#didn’t expect to find their old boss alive

[compaculaaa]

Hello,

I have a question for your au PrimesSparklingsAU, how do you think Starscream, Soundwave, and Shockwave would find out about Alpha and the babies? Well if the three find out at all.

Cause all I can image is, Starscream sneaking in to get blackmail on Sentinel. Then Starscream somehow ends up in Alpha room and Starscream finds, Alpha and the babies.

The high guard finally came!!!

[autisticadult]

The deal

Warnings- actually not a lot yall I was tame :) drug mentions, Mafia boss Elijah :) as literally always though, minors DNI <3

AN: I’m thinking of making a part two which is why I left it the way it did, let me know if you want more I haven’t written in a long time and I couldn’t sleep until I got this written :) this is just a tiny taste to test the waters, let me know what you think

The underground club known as The Red Raven pulsed with a life of its own, a chaotic symphony of muted basslines, whispers of illicit deals, and the faint scent of desperation that seemed to hang in the air. The dark brick walls bore faint cracks, as if even the building itself had borne witness to too many secrets.

Elijah Mikaelson ruled New Orleans with an iron hand wrapped in silk. His reputation wasn’t built on impulsive violence, but on precision, restraint, and an unrelenting cruelty that was all the more terrifying for its elegance. He didn’t need to raise his voice to command fear—his calm, measured tone was enough to send even the most hardened criminals scrambling to obey. When he ordered a man’s death, he would personally ensure it was carried out with precision, leaving no trace but a chilling message: defiance against Elijah Mikaelson was not an act of bravery but a death sentence signed in blood.

Elijah Mikaelson’s foray into the drug trade was as calculated as every move he made, a carefully constructed empire built on discipline and fear. Unlike his competitors, Elijah loathed the chaos typically associated with the industry; his operations ran like clockwork, with military precision and an iron-clad code. He didn’t tolerate waste, betrayal, or sloppiness, and above all, he despised being owed money. To Elijah, a debt was more than a number—it was a breach of trust, a crack in the foundation of his meticulously curated power. Those who failed to repay him didn’t receive threats or second chances; they simply disappeared, their absence a silent warning to others. He viewed money as a language, a marker of loyalty and respect, and anyone who dared to speak it poorly would find themselves paying a far higher price than they ever owed.

Which is what brought y/n here. Her brother foolishly owed the man money. A lot of money.

You took a deep breath and squared your shoulders as you approached the entrance. It wasn’t like you wanted to be here. Nobody in their right mind wanted to willingly walk into Elijah Mikaelson’s territory. But you weren’t here for yourself.

The bouncer, a tall man with a scar running down the side of his face, eyed you for a moment before stepping aside. It was as if he knew you were expected. Of course, you realized grimly, nothing happened in Elijah’s domain without his approval. If you were here, it was because he wanted you to be.

Inside, the world changed. Dimly lit chandeliers cast a golden glow over the polished floors and velvet-lined booths. People moved about—some laughing too loudly, some speaking in hushed tones. The air was thick with secrets, magic, and the weight of power that only Elijah Mikaelson could command.

“Elijah is waiting for you,” said a sharp voice behind you.

You turned to find yourself face to face with Rebekah Mikaelson. She was stunning, her pale blue eyes colder than ice as she looked you up and down. You felt like a bug under her scrutiny.

She smirked, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Good luck,” she said dryly, gesturing to a stairwell in the corner.

The weight of her words hit you. You needed it. Luck might be the only thing keeping you alive tonight.

As you climbed the stairs, the pounding of your heart drowned out the muffled music from below. Every step felt like you were moving closer to your own execution. You had heard stories of Elijah Mikaelson—a man of impeccable manners and unshakable calm. But beneath the polished exterior lurked a centuries-old predator, a vampire who wouldn’t hesitate to destroy anything that threatened his family.

When you reached the top, the heavy door at the end of the hallway was already slightly ajar. You hesitated for just a moment before pushing it open.

The room was a stark contrast to the chaos below—lavish and quiet. Thick carpets muffled your steps as you entered. The walls were lined with shelves of old books, their spines cracked and faded, and a small bar in the corner gleamed under dim lighting.

And there, seated on a leather chair with a glass of bourbon in his hand, was Elijah Mikaelson.

He didn’t look up immediately, his attention seemingly fixed on the amber liquid he swirled in his glass. But the moment the door clicked shut behind you, his dark eyes snapped to yours.

“Y/N,” he greeted, his voice smooth and measured. “What an unexpected surprise.”

His tone was polite, but there was a sharpness beneath it, like the edge of a blade hidden in silk.

“I doubt anything surprises you,” you said, trying to match his calm despite the way your heart thundered in your chest.

His lips quirked into a faint smirk as he stood, smoothing his suit jacket. “Touché. I must admit, I’m intrigued. To what do I owe this visit?”

You swallowed hard. “I’m here about my brother.”

The mention of your brother made his expression darken ever so slightly. He gestured for you to sit, but you remained standing.

“Your brother,” Elijah repeated, as though tasting the words. “He owes me a debt. One he’s proven unable—or unwilling—to repay. Surely you don’t expect me to forget such a matter out of kindness.”

“I don’t,” you admitted, meeting his gaze. “But I’m asking you to leave him out of it. I’ll take his place.”

The words hung in the air between you like a challenge. Elijah’s head tilted ever so slightly as he studied you, his expression unreadable.

“You?” he questioned after a long pause, his tone laced with faint amusement. “You would take on your brother’s debt? Do you even understand what you’re offering?”

“I know exactly what I’m offering,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly. “You said it yourself—he can’t repay you. But maybe I can.”

His gaze turned predatory, though his face remained calm. “What could you possibly offer me, Y/N? Do you believe yourself so valuable that I would call off my vengeance?”

Your hands balled into fists at your sides. “You’re a businessman, Elijah. You don’t strike me as someone who passes up an opportunity when it’s staring you in the face.”

He chuckled softly, the sound more chilling than warm. “And you consider yourself an opportunity?”

“Maybe not yet,” you admitted. “But you seem like the type who enjoys… collecting rare things.”

That earned you a full smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. You had to tilt your head back to meet his gaze as he loomed over you.

“You’re brave,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerous softness. “Or foolish. Perhaps both. But bravery is no substitute for value. What, exactly, are you willing to offer me?”

You took a shaky breath, steeling yourself. “My loyalty. My life. Whatever you want.”

The room seemed to grow colder as the words left your lips. Elijah’s eyes darkened, and for a moment, you could see the centuries of bloodshed and power that lurked behind them.

“Very well,” he said, stepping back. “Your brother’s debt is erased. But from this moment on, you belong to me.”

The relief that flooded you was short-lived as his next words sent a shiver down your spine. But the words ‘you belong to me’ hung heavy in the air, y/n couldn’t decide if she was scared or intrigued.

“Your loyalty is mine. Your freedom, your life—it’s all mine. Do you accept this, Y/N?” He said with a dangerous smile.

You hesitated, the weight of your decision pressing down on you like a physical force. But there was no turning back now.

“Yes,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

A satisfied smile curved his lips. He reached for your hand, lifting it to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. His touch was cool, but it burned through you like fire.

“Yes what?” he asked softly, raising an eyebrow as he looked y/n up and down slowly. His gaze was predatory

As he let your hand go, you realized you hadn’t just saved your brother. You’d given yourself to a monster.

And there was no escaping Elijah Mikaelson.

Y/n took a deep breath and whispered “yes sir”

——————————————————————

The days that followed your deal with Elijah Mikaelson felt like walking a tightrope over a pit of vipers. He hadn’t wasted any time asserting the terms of your new “arrangement.” You were summoned to his estate the very next day, where he explained—calmly, as always—that you were to live under his roof, serve as his personal liaison, and abide by his rules.

Elijah’s estate was as imposing as the man himself. A sprawling mansion hidden within the French Quarter, it was a blend of Old World elegance and modern menace. The moment you stepped inside, it felt like the walls themselves were watching you, whispering secrets they’d witnessed over centuries.

“Your room is prepared,” Elijah had said that first night, his tone polite but firm. “You will stay here. It’s safer for you.”

The subtle reminder of why you were here had kept you from arguing. You didn’t trust Elijah, but you couldn’t deny that the Mikaelsons were capable of protecting your brother from anyone who might come looking for him.

Still, being under Elijah’s constant watch was suffocating. He was everywhere—lingering in the parlor with a book, appearing silently behind you when you thought you were alone, and always, always observing.

It wasn’t long before you realized why everyone feared him. Elijah didn’t need to raise his voice or make threats. His power was in his presence, in the way he could command a room with a glance or disarm an enemy with a single, well-chosen word.

And yet, there were moments when his veneer of civility slipped, when you caught glimpses of the predator lurking beneath.

One evening, about a week into your new life, you found yourself in the mansion’s library. The library in Elijah’s estate was impossibly grand, its towering shelves brimming with leather-bound tomes that smelled of dust and ancient secrets. You hadn’t come here looking for trouble; in truth, you just wanted some peace—a brief reprieve from the constant weight of his presence.

You’d been restless all day, unable to shake the feeling of being caged. The shelves stretched to the ceiling, filled with books that looked older than some countries.

You ran your fingers along the spines, feeling their worn textures beneath your fingertips.

But trouble found you anyways, it always did.

“I didn’t take you for a bibliophile,” came Elijah’s smooth, familiar voice from behind you.

You startled, the book in your hands slipping from your grasp and landing with a dull thud on the thick carpet. Spinning around, you found him standing in the doorway, his silhouette sharp and commanding even in the dim light.

“Elijah,” you breathed, your heart pounding. “Do you always sneak up on people like that?”

He stepped inside, moving with the same predatory grace that always made your pulse quicken. His dark suit was tailored to perfection, every detail immaculate. He looked more like a king than a crime lord, and he carried himself with the quiet confidence of someone who knew it.

“I find that people often reveal the most about themselves when they think they’re alone,” he replied, his voice low and laced with amusement.

“Well, congratulations,” you shot back, folding your arms across your chest. “You caught me… reading.”

A flicker of a smile curved his lips as he crossed the room, closing the distance between you with deliberate slowness. When he finally stopped, he was so close you could feel the coolness radiating off his skin.

“Is that all I’ve caught you doing, Y/N?” he murmured, his voice dropping to a tone that sent shivers down your spine.

Your breath hitched. There was something dangerous in his gaze now, something that felt like it was peeling back the layers of your defenses, seeing too much.

“What else would I be doing?” you asked, your voice a little too sharp to cover the way your heart was racing.

He reached down, plucking the fallen book from the floor. He glanced at the title—something about French poetry—and then turned his eyes back to you, dark and unreadable.

“Perhaps plotting your escape,” he said softly. “Or perhaps… thinking about me.”

The accusation hit you like a physical blow, your cheeks burning. “You’re awfully full of yourself, aren’t you?”

He chuckled, low and rich, the sound curling around you like smoke. “You wound me,” he said, holding a hand to his chest in mock offense. “But I can’t help noticing how easily I seem to get under your skin.”

You scoffed, trying to keep your composure. “Maybe you’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” His voice was barely above a whisper now, and he took another step closer, his gaze locked onto yours. “Tell me, Y/N… do I frighten you?”

You should’ve said yes. It would’ve been the smart answer, the safe one. But instead, you stood your ground, your chin tilting up in defiance.

“No,” you lied, though your voice wavered just enough to betray you.

His smile widened, slow and predatory, and his hand lifted to brush a strand of hair from your face. The touch was featherlight, but it sent a jolt of electricity through you.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he said, his fingers lingering against your skin.

Your breathing quickened as his hand drifted lower, tracing the line of your jaw. He was so close now, his scent—a mix of aged whiskey and something darker—filling your senses.

“I think you’re more afraid of how much I intrigue you,” Elijah continued, his voice like velvet. “How much you wonder what it would feel like to give in.”

Your knees felt weak, but you refused to back down. “You’re insufferable,” you managed, though your voice came out breathy.

He leaned in, his lips so close to your ear that you could feel the coolness of his breath. “And yet, you can’t seem to stay away.”

Your heart was hammering now, a wild drumbeat in your chest. His words, his touch, the way his eyes seemed to see right through you—it was too much.

“Is this some kind of game to you?” you demanded, your voice shaky but still defiant.

His hand dropped from your face, but he didn’t step back. Instead, he tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made you feel exposed. “No, Y/N,” he said softly. “This is not a game. You walked into my world, and now you’re mine. I don’t play with what belongs to me.”

The possessiveness in his tone sent a shiver down your spine, but you couldn’t deny the heat that came with it, too.

“And what if I don’t want to be yours?” you challenged, though the words lacked conviction.

His smile returned, darker this time. “Oh, but you do,” he said, his voice like a caress. “You just haven’t admitted it to yourself yet.”

Before you could respond, he stepped back, his expression returning to its usual composed mask. “Goodnight, Y/N,” he said smoothly, as if the moment hadn’t just left you breathless.

And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the quiet library, your heart still racing and your mind spinning.

You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to steady yourself. If this was what it meant to belong to Elijah Mikaelson, you weren’t sure how long you’d survive it.

[valeskawhore]

Yandere! Matt Murdock! X fem! Reader!

A/n: “Recently rewatched daredevil and the punisher to get ready for the new franchise! Back in my phase!”

Warning(s): Yandere behaviors, obsession, Matt being a creep, implied forced sexual intention.

~*~*~*~

He’s logical.

Extremely logical with just a hint of guilt.

Matt doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, was he sick? Was he mentally unstable?

Matthew Murdock would more than likely talk to foggy about his new coming obsession with you in the early stages.

After all, you were just a journalist working to expose criminals in the Dailey Paper. Just trying to pay the bills and get by like everyone else.

When Matt first met you, it was on a bench outside of the church.

His hyper senses felt a younger woman sit down next to him, from the smell of her shampoo, horomones, even what you had for breakfast this morning.

No middle aged to early 50’s woman could down 4 cups of coffee is just a few hours and still be alive.

With just quick causal conversation, you drew him in. Making him smile, making his laugh and feel all bubbily inside. Then when you told him that you worked to expose criminals in the newspaper, the same ones Matt defended in court…

You snapped on him,

Calling him an asshole,

“So you’re the guy that’s been giving me so much pushback. What the hell is wrong with you? Don’t you understand how fucked these people are in the head, Matt? How could you do that?”

Not even giving him time to respond, you stood and walked away.

Any and every woman could fall to his charms but all it took was for you to figure out who he really was and instead of swooning at the idea of sleeping with a wealthy lawyer, you told him off and walked away.

Matt Murdock was hooked.

He’d find out where you lived,

Following you home one lonesome night when you couldn’t make your next deadline and decided to have a pity party at the bar by yourself. It had been such a stressful week anyways.

He needed to make sure you were safe- you had to be safe.

Or Atleast,

That’s what he told himself.

When talking about it to his best friend, Foggy would give him a strange look.

“You uhm.. sure talk about her a lot.. does foggy Nelson get to suffer again by the hand of the charming lawyer Matthew Murdock and his new obsession to fawn about?”

Matt wold laugh it off,

“Well this obsession is very interesting, I’ll have you know. She even cussed at me, and told me off.” He smiled.

Tilting his head, foggy responded. “Sounds like a big catch, Matt. Maybe take the hint,”

—

This wouldn’t stop Matt.

He was too far gone. He’d use his senses to point you out in a crowd. Maybe even for a period of time- the crime rate in Hell’s Kitchen would go up a Jurassic amount because daredevil wasn’t defending the city anymore. He was defending you.

Expect a high chance of being kidnapped in the early stages.

He’s definitely a delusional Yandere.

He’s Matt Murdock for Christ sake,

Handsome,

Charming

Smart

Wealthy

Who wouldn’t wanna be his?

If only you could SEE that, if only you could imagine the life he has for you both.

You’re so special to him,

He hasn’t felt this level of possessiveness since Elektra. He’d do anything for you.

That boss that’s been giving you a hard time? Gone.

Best friend(s)? Gone.

Possibly boyfriend or girlfriend? Gone.

And Matt’s always wanted to be a father..

Wanting to be better than his old man, Hold a baby in his arms and feel there small pitter-patter of a heart.

Your lives together will be beautiful, why don’t you see that?

———

Your head was spinning, wrists aching, mouth dry and eyes swollen from crying so damn much. The weight in your back was sore from remaining in this postion for so long but that didn’t stop the hatred in your heart for the man infront of you.

“I just want to help you,” he smiled, perfectly straight teeth showing, he was close— so close to you. Your thighs rested on his as he sat next to you on the mattress you were chained too.

“Fuck you.” You spat. Using what little strength you had to kick him but he caught your thigh and dug his fingers into your plushed soft skin.

“Now now,” the smile didn’t leave his face, he didn’t even flinch. “Cmon Angel, I know you don’t mean that..” he tilted his head, listening to your heart beat.

You did mean it. Hell yeah you meant it.

But Matt knew his only option was to manipulate you, twist your words against you and drive you just as insane as you made him.

“G-get off me already, asshole.” You tried to shimmy away. His grip tightened. “Not until you give me what I want.. we have a deal.. Remember ?”

Your stomach dropped, a vile sickness in your throat. Of course you knew.

Swallowing it, you nodded. “Fine..”

“That’s my girl.” He smiled a giddy stupid smile, happy you obliged. He leaned in, “don’t hold back on me this time, I wanna taste you.” And before you could respond, his tongue was down your throat. Hand gripping your throat, pulling you as close as possible.

His lips were desperate against yours, he just wanted to love you. As he grabbed your waist and pulled you closer,

One thought ran through your mind as the subtle tears ran down your face..

“Why me?”

*~*~*~*

A/n: “Let me know what y’all think!!!”

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Bleed my aching heart

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember, week 3 Prompts: Backseat & Bruise Words: 1,359 Rated: E Tags: Mafia AU; Mob boss Dick Harrington; Hitman Eddie Munson; Car sex; Rough sex; Possessive sex; Humiliation; Dirty talk; Knifeplay; Mild painplay; Top Eddie; Bratty bottom Steve

Notes: "Kiss that ring" verse, Steve POV? You bet! Can't give me those prompts and expect me to not think of these two unhinged little fuckers. This continues right where "Heaven's in the backseat" leaves off.

When Steve was twelve, his father took him on a trip to Sicily. He said Steve was old enough to learn about the family business he was supposed to inherit. And so Steve spent a dreadfully boring two weeks being paraded around in expensive suits, locked away in stuffy meeting rooms, listening to negotiations he didn’t understand, while the sun sparkled on the sea outside.

On the second-to-last day, he used an unsupervised minute to sneak away. The water always held a weird fascination for him, even then. He wanted to feel it on his skin at least once while he was here. 

On his way back, his feet slipped on the cliffs and he plummeted nine feet. They found him stumbling around by the shoreline hours later, disoriented and heavily concussed. His father took one look at him and slapped him hard across his bleeding face. 

“What part of stay at the house didn't you understand? Do you have a death wish or are you honestly too dumb to listen?” 

Steve thought about that question a lot over the past six years.

He's not ashamed to admit that he isn't smart - a lot less smart than Richard Harrington expected his son and heir to be. Still, he doesn't think it's the reason why he keeps going against his father's orders at every opportunity.

The pain felt good. He suspected even then that he must be a little fucked in the head, but that didn't change the fact that, nauseated and bleeding and dizzy, he felt more alive than he had in weeks. 

Maybe that's why he is the way he is. Why he keeps chasing the risk, the danger, the pain. 

Maybe that's why, when he noticed Eddie Munson lurking in the flower bushes by his father's pool, he didn't shy away but beckoned him closer. Maybe that's why the hungry look in those dark eyes makes him shiver in pleasure rather than fear. Why he can't stop provoking the man, why the thought of making that mask of indifference crack fills him with a perverse sense of anticipation. 

Maybe that's why, when Eddie hits the brakes and pulls the car over to the side of the road, Steve is fully hard before he even finds himself pinned into the backseat. Why, when Eddie pulls out his knife and trails the tip of the blade over his skin and talks about claiming him, about stuffing him full of his cock, about cutting his initials into his flesh, he can't help the needy little whimper that falls from his lips. 

“Do it then,” he breathes, hips bucking to chase the tantalizing weight of Eddie’s leg between his thighs, wrists straining in Eddie’s grip. “Make me yours.” 

For a second, Eddie actually pauses, eyes going round with surprise. Then, his pupils blow fuzzy and large. His lips peel back, and Steve catches a glimpse of sharp canines glinting in the blue light of the dashboard. And then all he knows is that he's being kissed with a force that is unlike anything he's ever experienced before, a force that punches the breath right out of him and makes the needy little thing low in his abdomen thrum and quiver. 

He struggles, clenching his jaw shut and trying to jerk out of Eddie’s hold, because what can he say? It's fun, playing hard to get, seeing just how much of a rise he can get out of him. Eddie growls against his lips and presses his thumb into the bruised flesh of his lip, just where his father hit him earlier. Steve gasps in pain and surprise, and Eddie uses the opportunity to lick right past his teeth and into the warmth of his mouth. His hand never lets go of the knife, and when Steve tries to twist out of the kiss, the blade tickles his cheek like a dangerous promise. He goes very still, Eddie’s teeth grazing his lip as he grins and deepens the kiss. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes before Eddie allows them to part for air. His head is dizzy and all of his sensations have narrowed down to the tingly needlepoint feeling in his limbs, the delicious pain where Eddie’s fingers are still pressing down on the bruise. 

“Make you mine?” Eddie repeats, and his voice is a husky whisper. His eyes look black in the dark car, like two bottomless pits, ready to swallow him whole. His lips gleam with their mingled spit. “I don’t think you know what you’re asking for, little nymph. I don’t think you know what that means.” “Show me then,” Steve hisses. It’s only when his nails dig into Eddie’s shoulders, drawing a sharp intake of breath from those sinfully plump lips, that he realizes Eddie no longer has his wrists pinned. Instead, his hand has traveled down, undoing both of their belts and flies with quick, deft fingers. 

Steve’s cock springs free, hitting Eddie’s thigh with an obscene little slap. Eddie coos, almost tenderly, but there is nothing tender to his touch as he takes him in hand. His fingers are long and warm and calloused, the edges of his rings deliciously sharp against Steve’s sensitive tip. Eddie squeezes, tight, and the zap of pain sizzles all the way up his spine, like tiny, bright sparks in the dark. He moans, low and wrecked, and Eddie laughs against his pulse. 

“Why, sweetheart, are you enjoying this? If I had known what a fucked-up little slut you are, I would've done this sooner.” 

“Don't call me-” Steve starts to say. Eddie pinches him, just where his aching balls connect to his cock, and the words trail off into a hoarse wheeze. 

“Don't call you what?” Eddie asks. “Sweetheart? Or my little slut? Well, I've got news for you, baby.” 

He slips the knife back into the holster under his suit jacket in one swift motion, then shoves three fingers into Steve’s mouth, so hard and fast he nearly chokes on them. 

“I'm gonna call you whatever I want,” Eddie purrs, one hand fucking into his mouth, the other pumping his throbbing cock. “I'm gonna call you whatever the fuck I want, and you're gonna be glad for it. Everything I give you, you're gonna take, and when I'm done, you're gonna thank me for it. Do you know why that is?” 

He slides his fingers out, patting Steve's cheek encouragingly. They leave a thin, cool sheen of spit, just next to the bruise. 

“Because I'm yours,” Steve rasps. 

“That's right honey.” Eddie’s smile is sharp and pretty and hurts in all the best ways. “Go ahead now, give me what's mine.” 

Steve's climax hits him with a violence that forces the air from his lungs in a startled scream. Eddie licks the sound from his lips like it's the sweetest nectar while Steve spills all over his hand and his own stomach, staining both of their expensive suits. It feels like being consumed whole. It feels like being pulled apart at the seams, like being shattered into a million tiny pieces. 

Eddie keeps kissing him until his lips feel puffy and swollen, keeps stroking him until his spent cock is sensitive and raw, until all that falls from his lips are high-pitched whines and a nonsensical string of Eddie, Eddie, please, so good, thank you, Eddie. 

“Aw, baby,” Eddie murmurs, sharp teeth nipping at the edge of his jaw. “Don't thank me just yet. You don't think I'm done with you already, do you?”

If coming undone under Eddie’s hands was like shattering apart, the feeling of Eddie opening him up on come-slicked fingers feels like being put together again. The burn of Eddie replacing those fingers with his cock, fucking him hard and fast into the backseat, feels like a rebirth. 

The pain when he comes for a second time, dry and untouched, and with Eddie’s name on his lips, feels like the beginning of a new life. 

He's made into a new kind of person that night in the car, one that belongs to Eddie Munson, heart, body and soul. He never once looks back. 

More Smutty September

[kindheart525]

I can’t make a Smiling Friends next gen without showing what our own Allan Red is up to! Other than paying for abortions of course /j

Allan never really thought about having kids or starting a family. Sure, he has the occasional one night stand, but that doesn’t mean he expects them to go anywhere. Plus he doesn’t like little critters running around and invading his space, even without counting the especially bad experience he’s had with that. Once his coworkers start having kids and he’s forced to be around the rowdy little ras-cales, it only affirms for Allan that this is not the life he wants. He does not like kids and isn’t eager to get married either. In my personal headcanon he’s on the aromantic spectrum, but Allan doesn’t care to label himself like that. All he would say is that he’s simply not interested and he has better things to do.

But that doesn’t mean Allan is a total loner. He cares about his friends and enjoys a little companionship even though it’s not the kind most critters prioritize in their lives. So as the rest of his friends took on the title of “father,” Allan became a proud cat owner! But don’t call him a “cat dad” or the cats his “fur babies” or anything like that; he finds the whole thing to be pretty ridiculous. 

To him they’re more like roommates and close friends who he happens to feed and clean up after. They’re quiet, well-behaved, and nothing like his friends’ children (who aren’t allowed to meet the cats for the most part). He finds it insulting for them to be compared to children and arguably the cats are insulted by that too. I don’t know, their faces just all look like that. 

Here are the cats themselves:

Noodle (pronounced “New-dell”) is the Foreign Shorthair that Allan adopted when his friends’ kids were little and who he owned throughout his 30s. He fits the classic “pet looks like their owner” stereotype with his squinty, judgmental eyes, his long gangly limbs, and his unusual “honking” meows that kind of sound like Allan’s monotone voice. He’s very selective with his affection yet seems to think of himself as some kind of god; he’ll scratch almost everyone who touches him but will loudly demand that Allan carry him around everywhere like a king on his throne. Allan will argue with Noodle over who’s really the boss of the house, but oblige anyway to keep him satisfied.

Coca Cola and Pepsi (pronounced “Cokey Coh-lah” and “Bepis”) are a bonded pair of Sphinx cats who serve as Allan’s companions during his midlife. Much like Noodle before them (and most cats to be honest), they have a god complex and expect to be treated like royalty, which is amplified by these littermates egging each other on in everything they do. They’re like a sassy villain duo that you would see on TV, causing mischief in their stylish coordinated sweaters that Allan paid a lot of money for (“it isn’t a fash-awn statement, they have a medical condition-uh”). One minute they’re screaming at their owner to feed them and the next they’re looking photoshoot ready, so you can never expect what kind of mood they’ll be in.

Quesadilla (pronounced “Queue-salahd-yuh”) is Allan’s final and longest-lived cat. An ugly, scraggly black hairball since kittenhood, she was the runt of her litter and the last to get adopted, but ended up outliving all of them. Allan takes excellent care of all of his cats, providing them the best food, enrichment, and exercise he can reasonably afford, but even he is surprised at Quesadilla’s longevity. She makes it to almost 30 years old! He didn’t even have to spend a fortune at the vet to keep her alive like some critters do for their pathetic little dogs—Quesadilla would kill the vet herself if he did subject her to that. Even as she slowed down, even when she was blind, deaf, and could barely walk straight, she stayed alive out of pure spite.

[somearestronginthebrokenplaces]

I've Been Running out of Fear

It had been months since the assault on Kings, police tape around the front entry still blowing in the wind. Sita, first overjoyed at her newfound freedom, had to deal with her new reality. She needed a job and fast. Luckily she found one quickly.

The sports betting office was dingy, tucked into the business district of the large city. And while Sita still found herself in the shadows of those skyscrapers, this time she felt anonymous, losing herself in the job. She knew her looks helped win the old man who hired her over but her meticulous work sealed the deal.

She was good with numbers. Always had been. That’s how she knew exactly what percentage of her pay Queenie and Kings stole from her. How much they owed her. And she tried, she really did, to tamp down that anger. They’d lost their lives for it, for all of what they’ve done to her and everyone else. They’d paid in blood. But that didn’t stop the anger, the shaking of her fingers, at night when she couldn’t sleep.

Things had changed. She could admit that. And while change is usually slow with big machines like the government the streets felt different now. Like the pseudo gods had been pushed back, kept at bay now. Scared of their own mortality.

She’d thought of him everyday. Of what he did for her, for them. For all of them. She’d figured he was good as dead for what he did, who he killed. She hadn’t seen him around and hadn’t expected too. But that nagging want, need, hope to see him again turned her stomach at times. She knew want and need were just as bad as faith and hope. Pointless. Useless. But still…

She first heard the whispers that he was alive from the old women in line in front of her at the bank while running an errand for her bookie boss.

“He slipped out into the night, became the one thing that could protect him,” the woman with the young baby in her arms whispered in a hushed, but not secretive tone, to the silver haired cashier.

Sita’s ears perked up.

“I heard the same thing, that he slipped out of Kings and into the darkness. That he survived the hell fire he rained down on those assholes,” the cashier replied.

“They say he must be a god, or of the gods anyway.”

Sita smirked, remembering the lanky, clumsy waiter she’d first met. The way the ugliness of Kings made him pale, sweaty. But she also remembered the way he held her gaze. The way he saw her and didn’t turn away.

Goosebumps raised on the skin of her arms when she thought of the way he’d look at her. Like she was something, someone, special. Someone to be respected. No one ever looked at her like that.

“The papers say they have no leads, but I heard he’s hiding out at a temple, outside of town. In the country somewhere,” the cashier continued.

Sita knew the temple the woman spoke of, she was from the country, she’d seen it once or twice while growing up. Anyone who didn’t know of it would have a hell of a time finding it.

That night while Sita lay awake like so many other nights the noise of the city never dying down she thought of the temple. Of how she hoped, that word again, that he had made it there. That he was safe.

Then she cursed herself, why do you care, she asked out loud in the darkness of her bedroom.

When she couldn’t stop the thoughts of the temple and then the dreams started she realized the only way to kill her curiosity was to see for herself. She needed to prove to the little voice in her head that said ‘maybe’ that he wasn’t a god, that he wasn’t indestructible that there was nothing to hope for because it’s safer that way.

On a day off she slipped away from the city, following a path she knew only from memory.

The temple was just as she remembered it, carved into a hillside, blending in with its surroundings, a part of the landscape, not apart from it.

She took the stairs slowly, afraid of what she’d find at the temple door, whether it was true he was there, or true he’d never been there. She was nervous for either outcome. But deep down, she felt him. She felt a peace she hadn’t felt since she was young in that hillside.

At the top of the stairs her heart beat wildly in her chest. She breathed in deeply through her nose, willing her heart to slow, her breathing to even out.

Before she could change her mind she raised a shaking fist to knock against the sun worn temple door.

When no answer came she debated knocking again or turning away. She could turn back now, go back to the city and dream whatever ending she wanted, she could live in the limbo of not knowing the truth and while that would hurt, knowing the truth might have hurt her worse and she was tired of being hurt.

Just as she was about to turn away the door creaked open slowly, exposing the cool darkness inside.

A man, a woman, with long hair and golden bangles running up their arms peered out suspiciously.

Before Sita could speak the golden hued puppy from the alley pushed her way through the cracked door her tail wagging while she sniffed Sita’s sandals.

Despite herself Sita smiled, bent to ruffle the fur behind the dog’s ears, “You remember me?” she asked.

“Who are you?” the temple keeper asked, voice stern.

They were put on guard by her clothing, she’d done too much she thought, her attire too business like for the countryside. She’d dress down next time. Next time she thought. What a curious thought.

She straightened and swallowed. Sita didn’t know his name, his real name, she’d realized. She suddenly felt guilty about that.

“I’m looking for Bobby,” she said, hating the way the western name felt in her mouth. It didn’t suit him.

The temple keeper frowned, “There’s no Bobby here, you must be mistaken.”

The door started to close and Sita’s stomach dropped. She’d been right. It’d been futile to hope.

“Sita?”

She heard her name, like a song.

It was him. His soft voice, she’d heard it in her dreams so many nights.

When he appeared in the doorway her heart stopped, it was like seeing a ghost.

“It can’t be…” she breathed.

He looked…healthy. All his sharp edges just a little less so. The cuts she’d grown accustomed to seeing on his face all healed. His curls longer, softer, falling into his face.

Her cheeks heated when she realized she’d been staring.

“There you are,” she said, holding her chin up.

His eyes softened, the corner of his lips twitched in an almost smile, “Here I am.”

“Well come inside,” the temple keeper replied, a little exasperated, a little amused.

“You kept the mutt,” she said, words harsher than her tone as they strolled the temple grounds together.

He nodded, “Couldn’t leave her behind.”

Sita thought about how she told him not to give the puppy hope, but that wasn’t what he had been doing. He kept his promise, whatever promise he made when he fished out that food from the garbage to offer the starving dog. He saved her, like he saved them.

“How are you?” he asked as the silence stretched a beat too long between them.

She bit back a smile. Such a simple question that wasn’t simple at all.

“Good,” she replied, “I got a new job.”

“Do you like it?” he asked, genuine concern etched between his brows.

“I do,” she replied, reassuring him, “It’s good. And you?” she asked.

Tension was beginning to build in her shoulders, in her palms. In her stomach. This wasn’t the conversation she wanted to have. There’d been so much, too much, that happened since they saw one another last, but he owed her nothing, she knew that. His kindness of seeing her was just that. But yet here she was. Pulled to him.

He shrugged.

She stopped him with a hand on his arm at a grove of trees lining the back of the temple’s property.

“You never thought about it did you?”

He frowned, meeting her gaze, “About what?”

“About the after.”

He looked away from her, gazing intently at the dry grass as it swayed with the late afternoon wind. “I didn’t think there’d be an after.”

“You went there to die?” she asked, surprised at the way her voice caught.

He nodded.

She shook her head, he’d been so foolish she thought not for the first time.

“Was it worth it?” she asked.

He turned back to face her, this time she saw the fire licking at the dark edges of his glittering brown irises.

“To be able to stand here, with you now, free, both of us, yes. Yes, it was worth it.”

A young boy ran up to them then, wrapping himself around the legs of the man she still didn’t know the name of.

He smiled, reaching down to ruffle the boy’s hair. Leaning down to whisper something against the boy’s ear making the boy smile before running off again.

She watched him, how patient he was, how gentle.

She didn’t know how to be soft, or gentle like him.

Maybe she could learn because he made her feel safe. He gave her peace.

“Dinner is soon,” he said, “stay?”

She nodded, she hadn’t come this far to let him out of her sights so soon.

And at dinner, while the sun burned orange on the horizon, his fingertips brushed over her knuckles, his smile soft.

Yes, she could learn.

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Forced Love IV

John Wick x Reader

Summary: Arranged marriages aren't uncommon in the crime world but John Wick never expected to be forced into one with is boss' daughter.

Chapter Summary: John returns to his old life just to finish some business

Warnings: Minimal use of Y/N, canon level violence (if it's in the movie it's here), medical stuff

Word Count: 5.7K

Masterlist

As the taxi pulled up to John’s home he didn’t suspect that anything was amiss. But as soon as he stepped out onto the gravel driveway, he noticed some haphazard tire marks but he brushed those off as just being from a careless delivery driver. As he went up to the door his alarm bells started going off and started to revert back to assassin mode. The door was left slightly ajar but most horrifyingly was the blood left on the door handle. Without a critical thought, he immediately began to shout his wife’s name, not considering his own safety or the fact that his yelling could give away his position. He just needed his wife right that second.

He opened the door, immediately seeing the crumpled body of his wife lying in the living room with a knife sticking out of her chest. He was immediately running over to her to check her pulse. She had to be alive. No deity would be so cruel to give him something so wonderful only to take it away after just seven years, right? Despite the fear and pain icing his veins, he felt the most relief he had ever felt when he found his wife’s pulse still going. It was weak and erratic but still there. He was immediately pulling out his phone to dial 911 while keeping his fingers on her pulse, making sure it didn’t disappear.

“911 what’s your emergency?” the operator’s voice answered.

“My wife was stabbed, she’s still breathing but it’s bad,” he called into the phone, forgetting all his formal training.

“Okay sir, the ambulance is on the way. What’s the address?”

John gave the operator his information, the entire time trading between gently slapping his wife’s face trying to get her to wake up and making sure she was still breathing. And after only a few minutes, paramedics were bursting through the door. He nearly killed one for pushing him out of the way but he kept himself in check, remembering that they were saving his wife’s life. It was also at that moment that he realized he had been crying.

Seeing as John wasn’t about to let his wife out of his sight and he was in no shape to drive, the paramedics let him ride in the ambulance. He held her hand the entire way to the hospital, only letting her go from his sight when they arrived at the hospital and doctors immediately began surrounding her, bringing her to surgery immediately.

John sat in the waiting room for hours with no updates. He went through a range of feeling absolutely nothing, to fear, to regret, to guilt, to sadness, to absolute blinding rage. It was only after being numb for an entire hour that he decided to call his father-in-law. He figured that even if they weren’t in contact, Viggo would still want to know about this.

“John, I didn’t think I’d be hearing from you at all,” Viggo answered.

John didn’t even bother with pleasantries. He was too devastated and exhausted. “Viggo, there’s something you should know. I uh- came home today to find Y/N…” these were the hardest words he ever had to say, “lying in a pool of her own blood with a knife in her chest. She was still breathing and she’s in surgery. She’s been in for a couple hours but no one’s given me an update which I guess is a good thing,” he rambled.

Meanwhile, Viggo was still trying to process his son-in-law’s words. “She was in her own blood? How much?”

“I don’t know. She was also covered in bruises.”

Viggo sighed, the weight of the world weighing on his chest. “I know you’re retired and trying to stay separated from this life but give me an update as soon as you can.”

“Will do. Bye,” John bid before hanging up. Viggo put the phone down, rubbing his face exasperatedly. Sure, his daughter had been essentially dead to him because her husband wanted out but he held no ill will towards them. He never thought this would happen to her though. Not in the crime world and certainly not in her newfound retired lifestyle.

“What was that about?” Iosef asked, having expected to get a call about his sister’s death.

“It seems your sister was attacked,” Viggo answered his son. “She’s alive. She’s in the hospital but-”

“She’s alive?!” Iosef cried in shock. He had stabbed her in the chest and basically broken every bone in her body, how was she alive?

Viggo’s face immediately darkened. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” the boy immediately shrugged off.

“What did you do?!” he demanded again, now standing up. When his son didn’t say anything, just looked like a guilty dog, the mob boss began pacing around angrily. “You idiot. Why would you do that to your sister?”

“Because you were going to pass my birthright onto her!” Iosef defended like a child. “You always gave her stuff to do and me nothing.”

“She is retired!” Viggo cried, wondering how his heir ended up so stupid. “She was never going to take over. I only gave her responsibilities so you’d get your shit together. Now look what you’ve done!”

“What? She’s in the hospital? She’ll recover and learn to stay away.”

“And once she’s recovered she’ll tell her husband—the man they call Baba Yaga—who did this to her. You remember when she was stabbed right? The men behind it took three hours to die. The man who ordered it was made to dig his own eye out.” As Viggo told the stories of The Boogeyman, he stepped towards his son with every word. Iosef continued to back up until he couldn’t anymore as he realized just how deep of shit he was in. “Get out of my sight while I deal with your mistake,” he spat. His son needed no more encouragement as he left the room with his tail between his legs.

Viggo sat down, taking a deep breath before calling Avi in. Once his right hand man was in his office, he got to the point. “Iosef tried to kill my daughter but he couldn’t even finish the job,” he spat. Avi didn’t even have the chance to process his boss’ words because he was already barking orders. “Send twelve of your men to Wick’s house. Once he’s there, eliminate him. Otherwise he’ll drag my son through an even slower death than Alexi Petrov.”

Avi couldn’t believe the words he was about to say. “And your daughter? Should we eliminate her too?”

Viggo thought for a moment. She had been no use to him ever since she retired. Technically, she wasn’t a threat. The only real threat was her husband but he knew John had taught her a thing or two and she always had a slight rebellious streak. “If you must, you better pray you kill her husband first.”

~~

The entire two weeks Y/N had spent recovering at the hospital, John had been there too. The second doctors had wheeled her out of surgery, John quite literally never left her side. The doctors explained that she had had extensive internal bleeding due to crush wounds from blunt force trauma. And that while the stab looked bad, it was no more than a flesh wound because her sternum had kept the knife from doing any real damage.

As for when she woke up, one of the first things John asked her was who did it. And when she responded with her brother’s name, all John could see was red. He wanted to scream a million curses and go rip the idiot’s head off but he kept his cool enough to listen to his wife’s reasoning. And just like him, all she wanted was to be near her spouse.

After two weeks she was released and, miraculously, had mostly healed. She had just had to deal with some residual bruising and a lot of soreness but otherwise was fine. Her brother’s paid friends had managed to crack a few ribs but nothing extensive enough to keep her immobilized for the two weeks. Despite the good news, John was still treating her like she was porcelain. He insisted on helping her in even the smallest tasks. For the first week he wouldn’t even let her feed herself.

“I’ve got you,” he assured, his arm around her waist and her arm pulled over his shoulder.

“I’ve got it,” she insisted, standing up with ease. It was painful but she could do it without assistance.

John backed off, looking at her with guilty eyes. He hadn’t been there for her the day she was attacked so he needed her to know that he’d always be there for her for the rest of time. That he’d always take care of her.

The mood was somber as they drove back to the house. Y/N just stared out the window, watching their once completely safe town pass by. She had thought this was her heaven but her brother tainted that with his paranoia. But she kept those feelings under wraps. She knew it would break John’s heart even more if she voiced her newfound discomfort with this town because he was the one to find it. He thought this would be a safe home for them.

Once he pulled into the garage, he was helping her up into the house. “You want anything? Water? A snack? I can go get food if you want?” he offered, desperate for a way to make this better.

“I’m fine,” she assured. “I’m just gonna lay down.”

“Okay, I’ll be up soon,” he assured. He watched her worriedly as she climbed the stairs. She leaned heavily on the railing but otherwise seemed to be doing okay. He couldn’t believe she survived such a savage beating and was half dead just two weeks ago. The bruises that encompassed her entire body were a sick reminder of that.

Heading down to the basement, he found a sledgehammer. Going over to the slab of concrete that was different from the rest, he brought the sledgehammer down hard. It immediately cracked the concrete, prompting John to take another swing and another until he finally found the cases he was looking for. He hauled them out of the dust covered hole, through the cracked concrete. He opened the first case, finding part of his arsenal and most of his gold. Hi wife had begged him not to retaliate in the hospital but he couldn’t just let this go. Her own brother tried to kill her over a misunderstanding and if Viggo had a single functioning brain cell left, he’d hand his son over.

As he continued going through his things, the phone began to ring. He knew who this was, the only people who had the basement landline’s number were people of his former life and no one would be calling except for his father-in-law. He picked up the phone, not saying a word. “Hello, John,” Viggo’s voice came over the line. “I assume Y/N has told you about her attacker.” John didn’t say anything. The next words out of his mouth better be that Iosef was tied up, waiting for a bullet in his skull. And the fact that he hadn’t called for two weeks didn’t escape his notice either. “John?” the Russian mob boss’ voice called over the phone again upon not hearing a response other than breathing. “Let us not resort to our baser instincts and handle this like civilized men, to move on-” His words halted as John hung up the phone.

He grabbed two pistols and extra magazines as he went upstairs. Based on the phone call, Viggo was prioritizing his son over his daughter and that meant eliminating any threat to Iosef. He went to his room where he found his wife sleeping, the soft noise of his footsteps not waking her. He left one of the guns on the nightstand next to her just in case she needed to use it. Going into the bathroom, he took a shower to wash the sweat and concrete dust off of himself before getting dressed. As he was tying his tie, he saw movement surrounding the house. His in-laws were here. With one last look his wife, still sleeping peacefully in bed, he grabbed his own gun and the key he had kept locked in the basement.

As he stepped out of the bedroom, he could hear them making their way into the house. But first, he turned, locking the door to the bedroom before tucking it in his jacket, right above his heart. They’d have to kill him if they were going to hurt her and he had survived much worse than this.

It was the first shots heard right outside her bedroom door that began to stir Y/N from her sleep. Her exhausted brain managed to ignore them for a moment before she heard the loud thud of bodies hitting the floor. Her brain finally put the pieces together as she realized someone was in her house again. She immediately turned towards her husband’s side of the bed, finding nothing. It looked like hadn’t even gotten into bed. She heard more shots and more bodies falling. How many people could possibly be here? But all she knew is that as long as she continued to hear shots, John was still alive.

She crept towards the door in only her nightie, intent to somehow help her husband. She could just stay out of the way and if she needed to, she could help. There were clearly multiple intruders, eventually they were going to gang up on him. But upon reaching the door, she found it locked or jammed or something. She struggled with the door for a few seconds, trying to force it open before realizing there was definitely a better way to go about this. As she was looking for something heavy to break the handle off with, she found the gun John had left her. Grabbing it, she went over to the door, beating the handle with the butt of the gun but it did nothing. With a grunt of frustration, she took a chance, shooting the handle. The bullet lodged itself in between the door jam and the locking mechanism, surprisingly weakening it enough so she could break it open.

Once she finally got the door open, she was immediately greeted with two bodies on the stair landing just outside her door and another on the stairs. She carefully crept past them, rushing towards the front of the house where she could hear struggling. Her path there was littered with other bodies but she paid them no mind, hurrying towards the entranceway. There, she found a masked man on top of her husband, trying to send a knife into his throat. She did the only thing she could think of, lifting the gun she shot hurriedly. She was by no means a trained gunman so the shot went into his shoulder rather than his head but it was enough of a hinderance to the masked man that John was able to easily flip him onto his back before sending about five bullets into his head.

“John,” she cried as the gunfire stopped. She didn’t even realize she was crying until she felt a tear drip from her cheek onto her chest.

“Y/N, oh my god,” he returned in an almost broken voice. He was immediately scrambling up, pulling her into his arms. He pressed her body into his, cradling her head against his chest. “Did they get into the room?” he asked.

“No but I heard the gunshots.”

“You should have stayed there,” he reprimanded lightly.

“I know but I wasn’t about to let you get hurt.” John sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, just embracing her for the moment. “Were these my father’s men?” she asked.

“Yes,” John answered reluctantly. How do you take learning that your father chose his other child over you? He couldn’t imagine what his wife was feeling right then. “But no one’s gonna hurt you. I swear.”

“But what about you?” she asked, pulling out of his tight grasp to look at him. “My father didn’t send twelve men to kill me. He sent them to kill you.”

John’s jaw clenched. “Go upstairs and start packing. We’re going to the Continental. You’ll be safe there.”

~

By the time they arrived at the Continental hotel in the heart of New York City it was morning. As the pair pulled up to the hotel, the valet held open the door for her. She thanked him as John rounded the car, carrying both their bags in one hand. He handed the keys off to the valet before taking his wife’s hand, walking into the hotel like a celebrity. As they walked through the entranceway up to the desk, the people idly chatting in the lobby quieted down, looking at the pair. Both of their beat up appearances didn’t escape anyone’s notice but one rumor would start circulating soon. The Wicks were back.

As they approached the desk, the found a woman being checked in by the doorman. They both recognized her from their lives before they retired, both of them having crossed paths with her as individuals. “Good seeing you again,” she greeted the pair like they were casual work acquaintances.

“Perkins,” John replied, nodding in acknowledgement before stepping up to the desk.

“I have you for two nights,” Charon greeted.

“Depending on business, it may be more,” John replied. Beside him, his wife shifted uncomfortably. Two nights of hell, maybe more. John was on the warpath now and nothing she could say could ever stop him.

“Of course, sir.” John then pulled a gold coin out of his pocket before sliding it across the counter to Charon. In return, he passed them a room key. “Room 818.”

“Thank you,” she smiled before grabbing one of the bags before John could take it.

Later that night, after they had eaten and Y/N had attended to her husband’s wounds, John came out of the bathroom, having changed into a new suit. “Stay here,” he told his wife. “I have some people I need to talk to.” But before he could walk out, she caught his hand.

“Hey,” she began, stopping him. “Just, be careful. I know you made my father what he is but he’s still powerful and you’re still human. Just remember your promise to always come back to me,” she made him swear.

“I will,” he swore. “I love you,” he said, pulling her in for a kiss.

“I love you too,” she returned once he had pulled away. As he headed out the door, she watched him go reluctantly.

After a few stressful hours trading between pacing, checking her phone, and trying to watch tv, the door to the room finally opened. “Oh my god,” she gasped, watching the way he limped and held his stomach.

Assuming she was talking about the blood, he was quick to assure her. “Don’t worry it’s not all mine.”

“John… I-” she was at a loss for words of how to deal with her seemingly suicidal husband. “What are the injuries?” she asked as he sat down on one of the chairs.

“Bullet wounds to the vest,” he emphasized the vest part, “so probably some bruising. And a stab in the lower stomach.”

She sighed, checking the stab wound first. “That’s the same place as mine. We should make sure none of your organs were ruptured,” she said, already grabbing the hotel phone. She ignored John’s protests as Charon answered. “Hi, could you send the doctor up to room 818? Thank you.”

“Why would you do that?” John asked. “I’m fine, I don’t need a doctor.”

“Because John fucking Wick is not dying from a fucking kidney infection. And if you’re so intent on revenge you’re getting some pain meds,” she reprimanded.

John looked like he wanted to argue but he suddenly deflated. “Thank you,” he said. “You’re the best wife I could ask for.”

“Yeah well, who else would shoot up The Red Circle for me?” she joked. A knock on the door prompted her to go up to the door, letting the doctor in. “Hi,” she greeted, “he’s at the table.”

The doctor thanked her before going over to the table. “Hello Mr. Wick, nice to see you again,” he greeted. “What can I do for you?”

“You too,” John returned, looking reluctant to exchange the same pleasantries with yet another person. “Just a stab. My wife wanted to make sure it didn’t puncture anything important.”

“Smart woman,” he remarked. The doctor got right to work, inspecting the wound. “Well, good news is it’s just a flesh wound, it didn’t cause any internal damage or bleeding. I’m just gonna have to stich it up.”

“So what sort of movement am I looking at?” John asked the doctor as he worked. His wife’s disapproving look didn’t escape his notice though.

“Well, if you’re looking to heal, then keep it marginal,” he warned sternly. “However, if you still have business to attend to take two of these beforehand,” he advised, handing John a bottle of pills.

“Thank you,” he said, the smallest hint of a smile creeping onto his face.

The doctor only nodded. “The stiches will tear and you’ll bleed. But you’ll still have full function. Do you need anything for the pain?” he asked, getting up.

“No I’m fine,” he assured despite his wife’s worried looks.

“Thanks, doc,” she wished as the man left. Once he was gone, she moved from her place on the bed over to the seat in front of John. “Please, I’m begging you to stop,” she pleaded. “You’ve killed like 40 of my father’s men, is that not enough for you?”

“Y/N, your brother tried to murder you and then your father took his side. How can you be okay just letting them walk free?”

“Because the man I love is avenging me alone,” she said in a strangled voice. “My family has an army protecting them. Forgive me if I have some fear that this will end with you in the back of Charlie’s van and I’ll be left with what? A dead husband and a family that tried to kill me. Can we please just cut our losses and disappear?”

The assassin clenched his jaw. She had a point but he couldn’t just let the people who hurt the only person he cared about go free. It wasn’t right. Besides… “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because your father put a hit out on me. Two million dollars.”

Her heart sunk. “What?” She couldn’t convey the level of hurt or betrayal she felt. Her own father put a hit out on her husband?

John watched her process the information. She was just now starting to understand how he felt. How neither could just let the person that threatened their spouse go. He continued to watch her very rapidly go through his own process of watching his wife practically die in that hospital bed and now, she was getting angry and set of vengeance. “Okay…” she said softly, giving in. “What’s the plan?”

“Right now, we’re going to sleep because this is the only place we’re safe.”

“Right… no business on Continental grounds,” she mused.

“C’mon,” he urged her, standing up only to lay back on the bed. She followed, laying on his uninjured side so she could rest her head on his chest. “You know I’m always gonna protect you, right?” he said into her hair.

“I know. Just wish I could protect you more,” she mused.

“You do,” John assured her. “I don’t know where I’d be if not for you but I can’t imagine anyplace good. And if I die-”

“John!” she cut him off, not wanting to even entertain the thought.

“Just listen, this is important. If I die, come here. Marcus will find you and take care of you,” he promised. She didn’t respond, unsure of what to say. She just cuddled into her husband more, holding him impossibly tighter.

They must have dozed off because suddenly there was a small explosion next to John’s ear. Recognizing the noise as a missed bullet, he immediately rolled over, covering his wife’s body with his. “Wha-” he heard her voice come from underneath him when he heard the glass room divider above the bed shatter, raining glass down on them.

He threw his body off the bed, dragging his wife down with him. The bullets continued flying, shattering the windows at the end of the bed as John practically pushed his wife under the bed. “Stay there!” he ordered.

“Hey John,” a woman’s voice rang out. They both recognized it from their former lives and as the woman in the lobby.

“Perkins?” John called.

“Thought I’d let myself in,” she quipped as she tucked herself against a dividing wall to defend herself from any gunfire. As she rounded the corner to shoot at her target, he used his makeshift arms sling to force the gun out of her hand. He then forced it up to her neck, trying to strangle her with it. “I never knew Ms. Perkins to get out of bed for less than three.”

“Viggo’s giving me four to break hotel rules,” she answered as she broke out of his grip.

Y/N watched in horror as they continued to struggle through the room. She was trying to decide when coming out of her spot would be useful or just a hinderance. Two was better than one but she had absolutely no combat training beyond the basic self-defense John had taught her. If she came out from under the bed, that’d just remind Perkins of her presence and then John would have to worry about both himself and her.

As they tumbled out of sight and she was considering what she should do, the phone rang. Probably a noise complaint. Assassins were surprisingly civilized and expected a certain level of decorum. She crawled out from under the bed just about half-way in order to grab the receiver. “Hello?” she answered.

“I apologize for calling you at this hour,” Charon’s voice came over the phone, “but we have received a number of grievances from your floor concerning the noise.”

“Sorry, we’re uh-” the sound of the door crashing open caught her off guard. “John is dealing with an uninvited guest.”

“Are you in need of a dinner reservation, perhaps?”

She peaked around the dividing wall, finding John with Perkins in a headlock, gun pointed at her head. “Um… maybe. Either I or John will let you know.”

“Okay, have a good evening, Mrs. Wick,” he bid before the line went dead.

She scrambled out from under the bed towards the hallway at the same time as another guest. Except he had his gun pointed at the back of John’s head. Thinking quickly, she found a gun on the ground that must have fallen in the scuffle. She cocked it, pointing it at the back of the man’s head. “Drop it,” she ordered.

Hearing her words, John turned around, finding his wife pointing a gun at an old friend. “Hey, Harry,” he greeted.

“Hi, John,” he returned. Upon seeing the friendly encounter, John’s wife lowered the gun. The man turned to face her. “You must be Mrs. Wick, Viggo’s daughter.” He turned back to John, “I thought you were supposed to be the guard dog.”

“She returns the favor sometimes,” John explained. “Hey, you keen on earning a coin? Babysitting the sleeping one?” he asked, gesturing to the unconscious woman.

“Catch and release?”

“Catch and release,” John confirmed.

They helped Harry get Perkins tied up in his room before they headed towards a lead John had gotten from Perkins.

“Where are we going?” Y/N asked.

“Little Russia,” John answered. “The church where your father keeps all his most important assets. I’m gonna lure him out.”

“Okay… what do you want me to do?” They pulled up to the rear side of the church, parking in a back alley a few buildings down. John didn’t answer for a few seconds, seemingly deep in thought. “Go up to that building’s roof,” he pointed at one right across the street from the church. “I’ll give you the sniper rifle. Once I start ambushing them, you can give me cover.” Her eyes widened at the responsibility he bestowed her. He never let her do anything when it came to his work. He tried to keep her from it as far as possible. Seeing her shock, he explained. “I realized that if I was going to make decisions that effect you, then you also have a right to act.”

She sent him a grateful smile. “Thank you, John,” she said, a hand reaching up to cup his cheek, her thumb stroking over his beard. “No let’s go burn my father’s empire to the ground.”

After thirty minutes of just sitting on the roof, John finally made his move. She watched him gun down a few of her father’s men before anyone could react. She responded by taking aim at one, firing. She missed but shook it off. She was mostly just there to create enough chaos so John could get Viggo alone. She took aim again at another one of her father’s guard. She smiled in success initially as she landed a bullet in his head. But the smile quickly dropped as she realized she had just killed a person. She had ended his life prematurely. What if he had a life outside of his work? What if there was someone waiting for him at home just like she waited for her husband. Hell, she very well could have known the man she killed. He could have been one of the men that had protected her in the past.

She only snapped out of her guilt-ridden haze when she heard a loud crash. Looking down, she found John sprawled on the ground, a few of her father’s men quickly subduing him. “John !” she cried. She had to get down there. Maybe her father would listen to her.

As she started collecting her things, a voice cut her off. “C’mere pretty girl,” the sick voice of one of her former bodyguards came. She scrambled to aim her weapon and managed to pull the trigger but she was too slow. The man had enough time to dodge it and as she tried to aim again, he got in close enough to knock her to the floor. He pushed the rifle away from her as he pinned her to the ground. “Hey, I got her,” she heard him call into a mic. “I’m gonna need backup. No way I’m gonna be able to get her down the fire escape by myself.”

She continued to struggle against him, but he simply rested his bodyweight on her, effectively trapping her. “Let go of me!” she demanded.

“Y’know, I much prefer you before you married Wick. You listened back then.”

“Yeah, well, he taught me a thing or two,” she spat back.

“Please, you’re just a spoiled brat who wants to piss of daddy,” he taunted. “Did you think you could actually just let your husband fight your battles for you and kill all the people who used to protect you without consequences?” He reached a hand out, squeezing her jaw. “This is just a temper tantrum and because of you, your husband will pay the ultimate price.”

“He’s gonna kill you,” she swore. “And if he doesn’t. I will.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

By now, his backup had arrived and she was having her hands and ankles tied up so she could be carried down the fire escape without much of a fuss. When they finally reached the cars, she made sure to send a harsh glare at the man that had put out a contract on her husband. He marched right up to her, sending a smack to her face. “I raised you better than this. Look what you caused,” he gestured to the tainted state of things around them.

“Your son you never bothered to raise caused this,” she spat. “And then you took his side over mine when he tried to kill me.” All of a sudden she was feeling all the hurt and betrayal she hadn’t been letting herself feel for John’s sake. She broke down right there in the parking lot before she heard a faint order from her father to just put her in the car. They laid her down in the rear seat as one of the men got in the driver’s seat and her father sat in the passenger seat. She had no idea where she was and all she wanted was John. Viggo attempted to speak to her a few times but she was crying so hysterically, full of so much pain she had been pushing down, that she couldn’t even hear him. As her world faded to black she put it together that she was in the midst of a panic attack.

Masterlist

[rayacaban]

⸻ ᴀ ꜱᴏᴜʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ʙᴏʀɴ ɪɴ ᴄᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴀɪɴ ᴋɴᴏᴡꜱ ꜱᴜɴʟɪɢʜᴛ ⸻

biography. connections. playlist. study. mirror. pinterest. interactions.

BIOGRAPHY

tw: cancer

Rosita and Ricardo Caban had no business having a child. A couple who only focused on the so-called luxuries of life, they got a camper as soon as they moved to the States and travelled all over the country. Raya just so happened to be born in San Diego. However, she was never given the chance to actually settle down anywhere. Hauled from one city to another, they joined strangers on their travels and parted ways soon after. There was never any stability to her life; the only constant she ever had was Hugo. Her father's older brother, who stepped in when no one else would. He made sure Raya would get homeschooled, he celebrated birthdays with her, and whenever her parents were too out of it to take care of her, he'd scoop her up and take her with him. Life was always a big question mark for her until she turned 16. That's when Hugo announced he had bought a house in Windsor Bay, and Raya was coming with him.

Hugo was a photographer, and while he provided the most stability she had ever had in her life, he still had to travel. However, at least Raya now had a home. And she fell in love with the town. Going to school was difficult at first, it needed a lot of adjusting. Having a routine always felt alien, but she was a good kid who settled in fine. With not much to show for and always having to look out for herself, there was one thing she loved doing, and that was cooking. With two dreamers as parents, she found a dream of her own - to run her own restaurant. She didn’t chase stars, she just wanted a place where food would provide comfort, and so all the money she ever made ended up in a little piggy bank. And life began.

Falling in love was exciting; it enlarged her circle in a way she had never expected. She felt like she finally belonged. Coming of age was bliss, and Hugo was still traveling, so she had a place to call her own with his occasional visits, but she was never truly alone. Life was good, her dream still in reach. Until it wasn’t. Things had a tendency to crumble, and that’s what they did. A broken heart isn’t easy to heal, and hers got shattered. With reality settling in, she knew opening her own restaurant with her finances was impossible, and eventually, the romance of it all lost its charm. Switching jobs, never truly happy with what she was doing, she started feeling restless. Maybe her parents left a seed within her, maybe she wasn’t meant to find peace. But life never truly stopped.

Until it somehow did in 2021. It was a week before Christmas, and Hugo came back. With bags. So many bags. This time, he wouldn’t leave; it was time to stay because the diagnosis was brutal. The cancer had already spread, and there wasn’t much they could do but make him comfortable. So that’s what Raya did. He didn’t want hospice as long as he wouldn’t be a burden, and Raya never called him such. They played cards in the garden, drank alcohol until one of them passed out, and she cooked. The kitchen was their temple. One dish after another. He was the boss - her jefe - and she worked tirelessly to complete his food bucket list. They almost made it. On February 14th, 2023, Hugo didn’t wake up. It was the best outcome, they said. But on Valentine’s Day, all the love died in Raya’s life. Everything he had, he left to her. And as if guided by his hand, she decided to continue his List in a different way.

‘Besos’ was the best decision she ever made on a whim. Restoring the old food truck was her own doing, but the customers were the ones keeping it alive. She’s been selling her cuisine downtown ever since, always developing with the tastes of the locals. It’s not her dream restaurant, the money for it is long gone, but it’s better - it’s all hers, built up by her time shared with her favorite person. And it has Hugo’s besos all over.

[imagineanime2022]

Friend To Friend

Dazai Osamu X Fem!OC

Word Count: 1154

Requested: Anon

Request: Original Request

Dazai knew that Fuyuko would need help. Dazai had always known that Fuyuko was under the impression that she had no one left that was willing to help her.Dazai had found out a lot about her from Mori and files kept on her. There was a name of an old leader of the group, not the boss but still very high on the ladder, it seemed that they were still popular in the criminal world, they would likely be able to give him the help that he wanted.

The meeting was set in a slightly more populated area, somewhere that he was sure that no scene could be made. “You the one that sent me the letter?” A woman stood in front of him, nothing fancy about here someone who spent most of her time blending in. “And you're a friend of Fuyuko Yoshikawa?” Dazai asked, he held up a picture of Fuyuko when she was younger, not one for pictures now, he didn’t have anything more recent. “Guess you could say we were friends once.” The woman in front of him nodded. “How’d you know her?” Dazai asked. “She used to run with my first gang back when we were kids, she stuck to herself most of the time but she valued everyone that was in the gang, saved one of us once when we attempted to steal a police car, they grabbed me and she killed the officer that grabbed me.” The woman took a breath. “The other one tried to kill her, he didn’t take kindly to an act of self defense, our leader at the time jumped in front of Fuyuko to take a bullet, they were best friends at the time it almost seemed like instinct.” Dazai was sure that there was something missing from that story, it wasn’t really all that important, he had what he needed, she would be able to provide the help that he wanted. “It seems like you owe her.” Dazai leaned back on the bench, eyes slowly moving around the small park almost expecting to see someone watching him, waiting to grab him. “I haven’t seen her in years.” The woman dismissed him. “Well you’ll find her this time and you’ll pay her back for everything that you owe her.” Dazai explained. “Why would I do that?” She asked. “I’ve got a lot of free time on my hands and even more connections. You've managed to stay out of the police's hands for a long time but I can end that within a few weeks if I have even the smallest feeling that you haven’t done what I asked of you.” Dazai answered.

Fuyuko opened her eyes, faced with a very normal room, she was sure that she had passed out after digging her way out of the grave that she had been buried in. Her hand shot to the wound from the sniper shot but it was bandaged and now that she looked at herself she was cleaned up, the blood and dirt gone from her skin. The door to her right opened and in front of her was someone that she never thought that she would see again. “You saved me?” Fuyuko asked. “You remember me?” The woman asked, “Aika.” Fuyuko answered. “Why did you save me? How did you know?” “A friend of yours told me that you would be needing some help, he didn’t really give me the option to say no.” Aika answered “Dazai, he said his name was.” “Dazai?” Fuyuko breathed out the name in relief, glad that he was still alive and he was okay. “Do you want to leave the Port Mafia?” Aika asked after a moment of silence. “What? Why would you ask that?” Fuyuko asked. “Dazai said that the boss was trying to punish you, don’t you want to leave while you can?” She asked “if he thinks you're dead, that means that you can go anywhere, I can help you go anywhere.” Did she want to leave? She wasn’t sure about the answer to that. Chuya was still waiting for her and if Dazai was still alive then she wanted to make sure that he could follow what Oda asked and become a better man. That meant that she needed to make sure that Mori didn’t bother him any further. “I can’t do that.” Fukuyo finally answered. “I still have things that I need to do there. I know that nori was probably the one that ordered that I was killed but I still owe Mori my life and I want to make a deal for Dazai, protect him.” “Why do you care about him, he left you there right?” Aika’s arms flung up in frustration, not that she cared too much but Fukuyo’s blind loyalty had always gotten her into trouble even when they were kids. “We’re the same, he was my first friend when I joined the Port Mafia, we had another friend, he’s d-dead now, he asked me to make sure that Dazai was okay, to protect him but he deserves to find a reason to stay alive.” Fukuyo explained. “Fine, at least wait until you get back to fighting order before going back.” Aika said before pointing towards the bedside table. “Everything that was in your pockets is on the table.” Fuyuko looked at everything and finally reached over to pick up the match box as Aika left the room. The match box was from the Lupin Bar, something that Dazai had given her before they had all split up. Treats welled up in her eyes and she remembered the time that they spent together, she missed their old group and the fun that they had.

Dazai looked down at the old matchbox that he still had in his pocket, the last link to the life he had before, he remembered giving a matching one to Fukuyo, he doubted that she still had it though, she did always have the lighter that he Dad gave her. He took a match out of the box, lighting it and finally throwing it on the coat Mori had given him. He stood and watched it burn for a little while under the cover of the Yokohama bridge. He turned away from the coat leaving it to burn as he thought cycled through everything over the past couple of months with the Port Mafia and Fukuyo. He missed her but he didn’t miss the life that he had there, he was happy that she would have Chuya with her but he had hoped that she would have taken the chance to leave while she could, that she might have been standing next to him instead of Mori that night. Aika had told him why she was not leaving and as he thought on that he decided that he would do what Oda had asked and be better, he’d join the Armed Detective Agency.

Request Here!!

[quotidian-oblivion]

Fic Stats Game

Got tagged by @uncertainwallflower for this game and THANKS SO MUCH!!

Rules: Give us links to your fics with the most hits, second most kudos, third most bookmarks, fourth most comments, fifth most words, and fic with the least amount of words.

Most hits

My School’s Local Mafia Boss

I think the title really explains it all? But anyway:

Jason knew that attending a rich ass school was going to be the toughest and most mind-grating thing ever. His beliefs were confirmed when he got cornered by bullies on his first day. The only thing he was surprised about was that it took them so long to find the school's new street rat. Just as he's about to be punched, a fucking 10 year old (he's actually 12) steps in and... starts threatening the bullies? And they actually listen?? What the fuck???

And that isn't the only surprise that's waiting for him.

Yep, knew it would be this one. I'm so proud of it

Second most kudos

Sometimes You Have To Find Your Own Genes

Timothy Jackson Drake just wants peace. So far, it’s going well with his time as Robin and hanging out with Batman and Nightwing while the occasional messy, violent visits from his parents. But when a certain someone comes back from the dead and reveals the secret he was honing and hiding for most of his life... well, it basically all goes to shit.

The multichap fics have the most stats cuz... they're multichaps. They appear in the filters more often

Third most bookmarks

Phone Alarms

"Just imagine Jason recording Batman angrily yelling "Nightwing!" then setting it as the sound of Dick's phone alarm so in the next morning when it goes off he flips the fuck out"

Saw the prompt on Pinterest. Wrote this in one setting.

I'm actually really proud of this one, might reread it

Fourth most comments

Can You Deduce Where I Am Now?

As soon as he woke up after coming back from Titans Tower, the second Dick and Bruce stepped into the room, Tim had eagerly told them that Jason was alive and that he was Red Hood! They didn’t believe him, blaming it on lack of sleep and the haze being shot brought, but Tim was sure he saw Jason. Older, bigger, with a white streak in his fringe, but still Jason.

OR

Tim goes out to find Jason to bring his big brother back home. Jason... Jason has other matters to ponder on before deciding to come back.

I love this fic!! I went through like three or four different plots before writing it right before posting it (i write everything before posting). And then Cyg came in and beta-ed it so that was fun!

Fifth most words

Let Them Be Siblings

After the Waynes burst through his door and whisk him away from his parents and their harsh belting, their plane blows up, leaving Tim an orphan. Living in the manor is getting a little suffocating because no one seems to understand that he still loves his parents. They expect him to just “get over” his grief and—

Tim can’t stay anymore. So he runs away. And meets two very interesting people.

Least words

Regarding The Workings Of A Zoo

Damian collecting a series of increasingly non-domesticated animals and naming them after his siblings.

A drabble for 105 subscribers on ao3 and 100 followers on Tumblr!

This is 886 words i cant write small stuff, i keep blabbering

No pressure at all tags: @sardonic-sprite @tristicorde @wakkoroni @foursixtwonineoh-pieces-of-lego

[thebibliomancer]

Universe X Special: Spidey #1

Hi Spiders-Man!

Fun fact: this was the very first image I ever saw from the Earth X line. I had NO idea what it was and assumed that the monstery half of Spider-Man on the cover was Doppleganger because I was aware of Maximum Carnage.

And now I have context!

As I’ve said in past posts, Earth X was massively successful so when a sequel series was in the works, it seems like the plan was More. So we get these Universe X Specials, focusing in on something specific and moving the overall story along.

Last time, the 4 Special brought Sue Storm back to life. And also had focus on Reed and Johnny. Poor Ben was kinda Just There. Just like he was kinda Just There in Earth X.

I guess this time, the focus will be on the spider corner of the verse. Spider-Cop, Venom daughter, and Spiders Man.

Lucky for Miles, he missed out on this verse.

The NYPD of martial law America is Very Concerned about the big mobs that Pope Immortus is pulling in. Immortus’ crowds are still threatening the Human Torch (the building) and they’ve also seized the grain silos, taking control of food stores for the entire city. You either join the church or go hungry.

Boss of America Marshall Muldoon points out that Immortus relies on Spiders Man’s illusions to keep his flock loyal and that they need to do something about that.

Cop Spider-Man volunteers to take care of him, leading Cop Cage to ask take care of how? How far are they going to go?

Peter responds with a pun, leading May Venom to cringe like she’s an embarrassed teenager.

I’m not actually sure how old she is.

Anyway, Peter goes on the mission but goes out of contact for a few days so May decides to go look for him.

Infiltrating Immortus’ crowd, May finds Spiders Man and Peter locked together in some illusion. Since beating the shit out of an unresponsive Spiders Man doesn’t jolt him out of the illusion trance (but does make him cry from the pain, geez), May decides to go into the illusion by using her symbiote to interface with Peter’s mind.

She’s expecting some horrible torture but just finds a nice New York City.

May finds an unmutated, powerless Spiders Man. And she beats the shit out of him again…

Spiders Man tells her that he’s trapped here too and is not in control.

Also, we can guess that before the terrigen bomb, Spiders Man may have been a homeless guy. And then he mutated to be a lizard with spiderweb scale patterns and illusion webs. Manipulative masterminds keep exploiting him. And an angry maybe teen keeps kicking his ass. He’s just not having a good life.

May swings off to find her dad and get him out of the illusion herself.

And because she’s Peter Parker’s daughter AND Venom, she does this in the most dramatic way. Crashing through a window to yell at him.

But she discovers to her shock that in this illusionary world, Peter is married to Gwen Stacy and Mary Jane is married to Harry Osborn.

Which sorta makes sense, those were the dating couples before Gwen died. And there’s even a What If type logic to everything.

Which helps May realize that Spiders Man isn’t steering this illusion.

Peter is.

This is all a subconsciously self-inflicted black mercy type situation.

In this dream, Peter stopped rubble from falling while he was fighting Doc Ock. So Captain Stacy didn’t get squished pushing a child out of harm’s way.

With Captain Stacy alive, for some reason he wound up arresting Norman Osborn on charges of being a green goblin. So Gwen never died.

For some reason, his family falling apart prevented Harry from having a bad drug overdose that drove Mary Jane to dump him. So they’re still together.

This is, May infers, Peter’s perfect world. And she has to bring him back to reality.

She tries telling him what REALLY happened. And saying that Green Goblin killed Gwen does seem to jolt Peter from the fantasy.

Because the Green Goblin didn’t. He did. Catching Gwen recklessly with his webbing broke her neck.

In a nice touch, Peter letting the sad reality leak in renders him in a more detailed art style versus the simpler one that’s been used for this fantasy world.

Peter flees into his memories and May gives chase. Shes confronted by Spider-Man and subdues him, assuming it’s her dad hiding behind his mask.

Except… it’s Ben Parker. Peter’s son with Gwen.

May hasn’t loved seeing Peter’s fantasy was marrying someone other than her mom. She’s had some harsh words to say about it. But discovering that he seemingly didn’t even want a daughter, that she’s been outright replaced in this scenario breaks her.

She dramatically melts and jolts out of the illusion.

So she can beat the shit out of Spiders Man again.

That poor guy.

May even goes to kill Spiders Man. But Peter snaps out of the illusion in time to stop her.

Peter admits he doesn’t deserve her forgiveness. He can never make this right. Not just fantasizing about a different life but the emotional neglect towards May after MJ died. And that he never let himself love Mary Jane as much as he should. It’s not that he loved Gwen more than MJ but because his guilt from Gwen’s death made him feel he couldn’t love. He didn’t deserve to.

Peter Parker. Him and Matt Murdock are the most guilt wracked people on Earth. Although, I think Matt is dead now so Peter wins.

May asks why Peter abandoned the fantasy if he had everything he wanted there and he answers “when I saw you, everything wasn’t enough.”

So thanks to this psychic lizard man, the family issues between Peter and May have been brought out into the open and discussed. I’m sure there’s still a lot of work to be done, wounds made over years don’t heal overnight, but it’s a start.

Oh, right, there’s also the reason for all of this. Peter asks Spiders Man to come back with them.

And I cannot fathom why he says yes.

He has been severely beaten three times today because of this family. What about this experience made him want to abandon Immortus?

Unfortunately, we don’t get a lot of insight into Spiders Man. He features on the cover and he drives the plot but he could be an illusion casting lamp for all it matters. Who he is as a person is not relevant to the story. This is about May and Peter and he’s just unfortunate enough to be the instigator.

I do wish we learned more about him. He’s probably the most iconic new character of Earth X but Earth X does not do a lot with its new characters.

Remember the new circus X-Men who basically did nothing last series?

Even here. May gets a lot to do here but it’s really all still Peter focused.

That’s my primary criticism of this. It’s a pretty interesting Peter character piece but the new characters that could use some exploration wind up just parties to exploring Peter’s issues.

Share some space, Pete. It was a long special.

Anyway, next time the liveblog returns to the main book with Universe X #4.

[storyowls]

Isidora Pires

A writing gift I did for Tun @rheethecharr where I created a VtM Gangrel for her! Introducing Isidora Pires, with mentions of her Lasombra friend (who will get her own stories later).

Note, like all games in the World of Darkness setting, VtM is strictly 18+. And, like all kindred, Isidora is a monster. Do not expect her to be a good, kind person.

Gráinne Mhaol, Queen Of Pirates – Miracle of Sound

Isidora Pires is an imposing woman. Tall, bulky, and owns a voice that carries hard and gets attention fast. The type of person one wants to be friends with, but you still feel weary of in some way.

Oh, how odd kine can be.

Other kindred however? They count on her for many things. Underground, shady things. Get your car in working order, make you a mini-tank, make your gun kick ass things. Be your muscle if so needed.

A lot of them often wondered how she became the biggest ally for their best driver, Dionísia. The two of them came into town years ago, with the Gangrel loudly laughing and the Lasombra carrying the head of a clan mate.

They all learned quickly not to ask questions about their past. Oh, but they wanted to know. Everybody did.

But, as she is with everything else, Isidora’s imposing nature keeps question askers at bay.

After getting Dionísia’s makeup done for the night, Isidora turned her attention to her other tasks. One does not ask a Lasombra for help and then laze about; she’d been whacked one too many times with those damn shadows thank you very much. The first order of business for the night is getting the boss’ favorite car in working order. Not too hard, except for the one thing she asked Dionísia to go get for her.

At least she could get started on it now.

Standing on the mat into her workshop, she removed her boots in order to pull on her coveralls. She may be undead, but there was no reason to let her get too covered in oil. Not now anyway; no use pulling off the hard working gal look where there weren’t other women to swoon over it. Wheeling the toolbox over, she removed the creeper roller from the specially made rack attached to it.

Setting it down, the Gangrel removed several tools, laid down on the roller, and disappeared underneath. It was time to get to work on the old pink Cadillac, remove any problems. And it wouldn’t hurt to give the ol’ girl a much needed check up, eh?

Several hours later, Isidora was waiting on somebody. Most of her work done, she sat on a stool and waited for the person to show up already. Seriously, how long would it take...BAM.

Looking up, she saw Dionísia standing there, box tucked underneath her arm. Hair? Perfect. Makeup? Perfect, on point, she did an amazing job. Attitude? Er...indecipherable. Probably best not to ask. Instead she got up, walking over to take the package from her.

“You’re the best Fracturada! Knowing the others I wouldn’t have gotten this until tomorrow if I was lucky.” She grabbed a pocket knife from her pocket, flipping it open to start removing the tape from the box.

“Yeah, whatever you say Onça,” there was a knowing tone to her voice, a little smugness. The Lasombra knew she was the best driver there, but she didn’t openly admit it. Why should she? Everybody knew, especially the Gangrel.

Though she knew that back when they first met, when they were still alive.

She soon found her prize, holding up the part and grinning. Hard to find, harder to convince somebody to fork it over. However the mere mention of the boss’s name did wonders, like always. It held weight, meaning, a threat if you would. Taking the part, she laid back down on her roller and went underneath.

It took her about five minutes to put the part in and snap it in place.

Rolling out with the broken part that was replaced, she looked up at her friend who was watching. Always watching this one, never needed to ask what she was doing. Though she’d never admit it, Dionísia was pretty well versed in knowing how things ticked. She watched, she asked, and she learned.

And Isidora loved it.

After stripping out of her coverall and putting her shoes back on, she went to the sink to start washing grease off her hands. Her phone pinged, and she turned to the Lasombra who gave her a look before picking it up. Using the attached keyboard to tap in, she looked at the text message and raised an eyebrow.

“You need to hurry up it seems.”

“What’s up?”

“There’s rumors of a fight about to start at the bar, boss wants ya there pronto.”

Oh, this was going to be fun.

Devil’s Dance Floor – Flogging Molly

Isidora was not wrong about this being fun.

As soon as she stepped into the bar, the fight was clearly two seconds away from starting. The two groups heeded her no mind before just lunging at each other. She knew Dionísia was watching from behind her, and she tilted her head in silent communication. Their eyes looked the people over, deciding how hard she could rough house.

Two groups of humans, being stupid, possibly drunk.

Damn, gentle it was.

Without saying a word, the Gangrel motioned to the other bouncers who all leapt in with her. They began to pull them apart, shouting to knock it the hell off. However, one of them decided that he believes in equal rights.

Including punching a woman.

Sadly for him, said woman was Isidora.

It took not even half a second for him to realize how stupid that was as he was just lifted in the air. He could see the wheels in her head turning, deciding what to do about this slight. He could sense that she was stronger than him, and could easily hurt him to the point that he’d have multiple casts.

Instead, she spoke, “Don’t do that again.”

He nodded, and she let him down, releasing his shirt. The fight stopped, much to her dismay, and the other bouncers started chewing the humans out for their stupidity.

However, she nodded to Dionísia who nodded back. The two left the bar, walking back down the street to the shop. There was a few things left to do before the boss arrived for her car.

And they wanted to be presentable.

About an hour later, the door to the shop opened. Looking up, Isidora smirked and tossed the Cadillac’s keys towards it. The person in the doorway caught them, smiling as she stood in the shadows. The boss was happy, very happy.

And that, as always, was what Isidora wanted.

Isidora Pires is an imposing woman. Tall, bulky, and owns a voice that carries hard and gets attention fast. The type of person one wants to be friends with, but you still feel weary of in some way.

And it is in your best interest to feel that way.

[siriuslysatorusimping]

Finally got my power on again, but I am sorry you had to go through with your job. It's disgusting how there are people out there like that. My dad is black and my mom is Mexican/Navajo, so I know all about people like your shit boss. I hope you do have a case because people like that are vile. Also, thank you for creating fics for our blue-eyed king because, WTF was that ending? My expectations were in hell, but damn Gege went lower. I had to deal with that terrible open-ended ending and this freaking hurricane just my week. I'm choosing to live in Delulu and picture him with our girl just eating sweets and being lovey-dovey. At least I know he's alive and getting the life he should have had in the manga. Keep your head up, Kiko; better things will come your way!

Oof. I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with power outages! It’s crazy how far the hurricane’s reach is. A friend in Minnesota said he was dealing with stuff because of it.

Yeah, the thing with my ex-boss is that not only did he refuse to communicate clearly, I now think he does it on purpose so he can have an ‘excuse’ to fire people when he wants. The thing is, his team is still less than a year old. I was the first hire. But he’s already fired two people and one has quit. All three women of color. The first fire was a black woman, the one who quit was black, and I’m Asian. The one who quit said that when she put in her notice, people in the same office as her (the company has offices across Texas) told her that it wasn’t a good look for him. And that was two days before he fired me for supposed lack of performance on goals he never communicated. Unfortunately, discrimination cases (especially racism ones) are almost impossible to prove. And idk if I have the energy to try.

I was already struggling to make ends meet because of all my lawyer debt from the divorce, which my ex-boss knew about, too. I’ve been cutting expenses in every way possible and still coming out in the negative, now with no income, I genuinely have no idea what I’ll do if I can’t find another job soon. He fired me four days before benefits run out, too. So I can’t afford therapy, my neurology, or my ADHD medication now. I’m essentially totally fucked over and my ex-boss knew what he was doing. My biggest issue has been trying to process that someone could do something so cruel while pretending to be a good person. People are disgusting and I somehow keep forgetting long enough for them to do things like this to me.

I’m not officially diagnosed with autism because the process is long and expensive and I couldn’t afford it yet, otherwise I would have a disability discrimination case because I was transparent about needing clear communication in order to be successful.

I just feel very hopeless about the situation.

I’m very qualified for my field, and I interview incredibly well. But getting an interview is the hardest part because of the automated resume screeners companies use now.

In the end, it’ll be for the better. I don’t have to see my ex-husband at work and the environment was getting toxic because my ex-boss had essentially told me if I didn’t like his communication style, there’s the door. So, I was already passively looking. I just have to ramp up my search. And survive long enough for things to start getting better.

I’ve applied for unemployment, which should help a tiny bit, but the max they cover is only a small fraction of what I was making so it won’t be enough to cover my lawyer debt, bills, and student loans (which are private so I can’t pause the payments). I told a friend that 2024 might beat out 2020 AND last year for the worst year of my life so far. Shit just keeps happening.

BUT, I digress. I’ll do my best and try to keep my head up. It can’t stay awful forever. (I hope)

The JJK ending just existed for me, tbh. I wasn’t really surprised since it felt very shonen to me. I just hope Akutami can get the rest he needs and take care of his health now that it’s done. It’s also possible the official volume release will have additions since he’s done that in the past.

As for Gojo? I miss him. But in Another Level, he’s thriving. He’s living his best life with Rinko and the others.

I’ve been working on the two AU pieces I’ve posted previews for just for me, so we’ll see if I finish them. The first has really been a self-indulgent way to process some traumas but it’s been pretty cathartic.

Thank YOU for this message, and for reading my brainrot fics! It makes my heart feel so full to know the stories I’ve created for my own sake are enjoyable for other people to read 🥹

I hope you’re well, even in light of the hurricane effecting so many. 💕

[verfound]

MINIFIC: Oct. 23: Day 6: Tiny (MLB, Lukanette, DLM AU)

Shout out to Quick for this one.  I liked what I had, but I also didn’t, and she had some suggestions that…quadrupled its size.  Huh.  Maybe I shouldn’t say thank you.  😝

For @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers October Minific Challenge 2023.

Read on Ao3

To Feel Alive Again: Day 6: Tiny

Luka hissed as the tug on the leash he was holding caused his hand to slip and the flame from his lighter to get too close to his thumb, burning it.  The cigarette he’d been trying to light fell to the sidewalk and rolled away with the breeze, and he sighed as he looked down at the runt that had caused it all.

“Would you just piss already?” he grumbled, digging in his pocket for another cigarette.  “It’s fucking cold out here.”

The dog he had been charged with walking today, an annoying little shit named Pip (who was seriously the tiniest dam dog Luka had ever seen, and she was full grown), skittered up to another lamp post and sniffed.  Luka sighed and tipped his head back, frowning at the cloudy skies above.  He wondered if it was supposed to rain today.

“Have a great day!”

His head dropped back at the voice, his eyes scanning the street around him until he heard the voice again.

“Hi!  What can I get…?”

Pip had stopped outside a café to (attempt) to do her business.  Through the plants and signs lining the glass, he could see a familiar raven-haired undead girl…smiling behind the counter.  Not just smiling, but laughing and talking to people like…like she was a normal, well-adjusted, happy person.  That liked interacting with other people.  It was a completely different person from the girl who had kicked his shin under the table an hour ago for stealing her bacon.

(…he should probably stop that.  It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford his own bacon.  She just got so indignant every time he did it, and her eyes got a bit bluer when she was annoyed, and…he owed her a few breakfasts’ worth of bacon.  He should fix that.  Soon.)

The customer she was helping said something that made her laugh, and he was momentarily distracted by the way her smile filled her entire face, how her eyes crinkled at the edges, the laughter that itched at the edges of his mind like an old, familiar song when the door opened again.  The way his hand twitched for some paper – for his fucking guitar – eager to get the notes down before he lost them forever.

He was moving before he fully registered what he was doing.

Pip yelped as he scooped her up and dropped her in her doggie bag.  She growled when he went to zip it up, and he sighed as he scratched behind her ears.  She shook his hand off and snapped at him.

“Be nice,” he said, rolling his eyes as he moved to the door, “or I won’t get you anything.”

The café was busier than he’d expected, and by the time he reached the front of the queue Pip was snoozing in her bag.  Marinette didn’t notice him at first, busy counting the change the last customer had given her, and he took a moment to just…appreciate her.

Because he wasn’t staring.  Or admiring.

Or checking her out? Théo’s sleazy voice drawled in his head, and he tried not to roll his eyes.  He wasn’t doing any of that, because that would be weird.

“What can I get…oh,” Marinette said, her eyebrows lifting as she finally looked up to see him standing there.  “H-hi.”

“Hi,” he said, the side of his mouth twitching with a smile.  He looked up at the menu, pretending not to notice the way she was suddenly fidgeting with the hair trying to escape her messy bun.  “Barista, huh?”

“It’s close enough to patisserie,” she said, shrugging one shoulder as she tucked some hair behind her ear.  “And the boss is…flexible.  With hours and breaks.  Plus, y’know.  Free coffee.”

“Cool,” he said, nodding.  He was still looking at the menu, trying to find something that passed as plain, black coffee.  What the hell kind of place was this?  He couldn’t pronounce half the shit on the board.

“Did…did you want…” she started, and he hummed as he looked back at her.  She was shifting from foot to foot awkwardly, her lower lip between her teeth and her cheeks a light pink.  “I mean…were you…”

“Hmm?” he asked, an eyebrow lifting as he watched her.  She sighed and gestured to the board.

“What do you want, Luka?” she asked.  “Are you going to order something, or are you just…checking up on me?”

“Hey, I didn’t even know you worked here,” he said, holding his hands up defensively.  “I just…saw you from the street and…wanted to say hi.”

“…hi?” she asked, her voice flat.  She raised her own eyebrow, and he tried to smile at her.  “Because you totally didn’t do that when you were stealing my breakfast an hour ago.”

His smile fell, and she winced as she looked back at the till.

“Sorry,” she said.  “That was…”

“I refuse to do Mendeleiev’s dirty work for her, Mari…Emma,” he said, glancing at her name tag.  “If she wants to check in on you, she can do so herself.”

He hesitated a moment, but then he reached out and laid a hand on hers.  Her eyes snapped up to him, surprised.

“…I’m just being a friend,” he said.  When her eyebrows rose, he shrugged and pulled his hand back.  “Or trying to be.  Honest.  We don’t…you don’t get many lasting friends.  Unlife like ours.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked back up at the board, frowning as he resumed his search for whatever the hell they called black coffee.

“…thanks, Luka,” she finally said, making him glance back at her.  Her smile was still hesitant, but it was more genuine this time.  Honest.

…he liked her smile.

“Seriously, though,” she said, shaking her head.  “Can I get you anything?  Black coffee?”

“Please,” he said, smiling at her.  He patted the bag at his side, where Pip grumbled at the jostling.  “And something for my friend?”

“Your…?” she asked, and her eyes widened when he opened the bag to reveal the sleeping dog inside.  “You…you have a dog?  And it’s so little!  When?  How…how did I not know this?”

“She’s not mine,” he said.  At Marinette’s confused look, he shrugged.  “Part-time dog walker.  I can make my own hours and move around the city as needed.  Plus, dogs.”

“…you like dogs,” she said, as if she found that amusing.  Maybe surprising.  Her smile grew a bit more, and he shifted uncomfortably as he felt heat crawling up his neck.  “Well, what do you know.  Luka Couffaine’s just a big ol’ softie, isn’t he?”

“…shut up,” he said.  “Pip’s a vicious killer, thank you very much.”

“Pip?” she asked.

“…Pipsqueak,” he said.  She was outright grinning now.  The bell above the door jingled as another customer came in.  “Her maman thought she was being clever.”

Marinette was still giggling as she handed him a large black coffee and a to go bag.  He reached for his wallet, but she shook her head and waved him off.

“On me,” she said.  Her cheeks darkened as she ducked her head.  “For a friend.”

He smiled, and she told him to go before he held up her line.  He had a feeling it was more before he could fluster her any more, though.  He held the door open for a group of collège students on his way out, still smiling.  He was at least a block away before he opened the bag and found two cookies – a macaron for him and a shortbread biscuit for Pip – and his smile grew.

“…I think she likes us, Pip,” he said, pulling the biscuit out and handing it to the dog.  He frowned when she nipped his fingers taking it.  “…oh, fuck you.  You’re walking the rest of the way, asshole.”

If he hadn’t dropped the entire biscuit at the bite (and she wasn’t happily devouring it), he would have taken that back, too.

[jade-of-mourning]

no no no you’re entirely correct I absolutely understand what you were saying in your response to my last ask. honestly I entirely expect in the case street shithead mako gets dumped on anyone from canon they’re cooked but like. teenage korrasami especially. what you were saying was absolutely entirely what I was hoping for because it’s actually written in coherent words (more than I could come up with)

also I’m so happy you’ve given me a name. I’m honestly a little embarrassed about how much I yap between here and my atla SIDE BLOG (it’s not even my main and it’s so bad 😭) which is why I use anon,, but I might (!) man up and js send normal asks soon !! ALSO YOU THINK IM FUNNY??! TTHANK YOU!?!??!

okay so much to say,, trying to organize thoughts,, mako is absolutely the most bitter, petty, angry, vitriolic, mean little twelve year old ever (justifiably, honestly) and the way you understand that is. I’m in love with you. and bolin would absolutely have everyone hook line and sinker then drop a one liner that makes them realize he’s just as bad as his feral raccoon brother.

and I didn’t even think about it that much but a grieving teenage mako would absolutely be the scariest fucking gang boss,, like he would be out for BLOOD. the idea that he has somewhere to direct the anger was actually the point of the au so I’m really glad you pointed it out because zolt gave mako a target in this situation which only fueled his anger which— yeah. you get it.

bolin is mako’s anchor to life before he learns to be a person on his own (which I truly believe is part of why none of his relationships worked out—he couldn’t get what he needed from them and couldn’t give what they needed) so losing him would absolutely send him off the deep end. dying of starvation or something would probably make mako spiral to his own death while murder would make him abandon his distance from the worst corruption of the RC underworld and sink his claws in deep.

however. I was thinking last night. plot twist where bolin is alive. where has he been this whole time? (I don’t know) find out next episode! what happened to him? (if I figure it out you’ll be the first I tell) find out next episode! it’s s1 canon at the point he comes busting into the triad hq with korrasami and the police and mako is about to fuck them up with lightning but bolin looks just like their dad so he stops and like. dramatic reunion.

so then mako’s life collapses because he built all of this—his criminal empire—on the knowledge that bolin was dead. he didn’t have to worry about his little brother’s safety or naïveté because there was no more little brother to protect. but now he was helping the police and the avatar and the richest trust fund baby in the city break in?? if he doesn’t fight, he gets arrested. if he does fight, he risks hurting bolin, who’s been alive all this time. he doesn’t want to be a criminal if there’s no reason—he just didn’t care enough to not be without bolin.

he asks bolin what he wants him to do, because it’s always been about what bolin wanted—that’s who it was all for. bolin says he wants his brother back.

so mako, eighteen years old and covered in nasty lichtenberg figures he definitely got kicking zolt’s ass (or maybe even learning/using lightning) cuts a deal with the police to collapse the majority of gang function in RC by the request of his 16 y/o little brother who looks like he would cry if he stepped on a pretty flower by accident.

mostly unrelated but I firmly believe mako (and all atla/tlok characters tbh) has wayyy heavier scarring than he does in the series and esp the comics. like,, he and bolin especially are not growing up on the streets then looking like they were raised in a quaint middle class house on some side street. give him scars from fistfights. burns and scars from using half-learned bending wrong (earth or fire—they were both bound to make mistakes) burns from their parents’ death, learning lightning gone wrong, etc. I want my boy banged up and bruised. and honestly I love a good facial scar cause you know it has to have been bad to have stayed and it really distinguishes a character who has Seen Shit (see: Itadori from JJK. I don’t really watch JJK anymore but from what I’ve seen he’s experiencing the horrors quite consistently lately)

I was also having like,, thoughts, on the avatar mako au, if you’d like to hear more about them?

thanks for listening to my yaps yet again!

your favorite 🐌

hi snailon! because i'm looking at the bottom of the ask right now YES PLEASE send in stuff about the avatar!mako au i would actually combust and die. i might have to start writing this before i finish any other projects just bc you hype me up so much and it makes my brain whirr jkgfdjkhghdfb

also i'm gonna cut here so this doesn't kill anyone's dashboards haha

i don't mind all the mako thoughts!!! in fact they bring me extreme joy whenever i see posts lol. if you have no audience then i'm dead ig :P

bolin would absolutely have everyone hook line and sinker then drop a one liner that makes them realize he’s just as bad as his feral raccoon brother.

NO ACTUALLY mako is the outwardly unhinged one but bolin has sooooo many issues that are fantastically repressed, buried in trauma, and coped with through humor and sweetness until he opens his mouth and the most insane thing like recounting some horrific gang tales or going dumpster diving for dinner comes out. (well, that's canon bolin, but the horror would be much more palpable in a ten year old.)

also yes one of my favorite things about the potential of writing a tiny!mako is that i get to write him as the petty asskicking shithead that his canon self is desperately repressing in an attempt to be presentable to society. mako it's not going to work i'm sorry i can tell that you are full of so much pent up rage and one day you're going to explode and — actually i'm writing that what the hell that'll be fun

okay i just wanna say that i love your au of bolin-is-not-dead sm and i would actually kill to read it. please keep dumping that in my inbox if you're too self conscious to post about it on your blog but like i'm dying what i love that sm. i don't have a lot to add on to that but i'd always be happy to hear more! though:

so mako, eighteen years old and covered in nasty lichtenberg figures he definitely got kicking zolt’s ass cuts a deal with the police to collapse the majority of gang function in RC by the request of his 16 y/o little brother who looks like he would cry if he stepped on a pretty flower by accident.

this juxtaposition is such a funny mental image

also responding to the "unrelated note" — you are so right tbh. mako & bolin definitely did not get proper medical treatment for the stuff they sustained in their childhood so stuff that might not be a big deal for others is going to be a lot more prone to scarring. idk why but i really like the idea of mako's hands being kinda fucked up considering his fingerless gloves deal. up until book four, you really don't catch him without gloves except events of the tanktop, largely around bolin. i just think it's a neat concept. and ofc we all know that he's like the only guy in both series to not flaunt around half naked which my gay ass isn't mad about but idk i just think it's such a source for potential. there's a couple older mk fics regarding that floating around on ao3 which is where i got it from i think lol :P anyway yeah i too love all characters to be physically beat up, just a little bit as a treat you know dhjjhbfjhsbhd both mako & bolin should definitely be more scruffy lmfao

ANYWAY i'm so sorry that this took two days to answer; last couple days have been wild and my brain's been exploding haha. i hope i didn't miss anything and if there's anything specific from this ask that i did miss just. like. send it in again fgdjkgdfhdfgj anyway hope you have a good day!

[jungle321jungle]

My Complete Sanders Sides Fics

All of them here. In a single list.

Other Masterlists - My Ao3

Virgil’s Guide To Avoid Falling In Love With Your Boss’ Boss

Virgil’s just trying to fake his way through life, but when he finds it hard to shake his hot boss’ boss’s attention- on account of their adopted sons being twins- things get complicated.

Put On A Brave Face

When Virgil was told he needed to attend a party at Lord Ekan’s household he didn’t have high expectations by any means. Parties were just a place for rumors and whispers to circulate and for him to smile and pretend as if nothing bothered him, they were a space he rather avoid. But even so Virgil never regretted that party in particular, not when it changed his life entirely.

Slither Into My Heart (Gorgon AU)

Deceit didn’t bother to knock as he slammed the door open and glared down to wear Remus sat on his bed polishing his morning star.

“What did you do?” Deceit hissed.

Remus gave him a large smile as he looked him up or down, “Do you have the snakes just up there or are they down below too?”

If asked by Patton later, Deceit most definitely did not try to strangle the other side in that moment. Not all.

Also known as: Deceit is turned into a Gorgon. And the new annoying little snakes on his head seem to have an annoying obsession with Virgil.

Ask No Questions (I’ll Tell No Lies) 

An Agent and a Con Man.

With such conflicting backgrounds it almost seemed laughable for the two to be soulmates. Fate had chosen this, but Logan had chosen to arrest the man across from him no matter what.

How To Fuck With Humanity 101 (only on Ao3)

Roman wants an audition to go well, and when he accidentally finds an immortal hovering in his bedroom who promises everything will go his way if he does ridiculous tasks? He does them.

Roman is the first human to interact with Virgil in years, so he agrees to help, but it doesn’t mean he can’t have some fun with it.

As Cold As Stone

Dante Ekans’ newest case is a twenty one year old murder. It’s witnesses have remained silent all this time. So Agent Ekans seeks to change that.

He pokes, he prods, he bluffs, he lies, and he digs too deep.

But maybe the witnesses were silent for a reason.

Forms Of Family

No one alive knows how Dee manages to raise five kids primarily on his own. He's not sure himself, but having some of the best kids in the world makes it a whole lot easier.