black eye, bruises, and cuts were superficial injuries you’d deal with later.

They’d never set up a heart monitor for you because why would they? The odds of you dying were unfathomably low.

“Easy now, luv.” He coos and leans forward, wrapping an arm around your upper back to help you sit up when you begin to fidget restlessly. He has the lid of the water bottle pressed to your lips next and you’re chugging it down so quickly he’s worried it won’t be enough to sate you. “Want more? I can – ”

“ – They’ll move me.” You say between hungry breaths, interrupt him sharply, and look up at him as your cheek comes to rest against his shoulder.

His jaw tightens under the mask and the hand that’s gently kneading your back halts.

“What?” It’s stupid to ask, he already knows the reason, but a part of him refuses to believe it. The same part that dotes over you and doesn’t want to let you go. So he asks anyway in the hopes that the words about to come out of your mouth are different from his expectations.

“They’ll move me from your Squad. I didn’t manage to secure the target. Failure is not an option for me.” You deliver the devastating information as if you’re reading numbers off a chart.

“They won’t. Won’t let ‘em.” He twists the now empty plastic bottle and tosses it at the bin with visible malice.

He feels the invisible shrug that rolls off your shoulders. There isn’t a spec of anxiety on your face, you’re at peace with the outcome, having accepted your fate already.

And he’s thrust right back to the start where you don’t care who leads you as long as they do their job right. His absence wouldn’t matter in the slightest to you. It forces the breath out of his lungs, how uncaring you are, how you can just brush him off after risking your life for him.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“The fuck do you mean it doesn’t ma’er.” Ghost bristles up at your lack of retaliation. The arm that’s been keeping you up retracts and crosses with its twin in front of his chest. “Course it fuckin’ ma’ers.”

“You’re alive.” You say as if that fact would make it all better, that it was a fair trade to lose your position due to his well-being. “I’ll take my consequences.”

He leaves your side, paces back and forth next to your bed and you, the ever-watchful dog, follow him unblinking as he contemplates silently.

The heating system buzzes softly, accompanying his thoughts with pleasant white noise which he doesn’t succumb to. It’s not enough to quell his anger.

His heart bleeds from your words, it shows in his slouched shoulders and jittery steps.

You can’t just say that his life is worth yours, your job, everything. You can’t do this to him and then expect him not to drown on thoughts of you before he goes to sleep every night.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Cadet?” He growls finally, voice like gravel as he turns to look at you over his shoulder.

“Please…please say you did it because you wanted to…”

But you don’t. Because of course, you don’t. I can never be that easy.

“I was told to protect my comrades in combat. That’s what I did.” You answer matter-of-factly, cool and collected even after nearly losing your life. It was irksome, he’d hoped that after such a close call with death, something would have changed in you, but he was as usual wrong.

“Ye? And what about your other orders?” He barks back viciously, pushing desperately for something, anything that would steer away from your typical answers. “Unless the target is within direct eyesight.”

“If you’re worried about being punished, don’t.” You try to sooth him in your own heartless way, but your direction as to his malady couldn’t be more wrong. “They’ll do nothing to you.”

It’s not his hide he’s worried about, but yours. He could care less about what your stuck-up superiors had in store for him. They could try anything, but he was an old dog in this industry and he wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Tha’s not…” He scoffs, shakes his head in disbelief and clenches his fists to maintain his boiling outburst. “I can’t bloody stand you sometimes.”

Why was it so hard for you to admit that you’d done something based on emotion? Why were you so ashamed of harboring a fondness for him?

“Your feelings toward me mean nothing.” It’s your turn to berate him now and you spare no expense, malevolently beating down on him and reminding him how little he truly mattered to you. Trying to shatter that ignorant cocoon he had encased himself in because you were bored of being his scapegoat. “I need a guide, whether you or someone else it makes no difference to me. I need a leader, not man who cannot separate work from personal interest and misunderstands indifference for acceptance to his advances” He’s staring you down, trying to seal your lips with a searing glare, but it’s ineffective and you spit out one last batch of venom before going quiet. “You've failed me”

Fuck the coffee, he needed a smoke.

He pats his pocket to check if his pack is still there before ripping his eyes off you and turning for the door.

“Where are you going?”

Simon doesn’t answer, just briefly stops before disappearing behind the door. It shuts with a bang behind him, he takes a deep breath of hospital air as soon as it does, lets his lids flutter for a second to compose himself. He gets a few questionable glances, apparently, your argument hadn’t gone unheard, but he didn’t mind. Nobody would approach him, they had no right sticking their noses in his business as much as he didn’t in theirs.

He trudges through the hallway, passing by various medical staff bringing in patients or rushing to deliver tubs of medication. The coat of white paint over everything overwhelms his eyes, makes them sting and dampen and he squints to blink back the moisture. The world feels like it’s speeding around him, passing away while he’s stuck in one place.

A group of suits step by him on the way out, all of them spotless in their attire, suitcases in hand, hair combed to perfection, and slicked back to free their unfriendly faces. They stick out like a sore thumb on the base, even Ghost’s superiors couldn’t match their confident stride – all business. His gaze hardens at the sight of them and he looks back once they’ve walked past him.

They enter the room he’d just left, your room. His pulse speeds up at the inclination and he has half a mind to turn back and come to you for aid because he suspects who the men are.

Your bosses, maybe your makers even. People that didn’t belong on his base and had no business talking to his Cadet without his supervision.

But who was he to intervene when you so desperately wanted to be rid of him?

He sighs and listens to his own boots squeak against the spotless floor as they carry him forward instead of backward. Shadows rush past him, faceless entities he cares little for, a blurred cacophony of voices, some calm, some throwing out rushed orders. The fluorescent lights above his head bade his splotchy shadow, his only companion in this sickening place.

Simon fucking hates hospitals, always has.

The chill of the morning welcomes him when he finally pushes through the entrance doors and comes face to face with the sunrise.

He shoulders the wall and pulls out his cigarettes before tugging down his mask enough to free his mouth and securing one between his lips.

He lights it, takes a long drag and puffs out a breath.

“Fucking ‘ell, Hound…”

He felt like an idiot for having hung around your bed for a week worrying over your condition, thinking that once you woke up you’d cling to him for help, that your leap of faith had meaning behind it besides orders.

But the way you’d spoken had crushed those dreams completely and now he was left questioning everything.

Maybe he was harassing you. Pushing you to your limits and trying to drag you into something you truly didn’t want. Somewhere between wanting to prove that you’re still human, he’d lost himself. His mission was no longer to find out if you still had a heart, but that that heart beat for him as much as his did for you. He’s not sure when his obsession with you evolved into infatuation, when his orders for you to smile became orders to kiss him.

It was unnerving to think back on his actions if your words rang true and you felt nothing but loyalty to him as your Lieutenant. He was abusing his power over you, he was a fucking menace…

Another drag of his cigarette, a longer one to calm the thundering thoughts that are beating down on him for being just another disgusting man taking advantage of you.

He digs the heel of his shoe in the dirt, kicks out a pebble and stares down at it absentmindedly, he’s not really there, he’s busy giving himself a mental whooping for his actions.

The realization sinks in slowly, like a disease it takes over his every fiber until he’s nothing but self-loathing.

How had you even managed to stand him for so long without an outburst?

Because that’s how you were taught, take everything being thrown at you without a care. Nothing matters but your missions and performance.

He sees Johnny and Kyle pass by in the distance, they notice him and give him a nod, the good lads, too soft of heart to try and pry him out of the infirmary unlike their Captain. He nods back and continues smoking, decides then that maybe he’ll get his coffee from the cafeteria and have breakfast with his Squad. Quit sulking and praying for your reciprocation and finally leave you in peace. You were fine, after all, it had taken you a whole of five minutes to recover after you’d awoken.

You didn’t need him, you never had. If anything, he was a hindrance to you, all of them were, but you ignored that fact and acted as if most missions didn’t fail because of their incompetence compared to yours.

Yeah…

He’d had enough of chasing fairy tales, it was time to come back to the real world.

Ghost feels the wall behind him vibrate with a sudden thud and pushes off it suddenly. His first thought is an earthquake, but the ground beneath him wasn’t shifting or shaking, it was just the wall. The medical bay had shuddered.

It dawns on him and he’s rushing back inside in an instant, his cigarette discarded on the dirt and forgotten. He speedwalks through the hallway, past the shaken-up staff, his large strides take him directly to your door where he’s prepared to barge in. But he sees the damage done through the small round glass and stops dead in his tracks.

A spider web of cracks covers one of the walls, the side of your fist at the center. And your superiors don’t seem to be completely unphased. They stand opposite of your bed in a cluster, a few feet away, briefcases to their chests, papers scattered on the floor. His jaw clenches at the sight of them – contracts for other organizations, they’d given you ample choice now that you’d proven your usefulness.

“Fucking bastards…”

There’s nothing on your face to indicate what had transpired while he was away.

Though your actions speak loud enough to make his hands shake.

You’d refused whatever they’d said. You’d rebelled.

You’d chosen him.

And it wasn’t like these sorts of people to just accept an uprise, but maybe coming from you it was too much to handle at present. Maybe they hadn’t been prepared for the minuscule chance that you were slowly starting to develop a mind of your own. He was almost proud if not for the bubbling malice at the sight of them.

A handful of muffled words are exchanged and you feign a lunge off the bed to which Ghost sees one visibly shudder. Before long they’re out the door, disappearing as mysteriously as they’d appeared. He moves to the side not to bump into them, wants to take a shower after being within such close proximity to them.

You’re pulling your clothes on when he enters, having discarded the lanky hospital robe you’d been adorned with while unconscious. The uniform hasn’t looked worse on you yet, everything hangs, you’ve melted in the week you’ve been asleep. He took a mental note to drag you to the cafeteria after you were done gathering your things.

Your visage is calm, but your eyes are razor-sharp when you lift them to greet him.

“What the bloody hell ‘appened?”

“Classified.” You shoot back almost automatically and straighten up once you’ve tied your boots in place. “I won’t be getting moved though.”

You stand to stretch, roll your wrists and then your ankles and it’s unbelievable that you’re ready for another mission already, but you are. Aside from the lost weight, you were as good as new.

Sometimes he grew jealous of your recovery time and resilience. Here he was with bruised ribs he’d have to take care of for weeks while you’d been near your last breath a few days ago and now you were talking around with nothing ailing you at all.

“So why the long face then?” Ghost watches you shuffle through your discarded duffle bag, pulling out an old rations bar before sinking your teeth into it like a famished mutt.

You don’t answer. Instead, you wolf down the rest of your snack and sling the bag over your shoulder before trying to walk past him. Casual and unbothered, typical for you, but something lingered beneath the surface, he could smell it and he wasn’t about to lose his chance.

He steps in front of you and crosses his arms, puffing out his chest to reestablish his post above yours.

“You’re in my way.”

When he doesn’t move, you sigh and try to squeeze past him but he purposefully takes up the entirety of the doorframe, trapping you in the room with him.

Damn him and his broad frame.

“Cadet.” He begins evenly and cocks his head to the side in mock confusion and it makes you nearly lash out at him for it. “Wha’s wrong?”

After everything he had the audacity to ask you what was wrong as if he didn’t already know. The countless secretive conversations he kept in store in his mind for as long as the memories would stay, to the forced kisses to the lingering glances you knew he wanted returned.

You try to escape, avoid this conversation altogether, because once you started there would be no stopping you and a tiny part of you that you didn’t acknowledge didn’t want to hurt his feelings. You refused to cause him pain be it physical or emotional, you’d rather cut your own tongue off before ever going against your precious Lieutenant.

Because that’s what good dogs did…

But he was a stubborn man, even in the face of pain he wouldn’t stand down.

If only you could understand why he pushed your buttons so fervently…

If only he could understand that this was not the way to your heart because there was no way…

You try again, one last attempt at sparing you both from the hefty conversation to come, but he’s persistent in his search for the truth and you finally snap.

“You’re what’s wrong, LT.” you hiss sharply, breaking the silence filled by the soft buzz of the heating system. You shake off the thoughts screaming in your ears to spare him, be gentle with him because he was gentle with you always. But you can’t anymore. Because all you want is to love him the same way he loves you but you just fucking can’t. “You keep poking and probing me trying to get something out of me that isn’t there!” Your voice falters, the frustration dissolves as quickly as it had erupted and now there is nothing but melancholy. He thought he was dreaming, but no, your eyes truly were wet with restrained tears. “What do you want from me?”

This…

Him…

He was the first and only reason for you to regret your augmentations. Because he just had to come into your calm life and turn everything upside down with his gentle, calloused hands and soothing words. Because he had to take you on a date and bother you constantly with meaningless talks, asking for your opinion, and caring for you. He had to go refill your tray with food when you couldn’t be bothered, he had to push you behind him on missions and be your shield even though that was literally your job.

He had to keep adding fresh orchids to your med bay nightstand that had lingered in your nostrils for the whole duration of your stay. All of this because you’d simply said they smelled nice once.

He was so kind, he was your angel, your reason to work as hard as you did to succeed in every mission and solidify your spot in his team. This way you could protect him, take bullets for him so he could keep being by your side. This was your way of showing that you weren’t indifferent to him, but he just had to push for something you could not give.

And as much as you wanted to give him whatever he wanted you couldn’t because what the hell did it mean to love him?

“Love me.” He says softly, whispers it out, and lets it hang in the already unbearable air that’s choking both of you mercilessly. “I want you t’ love me.”

“I do love you!” You exclaim, desperate to prove that his love wasn’t the only love that existed and even if you couldn’t reciprocate, you could do everything else to salve over the wounds your rejection caused him.

“Not like a dog.” He laughs a bitter laugh that makes your knees weak with pain and your face burn in irritation. “Like a woman.” He swallows thickly and finally lifts his chocolate brown eyes to meet with your crystal white ones. “A wife.”

You bite into your bottom lip so hard you feel the metallic twinge of blood on your tongue, having sucked it inside your mouth instead of letting out the alien sob that was trying to push its way up your throat.

“I can’t…” You whimper out, regretful, mourning what it could have been if you were both just two normal people. “You know I can’t, Simon. I want to… I just can’t.”

But the bliss of civilian life was unreachable, neither of you could escape the jaws of military life, not while you were both still breathing.

You wish so desperately for a new start, another life, a second life where you could just be happy together, where you had boring jobs, and shared meals in the cozy home you’d managed to save up for and purchase together. You wanted to have a family together, but even that had been taken away from you.

You couldn’t have kids.

Not anymore…

Not after the augmentations had burned your organs to a crisp.

Maybe someday you’d be happy…

But not in this life, this one was already spoilt for the both of you and all you could do was push forward until blissful death found you one day and then you would pray that the next chance you got, you’d find Ghost again no matter how long it took you and you’d finally have your happily ever after.

He stares at you so sincerely, there’s so much vulnerability there you have the urge to collapse into his arms and stay there forever sobbing out your woes.

“Then lie to me.” He says and you squeeze your eyes shut and cover your ears to block out the rest.

<<< Chapter 3

Chapter 5 >>>

Masterlist

[munson-blurbs]

Bug❤️ let me tell you that your idea meet-cute idea is absolutely great, and I was wondering if I can request one with Eddie?

My pronouns are she/her, I would describe myself as shy and quiet, very weird who lives in her own world most of the time (especially around people I don't know very well) but also very stubborn. I love to read Stephen King books, watch TV shows and then overanalyze them and every detail, I love working with colors but also going out to walk, especially at the parks where you can meet some cute ducks. I also really love dogs and cats too.

I would also say that it can be very difficult for me to make friends irl and not much into pda, but with the right person, everything become more easy.

Not sure if what I wrote is good and gave you all you needed, but anyway, thank you for this ❤️

You meet while reading at the park!

CW: I guess some spoilers for 'Salem's Lot, but that's pretty much it WC: 657 Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

There’s no better way to spend a springtime Saturday afternoon in Hawkins than reading by the pond. 

A cool breeze rippled the pages of your book. It wasn’t your first time reading ‘Salem’s Lot, and it probably won’t be your last. With each reread, you noticed different details about Ben Mears’ time hunting down the vampires that have taken over the small town. 

Easing back into the bench, you let Hawkins fade into the background and immersed yourself in the story. What would you do if an evil entity took over your home? Would you fight it off? Would you even recognize that it was, in fact, evil? Or would you be just as clueless as the fictional residents of Jerusalem’s Lot?

You barely had time to ponder your potential fate before a frantic voice cut into your thoughts. 

“Hey! Reginald, wait your turn!”

Your attention slid right to the man sitting cross-legged in front of the pond, a box of crackers in his lap. Three ducklings surrounded him, one shoving himself in front of the others to get the first nibble. 

The man shook his long curls out of his face. “Seriously, dude, you’re being a dick.” He crumbled a cracker in his palm and held it out to the other two ducklings. “Now you’re gonna go last. How do you like that?”

You giggled, and it must’ve been louder than you’d intended, because the guy whipped his head around for a moment to look at you. He was…beautiful. You lost yourself in his eyes for a moment, then in the smile that appeared at the sound of your laughter. 

A third beak pecked at his palm, bringing him back to the task at hand, and he groaned. “Dammit, Reginald!” Resigned, he crumbled up another cracker and let the ducklings eat it. 

Placing a bookmark between the pages, you timidly made your way over to the patch of grass where he sat. “Did you just call that duckling Reginald?” You asked, not hiding the amusement in your tone. 

The man nodded. “Mhm. Named him that myself,” he said proudly. 

“Why ‘Reginald’?”

“Because,” he grinned, “he has that little mark on his neck that looks like a bowtie. Very distinguished. So he needed a name to match.”

You tucked your lips into your mouth to avoid bursting into laughter. “I see,” you managed. “Do the others have names, too?”

“Of course!” He almost sounded offended, like you were inferring some kind of neglect on his part. “The smaller one is Eclair, because she tried to steal an eclair from me the first time we met. And the bigger one is Cujo.”

Your eyes widened and lit up. “Like from the Stephen King book?”

“The one and only.” He grinned proudly. “Though this guy is more of a gentle giant than a rabid, carnivorous monster.” He cocked his head to the side. “And what about you?”

“Hm?”

“Your name. Mine’s Eddie, by the way.”

You introduced yourself, feeling your heart flutter when he repeated your name back to you. It sounded perfect when he said it. Gesturing to the box of crackers, you asked, “can I feed them one?”

“Absolutely.” Eddie narrowed his eyes pensively. “Just don’t fall for any of Reginald’s bullshit. If you do, he’ll walk all over you. Trust me.”

There was an electric spark when your fingertips brushed his as he handed you a cracker. Did he feel that, too?

Meanwhile, Reginald quacked his frustration that you hadn’t yet offered him anything to eat. 

Eddie nudged the overzealous baby bird out of the way. “Hey, you need to be respectful of the cute girl.” He shook his head in mock frustration. “I’m sorry. We’re still working on our manners.”

“I see.” You watched as Eddie corralled the ducklings as best as he could. “Well, I’m happy to help.”

With a shy smile, he watched you feed the crumbs to the ducklings. 

“We’re happy, too.”

--

[marabarl-and-marlbara]

hi Mara, i reread your old A:N fanfic the other day (the hatecorp one), its really interesting and i liked it!! i just wanted to tell you that + im looking forward to the next A:N fic you write ^^

hey anonymous, i appreciate that--really: i don:t think my readership is particularly high and for most of my writing i wholly expect its reception to be little more different than tossing it into a bin, so i:m always pretty happy to hear someone read/liked something i wrote (like someone snuck it out of the bin and read it);

the hatecorp fanfic is a weird one because it was my first 'clash' with going against autofiction and feeling of friction from writing simulacrum of experiences that are not my own--although i:ve been to Clearwater and talked to Scientologists and bought the books and read the books and visited teeny tiny little orgs and been yelled at by protestors and watched the Sea Org march about stony faced before entering shuttles that scuttle around the roads--i had not paid for any courses and my attempts to join the Sea Org were waved off; the hatecorp as it exists for me would stop at the org and with telling the receptionist that i want to join the org, and going home after.

i think it was part ~2 of that fanfic where i felt like i had no idea what i was writing except that i did not like the feeling i had while writing it, "i:m just regurgitating knowledge i know"--it was a fanfiction i couldn:t write with any real heart, so it only had the simulacrum of anothers heart; parts 1, 3, 4 were mostly from me (i still write about the founding sister; there are several unfinished stories about her), but it also wasn:t coincidence that immediately after writing that fanfic i decided to value my own experiences more highly and became fixated upon the Adventists and Ellen White and started re-attending my local church where i had gone for schooling and rehabilitation, and that basically all my writing after became a murk of Adventism and chirality, because, after-all: i am haunted by a ghost of adventism and christianity.

the latest fanfic i:d been working on ('which you can read as a draft on my substack on the monthly paywall posts >:-))' feels like dirt advertising a clunky draft, but i do put all my drafts in those posts) is focused on viva because, lately, i:d been wanting to reconnect with 'old mystiques,' spoon-bending, silvery flying saucers, cattle mutilation, almond-eyed aliens, crop circles, ESP, telekinesis, gangstalking, and of course: 5G, though mostly grafted onto john keel's superspectrum stuff from eighth tower--a move away from Love Corp, and a move away from a childhood in scientology that was not my childhood; i wanted to write about those blue cars i keep seeing, because i keep seeing them; just yesterday they pulled up on the shoulder and far into the grass and nudged up against the sidewalk as soon as i approached and waited for me and idled. there was that anonymous question about "what i would like to tell someone," which i still think is a silly question because as i view myself i have become stuck on a single paranoia and religion that has threaded itself through every single thing i have written and every single thing i have drawn, and every-thing is a desperate attempt to seed that singular rotten datum into everything else in different weathers and soils--and this fanfic is no different, because i can only write from the hauntings of my own experience.

fifth linebreak,

sixth,

seventh,

take care anonymous, thank you very kindly for your readership; unrelated note: i was thinking about "daydream season 3 castle rock" and what i would want to see is "protagonist is a Christine possessed teen who is starting to see the 'shitters' that are befouled by his car, and his attempt to survive the very real infection of the outer-space saucer filled with dead Tommyknockers that are haunting the town from a mile down inside the earth--sideplot is the advertising firm from Cujo is trying to establish itself within the infected town but is facing John Carpenter They Live style opposition"

[redg5]

This might be the most active my blog has ever been. Oh well. Time to talk more phantom because oh my god watching this show again is amazing. Few things I wanted to highlight this time round.

First, Danny really spends a good portion of season one believing most ghosts are evil. Like his opinion does not change until the episode he meets Vlad and it’s because the dairy king guy tells him not all ghosts are evil while helping him. Up until this point, Danny has only met ghosts who want to do him harm in one way or another and this ghost helping him is a shock. Then he takes this lesson to heart and even tells Paulina the same thing in episode 15. Bonus is that this becomes the start of what I like to call the “Superman lover” syndrome. I might go into it more in another post if I keep this up. It’s also after episode 7, the one he meets the king ghost, that we meet friendlier ghosts like Cujo and Wulf. And sometimes Johnny and Kitty, depends on their relationship status that episode.

Then there is the episode you see Danny become afraid to tell his parents the truth. Season 1 episode 15, “Public Enemies”, is when everyone sees phantom in a negative light. This is the episode where it’s clear his parents aren’t afraid to take him down as the ghost boy. Before hand he’s ok with telling his parents for the most part, just trying to find his own way to do so, but after? After his parents despise the ghost boy and that terrifies him. Maybe I’m reading too much into things but like, this show man. I love it.

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Omega!Calum Masterlist

Calm Down, Cujo. (ao3) - orphan_account michael/luke, calum/ashton M, 9k

Summary: Luke was acting so weird. But God, did he smell good.

FutureSex/LoveSounds (ao3) - Migs luke/calum, michael/luke, calum/ashton E, 47k

Summary: Luke is Med student/camboy with a crush on the Footie captain with a secret.

OR: Cake have a lot of hot sex for money whilst trying to pursue romantic relationships with other boys.

How many omegas can you fit into 5 seconds? (ao3) - Little_Marquise michael/luke, calum/ashton, luke/calum M, 579k

Summary: Luke has, as the only beta in a band, always felt a bit left out. While Michael and Ashton are fighting over who will win Calums heart, Luke feels like a piece of him is missing. The delayed piece of him finally catches up with his hectic lifestyle, when he presents as an omega during their Youngblood tour and everything goes absolutely crazy. Muke and Cashton.

i belong with you, you belong with me - @sup3rbloom​ (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) ot4, michael/calum/ashton, luke/calum T, 12k

Summary: Luke presents as an omega during their Youngblood promo. It’s a rollercoaster of emotions, but the boys have his back in the end.

In this Twilight, how Dare you Speak of Grace (ao3) - tigerlily_sunshine ot4 E, 16k

Summary: Michael wakes up one morning and thinks Oh, no.

He has presented. He isn’t the beta he had hoped he would be. He has always known he would never be an omega—not with the build of his body and his inability to follow even the simplest of orders—but he had hoped for beta. Instead, he presents as alpha, and nobody wants to be an uncontrollable alpha with primal desires and a propensity for destroying everyone around them.

(In which Michael presents as an alpha in a society where alphas are feared and dangerous.)

Making a Pack (ao3) - fbiagentdipper calum/ashton, michael/luke T, 33k

Summary: When Luke is put on bed rest because of problems with his heat, he needs his friends and bandmates to help see him through.

Mine (Cake 5sos) (ao3) - orphan_account luke/calum M, 2k

Summary: Calum is in heat and Luke is his alpha

Moonlit Love (ao3) - orphan_account calum/ashton E, 3k

Summary: Ashton is an immortal Alpha and Calum is his Gifted Mate.

road to happiness - @sup3rbloom​ (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) luke/ashton, michael/calum T, 12k

Summary: Calum and Michael get drunk one night before Ashton’s birthday, panicking about a birthday gift.

When Ashton wakes up the morning of his birthday, he really didn’t expect to find an omega standing at his door, looking terrified. Ashton had no idea that this omega would change his life.

safe and sound - @sup3rbloom​ (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) luke/ashton, michael/calum T, 8k

Summary: Luke has been doing good, making progress. Of course, everything goes downhill when Luke runs into one of his old alpha's who "trained him" at a celebrity event. Things go from bad to worse when Calum and Luke are taken by the same alpha's.

secrets no longer kept - @sup3rbloom​ (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) ot4, luke/calum/ashton, michael/ashton T, 9k

Summary: Michael had only wanted to help when he decided to disguise himself as a beta. Their alpha was becoming stressed. Unfortunately for Michael, one slip up causes his mates to find out his secret. His mates react accordingly when they find out Michael’s been an omega this whole time.

wouldn't change a thing - @sup3rbloom​ (haveufoundwhaturlookingfor) luke/ashton, michael/calum T, 5k

Summary: Luke feels guilty about Ashton being stressed all the time, and makes a decision that causes a rift between him and everyone else, but ultimately Luke gets the happy ending he deserves.

[ucantfixhim]

Background

I’ve been subjecting myself to Stephen King for the past year and a half; I’m reading all his novels and collections in publication order (with the caveat that I’m skipping The Dark Tower, Bachman, and Mr. Mercedes books for now). I refuse to read his Hard Case Crime novels, but that’s because I am simply not interested in his non-horror writing. When I say “subjecting,” I do mean that this has been (largely) a practice in masochism. I am no stranger to this approach to media consumption and analysis—my graduate school career was guided by a hate-read of Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight Saga and a hate-watch of the CW’s The Vampire Diaries and The Originals. (Ironically, both of these hate-consumptions were centered around ostensibly heterosexual vampire romance stories, but I am interested in the queer text and subtext of vampirism in media.) Since April 2023 (I am writing this in August 2024), I have read (in publication order) King’s work published between 1974 (Carrie) and 2002 (From a Buick 8). That amounts to 26 novels (Carrie, ‘Salem’s Lot’, The Shining, The Stand: The Complete and Uncut Edition, The Dead Zone, Firestarter, Cujo, Christine, Pet Semetary, The Eyes of the Dragon, It, Misery, The Tommyknockers, The Dark Half, Needful Things, Gerald’s Game, Dolores Claiborne, Insomnia, Rose Madder, The Green Mile, Desperation, The Regulators [technically a Bachman book, but also a mirror novel to Desperation], Bag of Bones, The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, Dreamcatcher, and From a Buick 8) and 7 collections (Night Shift, Different Seasons, Skeleton Crew, Four Past Midnight, Nightmares & Dreamscapes, Hearts in Atlantis, and Everything’s Eventual). I am hoping to finish the rest of his non-series novels (with the exception of Doctor Sleep) and collections by the end of this year—13 books to go! As I make my way through Stephen’s oeuvre, I hope to share my thoughts and insight in a series of essays. Hopefully these will be short, but part of me wonders if King’s style will influence my analyses. (That is, what if I end up writing essays that I enjoy and that others feel are too long and drop off in the third act?) I’d ask you to join me, but I am deep in the wilderness of King’s fictional Maine. Instead, maybe I can give you a map through the stories of Derry, Castle Rock, Dark Score Lake, and the rest of this twisted Maine to where I am. When we meet, we can find our way home together.

[kthynes]

Hii!!! In Husband for Hire in the hearts dilemma, I kinda wondered what happened when Lloyd went to talk to mi Luna? How was she feeling after the whole ordeal with her fathers men and what did he say to her?

to your hearts content

18+

authors note: a follow up to the hearts dilemma. Lloyd struggles with showing true emotional intelligence. He’s a caveman with secrets. In this series, the reader and LH will always be under fire for something and so he has to constantly assure and safeguard mi Luna, even beyond their T&C. But sometimes shit gets past him and even though he’s the most dangerous mobster he still finds it voraciously hard to protect the girl he loves.

This has not been beta’d

Breathing stout and unsteady, it took everything in you to calm down, disbarring the pitiful looks from Maria and the house help who would precariously walk in and out of the suite. Life was coming at you fast, paralyzing you in your tracks.

“She’s not saying much, Mr. Hansen.” Maria finally states from behind the bedroom door. She idles by with Lloyd for a good minute, contemplating their stark indifferences with sullen expectitude.

“Did she eat?” He asks and you hear his genuine concern. Maria shakes her head no. There’s silence that grafts the unknown, proving that little could be said or done.

In Lloyd’s room you were sitting upright in an abandoned lazy boy, knees drawn close to your chest, hair sopping wet while recollecting a near death experience. Your father knew. He knew you were playing games. Figuratively sleeping with the enemy. Fear was insolvent so were the many wire transfers that kept you in the clear.

“I’ll take care of her tonight.” Lloyd wagers and after a few short words in exchange, Maria’s pointed feet scurried down the hallway. Lloyd sucks in a deep breath and raps at the door, honoring his presence while coming into yours.

“Mi Luna?”

Radio silence. Nothing. Cujo, who protectively lays by your feet, perks his head up when Lloyd decides to enter the room, uninvited. “Sweetheart…” He tenderly coaxes from the crux of his own despair. Your glassy eyes meet his, following a painful proclamation that leaves your lips.

“This is getting way out of hand, Lloyd.” The madness was maddening. You were lucky to be unscathed this time around but the chances were a gamble. There wouldn’t be a next time. Lloyd made sure of it with rigor.

“I know and it won’t get any easier but I promise you that I—“

“See the thing is I want to trust you but I don’t.” You disassociate and the man you felt guarded from was crumbling, yearning to be your everything when all you did tactfully was shut him out. “Promises mean nothing to me.”

“I have you in my home, under my guise. You are my fight, my first, my last and my everything.” He confesses, Sebastian’s words are rearing him to be impassioned and truthful. “I saw what I needed to see today and with utmost conviction, I will not let your father take you away from me.”

Your brows beetle together, discernible digression takes form. He says what he means and means what he says.

“Are you in love with me Lloyd Hansen?”

He’s bludgeoned with disbelief, standing right before you and away from Cujo who wonders the same. Like mother like pup.

“Love is a choice and a feeling that I don’t feel.” He glumly adds, concealing his true feelings that gnaw at him to be amorous. “I’m only owing favours here.”

“Of course.” You scoff, remembering the initial plan.

“Now come down. Let’s eat.”

A part of you is hurt by his dismissive tendency. But time would reveal his whole hand to you and you’ll just have to wait till then. Because if there’s one thing most certain, it’s the fact that Lloyd was a no good liar, a harping lover and someone who’d look to you as his forever. You don’t miss his aim nor his intention. That look in his eye told you everything you needed to confirm.

[keysorsomething]

Puppy Love / Heartbeats

I FINALLY GOT PRIDE INSPO HURRAYY !! Happy pride everyone have more of my self-insert in context-removed situations instead of actually writing the bigger story she's a part of !!

cross-posted on Ao3

Sara never thought of herself to be like this. She had never been so infatuated with anyone, ever. Not even the boys in the boy bands, or the actors in the movies.

The masquerade breaking was possibly the best thing that happened to her, not just because it meant she got some actual action for her local news blog, but also because it meant that she got to see the hunk in front of her.

He was almost something out of a horror movie, or war game. He wore the same helmets as the rest of the men and women, but he wore a mask that had the lunging muzzle of a dog on it that covered his lower face. She hadn’t gotten to talk to him, but she could tell he was important. While everyone else was addressed by seemingly normal names - save for the much older man who was clearly in charge of the bunch - this solder was only called by the name Cujo. The smallest amount of brown hair peaked out from under the helmet, and he moved in a way that was so unique compared to the others.

It was a kind of strut, a proud, “I own the place” attitude to moving about. Unironically, it was cat-like in nature. Perhaps, despite the fact that his face was obscured and she had never heard him talk, Sara was attracted to his personality. While a majority of the agents she saw had names or saying scrawled over their armor in white paint, Cujo was nearly drenched in them. His armor was more white than black - he had names and doodles and sayings all over everything. Even the white, puffy parts of the armor most members didn’t touch were covered in black paint, boasting creativity.

On his back, in bold letters, was her favorite: DOG AT WORK. PLEASE DO NOT PET.

Obviously a call back to his nickname, it was just so cutesy to Sara. Even if Cujo was rabid, he was still a cute dog.

And this Cujo was very cute to her.

Lucky for Sara, she had some very good intel. She had made friends with one of the girls her age she saw in the camp all of the time - Layla - and Layla had told her that they were going out to a sports bar that Friday.

That day. Sara fiddles nervously with the napkin, watching as people in those same black-and-white suits funnel in. She bites her lip, searching the crowd for that iconic mask.

She bets he has a deep, rough voice. That his chuckles were rumbles that would shake her very bones. That would change the rhythm of her heart. It had her heart pounding against the confines of her rib cage hard, even though he hadn’t come in yet.

Then, as if out of a movie, the doors swing open, and she sees that same strut, the writings and doodles of butterflies and eyes that she had memorized from more than a distance. But she doesn’t see the mask, or the helmet. Or the handsome young man with the rough voice who was hear to sweep her off her feat.

Instead, another girl stands there.

“Ay, Cujo!” One of the young men calls, and the girl - Cujo - beams, clasping his outstretched hand in hers. They bump into each other, and she has a warm smile on her face. One that Sara didn’t imagine would go with the name Cujo.

But still, her heart flutters and her face pinkens. Cujo was so pretty.

Sara stands, nearly stumbling over herself as she moves across the room, “Ah, Agent Cujo, is it?” She asks softly. The other girl turns to her, seemingly flustered at the sudden intrusion.

“Uh, ah, yeah!” She says. Her voice isn’t deep, nor is it rough. “The one and only! Unless you count the dog, of course,” She mutters the last part, letting her self-assured thumb fall from its place on the center of her chest. Sara giggles, and Cujo seems to light back up. She lets out a giggle of her own, nervously covering her face.

And the chuckle isn’t a deep rumble that Sara feels in her bones, but she feels her heart leap. She even swears her heart started beating all over again.

[randomly-a-fan]

Malon's Guardian Angel Pt. 2

Part 1

MJ didn't have a choice, Malon and Jason voted her out to keep the dog for a while. Once the dog entered the house, he immediately hopped onto the couch. "Well, there goes my seat." MJ said glumly. "I'm going to take a nap." MJ added, as she walks towards her room and shuts the door. Jason just stares at the door for a few minutes until he turns back towards Malon and the Saint Bernard. "Dad... How come mom doesn't like dogs?" Malon asked while snuggling against the dog. Jason doesn't exactly know how to answer her question, since it's been a while since MJ's parents came over, and showed him some family photos, then the subject came up to how MJ hated their dog. So, he only shrugged to Malon's question.

In the middle of the night, MJ was tossing and turning, as she was having a nightmare; thank goodness that Freddy Krueger wasn't the one responsible. But her nightmare was how a Saint Bernard that same into their home, was actually the murderous dog that attacks people, and it charged right at her. MJ jolted up in shock and fright before lying back down to sleep. That is, until she heard panting.

The Saint Bernard was standing next to MJ's face, which indicated that Jason forgot to shut the door on his way back from the middle of the night perimeter check. "Shoo! Get!" MJ snapped in a silent but loud tone. "Get out!" MJ added in a loud tone. When the dog didn't move, MJ got up and escorted her out of the room, until the dog jumped onto her spot on the bed. "NO, GET OFF." MJ yelled in a quiet tone. Only, the dog fell asleep. "Stupid dog!" MJ said as she barged out; she would have slammed the door, but she didn't want to scare Jason.

MJ was sitting on the comfy recliner and decided to sleep on that, since the dog didn't lie on it. MJ doesn't like the warm feeling of the spot that the dog was on; she doesn't know why, but in her head, it's like having a naked guy sitting or lying down on the couch, no thank you. When morning finally came, Jason woke up with, for some strange reason, he doesn't find his wife on her side of the bed, but the dog on the bed. Jason isn't cold-hearted though; he gives the Saint Bernard some love in the morning. Now, he needed to get up to look for his wife.

Jason's heart broke when he saw MJ sleeping awkwardly on the recliner, the position she was in looked so uncomfortable. Jason gently woken up his wife and escorted her to her room, so she can get proper rest. "After I get some sleep, I'm going over to Eric's place for the day; I want to be away from the stupid dog!" MJ said angrily. Jason nodded, while thinking that she's just saying that because she's tired.

Malon then woke up and happy to see the dog again. "Hi girl!" Malon called excitedly, giving her a hug. "Where's mommy? I thought I've heard her voice." Malon asked her dad. Jason pointed towards the door then placed a finger on his lips, telling her to be quiet. "Oh, okay... I'll take her out for a walk then." Then she made the dog follow her. "Come on girl, let's go for a walk." She called out to the dog. The dog barked before she followed.

As Jason was about to check on his wife, he heard the door knock. He took a peek and saw that it was Papawise. Since the summoning, he was all weak and helpless, he can barely stand. Jason lets Papawise in and gave him a hand. "Now, Bucko! I may be weak, but I'm not dead yet." He laughed. "Actually, I came because I'm looking for my dog, a Saint Bernard, you haven't seen it around didn't yeh?" Papawise asked. Jason was shocked, could the Saint Bernard that Malon befriended with, be Papawise's dog? "Cujo is his name, he terrorizes people, and kills and brings back some children for me, he's a big help since my condition." Jason sighed in relief that Malon's Saint Bernard wasn't Papawise's; since he said 'he' and the dog that Malon found is a girl. But then he was shocked to what else Papawise mentioned. 'Cujo? is that the dog that the rumor talks about?' Jason asked himself in his head. "Ah, so you did hear about him, yeah, that was Cujo, he's a real savage beast and I love him. Well, can't stay for long, do inform me if you've seen him, would you? his complexion can't be too hard to spot, he's all dirty and covered in dried up blood." Papawise described.

Hearing about Cujo gives him shivers, he hoped that he, or/and his family, didn't have to face that dangerous dog. Malon was just outside of her home when she saw Papawise. "Hi Papawise!" Malon greeted. "Hello Malon, you're looking well..." He said as he petted her head, then he turned to look at the dog that Malon was with. "I see that you've found a missing dog." Papawise notices with a smile. "No, she's a stray, I know because she's not wearing a collar." Malon explained. Papawise chuckled. "That's not what I have smelled, she had the same scent as that little victim that I've gone after..." The Saint Bernard was barking angrily, remembering the time what that clown did to her little master. "Girl, shhh! What's the matter?" Malon tried to calm the dog down.

Papawise chuckled, as he assumes that the dog remembered that day when he tortured the little master and then ate her. "I better get going... OH... And Jason, do give me a shout--uh... or uh... Give me a call--uh... Well... I'll check in on yeh, okay goodbye." Papawise left after that. Jason shook his head slowly to Papawise's ignorance. Then he saw that the dog whimpered as she lower herself, missing her family. "I think she misses her home, daddy." Malon said in concern. Jason crouched down to look at the dog, he then petted her to calm her down. "If what Papawise said is true... Do we need to return her to her real home?" Malon asked. Jason placed his hand on her back and nodded slowly; only because it's the right thing to do.

MJ was going to snap from the window from hearing the dog barking at Papawise; it reminded her of the time when her parents had a boxer, and she keeps barking at random people that come by, it drives her insane, it kept her out of the family bond because of that stupid dog. Still, MJ does feel sorrow when she sees Malon looking so sad, she didn't know what to do. So... She decided to not go over to Eric's and try to get used to the dog for a while longer, for her daughter sake.

***

A couple of hours later, MJ was still with her family. Jason was glad that MJ decided to stay home, since he's worried about her running into Cujo. "Malon, I thought that maybe later, we can take the dog out to the park, so I can at least try to get along with the dog." MJ suggested. Malon smiled big. "Really? That's great... But, if you don't mind me asking... How come you don't like dogs?" Malon asked. Jason turned his head towards MJ, as he wanted to know the reason for her hatred to dogs. "It's not that I hate dogs, I'm alright with small breeds and well-trained dogs. My parents had a puppy a long time ago, a boxer; they got her because my baby niece has experienced death of her previous boxer that she loved so much. She's not a good dog as she grew bigger. She sniffs the inappropriate area, she jumps every time I come back home for a visit, and she doesn't even let me hug my mom, she'll just jump up and ruin the bond..." Then I took a few breaths. "That's why I have no likings to dogs, and I never want to own one." MJ explained.

Malon and Jason stared at each other as they started to understand her point of view. "Well... I know dogs do strange things, but they're just being themselves, you just have to be patient with them, I got the love for animals from my daddy." Malon explained. Jason sits proudly to what his daughter just said. "I know sweetie, it's just hard for me to get used to that doggy behavior, which is why I thought I make it up to you and the Saint Bernard." MJ admits.

So, it turns out that MJ and Malon go out for a walk with the Saint Bernard by their side. "I'm sure you'll grow to like her mom, I understand what you've been through, and I understand that I can't make you love dogs." Malon assures. MJ giggled. "Well, there are some dogs that I'm alright with; such as small breeds of dogs, since they can't reach the crotch." MJ knows that it's okay to say that word, since in school, Malon was in the age where they learn about the male and female anatomy. "And I respect well-trained service dogs, since they're well-trained and know how to behave; they're good for people with a mental disability." MJ explained. Malon was fascinated by what her mom just told her, even though she already knew what service dogs do and stuff like that.

As they all got closer to the park, they didn't realize that they were being watched, and it wasn't Jason, but a furry animal with the tendency to attack.

Jason was just checking the perimeter of the camp until he heard two girls screaming. "JASON!" When Jason heard his wife, he knew that she and their daughter are in danger. Jason quickly speed walked as fast as he could to reach his two girls, while MJ and Malon were running for their lives from the murderous dog. But then, Malon tripped on a gopher hole. "MOMMY!" Malon cried. "MALON." She screamed as she ran back for Malon. That's when Cujo leaped and was about to finish them, until the other Saint Bernard leaped out of nowhere. "Girl!" Malon exclaimed. Jason came to the scene as MJ and Malon watched in panic when their Saint Bernard attacks roughly with Cujo. Jason doesn't think the girls should see this scene, so he strongly picked his two girls up like they were logs on each shoulder. "Daddy wait! What about my friend!" Malon cried. Jason knew that she was talking about the Saint Bernard, but he knew that he needed to keep the girls safe and bring them back to the house.

After Jason left the girls to check on the Saint Bernard, MJ was checking to see if Malon sprang her ankle. "It doesn't look swollen..." MJ observed. "I don't care about my ankle, I'm worried about Jewel!" Malon exclaimed. "Jewel?" MJ raised her eyebrow. "That's what I'm naming the Saint Bernard." Malon explained. Just then, they both heard a noise.

They took a peek out the window and saw that Jason is coming back with the injured Saint Bernard in his arms. "Jewel!" Malon rushed out in panic. Jason kneeled down and placed the Saint Bernard gently on the ground. "She's hurt, we have to do something!" Malon cried as tears run down her cheeks. MJ crouched down to Malon's height. "We'll take her to the animal hospital, they'll save her." MJ assures, even though deep inside, she's not sure if she will survive this serious case.

To Be Continued

[cromaka3666]

a rant/series of ideas

So I've posted these on SB before but to put it simply, the phandom is stagnant. The same ideas are repeated over and over again mixed up but too similar to tell apart. Over on ao3s dp crossover section I've noticed a ton of these stories are created after the author reads a prompt here so I figured I'd gather the posts I've made on SB and post them here in hopes those authors can see them. I'm just copy/pasting these so they will look weird as they were originally posted on SB and I can't be bothered to edit them.

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So yall know how d.c. crossovers are really common. Well I just had a small idea to add to the list of why heroes don't usually kill, batman especially. Obsessions can help make ghosts and few people are more obsessed than villains, the heroes know this and don't want to risk powering up their rogue gallery more, especially since hell is real and as we saw with deathstroke/slade it's easy to make deals and return. Just another angle to add for those crossovers. Last thing anyone wants is a ghost/demon empowered joker running around.

We have tons of danny phantom dc crossovers but not a single one has Cujo join the super pets for adventures. This is a crime that should be rectified immediately. Best pup should be allowed to play with Ace and Krypto and fight animal crimes.

What aren't there any stories where danny is in the marvels zombies storyline, or dceased, or blackest night, or even the new dc vs vampires storyline.

Why are almost all horror stories about him being tortured when there are perfectly good zombie apocalypses he can fight in. I'd love to see danny wield a black lantern ring and be in total control because he's already dead and as such doesn't need to eat hearts to gain power.

I'd love to see danny get bite by a vampire only for them to taste what's basically deadmans blood. We need less secret sibling, torture filled, betrayal fics and more danny pulling a doomslayer and fighting trigons armies when he invades.

Pariah Dark pulling amity into the gz would have gotten international attention just like cannon. Something that's brought up but never really explored are meta humans rights clashing with the anti ecto laws, I'd love to see the various magic users testifying in congress, debunking the fentons beliefs that ghosts aren't people and as such deserve the same rights as everyone else.

Also I'd love to see walker put in control of arkham, blackgate, or Belle reve. He'd have those places on lockdown, and the thought of the joker trying to escape only for walker to toss him back in his cell is hilarious to me.

All these DC crossovers but not one shows an alternate danny in the justice lords, injustice, or crime syndicate version of the league.

I'm tired of rereading the same stuff, let me read about an evil crime boss danny or one who rules over the GZ like how the justice lords rule earth, or one that sides with superman after metropolis gets nuked. So many alternate worlds, timelines, and dimensions to choose from and they always pick the same ones.

Forget JLU, YJ, or TT let me see danny in the justice league dark apocalypse war movie as a trigon possed Dan Phantom and have him fight Darksied

The infinite realms is so underutilized in the dc crossovers, and just the phandom in general.

You have an entire dimension that can take you any when and anywhere you want/don't want and you don't use it to let superman meet his parents before krypton blows up, or any other orphan superhero for that matter.

Hell you don't have to save his family, you can set up a stable time loop where this meeting is what convinced them to send him to earth rather then any of kryptons dying colonies.

Have Pandora meet wonder women, I don't think I've seen anything more then a passing reference about her in any dc stories to date. The 4 armed ghost of a Greek Goddess would absolutely be something the Amazon's would want to meet.

I'd love to see more stories exploring the factions in the gz like make up a rivalry between the far frozen and Atlantis before the yetis died out and less stories about Lazarus pits being ectoplasm, and Danny bring the lover/secret brother to the entire bat clan.

Give me poison ivy possed by Undergrowth or the joker being terrorized by the box ghost because joker gas doesn't work on the dead. Hell weather wizard/ any other weather villain teaming up with vortex would be fun. Or have technus hijack brainiac/amazo, now that be a good threat.

Let's see Danny put on the helmet of fate and fight klarion because he's not at the same level as the cosmic forces of order and chaos rather then the gz being some super dimension that John "I sold my soul to 30 devils, 10 gods, an angel and a fae" Constantine is too scared to touch. Pariah was powerful, but he ain't Darkseid, Trigon, Child, or Nekron powerful.

Let's see more, superheroes deal with ghostly shit rather then Danny runs away/moves to Gotham for the 30th time. Like lets say the flash has to deal with Kitty and Johnny joy riding in Central city but he can't touch them or freakshow stops in Gotham and kidnaps Jason since the phandom is obsessed with making him a halfa or halfa adjacent. So much potential and none of it explored!

So, yall know how the phandom likes to make ectoplasm an emotional conduit. Where ghosts either can feel / feed on emotions and ectoplasm can have emitions without being a ghost, usually when talking about the pit rage Jason has in the DC stories. Well, let's roll with that and add the Emotional Entities that the lantern corps use.

If ghosts feed on emotions then the lanterns are basically walking snacks, if they sense emotions then the lanterns are walking flash bangs, and if ectoplasm can have emotions then let's have some ghosts get lantern rings simply because they are emotions given physical forms.

Also, yall know how the Danny defeats pariah and becomes king stories are a whole thing, why doesn't that apply to Dan?

Rant/prompt ideas done for now but I have so many more. Let's bring some life back to this half dead phandom.

[leviathanleva]

Cujo

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Supersoldier!FemReader

Description: A monster in human skin, a weapon disguised as a person, no thoughts, no emotion, as per design. He despises you and everything you stand for. He’s tried to kick you out of his squad and failed, he’s made it his mission to break you no matter the cost.

It comes as a surprise when he asks you to lie and say you love him.

[4.4k words]

[Angst, Blood and Injury, Graphic Depiction of Gore]

Chapter 3 "Liquorish"

Heartbeat heavy in your chest, you race up the supposedly abandoned building, finding enemy after enemy.

It was supposed to be a routine inspection, an easy mission, in and out in less than a week. Now everything is turned upside down and being unable to contact or smell Ghost anywhere near has your senses flaring up with the unfamiliar feeling of stress and determination.

Bloodlust hazes your vision, everything has a ruddy tint to it, be it from splattered entrails or rage, it’s beyond your understanding. The memories still linger, the last sentence you heard over the coms before everything went to static:

“Hound! Do not engage! The roof is – ”

You were supposed to be his shield, it’s your job to be ambushed and take damage, you can regenerate, he can’t. But Ghost let either his man pride or his protective instinct overwhelm him, the anxiety still lingered in his gut no matter how many times you came back to him half dead and you were good as new minutes later. He wasn’t thinking clearly when he pushed you behind him and ordered you to watch his back as you advanced through the abandoned building suspected of drug trafficking activity.

He moved ahead without you, for once he wanted to be your protector. Now you can’t sense hair or trail from him and you’re becoming increasingly frustrated.

Easy mission your ass. This was a charade for something bigger.

The mask around your mouth whirls in overdrive, siphoning as much oxygen as possible while you vigorously work your way to the dreaded roof. Straining both muscle and limb in unison, you climb floor after floor, pushing your limitations as vapor froths off your skin and trails behind you like a haunting mirage. Your body is boiling on the inside, having exerted too much energy in too short a time and your muzzle can only do so much to keep you going before you collapse from overheating.

To hell with pushing your bounds when the Lieutenant might be in danger.

Another enemy, seemingly waiting for you, they all have been, a crumb trail of beating hearts the closer you get to your destination. You dive for him as bullets dig into your shoulder, he’s sliding towards the grimy floor and clutching his shredded throat a moment later. You don’t have time for a measly nobody, he chose the wrong side, he suffers the consequences.

The concrete debris crinkles under your boots, crushed to fine dust under the pressure you’ve put on your feet. Clutching and shouldering corners, you bounce yourself off them to retain speed in the claustrophobic corridors. Jump over handfuls of stairs where more hostiles await, you hear them before you see them, distinguishing their heavy breathing over your muffled pants.

Blood painting the walls like an abstract piece of art, death is left in your wake as you rush up another floor. The screams have alerted more people, and so have the gunshots and you bristle at the amount of footsteps echoing in the shells of your ears.

What is going on? Why are there so many of them? Where the hell is the Lieutenant? How did they jam your coms?

The questions are pushed aside as you appear in the shadows of a bare apartment, blending into the darkness and only your irises visible. A menacing sight to anyone, a monster, it’s what you’ve become as you slowly drown in your brutish ways the longer you’re detached from your beloved master.

A hoarse growl escapes you, you’re nearly moving on all fours, prowling low to the floor as you tackle the first enemy target. Flashlights are thrown astray, nearly blinding you as the chaos ensues. You crush bone like it’s toothpicks, rip at flesh like paper, the whirring in your mask overwhelms the gurgling cries for help and call for reinforcements. Bloodlust can be dangerous in the hands of one who is inexperienced such as yourself and you keep walking deeper down that path as no sign of your teammate shines to stifle you back to normalcy.

Strands of hair stick to your face like glue, matted down and drenched in sweat, your gear feels heavy and damp, it’s a sauna beneath your loose, coarse blouse. Your socks are slippery against the inside of your boots and you have half a mind to kick them off and continue barefoot. Juggernaut as you are, your breaking point is nearly reached and you feel the stinging pain creeping up your spine. The idea of rest is forced away, you can’t afford it when you’re so close, you’ve come too far to shut down now to cool off, not when Ghost is unresponsive.

The amount of cocking weapons should be concerning as you near the door to the roof, bloodshot eyes opened wide and pupils dilated as the scent of familiarity finally reaches your nostrils, too intoxicating for your mind to register the plethora of other bodily odors.

You nearly break through the door in your neglectful hurry, gaze harsh and piercing, slicing through the multitude of hostile soldiers only with your oppressive presence. Hunched over, with tense shoulders and pulsing hands that are itching to rip into the men before you, you skim over the roof with vigor, letting your nose guide your vision to a familiar figure standing at the edge of the roof.

“Lieutenant!” Your first instinct is to rasp out, crystalline orbs trained on his battered form strung up by a crane like a piece of meat. A guttural snarl reverberates deep in your throat as you turn to the crowd of armed enemies with malice, ready to shred them to a pulp and eat a bucket of bullets in the process if only to get to your precious squad mate.

Ghost sways above a crater, his secured feet dangling above a deadly drop. You can smell the blood slowly oozing down his knuckles, staining his gloves, and hear his steady heart as he swims in unconsciousness. You nearly whine at the sight, reeling your head towards him with the need to call out again and maybe have him wake up.

No such simple luxury is provided for you, instead you’re faced off with a handful of brutes who believe their chances of survival are higher than zero.

You take a step forward. The weapons train on you.

You’ll rip them apart –

“ – Tut, tut!”

You falter at the voice and watch the nearly unhinged door behind you close to reveal none other than your target – suited and unbothered by your feral breathing and unceremonial entrance. The man you’ve been hunting for an age too long now to admit, a slippery bastard that felt someone breathing down his neck only when you were sent after his trail. Philip Graves stands to your right, the traitor, the absolute menace of a man that has the audacity to flick a smile at you as if you’d just joined his most prestigious party.

“Well, it’s nice to finally see Shepherd’s little experiment in the flesh.” He croons and looks you over in marvel. A bitter frown adorns your features as you abandon your prowling stance and straighten your back, adopting a more human-like pose. “Quite the achievement.” He notices your attention turn completely to him and scoffs before unfurling his fingers to show off a remote of sorts. “Don’t give me that look.”

“And that is…?” You question, words slurred by the confines of your muzzle as your eyes dart from his face to the remote, then you realize and your glare sharpens.

“The remote to the crane of course. I wouldn’t risk being in your proximity if I didn’t have a guarantee of your obedience. I’m confident, not a fool.” You’d snort at his cocky words in a different setting. He gestures at you with his free hand, flicking his fingers casually as if ushering a child. “Now if you really cherish your Lieutenant – remove your mask.”

For a brief moment, you’re left confused, blink at him twice before tilting your chin to one side and crossing your arms, eyes straying from him as you plunge into thought. The audacity was not what bewildered you, but his utter belief in having wrangled you pliant. To think he was willing to so absolutely rely on the dry, shallow information he’d dug up was preposterous. It was also wrong, your instructions were clear and no blackmail or threat was going to weaken your resolve.

You were trained to hunt, complete your assignment at any cost, be put in lethal danger, and come out victorious. Your squad mates were weak to no fault of their own, but their lifeline was something you would risk for the greater good.

This was your duty.

“No.” You answer simply and take a step forward. Whatever justice-fueled speech was circling in your head is silenced by an unfamiliar trepidation in your chest as you see Graves’ thumb glide over the release button on the remote. You swallow something thick in your throat and huff out a breath before straightening your shoulders. “Return the Lieutenant to me and I will leave you to run. I will not pursue you. You have my word.”

What was this…? What the hell were you saying?

He laughs at your words, apparently the contradiction of them to your monotone voice is entertaining. Your jaw clenches at his nonchalant demeanor used to disguise the nervous sheet of sweat forming thickly on the back of his neck. You can smell it even with the abundance of testosterone burning your nostrils.

“You see, I would…but then again, I don’t trust you.”

“I do not lie.” You state with a deadpan look.

“You don’t disobey orders either.” Graves retorts and gives you a challenging expression, pursing his lips to one side and deeming you too untrustworthy for a dealing of a peace delegation. “Mask off. Now.” He snaps when you don’t budge and twirls the remote in his hand before pointing it daringly at Ghost. A moment of nothing passes and instead of the tension you’d hoped to rise within him, he grins and rests a hand on his hip, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Oh? Is this right? You truly don’t care for your teammate?”

“No.” Comes your immediate answer, smooth and soft and lacking an ounce of care for the potential danger it might send your Lieutenant in. You glance at his limp, hanging body with disinterest and blame your palpitating heart to the long and strenuous journey to the roof rather than something else. It couldn’t be anything else, you felt nothing but the aftermath of physical exertion. “Whether he lives or dies, it’s all the same to me.” You’re being truthful yet every single word wrestles with you fervently before being forced past your teeth. Strange and bothersome, but you pay it no mind. “If I return with your head my task is complete. Your death is my mission, casualties are inevitable.”

He doesn’t buy it.

“Let’s test that theory, shall we?” Graves sneers something vile and again points the remote at the crane, toying with you and relishing in it.

Your mask hisses loudly and is tossed on the concrete floor of the roof before you can realize what you’re doing. The lower part of your face – wet from the vapor of your breaths, soiled with a snarl. You don’t dare let the bastard out of sight now that the power dynamic has shifted in his favor.

“There you go. Good girl.” He coos at the sight of your unreluctant obedience and his smug features soften in near adoration. “Seems you still have a heart after all.”

Not fond of his degrading babying, you try to steer the conversation to another, much more vital topic that has been gnawing at your gut since the revealing of his presence.

“Why are you here? What business do you have with me?”

Graves, much to your surprise, obliges your question.

“A little birdie told me I’m being hunted by a whole new predator. A…special one this time.” He begins and motions for his men to make their way to his side, steering them to a safe distance from your vicious paws in case you snap despite the low odds. He reciprocates the eye contact, almost unblinking, not wanting to miss a beat from your uncanny demeanor. “That birdie also told me you have a habit of following orders only from your Lieutenant and I thought maybe…if I manage to string up the worm, I’ll get the fish.” His arms spread wide, his chest expands and you’re almost tempted to lunge forward. “And voila.”

“That’s not an answer to my question.” You cock your head at him and let your arms unfold and fall to your sides.

The corners of his mouth twitch at your disinterest.

“I wanted to see you in the flesh, Hound.” He answers then, changing from his grandiose façade to a genuine and less irritable one. Gesturing towards you, he continues. “Check if the rumors are true. And judging by the fact you even got to the roof – they certainly are.” His hands clasped together over his pelvis, the remote shining still between his fingers, yellow and menacing in contrast to his black cotton gloves. “Quite disgusting what they did to you. Wouldn’t you say?” The nearly heartfelt sympathy in his tone does little to sway your intentions and it shows clearly on your unmoving features. Yet he keeps going, keeps feeding you with conflicting thoughts that fail to take root in your mind. “Countless months of agony just to become a pawn.”

Despite the unpleasant memories flooding your head at his take, you hum and brush them aside without much effort.

“I consented to my augmentations.”

“That you did.” He nods and juts his jaw before flicking the blonde locks away from his eyes and slicking them back. “ For the chance of serving a greater purpose, not being someone’s lapdog and wasting your potential on lowly criminals.” Scorn drips heavily from his tongue, a hidden distaste for his own misfortunes showing, misfortunes much similar to yours. “But I won’t sway you yet. I can’t when your attention is so torn between me and your Lieutenant.”

Maybe his sympathy is sincere, you think. Maybe there’s an ounce of truth in his law-breaking, scummy ways and he sees you as much of a victim as he sees himself. It would make sense why he orchestrated this whole situation instead of simply trying to kill you and rid himself of you.

A part of you believes him, you can tell that bits and pieces of what he says come from a wronged man trying to take revenge for his pain. But you’re no simple soldier, you were built to withstand manipulation, torture, worse. You admit to his twisted honesty but have no intent in following after him and abandoning everything you’ve worked to build no matter how unimportant or unimpressive it was.

“You’re misinterpreting.”

The distinct beat of helicopter wings catches your attention far before the vehicle itself appears in the distance. Graves and his men’s ride, you presume, a quick escape after he got bored of your lack of subordination and bid you farewell.

“Am I?” He doesn’t dare to glance back, instead lets his ears assure him that his escape route is secured and is hastily approaching his location. “So far you’ve completed your tasks well.” A gloved thumb rubs over his freshly shaven jaw, before nudging his bottom lip up in contemplation as he sizes you up and down with a calculative look. “I have one last objective for you, though, just to test your limits. Figure out what I’m up against, you know?”

“I don’t take orders from you.” You hiss, expressing something more than monotony for the first time during your conversation.

His words had struck a nerve somewhere, surprisingly so, yet he took the opportunity regardless.

“This one you’ll have to.” He all but sighs, bored with your resistance and crackling unbothered demeanor. There’s too much peaking beneath it and he wants to sink his teeth into it, yet you continue to deny him. Whether from a lack of understanding over your emotions or a very bad attempt at hiding them, they were visibly showing through and he couldn’t get enough of it. “Tell me, do you think if you jump from this building you can survive?”

“Without my mask, it’s highly unlikely.”

A gust of wind sweeps by you and suddenly you’re painfully aware how it sways the rope Ghost hangs from, still and silent. Sweat forms on your brow, your hands curl into fists, blunt nails digging into the flesh of your palms and nearly drawing blood.

“Interesting.” He hums at your answer, nodding at the new information bestowed upon him – a weakness, a flaw in your design that your makers hadn’t been able to work out. This gave him a useful advantage against you. “So without a steady supply of oxygen, you’re rendered useless.”

“I can still rip you in half.” You declare and lean forward, arms dangling and ready to clutch at the floor and propel you forward. Your patience runs thin and Graves tastes it on his tongue, not much longer before you snap and dash either for him or the Lieutenant.

“Oh, I don’t doubt.” He laughs in your face like your threat means nothing and gestures for his men to board the helicopter before hopping on himself. He grips onto the side of the door and smiles bitterly at you. “Well, it’s been a pleasure making your acquaintance finally after such a long game of cat and mouse. I’m afraid we must be going now though.”

“Do you like hearing yourself talk?” A bark reverberates somewhere deep in your throat, akin to a growl as you lunge towards the helicopter.

No more talking, you’ve given him enough grace. Should have ended everything minutes before, forced yourself to move out of the stupor your Lieutenant’s state had pinned you in.

He doesn’t matter, nothing matters but Graves’ head, and like a scared mutt, you’d let him grow confident in his false influence over you.

“You know, you’re right. I’ve talked enough.” Venom oozes from his smirk as he spits one last taunt your way. “Fetch!”

You fail to realize why he’s so self-assured when you’re still capable of reaching him before the helicopter has lifted off. The slimy smirk doesn’t leave his face as he presses the button and turns away from you with a distinct “Ta!”. It’s sickening. Ghost matters not, your orders are clear and you’re sure the Lieutenant would understand the sacrifice you had to make were he in your stead. It’s a worthy sacrifice, he’d be honored after his demise, renowned for leading you to the den of the enemy for you to demolish and rid the world of their stain of an existence.

“You’re a fool if you think – ”

Your voice hitches as your body involuntarily turns away from Graves.

WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING –

You dash across the rooftop and leap over the edge without a drop of hesitancy. A coil nestles in your stomach, not from the sight before you – a height so devastating, the street below so far that the cars look like mere pebbles, but at the thought of abandoning your prospect, disobeying a command, revolting against your upper command.

Too late to turn back now. And even if you could, would you?

No…

You adjust your limbs against the merciless wind, propel your arms forward like a diver about to hit the water's surface, your entire being flattened to endure as much resistance as possible and cut through the air. The cold whips against your eyes, blurs your vision with tears which you rapidly blink away to not lose sight of Ghost’s descending body.

Was it only the cold? Why were the tears so salty then?

Why was your face stuck in a desperate grimace of horror and hope?

Halfway across the building, you manage to snatch the rope around your Lieutenant’s waist. Your victory is shortlived as the earth beneath approaches steadfast and you bite into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and keep your head as cool as possible.

What now?

Even if he’s safely in your arms, you’re still heading for an inevitable death and thinking time is limited. You wrack your brain into turbo mode to come up with something, anything to save him, prevent his fall. The solution comes to you and it’s not all too pleasant, but without an alternative, you relent.

You thrust your arm through the glassy wall of the building, letting the shards shred through your skin, unable to exert your full potential without your mask. You try to regardless and your throat feels like it’s closing in on itself, you can’t breathe in enough air, the oxygen is not nearly the amount you need and you’re left suffocating slowly. Your hand mauls through cement floors and polished windows that shatter under the pressure as you desperately grapple for something, trying to slow your momentum.

Heart hammering in your throat, eyes wide with plea for something to work, for a miracle to happen, but it doesn’t. No fairytales allowed for the sinful and decrepit, for those who’ve abandoned their humanity for the betterment of civilization.

Pain doesn’t register on your features as your arm continues to endure in vain, shredded, sliced, battered to a pulp. But the horror registers when it shatters, the bone and flesh unable to withstand such detrimental amounts of damage, it’s rendered useless. It’s not the physical agony that terrifies you, but the only means of you saving the Lieutenant – now completely obliterated.

What now?

You think while your gaze darts from the bloodied, mangled mess that is your now worthless limb to the hastily approaching pavement below.

DO SOMETHING! ANYTHING! –

“Bloody f – ”

The once-lidded chocolate orbs you’ve grown to cherish look up at you – spastic, disoriented, glued to you as if you could explain your current predicament. You drown in them for a moment, pained, mournful that you’ve failed to fulfill both your duties.

Not a good hound. Fucking useless.

The prey got away, your keeper is soon to be a splatter of intestines on the ground below.

Good for nothing you are. Failed at everything. Can’t even save your own Lieutenant.

“Hound! Fucking hell, we – ”

Your jaw tightens, and your skin crawls once you’re close enough to discern the peculiar cracks in the sidewalk, you’re that close now. Doom, there’s nothing left but to die.

No. You refuse. If not for yourself, then for Ghost. You can’t lose him. You’ll sacrifice everything for him.

In a last attempt at being a hero, you struggle in the air, against the howling wind that screams bloody murder in your ears. You fiddle spasmodically, manage to clumsily maneuver both of you, deaf to the breathless curses slipping past his mask. You thrust him sideways, fling him into a window hard enough to make it give in under his weight. He breaks through back first, you hear him choke as he hits and skids on the carpeted floor with a deft thud.

You nearly smile, a contrast at his horrified expression as he realizes the situation – your maskless face, your bloodied limb, it’s only for a split second before you’re back to hurtling down without him. You hear a scream of your name, the intimate one, the real one.

Your eyes water anew, maybe from the air, maybe from him calling out to you in what sounds like spastic worry.

One good hand was all you needed.

You’re free now. You fulfilled your duty.

Everything hurts, you feel your entire being imprinted into the roof of a car, having squished it in the impact. Blood coats your tongue, your throat feels crushed. You’re choking for air quietly, your body desperately trying to repair all damages but failing because your mouth and nose can’t gulp enough oxygen no matter how greedily you’re breathing.

Sprawled out, the sky swirls high above your head, gazed at through blurry vision. Stars twinkle like smudged jewels, the moon is nowhere to be seen and for a moment you feel alone and at peace. It doesn’t matter that you’re molded into a random car with shattered bones and punctured lungs.

Maybe there are witnesses, maybe the streets are empty, you’re unsure, the screaming in your ears is punching at your eardrums and you can’t make out anything.

A peaceful death after years of war is what you wish for.

The cold creeps over your skin, through your gear, its caress soothing against your steaming flesh.

A splotch of creamy whine enters your vision, poking from one of the shattered windows. A skull mask, you recognize it even with both eyes and mind hazy and drunk on scalding pain. You’d reach out if you could, your first instinct demands you to do so, reach out to Ghost, reunite as leal hound and loving master once more. But you can’t, your body refuses to budge, a twitch of your fingers is all you can muster.

A cough rips through you, excruciating, and more stomach-churning iron rushes over your sticky tongue.

Will he remember you? Will he mourn you if you pass? Will he miss you? Will your absence leave yet another scar for him to nurture? Will he ever forgive you for sacrificing yourself for him?

Does it matter?

Not really…

But it does.

Somewhere deep within the crooks and crevices of your heart, it does matter to you, if only a little.

Your eyelids are heavy and you’ve not the strength to keep them open anymore. The chill air is so welcoming, lulls you and tugs you towards the comforts of slumber.

You hear a rasp, his voice echoing, deep and baritone as he disappears somewhere in the darkness.

You can’t stay conscious anymore no matter how desperately he begs you. You’re tired, just want to sleep, you’re aching, you want out of the pain, out of responsibilities and bloodshed.

This feels nice. Oblivion is welcoming.

The cold dissipates, and everything goes dark. You take one last meager breath and succumb to blackened dreams and fleeting pictures, sprawled vastly on the surface of your mind as your body gives out completely.

<<< Chapter 2

Chapter 4 >>>

Masterlist

[cssnder]

7 and 22 for the writing ask.

--from @wintherlywords

What books have shaped the way you think about writing the most? Why?

Donna Tartt, Fyodor Dostoevsky and Emily Brontë. Donna for her masterful use of the language, the realism of her dialogues, and the intricacies of her novels; Fyodor for his philosophical themes and his accurate understanding of the human condition; and Emily for her intensity and fearlessness to write about evil and the taboo in such a sensitive manner. Their work, their words, — I think about constantly. It is always in my mind, and if I'm being completely honest, I think they are the trio that influenced me most because they gave me an understanding of what I want my writing to be like and what I want my work to reflect. Their work resonates with me in a way nothing else ever has. This is no small thing. And when I write, it is undeniable that their influence can be found in my own words.

But while these are my most notable influences, it would be a lie to say that no other writer had an impact on me. I believe that every book I've ever read impacted me on some level, some in subtle ways and others in a more significant, essential manner. When I was 10, — after my first attempt at writing a fantasy book I found I wasn't too passionate about, — I discovered Stephen King's work. The supernatural and the horror had, by then, become my bailiwick, and very quickly I found myself diving into his work. When I was eleven, my grandma offered me Carrie and Cujo for my birthday. Carrie has been a notable influence ever since. The theme of fanaticism and religion, the imagery, the structure of the novel with its press articles in between the actual narration — all of this has been incredibly meaningful to me back then, not only creatively speaking but also personally; for just like Carrie, I too was bullied during the majority of my school years. For a very long time, Carrie has been my favourite book, and it still holds a special place in my heart, at least because of the role it played during my childhood.

Poetry plays an important role as well in the way I think about writing. Especially when it comes to rhythm. I don't know if I've ever mentioned it here but everything I write, I say aloud. I “speak-write”, one could say. I pay close attention to the rhythm of each sentence, each paragraph, making sure it all flows well. If I don't like a sentence, I re-work it, repeat it in different ways, change it until I come up with something that satisfies me. I'm constantly reading and re-reading aloud what I wrote. Some would say it is a form of perfectionism, and perhaps it is, but I believe it is simply my way of working. Oh, surely it is nothing new. Plenty of writers have been doing it I suppose and among them — that, I learnt only recently — my beloved Dostoevsky. William Mills Todd wrote in his introduction of The Idiot (the Penguin Classics edition):

“Dostoevsky would work late into the might over his notebooks, jotting down ideas. Then he would dictate passages to [Snitkina], and she would transcribe them and promptly return them neatly copied for editing.”

The man would dictate while pacing around the room like a maniac. Todd also quotes Jacques Catteau from his 1989 study Dostoevsky and the Process of Literary Creation:

“From this time on, the rhythm of the Dostoevskian sentence may be defined as a walking movement, where the breath of the spoken word is marked in the written style.”

Besides Dostoevsky, Donna Tartt herself talks about writers reading their own work as well, although not specifically during the writing process:

“I remember the first time I ever heard a recording of TS Eliot reading The Waste Land, which was a poem I knew very well. I was so enchanted by the stresses that he put on different lines and he made you see the poem in a completely different way. Much more in his way. I think it's wonderful to hear a writer read their own work. I love to read my work.”

I'm only using my biggest influences as examples here — but anyway, I'm digressing.

Of course, many different pieces of literature have impacted me throughout the years and it would be unfair not to mention them, considering that they are still a part of me even to this day: The Picture of Dorian Gray, Edgar A. Poe's work, Frankenstein, The Strange Case of the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, The Iliad & The Odyssey — the last, were very important to me when I was 14! —, Macbeth... Quite frankly, I have read so many different books and so many of them I cherish! It is regrettable that can't possibly name them all. Even if I could, it would take far too much time and I'm afraid this reply is already very long anyway. I will end it here, I suppose.

How much of your own self/experiences do you believe pours into your projects? If this differs per project, which projects have the most and least of you?

I believe it is pretty much impossible for an author to create any sort of work without pouring at least a little bit of themselves in it.

Thus Saith The Lord is the work I poured the most of myself in so far, but that's probably because it is my main project. From Wilhelm's refusal to believe in morality to Oliver's gastritis passing by the existential ponderings in the novel, these are inspired by my own thoughts — generally found in my diary entries —, experiences or beliefs. And when it isn't inspired by me, it is inspired by people I know or used to know in the past. I think that, by the time my novels will be brought to completion, all of them shall end up with pretty much the same amount of myself in them. It'll just differ in the execution, in what ways I chose to pour my soul. That's what will make the difference.

[djtheabishai]

This Is How MY Obey Me! Barbatos Is

This can get a bit NSFWy, so I'll put a divider before going into the section. He is also shipped with Simeon in my Obey! Verse, so, Simebarb. Also, cursing and purring demon

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The game stated he was never a kid, but didn't mention he was never a teen (haha! Loop hole!) So he was raising Brook and Diavolo at the age of (appearance wise) 16 - 18

He has 4 kids. D.J., Brook, Luke and Willow. Brook he found as an egg and raised her since she was egg. He got D.J. when she was thrown out by a unwilling 14 year old (by appearance) Simeon at the age of 8. He kept in content with Simeon so he can keep the angel in the light with how D.J. is doing in the Devildom. He got Luke when Simeon came along. They are a packaged deal. Willow is his only biological child he has with Simeon (Read Willow: Daughter of Simebarb for information how). He doesn't see Diavolo as his child, but more likely his nephew that he happened to raise and serve.

He doesn't use his power unless told to by Diavolo or he REALLY feels the need to disobey Diavolo and see the possible outcomes.

When it comes to Brook and Willow, he is "Father" Luke calls him "Barbatos" , and D.J. calls him either "Barb" or "Father Barb". He is also very protective of his children. He's not the over baring type, but he WILL NOT show mercy if one of his kids gets hurt.

"SOLOMON STAY THE FUCK OUT MY KITCHEN!!" He won't even let him stick his head in the room.

*sees a rat* ... "Where's my knife?" He'll freeze before he'll turn the place upside down trying to catch and kill the poor rodent and find it's nest to do the same. Not so bothered by mice though, he'll just catch and release them into the wild far from where ever he caught it.

Helps tend to D.J. and Diavolo's two headed dog, Cujo.

"You break my daughter's heart, I'll break your neck." - Barbatos to Lucifer about Brook

Doesn't know what to say to D.J. and Diavolo since she's with the prince and he's with Barbatos's daughter.

"I'm sorry, I love you, Father Barb, but if you break my Papa's heart, I'm coming after you." Barbatos slowly looks at the half dragon. " I wouldn't dream of it." Barbatos forms a shit eating smirk. " I'd also LOVE to see you try to come after me." - D.J. and Barbatos about Simeon

When it's just his family in the room, he's more than willing to playfully fight and argue with D.J. and Brook (mostly D.J. since she's the troublesome twin).

"Yup, that's my husband, Barbatos, the Demon Lord's Steward, almighty Master of Time and feared by all, " He's unable to keep a straight face. " arguing with D.J. about butter in the kicthen!" The fallen angel puts his face in his hand and laughs. - Simeon to M.C.

If you say something dumb, he'll stop whatever's he's doing, look at you, go back to whatever he's doing and call you a dumbass by "coughing" or he just closes his eyes, inhails, shakes his head, exhails and go about his business.

"My Lord... Get. Back. To. Work. D.J., stop distracting him."

Doesn't care what D.J. does, as long as she doesn't distract him or the Young Master from working. (She's usually working on Dragon Training anyway to be a distraction.)

Gave Willow a time controlling pocket watch when she was 5.

Willow is his baby girl. You mess with her, you're dead no matter the incident. But he also won't hesitate to punish her if she did something wrong.

He loves baking with Luke. It's his one of his favorite pass times and is getting more and more proud and prideful the more Luke gets better at it.

His other favorite pass time is spending time with Simeon. No matter what it is. Baking, relaxing, talking, "bed time". Don't matter. He loves his fallen angel and wouldn't trade his time with him for anything. He'll tell Diavolo to wait unless it's a dire need. (Diavolo doesn't really bother him that often anyway, knowing even he needs breaks and Simeon is the only one that can give it to him.)

One of his favorite positions is laying on the couch or bed, Simeon behind him, with the fallen angel's legs on either side of him, running his gloves less fingers through the demon's hair, massaging his scalp and base of horns, making him purr and tail wag (more like sway back and forth) a bit. The demon's ankles are crossed, Simeon's other arm is resting on the steward's stomach or by his side, holding his hand. Barbatos's tail tips, toes, feet or legs and fingers twitch every now and then, purring getting a little louder each twitch.

The moment Barbatos sits between Simeon's legs, the fallen angel automatically brings his fingers to the demons head and begins scratching and rubbing. With each pull of the fallen angel's fingers, Barbatos's vision begins to get more blurry and slowly droop and he slowly leans back into his lover, and his head eventually falls on Simeon's chest, the demon purring at that point and eyes closed.

Barbatos at this point is halfway between being awake and being alseep. He feels asleep but he's well aware of his surroundings and what's going on. Sometimes they talk about their day. Any other time it's a comfortable silence with Barbatos's purrs and the sound of Simeon scratching the demon's head fills the room with whatever is playing in the background, rather it be a show their kids are watching, whatever song is softly playing or just purring and scratching. If it's late at night, they'll eventually fall asleep like that, Barbatos still purring in his sleep.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\_NSFW!_/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

The man is a switch.

If he feels he hasn't been useful enough by the end of the day, he'll let Simeon dominate the fuck out of him. Any other time he dominates the fallen angel. Which is half the time.

He loves to use his tail to tease and pleasure Simeon.

He has a master kink. Both Dominating and Submitting (Simeon found it to be very effective on hard, rough days at the castle and days when Barbatos feels he didn't do enough). He also growls.

Before Simeon fell, he'd feel a bit guilty about bedding the angel a majority of the time because he'd feel paritly responsible if the reason the angel fell (he paritly is). Now that he's fallen, he doesn't feel no guilt what so ever except when he accidentally hurts him.

Starts slow and teasing that gradually gets rougher and heated the longer they go at it.

Simeon's cries, moans and whines drives him up the wall. He loves giving Simeon blow jobs for this exact reason. He'll keep Simeon's hands and hips down with his hands and tail as he goes to blows him. (Simeon both hates and loves it because he can't move his arms and hips.)

After they go at it, he's tired, and very cuddly. He'll wrap his tail and arms around Simeon and hold him close. They tease each other on what the other said during their moment. Leads to round 2 half the time with the previous sub dominanting.