#operation murder sleeves

[rainrot4me]

Rain’s Kinktober 2024 - 04

Masky x Gender Neutral Reader - In the Car/Road Head

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Blowjob, road head, praise, car sex, pleasing, codependency, obsessive traits, clinginess, trauma responses, brief mentions of abuse, soft sex, kinda fluffy

Tag: #rainykinktober2024

Words: 2.2k

A/N: Made Masky kind of soft in this… I like it.

The two of you had been riding out this empty interstate for miles, another thirty or so left to go. Thick night air rushed through the cracked windows, the heavy thud of music sounding through the old speakers of the beat up truck.

Masky had been driving the whole time, left hand gripped tightly onto the wheel as you nudged uncomfortably close to his side, his arm wrapped around your back. It was an older model truck without the console, perfect for you to get close to him.

You couldn’t help that you had grown codependent. Every proxy had their bad traits, yours was just slightly more annoying than others.

When The Operator first introduced you to the others, you were stiff, fresh out of whatever hell-hole mental destruction the others had also experienced. It was only normal you resisted the rest of the group at first, they knew you’d come around.

What no one really expected was just how closely you did come around.

It was near obsessive now. You always needed to be touching or holding onto Toby’s clothing, the boy quickly becoming flustered and uncomfortable and moving you onto someone else. Hoodie and Kate didn’t take it well either, grumbling when you asked to hold their sleeves or shoving you off when you crawled too close.

The only one who could really tolerate it was Masky, taking the brunt of your clinginess out of understanding from his own messed-up tendencies. Trauma was no stranger to the man, so if he could offer you some relief from yours when no one did him, he wouldn’t mind it too much.

He was always willing to scoot over in bed to let you crawl in, or wrap yourself in his heavy jacket to ride out a panic attack. The others teased him for being soft, but you knew it was because he understood better than they ever could.

Knees pressed to your chest, you clung to his warmth, the chilly night air blowing your hair due to a lack of available A/C. Masky kept his gaze straight, tired eyes scanning the empty asphalt.

The mission the two of you were coming back from was less than enjoyable, a murder job for a group of college kids writing a report about paranormal activities linked to murders in the area. Just their luck, The Operator didn’t quite appreciate being called ‘paranormal’. They were just unlucky, a bunch of kids too brave and vulnerable deep in the woods. It wasn’t a reach to say both you and Masky didn’t enjoy being tasked with this.

You especially, still coming down from a mild panic attack that the man beside you had to ease you through. You sniffled, his hand rubbing against the side of your arm.

“Doin’ alright?” He glanced down at you, tired gaze meeting your puffy eyes before resuming back on the headlights out front. The engine rumbled, tires rattling against the potholes littered on the road. You were getting closer to the backroad leading to the mansion, the treeline becoming familiar.

Your chest still hurt, and panic still rattled in your mind, but you nodded anyway. Masky still rubbed your arm, your head resting on his shoulder as you took long, labored breaths.

“Sorry…”

“Never had a problem before, why would I start now, mouse?”

That nickname always did it for you too, bringing you back down from whatever hysterics you found yourself in. Masky was just accustomed to taking care of you along with himself now, the extension a second nature to him.

Despite how often you fed into it, you really did feel bad for being so pitiful.

You reached your hand across his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him closer. He adjusted, letting his hand rest on the small of your hip and holding you closer. Your nose nudged into the crook of his neck, his smell flooding your senses with that familiar comfort you’d grown to love.

Your interactions had never been sexual, always a comfort for the two of you. But now in the solitude and emotional stir of the night, you couldn’t help the flutters that grew in your gut when Masky’s hand reached further to rub the side of your thigh. His scent was just so nice too, with dried sweat from his overextension earlier thick on his skin. You couldn’t help but push a soft kiss on the underside of his jaw.

You just wanted to thank him for always being so kind.

“Hey, now-” You felt him tense for a moment, glancing down at you as your hands clung to his shirt, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

“Sorry…” You kissed his neck again, taking deep breaths each time to fill your senses with him. Maybe it was toxic, maybe it was codependent, or even obsessive- but you couldn’t help how safe he made you feel. Was it so bad to want him to feel that way too?

He didn’t resist when you let your hand slide down his chest, fisting against the fabric of his shirt as your lips cling to the side of his neck, leaving sickly sweet kisses. He shuddered when your hand dipped to the waistline of his jeans, shifting as his foot settled a little heavier on the accelerator. His hand gripped your waist tight, the knuckles on his other fist turning white while wrapped on the steering wheel.

“Mouse.” He huffed when you let off of his neck, laying your head back on his shoulder. Despite his warning, he watched eagerly when you began to undo his belt, shifting his hips up to give you easier access.

“Let me thank you…”

“For what?”

“Being so nice to me…”

His grasp hugged your hips closer, your fingers fiddling with his zipper and tugging it down. You pushed a hand past the band of his boxers, a quiet gasp leaving his lips when you wrap it around his limp cock.

Your cheeks are flushed, the warmth of your bodies pressed close as you slowly stroke him to life, his length slowly growing in your grasp. You could feel Masky loosen up, his body relaxing into your touch as his gaze constantly flickered from the road to your hand.

“You don’t need to do this, mouse.” He groaned when you rubbed your thumb across his tip, his thigh jerking and stuttering the speed of the truck. The cool air had goosebumps rising across his skin, his now-hard cock pulsing under your fingers.

“I want to.” You whispered, a quiet excitement rushing through you at his willingness. Masky huffed, rubbing against your hip as he tried his best to focus on the road.

Pushing your legs out, you scooted over, his eyes following you as you leaned down to rest against his leg. Pushing his boxers down, you tugged his cock out, the sight making you gasp quietly. You were nervous, but Masky’s hand reaching to push your hair from your face eased you.

You leaned in, hand fisted tight onto the base of his length as you pressed your lips to the divot of his cockhead, letting spit dribble from your lips onto the tip. He groaned above you, right hand collecting your hair and fisting it out of the way.

Giving a gentle kiss against his slick tip, you let your lips part, his head pushing into the warmth of your mouth. You try to take all of him too quickly, pushing your jaw wider to nudge his twitching cock against your tongue.

“Shit.” His fingers tighten in your hair, a gentle nudge pushing you down further and making you choke quietly. He’s immediately tugging you back up, your fingers clinging against the fabric of his jeans as you come up for air.

“Easy, would ‘ya? You ever even done this before?” It didn’t matter, all you knew was you wanted to make him feel good, and that little curse he let out earlier was exactly what you were looking for. You pushed your head back down, taking a deep breath as you wrapped your lips back around his tip.

Masky groaned, letting his hand off the wheel to push his hair back, glancing down at you with heavy eyes. You bob your head lightly, swiping your tongue across the divot of his tip to tug little huffs from the man above you. Eyes fluttering shut, you try to take more each time, relaxing your jaw to push more of his thick cock into the warm wetness of your throat.

You choked a little each time, straining when you felt his tip shove against the roof of your mouth in a way that made Masky twitch inside you. Good, he was enjoying it, it felt good. Slobber builds around your lips, sucking your cheeks in to make his hips stutter and twinge up into your mouth. Tears well on your waterline, little droplets slipping down your cheeks each time.

“Easy. You’re doin’ good. Doin’ real good…”

Your gut fluttered with excitement, pressing your head down all the way till your nose is flush against his pelvis, his pubes tickling the side of your face. You held your eyes closed, trying your best to stay relaxed as you gagged around him, his tip pressed against the tightness of your throat. Even still, he smelled so good.

Masky was moaning, taking shaky breaths as his hips jerked lightly up into you, cock bobbing against the back of your throat. You wanted to be good for him, to make him feel as good as possible, so you stayed, grunting and choking as quietly as you could while bobbing in rhythm with him.

“Fuck, ah- Good, mouse, just like that-”

His cock gleams with your slobber as you slide back up to his tip, running your tongue across his slit to collect the stout taste of his pre. You push back down, taking all of him quickly to pull right back up again, sucking his entire length.

Masky groans loudly, hand fisted tight into your hair and tugging you up and down, taking deep breaths every chance you can get. His praises ring in your ear, keeping you eager to please him as you rub your tongue across the bulging veins running up his length.

It’s so hard for Masky not to look at you, pre and spit collecting sloppily at the corners of your mouth just out of his view, eyes flickering between the beautiful view and the boring road ahead. He huffs, jerking the steering wheel to the side and running the truck onto the edge of the road, pressing the breaks quickly to bring the truck to a stop. You’re jostled, keeping a tight grip on his leg as you keep on with your pace.

Throwing the gear in park, he can finally wrap both of his hands into your hair, leaning back to get a good view of your flushed and teary face swallowing his cock down willingly. He moans through parted lips, shifting his hips to fuck up into your mouth and groaning every time your throat tightened around his tip.

“Oh fuck. Gonna cum, hah- Gonna-”

You let your jaw completely relax, taking restraint away from your neck to let him have control, to let him fuck you how he wants. It’s so sloppy the way your spit glistens down his length, using your swollen mouth as he pleases. And you’re so eager, so willing and pliable for him.

Masky’s moaning out, your eyes rolling back as he pushes your head all the way down, gagging you down onto the entirety of his length.

“Yeah-”

When he cums, you’re trying your best to swallow every drop, puffy lips wrapping tight to drink him up. He hunches over your head, stuttering his hips to milk every drop into your throat as your tears and spit dribble onto the fabric of his jeans.

He’s finally pulling you up when you reach a hand to grip his shirt, hitting your fist against his thigh when you begin to choke for air. Masky tugs you up, wrapping his hands around your cheeks to take a look at you.

You’re flushed, his fingers wiping away your tear soaked cheeks and brushing his thumb over your lips. You lean into his touch, tired eyes fluttering closed as he’s pulling you close and pressing his lips against yours.

You gasp, cupping your hands over his as you just breathe in the moment. It feels like forever when he’s finally pulling away, your tired body taking its comfortable place back against his side as he zips his jeans back up, buckling his belt.

When you start back on the road, Masky’s arm wraps around your back, tugging you closer than before. You smile, leaning your head on his shoulder and breathing him in again. The thud of the music and the familiar bumpy ride ease you both back in.

Maybe you were obsessive, and annoying, and clingy, and even just a little codependent. But Masky had gladly taken you and all of those traits along with him. It was only right that you thank him.

And he’d gladly take that, too.

Thank you for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

Thanks to my wonderful editors: @h3llw1 and @solarbites!

[dailyadventureprompts]

Thirsting Grail, Outergod of Wants and Wounds

Artsource

Adventure Hooks:

While travelling the party encounters a once famed surgeon who seeks their help in undertaking pilgrimage to the distant shrine of a death god. When pressed on her motivation, she reveals that through some curse or divine act of cruelty, those she operates on can never die, but also cannot heal. 

There is a tree that grows in the ruins of the old braon’s castle, said to have sprouted from the chopping block upon which he had his wife’s lovers executed. The tree grows no leaves, only flowers, and it’s said that if you make a tea from its blossoms, you will receive a vision of your one ture love.  Beings of woven thorn are said to guard the tree, but there are those who would pay desperately to drink of its boughs. 

A once peaceful kingdom dissolves into a generations long civil war, any hope of peace drowned beneath a tide of violence, ruination, and grievance that none can hope to escape.

Among the outergods there are none more eager to engage with mortals than the entity known as Thisting Grail. It is a thing of violence and appetite, and seems all too eager to lend its power to those most likely to misuse it, whether they sought it’s aid in the first place or not. 

Scholars and madmen have long debated the Grail’s motivations, what goal or ideology it is trying to achieve with the visions and often horrific miracles it bestows. In truth, Thirsting Grail has no goal beyond the pursuit of violence and longing, it is a means without an end, ready to lend itself to any cause that would make the world a bloodier, hungrier place. 

The god is formless, an ocean of boling blood that takes on the shape of whatever “vessel” its followers imagine for it, borrowing their cultural iconography and birthing itself anew each time. There are litanies of these avatars, hundreds more likely forgotten by history;  blood saints and baleful red stars and heart hungry blades. Perhaps because of blood’s ubiquity in ritual and occult practice the Grail’s influence can “seep” its way into the worship of other entities, divine or demonic, and it’s not unheard of for otherwise upstanding and dogmatic worshippers of banal gods to accidentally begin practising the grail’s bloody rites. 

Sanguimancy and other forms of blood magic are the most obvious of Thirsting Grail’s gifts, but it has other more esoteric offerings: smoke from sacrifices or incense mingled with the formless god’s essence can grant visions of desires made manifest, though often twisted through a disturbingly carnal (in both senses of the word) lens. All too often worshippers ( and the cult leaders that encourage them) see these visions as prophetic, leading to the outergod being sometimes called “the mother of truth”.  It can also manifest the objects of desire: succulent fruits, unearthly lovers, weapons of inordinate power, but there is something fundamentally wrong with these creations as they cannot grant true satisfaction, and often leave those that partake of them wanting more than when they started. 

Those who fall prey to Thirsting Grail’s influence can become warped as their own veins become polluted by the entity’s ichor: becoming feral creatures of endless cruelty and appetite, or having their wounds open wider and wider until there is nothing but wound remaining of their swollen flesh. Those so overtaken grow and warp and merge with others until new horrors are birthed from them, a permanent seedbed of 

Titles: Mother of truth, formless mother, font erubescent, the bloodstar.  Symbols: A red grail or fountain, cultural iconography stained with blood.  Signs:  Wounds that bleed but do not heal, plants overflowing or cracking open to expose their innards. Unsettling red dreams.  Worshippers: Those with bloodstained hands be they doctors, butchers, or murderers. Vampires, occultists, and other sanguiphiles. Instatiable gourmands and unfulfilled lovers.   

Inspiration:  I wear my influences on my sleeve with this one.  I’ve been turning the Elden Ring mythology over in my mind for some time partially because I think there’s a lot of fun ideas there but also because I felt like (in typical Fromsoft fashion) there wasn’t enough shown to really scratch my itch for discovery. 

The formless mother/bloodstar was chiefest among these elements: A killer aesthetic with lore that was a little too thin to use as inspiration. After a while that thinness turned into a feature, the idea of an eldritch entity of pain and violence that conformed to the needs of those who worshipped it, granting power to those who would go out and make the world more violent and painful.  I liked the idea that “mother of truth” was a misnomer, and that cultists would ascribe meaning and intent and iconography to a god that didn’t care one way or another. 

Another strong influence is the Grail from Cultist Simulator/Book of hours ( SERIOUSLY, play book of hours you fools), an eldritch entity/aspect of reality that presides over hungers and births be they literal or figurative.  The Blood + Mother connection was obvious here, but the Grail provided some more texture and esoteric aspects to fill out my version’s storytelling potential.

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

your transfem friend recommended a clinic to get your bottom surgery done at. she says its cheap, not gatekeepery, and the results are good, even if the doctors a little skeevy. youre at the address she gave you and are wondering how exactly your murder will go down. the door is on a third floor landing accessible only from a fire escape out of a back alley in the worst part of town youve ever seen. you knock three times and the door is answered by a ratty-looking woman with a severe slouch smoking something that doesnt smell like nicotine and doesnt smell like marijuana. her wavy blonde hair is unkempt. shes wearing an oversized grey hoodie that hasnt been washed in some time. you can identify blood on the left sleeve and vomit across much of her side, as well as other, more mysterious stains. you cant tell if shes wearing anything underneath the hoodie. the inside of the apartment - because it is, very clearly, her apartment - has a smell that you cant place but, if pressed, would probably call sweat, though you know that description is lacking something.

dr davis, you ask. she smiles wide, and her teeth are shockingly good for the state the rest of her is in. just call me riley, she says. never did get a degree.

she ushers you inside and sits you down on a sofa almost as stained as her hoodie. can i get you a drink she asks. a drink, you repeat, dazed. she says yeah. she says she has diet coke, beer, vodka, and coffee. says she used to keep tea around for a friend of a friend but she hasnt come by in a few years and the leaves are probably losing flavor by now. you say just waters fine. she shrugs and says your funeral. she comes back from the kitchen and sweeps some stuff off the coffee table. you see a stray scalpel, a roll of gauze bandages, a soda cup from taco bell, and various crumpled papers amongst the rubbish that she knocks aside before setting down your glass of water. she has a beer in her own hand and pops the cap off with her teeth, though the motion isnt quite how youre used to seeing people do it. she takes a big gulp before she keeps talking.

so what do you want your pussy to look like, she asks. you splutter a bit. she says you are the one who needed their bits redone right. you flush and say yeah thats me. she nods and says right so what do you want. you struggle to give a good answer and she starts asking questions. depth? width? color? clit size? you give your answers falteringly. she starts asking about labia. oh, you dont want dentata, do you, she says. that costs extra. you say you dont know what that means. she says dont worry about it. hey do you wanna get pregnant? you splutter again. not now she clarifies. well i can get you pregnant now too if you want that. doesnt even have to be human i think i have some horse sperm around here if you want. i just meant like ever in the future. you say you dont know. she says okay shell leave it out for now but come back if you ever want her to put the womb in. youre too stunned to reply.

she says oh do you want to keep your dick, i can do that. you say you thought they needed the tissue from the penis in order to make the vaginal lining. she laughs and takes another gulp from her beer. she says so is that a no. you say you guess you hadnt thought about it. she says she can reschedule if you need to think, no rush. you say no i guess i dont want it anymore. she nods and says come back if you change your mind.

she says ok, i think i can start operating now if youre ready. you say okay and she tells you to lie on your back and strip naked. you follow her instructions. youre still not sure if youre going to die today or not. she pulls on a big pair of rubber gloves. not latex medical gloves, they're yellow dishwashing gloves. she grabs a small jar of what looks like petroleum jelly off a shelf nearby. you cant help but notice that theres also lube, condoms, saran wrap, and a bottle of honey on the same shelf. you dont ask. she starts vigorously rubbing the jelly into your skin from the belly button down. everywhere it touches you instantly go numb. she keeps talking while she works. a lot of it is her telling stories about "her amy." you cant tell if amy is a sister, wife, or pet. she might be all three.

she reaches up to grab an empty syringe off the top shelf. when she stretches you notice shes naked under the hoodie. you look away bashfully. she doesnt seem to notice.

she fills the syringe with liquid from a bucket in the closet. the liquid is neon green. she injects it into your inner upper thigh. you are now certain you're going to die today, but you cannot make a break for it with your legs numbed, so you wait.

she says okay this is the part where a lot of people get squeamish so look away if you think you might get sick. she pulls out a set of knives. some of them look like dentistry tools, some of them are medical scalpels, and some of them are kitchen knives. you look away. she starts humming to herself while she works. the tune is pop goes the weasel.

hey, she calls out to you from between your legs, how many nerves do you want in your clit? you say uh i dont know, whats a normal amount. she says about ten thousand give or take two thousand in either direction. you say ten thousand sounds fine. she doesnt respond, just goes back to humming. its a different tune. shes humming old macdonald now.

she gets up a couple times to grab new drinks. you say should you be drinking during an operation? she says dont worry i know what im doing. besides i never took the hippocratic oath. she laughs at that, the sound somewhere between a giggle and a cackle. you don't think its that funny. she resumes her work.

this time shes humming the alphabet song. you ask how old are you anyway? she says somewhere between 12 and 47. then she laughs again. you decide to stop asking questions.

four beers, two diet cokes, three unidentifiable cigarettes, and five hours later, she stands up and announces shes done. she wipes her brow without taking the glove off, smearing unidentifiable bodily fluids across her forehead. she jabs another syringe into your other thigh and the feeling returns to your lower body. you're a little sore but other than that you feel great. she wheels over a full length mirror and tells you to take a look. its perfect. youre everything youve ever dreamed you would be. you cant describe how euphoric it feels to see a vagina, your vagina, between your legs. you thank her tearfully. she smiles awkwardly. of course, shes saying.

how much do i owe you you ask. she shrugs. iunno, a hundred bucks? im not in it for the money. you pay her the hundred bucks and leave quickly. you barely remember to get dressed again before heading out. you have never seen Riley again.

[clockwayswrites]

Both Ways at Once Part 3

wc: 1565, Masterpost

Danny wanted to pace. He wanted to work out the energy and anger burning under his skin by moving. But he couldn’t— he wouldn’t. Red Hood still had a grip on his sleeve and Danny wouldn’t take that grounding point from the other, not when it seemed to help the man so much. Not when Danny knew how bad the separation from one’s haunt hurt.

The touch was also grounding him, Danny could admit that much. He knew that his powers were getting away from him. He knew they were seeping in that way that they did these days, bleeding out and warping pieces of the reality around him. It was more than he wanted to show the Justice League, but he couldn’t keep it all inside. He was spiraling.

Danny took a deep breath and tried to focus.

“It’s alright, Red Hood. You don’t need to stand guard in front of me. They won’t hurt me,” Danny said. At least he hoped they wouldn’t try.

“You are a threat to them.”

Danny shook his head. He could be, of course, but he wouldn’t be. “I’m not.”

Red Hood turned his head, just slightly. Even without seeing the other’s eyes, Danny felt he was being watched. “You didn’t do things their way. That means you’re a threat. They eliminate threats.”

Danny bristled. Not at being called a threat, but because of the picture that painted about Red Hood’s captivity.

“Perhaps we should all have a seat,” Wonder Woman suggested as she took a seat sat the table herself.

Everyone else hesitated a moment, but Danny nudged Red Hood towards a seat and took one across the table from the heroes himself. He held back a sigh as Red Hood chose to stand behind him instead, one gloved hand rested on Danny’s shoulder. It was an improvement, at least.

Batman took the seat to the right of Wonder Woman, and Superman the right of him. They clearly framed the man. John very clearly put himself in the middle of the two groups— both literally and figuratively. Uneven odds, but Danny had faced worse.

“I need the whole story, Constantine,” Danny said, not waiting for one of the others to take charge. His hands were gripped white knuckled together where they rested on the table. He couldn’t keep the thread of anger out of his tone, but he reigned it in as best as possible. “Because from my point of view, I walked in on you all torturing Red Hood in a way that could very well kill him.”

“We don’t kill,” Superman said, puffing up with his pointed words.

Danny stared at him for a long moment before he glanced up at Red Hood. “Is that the way of theirs you went against? The one that made you a threat?”

The hand on his shoulder tightened subtly.

“He’s a murderer,” Superman said, leaning forward as if imparting something important. “He beheaded people to make a point.”

“I’m sorry,” Danny said, crinkling his brows up purposefully in confusion. “Did I ask you anything?”

While Superman looked like he’d sucked on a lemon, Danny turned to Constantine. He knew the shadows were growing around him, lengthening, and he let them this time. “I need the whole story. Now, John.”

John glanced from Danny to the others, cigarette turning restlessly in his fingers. Whatever he saw in the big three, it was enough and he slumped heavily back into is seat. The sigh he heaved was full bodied and he just looked weary suddenly. “Justice League asked me to check something out in Gotham. Which is…”

Danny nodded and motioned for him to go on. Gotham was a cursed city of pretty notorious reputation in the magical community. In general, people of any real power stayed away unless they were up to something very dark. The only ways to operate in Gotham as a proper magic user was to be supported by Gotham’s curses or be supported by Gotham herself, and her favor was rare to earn.

“So I recruited the vigilante known as Red Hood. Not… exactly the one behind you,” John said, motioning with his cigarette. “And by recruited I mean badgered him until I promised to play errand boy for a few things.”

“…and yet you claim you didn’t know he’s a protector spirit?” Danny asked sharply, the words almost hissing with his rage.

“Pomp,” John leaned forward, spreading his hands over the table top. The cigarette barely stayed between his fingers. “I swear to you, in full weight, that I didn’t. Other Red Hood was alive. He reeked of death, but all the Bats do. You do. I went to him since he uses magic, abet dubiously, and is…” John shot a glance at Batman before grimacing. He continued anyways. “He’s a sodding Son of Gotham, alright? His presence at my side let me work in the city.”

Danny sucked in a breath through his teeth. Well fuck.

“How angry is Gotham?”

John shrugged. “That’s… complicated, Pomp. Let me finish the damn story?”

Double fuck. Danny leaned back in his chair and tried to unclench his hands.

“So we go and find the problem,” John continued. “Which of course…”

“Cult.”

“Cult. What else in Gotham, right mate? We fight, Red Hood comes in handy, but then the head fucker shows some serious skills— or paid for some serious skills at least. They go on this rant about undoing what made one what they are today, motioning with this staff. I can only think that it was meant to get rid of how I got my powers, but Red Hood shoves me out of the way and takes the blast to the chest instead. There’s a cloud of magic because the whole cult is showy bastards and when it clears, there’s this Red Hood standing there and also his civilian ID, or at least a version of him. Looks a might bit smaller, mind you.”

“Okay, sure, right,” Danny said. He could feel the headache coming on. “So we’ve got the vigilante and then… who he would have been if he’d never been a vigilante?”

Danny swore Batman shifted at that.

Batman never shifted.

Danny was about to call him out when Wonder Woman cleared her throat and leaned forward. She rested a deceptively delicate hand on Batman’s arm. “No, before he was Red Hood, he was a Robin.”

“What it changed,” Red Hood explained, voice rough even for the modulation, “Is if we died. I still did. I feel it. I’m the Robin that died.”

Even Batman didn’t manage to hide his flinch at that.

Triple fuck.

-----

AN: Surprisingly, Danny hasn't gone off yet! And we're starting to get more answers! Kinda? Somewhat. Now I wonder what that other version is doing...

Stay delightful, darlings!

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[redtsundere-writes]

Tyrant's Favorite | Sukuna Ryomen

Part 8: Differences

King!SukunaRyomen x Servant!FemReader

Summary: You used to be just another servant among the army of humans operating under the command of the terrible king, Sukuna Ryomen. An ordinary human who only knows how to wash, clean and cook. Until one day, he notices something in you that you hadn't seen before.

Tags: MDNI. +18. Murder. Blood. Cannibalism. Sukuna Ryomen Is The Warning Itself. Nudity. Sexual Display. Vaginal. Fingering.Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst.

Word Count: 3856 words.

Beginning. | ← Previous | Next →

Sukuna hates mornings. Birds chirping, getting out of bed heavily and watching the sun conquer the skies are things he despises with all his heart. Just a curse that lives in a gigantic dark castle in order to have to deal as little as possible with sunlight. The windows with bloody roses, besides serving as decoration, have specific colors to mitigate the intense day to day light. Sukuna rubbed his eyes as he made his way to the dining room for breakfast at a slow pace as he was just waking up. As he approached the door, he heard the servants encouraging themselves to work faster. 

“Good morning, my king,” the servants said in unison once the great conqueror of their lands entered the room. 

The table was set as it was every morning. The tableware was elegantly placed in front of each seat, the candles were symmetrically spaced between the empty spaces and a subtle lemon scent could be perceived from how clean everything was. The servants lined up against the perimeter of the room as usual as they heard the king approaching. Sukuna inspected the faces he saw each morning, making sure no one was missing. It was strange not to see you in your usual place. Mrs. Inoue had not seen you at breakfast time or in the kitchen. She was so worried that she had already thought the worst. She wanted to ask the king about your whereabouts or the confirmation of your sudden death, but she didn't have the courage to do so.

“Did you inform her that she must have breakfast with me?” Sukuna asked Uraume as soon as he sat down at the head of the table. 

“Yes, my king, she must be getting ready,” Uraume answered as soon as one of the servants served him his breakfast: fried eggs and shredded meat, human, of course. 

The door opened again, interrupting the king's first bite. Finally, you have arrived. Your figure was wrapped in a beautiful dress that had been made especially for you. A pair of braids framed your face while a crystal tiara rested gently on your head. Your neck and wrists were adorned with precious jewelry that cost more than your old cabin in the countryside. Even though you had no royal blood, you felt like the princesses you used to see at balls. Sukuna was so used to seeing you in your uniform that he dropped his fork in shock. 

“Good morning, everyone,” you greeted with a small bow before entering the room. 

All the servants looked at you in shock for dressing so extravagantly. It was the first time you felt so many eyes on you, completely exposed even though you were clothed from head to toe. You just smiled and made your way to your new seat, the right side of the king. Mrs. Inoue was on the verge of tears of happiness to see that you were not dead and better than ever. 

“Good morning, my king.” You bowed respectfully to him. Mrs. Inoue overtook another servant to pull your chair, the perfect excuse to approach you. 

“Are you all right?” She whispered in your ear. You just nodded as you took a seat. 

Sukuna was still enthralled with your extreme change in appearance. He had known you as an ordinary girl in a hideous brown dress full of dirt that hid your good attributes. Now you stood before him in a beautiful purple dress with gold flowers decorating your chest and flowing down to the skirt. The sleeves that subtly rested on your arms allowed him the exposed skin of your shoulders that used to be covered by the uniform. Since you always wore a white scarf, I had never noticed your pretty hair color. You were a diamond in the rough that just needed to be polished to shine among the stars. Quickly, you noticed that Sukuna was just looking at you with his lips parted as if he wanted to say something. 

“Is something wrong?” you asked, confused. 

Sukuna quickly returned to his reality, picking up his fork as if nothing had happened. He coughed a couple of times before looking away so it wouldn't show that he loved your new look. His heart was beating like crazy and he didn't know how to make it stop. 

“That color doesn't go with your skin tone,” he complained, pretending that was the reason why he was looking at you so intently. 

“Do you think so?” You asked while looking at the contrast between the dress and your skin tone. 

It had been a long time since you had worn a dress as beautiful as that one. I repeat, you had never worn a dress as beautiful as that one. Your mother used to buy dresses for you, but they were a solid color and not the best material, as she bought the ones that were within her financial means. You had forgotten how tedious it was to wear a corset so tight to the body and heels that hurt your feet, but it was nice to pass in front of the mirrors and see something nice on the other side. 

A servant soon arrived to serve you a breakfast similar to Sukuna's, but with mutton instead of human flesh. You bit into it, happy to be eating something other than porridge after a long time. You missed eating meat after the time Sukuna invited you to eat with him for the second time. You were very excited that from now on you would always eat with him. 

“Your tutor is coming today," Sukuna informed you. 

“My tutor?” You asked confused. 

“He will make sure you have the necessary intellectual tools to be my wife and the mother of my future heir. He will teach you literature, mathematics, health and give you piano lessons,” he explained before drinking from his wine glass. 

That last thing got you very excited. You couldn't wait to learn to play like the professionals. In your head, you could already imagine all the songs you would learn. The king could be a heartless being, but sometimes he was generous. 

“He will arrive in the afternoon for you to welcome him, since he will be living here from today on,” he ordered before continuing eating. “You better not waste his time.” 

“I will try my best to be the best student.” You smiled before continuing to eat. That only made Sukuna's heart flutter even more. "Is my heart failing me already?" He asked himself. 

The sun was still struggling against the cloudy sky so that it could stand out among the heavy clouds. You waited patiently for the arrival of the tutor Sukuna had arranged for you as he had instructed. You paced back and forth as you could not contain your curiosity as to who this mysterious teacher would be. Your heels echoed against the old concrete beneath your feet as you told Mrs. Inoue what had happened the night before. 

“He proposed to you?!” Mrs. Inoue exclaimed in astonishment. 

“I still don't believe it,” you commented while shaking your head. 

“And did you really accept?” She asked you as you stopped next to her to answer. 

“What was I supposed to say? No?” You asked before following the sway of your steps. 

“No, well, yes..." The old commented when the logic hit her full on. “At least you will be able to live better than the rest of us," she said, trying to look on the bright side. 

“But what if he finds out I don't have what it takes? He'll be disappointed! He'll kill me!” 

You had told Mrs. Inoue everything except about the last test your king had imposed on you. Because of that deranged test, you hadn't been able to sleep the night before. Although you could now rest in a bed far more comfortable than the straw bed in the dungeon, you had to think about how to ensure that you would continue to sleep in it. You could only remember the words of your king in an infinite loop. 

"You must kill one of your race." 

"One of your race." 

"Of your race."

The king was smart. If he let you kill whoever you wanted, he knew you would get the foolish idea of killing a curse, a being that preys on humans and eats them with no thought for their suffering. He couldn't risk you getting hurt trying. He knew you didn't yet have what it takes to do it. Besides you had no idea how to kill them, curses are more agile and cruel than any human. It wouldn't hesitate two seconds to devour you, even if it meant betraying its king.

“Don't be silly, girl, you have everything it takes to be a real queen,” Mrs. Inoue scolded you for being so pessimistic, something rare in you. “Don't let yourself be influenced by the pressure.” 

“I'm a human, how can I be at his level?” You complained as you approached her again. 

“It's true. You may never be at his level, but he won't be at yours either,” the old said before taking your hands. 

“What is she talking about?” You arched your eyebrow in confusion. 

“The king may be very intelligent and powerful, but he will never be as kind and elegant as you are.” That comparison made your mind relax. “What I mean is that you will never be like the king because he could never be like you. You have your own strengths, use them to your advantage and you'll be fine, girl. Just like you always have.”

A smile appeared on your face and you did not hesitate to hug her tightly at her touching words. You closed your eyes as you leaned against her plush shoulder. It was just what you needed to hear, a loving and reasonable voice to quiet your mother's paranoid cries in the back of your mind. Mrs. Inoue gave you a couple of pats on the back for extra moral support. 

“You'll be fine, child. We've survived everything and we'll continue to do so.” 

You genuinely hoped that she would continue to support you when the time came that you had to kill someone. So far your only plan was to kill the oldest servant in the castle in the most peaceful way possible. The first and only idea was to use poison. The most complicated part would be to take off his head to give it to the king and live forever with the guilt of killing an innocent, but that was a concern for another time. 

The gigantic gate descended along with the sound of heavy chains, straining to form the bridge that connected to the castle. The bars opened to let in a black carriage, one of the many that King Sukuna had. The two jet-haired horses paraded across the parade ground to the entrance. Behind the imposing horses, stood the coachman, a slender curse wearing an elegant suit and top hat. 

“That must be the tutor,” You murmured to your friend once you pulled away from the embrace. 

The coachman took care of parking the carriage in front of you. He jumped down from his post to open the passenger door. From inside, a tall man with long black hair emerged wearing a light colored rakusu with checkered patterns and underneath a yukata with black bloomers. Your nerves went away once they saw a human face instead of a cursed one. He was a really attractive man with captivating black eyes, sharp features and thin eyebrows. The only odd thing was the stitching that adorned his forehead. 

“Welcome to our noble lands.” You bowed next to what used to be your co-worker. 

“You must be the lady I will be in charge of, aren't you?” He asked you, beaming a beautiful smile. 

"He is so charming," you thought in surprise. In all your years of life, you had never seen such a beautiful man as him. Your heart was pounding with nervousness as soon as he approached you. Gently, he reached under your chin to cup your face for a closer look. You blushed immediately and tried to instinctively take a step back, but his fingers flexed on the back of your neck to keep you from moving and looking into his eyes. 

“You are prettier than King Sukuna described you in his letters. It will be a pleasure to work for you, Miss.” He said with a smile that looked sincere, you reciprocated amidst your nerves. 

“Let me show you around, sir…”

“Master Kenjaku,” he answered before releasing you to take your arm and entwine it with his. “Lead our way, miss.” He asked you, to which you complacently obeyed. 

After a long tour of all the common areas and where his new room would be so he could settle in after the long trip, Kenjaku decided it would be a good idea to start classes as soon as possible. You took him to the game room where the gigantic and endless library was located. 

“I see our king likes to read,” he said, scanning the place in awe. “Do you?” he asked you directly. 

“I like reading fairy tales. It's the only thing I can read, everything else I find complicated to understand.” You answered honestly. 

“Don't worry. We are all born knowing nothing, that's why there are people like me who are in charge of guiding others towards the understanding of things, so that later they can guide other people.” He answered with a philosophical air as he glimpsed a green chalkboard that was kept between two bookcases. “Since we'll be seeing each other a lot from today on, I want to start with the basics,” he said as he took it out next to a small flask with chalk. 

“The king told me you would teach me many things, what exactly are the basics?” You asked him before taking a seat in front of one of the work tables. 

“I see that you have a curious mind. That is fundamental for learning, we are on the right track,” he commented with a satisfied smirk. “Your primary job is to be on par with the king. What does that mean? That you must understand everything he tells you the first time he says it. For that, there are things you must understand.” Kenjaku took one of the chalkboards and wrote the word Jujutsu on it. “This world is made up of humans and curses, right?”

“Right.” 

“What many people don't know is that there are three types of humans: monkeys, people with vision and sorcerers,” he explained as he drew three stick people. “The monkeys are the people who can't see the curses and think they are ghosts or evil spirits. The people with vision are those who can see curses, like you. And finally there are the sorcerers, the people who eradicate curses using Jujutsu.” He pointed to the word he had written at the beginning. 

“Jujutsu?” You read with difficulty, familiarizing yourself with the word. 

“You see, we all have a soul and that soul radiates energy. Sorcerers radiate what is considered cursed energy. Which allows wizards to have their powers and..." Geto stopped when he saw your surprised face. “Is something wrong?” 

“Sorcerers? There are a lot of those?” you asked. 

Sorcerers used to be a myth among humans in the Sukuna kingdom. Your father used to tell you and your sisters that there used to be people with extraordinary powers who were in charge of guarding humans from curses, but they were slaughtered by King Sukuna so he could spread his reign of terror and have everyone under his control as flesh and blood puppets. Many said that these magical people would return, but they have never been present. 

“That's a lie, Dad.” Your sister, Yorozu, scolded your father before eating a boiled potato in her mouth. 

Not letting it cool enough, she bit into it and burned her tongue. You shook your head in disappointment and passed him a glass of water. Yorozu was always like that. Careless, clumsy and rebellious. She always used to get into trouble when she didn't have to, but she was the most spoiled in the house being the prettiest of the daughters. Your parents saw her as the perfect opportunity to improve the family economy.

“I'm serious! My great-great-grandfather used to be a very powerful sorcerer,” her father said, offended that they didn't believe him. 

The whole family was gathered around the table like every dinner. When your father was alive, there was always bread, potatoes, wine and cheese on the table. Your mother would eat quietly while observing the manners of each of her daughters. Starting with you, you always ate with your back straight and took the utensils with care. 

Yorozu ate the first thing in front of her and whatever she felt like eating quickly. Mimiko and Nanako, being twins, acted similarly, eating slowly while listening to the conversation attentively. At the end of the day, they were all good girls, but you could tell how different they were. 

“I wish we had powers, so we could kill all the curses that get in our way," Mimiko commented bravely. 

“And why don't we have powers, daddy?” Nanako asked, disappointed. 

“I don't know, honey,” Her father answered honestly. “All I know is that we were born blessed with good health and good spirits.” 

“There are many.” Kenjaku replied, bringing you back to the present. “There are so many that there are kingdoms full of them.”

“Really?” You asked, still surprised. "And I thought Uraume was unique." 

“The Gojo kingdom is a good example. The royal family is the largest family of sorcerers in existence and harbors secrets as old as life itself.” Kenjaku answered. 

“And how does one know one has powers?” you asked curiously. 

“They usually manifest themselves at five or six years of age. As a defense response of the body to a life or death situation.” Kenjaku explained. 

You leaned back against the chair with a hopeless expression. You didn't stand a chance. You had never noticed any kind of power in yourself. That disappointed you, but you remembered Mrs. Inoue's words of encouragement. "You have your strengths, use them to your advantage and you'll be fine, child." Kenjaku quickly noticed your downcast face and approached you. 

"Don't worry, I will see to it that you become a powerful queen with or without powers. I may be in the service of King Sukuna, but you will always have the last word,” he promised you. 

All your life you had always been someone's subordinate. Since you were born, you obeyed your parents above all things. You always cared for your sisters before you cared for yourself. Now, you were under the total control of the most terrifying curse of all time. It was nice to hear that someone was at your service and would help you in everything you needed. You were sure that Kenjaku would be the best ally you could ever ask for. You were not going to waste his kindness. 

Sukuna read the biweekly reports from Uraume. A document that summarized the shortcomings around the castle, the attitude of the curses and the behavior of the servants. He carefully read every word until I saw your name on the paper. Hiser heart skipped a beat again as he remembered how pretty you looked that morning. He put the document aside to feel his own confused pulse. It didn't hurt, but it was throbbing harder than usual. "I should ask Kenjaku for a second opinion," he thought, worried about his own health. 

Sukuna doesn't believe in love. He has read theories about it and heard humans talk about it before, but he has never experienced it. Therefore, he came to the conclusion that it does not exist. It must be an invention of humans to cope with the idea of being tied for life to someone by the bond of marriage. Why don't humans just marry a person who gives them prosperity and that's it? That was the most logical thing to do, according to our king Sukuna. Rats just like to complicate their lives. 

Someone knocked on the door of his office. It was Kenjaku, the guy he wanted to see. He let him in while he put away the documents he had not yet read in a drawer. The last time they had seen each other had been in the kingdom of Jogo when he conquered their lands. Kenjaku surrendered completely to him and betrayed his king to now serve him. Sukuna hated traitors, but this one had qualities that he could use to his advantage. One of them was his vast knowledge in medicine and botanics. 

“I'm sorry I was late in greeting you, your majesty. I found the young lady so interesting that I felt the need to start the lessons as soon as possible. I can see why you chose her to become your wife.” Kenjaku greeted him with a bow. 

“Did you do what I asked you to do?” Sukuna asked, getting straight to the point. He still had things to do and he didn't want to waste time in formalities. 

“I started with the investigation, but you must understand that investigating the inter-species birth between humans and curses requires time and patience,” the lesser curse answered honestly. 

A month ago, Sukuna sent a letter to Kenjaku instructing him to investigate whether it was possible for a woman to conceive a baby from a curse. Kenjaku, despite his confusion at the strange task, set to work. Curses are born thanks to cursed energy, they are the direct product of the intense emotions that humans manifest. They manifest randomly, so it is difficult to create one from scratch. What Sukuna was asking was nearly impossible, but it was worth a try. Now that he knew the reason why he was interested in the subject, it all made sense. He wanted to make sure he left offspring and that the mother would be okay during the process. 

“I need you to hurry," Sukuna ordered. 

“I will do my best.” Kenjaku answered placidly. 

“Good.” Sukuna mused. “Come closer and check my pulse.” He ordered.  

“Does your chest hurt?” The subordinate asked. 

“No, but since the morning I feel like it's getting lumpy out of nowhere.” 

Kenjaku pressed two of his fingers against Sukuna's neck while taking the time to calculate his heartbeat. Although his heart was pounding, there was nothing out of the ordinary. He had a healthy pulse. 

“It sounds good. There's nothing to worry about.” Kenjaku smiled reassuringly. 

“Good. You can go now. I am very busy.” Sukuna asked him after receiving the conclusion of a connoisseur on the subject. 

Kenjaku bowed before retiring. The king took out again the documents he was working on. He scanned the bi-weekly report to return to where he had left off. Seeing your name, his heart fluttered again. Sukuna put the document aside with an annoyed sigh to clutch his chest. 

“Fucking liar.” He cursed Kenjaku under his breath. 

Next →

Open fanfic commissions!

Masterlist.

[the-californicationist]

The Simple Mistake (Ghoap)

Ghoap fluff, hurt/comfort (please be nice i dont write ghoap)

Johnny wasn’t often the smaller man. In most situations, he was the aggressor, or at least the larger of the pairing. But, he felt himself being lifted as if his body were mostly air. He was being carried like a sack of flour, hoisted over a huge, mountainous shoulder, and tossed into arms that cradled him with ease. The sergeant could feel the way his captor’s muscles bent and twisted, even under all his black gear, and although the gunfire and the flashbangs were deafening, he could hear the hollow, steady swell of the man’s breathing as it filled his wide chest. 

“C’mon, Sergeant. Just a few minutes and you’ll be right as rain. Hold on,” the dark, muffled voice told him. 

The man had been making these threats the whole time, promising him freedom and safety, telling him he’d be alright. Johnny didn’t much care either way, not anymore. Right now, all he wanted to feel was more of the same, more of these shoulders, more of this expansive back whose lats were pulled wide like spread wings. A great bird of prey, or a vulture come to claim its carrion. 

Bullet wounds were always a fucking mess, that was for sure. Luckily, the pain of it was being covered by an immense layer of shock. Johnny could feel the symptoms; chills, loss of sensation, trembling… it was all there. But, he was thankfully lucid, so they may not have hit him in a vital spot. Because of the vest and all of his gear, he hadn’t been sure exactly which bullet had landed the blow, but he felt the punch of the projectiles in his leg and chest, so something was bleeding… that much was clear. 

It wasn’t his symptoms that concerned him; it was the tone of his Lieutenant’s voice as he reassured him over and over and over again, killing Makarov’s men as he made his way out of the warehouse with a series of pistols that he procured from the piles of dead terrorists. Having to stop and murder more Konni operatives made their journey a slow one, and Johnny could tell Ghost was becoming more and more frustrated. 

“Where are these fuckin’ bastards all comin’ from?” The strong English accent was a comfort to the Scot, as much as it was an annoyance. 

He didn’t reply to the question, not even with a snarky jab, and he stayed as still as he could, trying to make it easy on his carrier. 

“You alive, Sergeant?” The concern had increased by an octave.

“Solid,” Johnny managed to respond, but it was getting a little hard to breathe. 

“Almost there, mate. Almost… there,” Ghost rushed into a heavy, lockdown facility and shut the door behind him.

There were three inches of steel between them and their enemies and absolutely no communication service. The silence of the safe room settled around the two men like a dark blanket, shielding them from the outside world. The light was dim, the floor was mostly sand, and there was a marked lack of furniture. 

Johnny felt himself being gingerly laid down on a desk, all of its contents fiercely strewn on the floor of the room, and Ghost began to remove the sergeant’s gear. 

“Jesus, LT,” Johnny panted, “Feels like you didnae even break a wee sweat, sir. I wanna be just like you when I grow up.”

The lieutenant was too focused for his jokes, his voice flat and cold, focused on ripping Johnny’s gear from him piece by piece,

“You’ll be better than me, Johnny.”

Johnny felt like he was being mauled by a bear. His body was jostled around like a ragdoll as Ghost pulled plate after plate from his chest. Eventually, his vest was ripped away, and then Johnny saw the glint of a huge knife. He barely had time to gasp when Ghost sliced up through his shirt and sleeves, yanking it off of his body, revealing his chest, sweaty and hairy, tanned in odd lines where his tank top and tee shirt had been. The sergeant chuckled a bit, nervous, smiling up at his commander,

“Maybe I already am, sir.”

Ghost didn’t reply. He was too focused on the task at hand. His eyes were wild, checking and rechecking Johnny’s body for the source of his blood. Finally, the sergeant was turned, lifted with ease from the desk, so that Ghost could inspect his leg. 

“Trousers have to come off, Sergeant,” the lieutenant explained. 

It was barely a warning. In one swift rip, Ghost shucked Johnny’s pants down to reveal… all of him. 

Johnny wasn’t really one for underwear, but he was kicking himself for that habit today. 

“LT! Christ!”

“You’re hit in the side of this leg. Need an XStat here. Deep breath.”

Johnny didn’t have time to breathe at all. The searing pain from the insertion of the wound-sealing device made his face twist into a wild grimace, and he shivered from the hot flash of agony. 

“Fuuuuckkk…” Johnny moaned, writhing and fully naked on the shitty desk.

Ghost was on the ground, digging in his gear bag, and he produced a foil shock blanket. He unwrapped it, ripping through the packaging, and lay it over his sergeant, tucking it around him. 

Johnny was shuddering, and his voice shook, but he tried to smile,

“Th-thanks, LT… Wish I had a wee bit more warmth, though. Cannae seem to stop shakin’.”

Ghost pulled off his gloves, and then, to his shock, Johnny watched as he removed his mask. He didn’t see Simon’s face often, but when he did, he tried not to stare. It was just a face, after all. There were no odd deformities, but it was as if some version of Zeus had just revealed himself through a swan or a bull; it was meant to be witnessed. 

The lieutenant didn’t meet his eyes, but he scooped him up, his huge arms curled under his back and in the crook of his knees, and brought him down to the ground. Then, he just… held him there. 

Johnny tried to remember the last time he had been held. A wee lass from high school, perhaps? But, she had not cradled him like a bairn. Perhaps it was his ma, when he drug his knee climbing through nettle at his uncle’s farm, burning up like the idiot he was, sniffling about the sting. 

Now, here he was, a grown man, cradled again in the same way. The bulk of Simon was warm against him, but the gear dug into his naked flesh. Ghost could sense his discomfort and moved him aside for a moment, shrugging out of his vest, and replacing Johnny right back into his arms. 

“Are you warm?” Simon asked quietly, a little under his breath.

“Aye, sir, thanks for tha’.”

“Are you in pain?” This question came out like a prayer, and it unsettled the younger man.

“Aye… but, it’s better now, sir.”

“Good. Help’s comin’. Sent Laswell a ping before we got locked in.”

Johnny chuckled, resting his head on Simon’s shoulder,

“She’ll find us in a right state.”

Simon shifted a bit, and there was a long pause before he muttered,

“I’m sorry, Sergeant. When they arrive, we can —”

“Haud yer wheesht,” Johnny interrupted him, pressing his forehead into Simon’s warm, bare neck, “It’s a fine state.”

“Aye.”

“Aye?” Johnny’s blood rushed through his veins, “So, you have taken a shine to me, then.”

“Aye,” Simon said, finally turning to meet Johnny’s eyes as he lay in his arms. He pressed his nose into Johnny’s space, close enough for a kiss but speaking to him instead, 

“I’ve taken a bloody shine. It’s bright enough to keep me awake at night, and it’s blindin’ me now. Everything in me says that I should leave you alone. Your rank, your future… you rely on me. But, I can’t stop staring at the shine of you. So bright. All the time.”

Johnny’s arm crinkled through the foil blanket as he reached a hand up to touch the coarse shadow on Simon’s jaw, drawing those full lips into his, petting his cheek, tasting the cigarette smoke on his tongue. He moved against him, feeling Simon’s enormous strength respond in a generous outpouring of affection, like a statue once frozen now come to life. They sank into each other, melding together, melted like hot wax, fusing, tumbling until there was only the shine of love between them.

[cursedwater]

Cole's Outfit Dialogue

Boxers: "Excuse me while I slip into something more comfortable…" Butler: "Well, now this is fun. Waiting on you hand and foot, fulfilling your every wish and desire... I promise you that I shall be an extraordinarily attentive butler." Kigurumi: "Ahh - the noble cat onesie. I do so love dressing up as one of those tiny murder machines, if only because it gives me an excuse to resume my enhanced napping schedule. Speaking of which…" Kimono: "Hmm. I see now where the "assassin geisha" trope comes from. I could hide all manner of pointy things in these sleeves. AND I look great." Masquerade: "Masks are everything. I love wearing mine. I love looking under yours. Is there anything more exciting?" RPG: "There's nothing more fun than watching a group of adventures grow close and overcome challenges… Only to have one of them betray the others. Oh! It hurts my heart so good." Spooky: "Oh! Yes- uhh- this is a costume… I'm dressed as an artist for Halloween! An artist that paints… Happy little trees. In Autumn, of course. I definitely wasn't wearing this for a different reason. Don't be silly!" Summer: "I'll be the first to admit it - I could probably use a little more tanning. It's just I tend to operate more at night. My hobbies are a lot more interesting by moonlight."

VA: Alejandro Saab

[blu3-ja3]

What is a mother without violence? Without scorn or ire, hatred or venom? What is a mother who can't protect her young? In nature it's known to never mess with a mother bear when she has cubs, a wolf with her pups, or heifer with her calf. We do not fault a magpie for protecting her nest nor a goose for chasing away children from her nest. For what is a mother without vengeance?

Maevis O'Connor isn't a violent woman, acting first with care and kindness. Even towards the hardest of soldiers on base, always a gentle hand and soft voice. She treats these soldiers, these men who have killed hundreds with precision, with such love. She's forgiving almost to a fault, even when they do the same stupid maneuvers over and over again. Rushing head long into dangerous situations. She forgives them and helps them. So when the 141 has to interact with Graves again after Las Almas they were expecting Doc to be the one holding the peace.

Instead Ghost has to grab the second captain and pull her away. As soon as the man appeared in the intelligence tent she lunged towards him ready to murder, almost grabbing him. But Ghost was quick to react, Roach, Gaz, and Soap were stunned and Captain Price moved to hold O'Connor's shoulder.

"Why the hell is he here?" There's venom in her voice, like she plans to kill the man if she was let go of. She was asking towards Laswell but never once took her eyes from Graves. Even as Laswell explained the same stupid shit to her, because a soldier can't be tried as a war criminal if he was given an order from his superior to do so.

"I was just following my orders Captain, surely you understand?" And Soap is the one to react getting right into the man's face breathing heavily with rage in his eyes "Just give me the order Doc, I'll show him what following orders looks like," but Price puts a hand on his shoulder and pulls him away.

It takes a bit for them to get through the briefing with Laswell, even longer to get into gear and onto the boeing. O'Connor just stares daggers into Graves, even as she holds conversation with Soap about him possibly designing her next tattoo to finish her sleeve.

When the mission progresses she's distant and rude towards him but subtly, if you didn't know better it would seem O'Conner was back to her kind-hearted self, but there was subtlety to her venom. It was more so what she didn't do than what she did do, always checking in with the team by name but never checking in with Graves always forcing him give updates on his own.

The mission goes well, only minor scrapes and the worst is a bruise on Gaz from tumbling down a hill while making their way towards extraction. Doc takes care of everyone but never once moving towards Graves, only tossing him a bandage to cover the cut on his cheek.

"Thanks Doc for all the help! Doing a wonder-," Graves voice drips with sarcasm before he's cut off as O'Connor wheels on him. She's right in his face towering over the man forcing him to look up to her, she's only a few inches shorter than Ghost.

"You can make do with what I give you. You're a big boy so deal with it, unless you want me to give you a proper wound for me to tend to? No? Then handle your shit yourself Graves. And never call me Doc, it's either Doctor O'Connor or Captain O'Connor understood boy." O'Connor is quiet but it's even more quiet around them so everyone can hear O'Conner over the comms.

She sits down next to Roach and goes about checking his cuts and scrapes, cleaning and tending to them with sure care it nearly gives everyone whiplash.

They land and tell Laswell about the details of the operation and what they recovered. They're given to go ahead and are dismissed to go back to home base. As soon as everyone is out of the tent there's a loud crack as Ghost rounds on Graves throwing punch, hard and fast, to the man's face. Three more to his stomach and gut, each punch punctuated by Ghost's voice.

CRACK! "For Las Almas"

CRACK! "For Alejandro and his men"

CRACK! "For shooting Johnny"

CRACK! "For shooting me"

No one moves to stop Ghost nor to grab Graves as he drops to his knees, face already swelling and spit out some blood and possibly a tooth.

"Captain Price I'll meet you at the yard at 0600 for punishment due to insubordination" Ghost rumbles, satisfaction evident in his voice.

"No need, I'm sure cleaning the mess hall and kitchen with the staff will be plenty of punishment enough... Maevis you may want to check on Graves, he might need some assistance." Price said walking away from the tent.

"Eh the bastards fine, just ice it and don't talk for a day. You'll be doing everyone a favor," She smiles and waves her hand walking off with the rest of 141.

Once back on base O'Connor pulled Ghost and Soap into a hug, saying she's proud of them for not putting the man down like a rabid animal despite how much they probably wanted to. Ghost does end up cleaning the mess and kitchen but with Soap's help.

Roach is the one to approach Doc after dinner, she's in her office reorganizing her many pouches and her main pack.

"Captain? You okay? You seemed pretty angry today, don't think we've seen you so pissed. Not even when you were mad at the Lieutenant," he spoke fast and trailing off, like if he didn't say it all at once she'd send him out.

O'Connor turns to the boy, just holding eye contact with him for a minute before speaking, "You are all my boys and I don't like when you get hurt. I especially don't like when that hurt causes you to wake from terrors in the night. And if there's a person who can be blamed for that hurt I will make their life a living hell." She pauses before saying "I'm sorry if I scared you boys I'll do my best to not get that angry again..."

"No need for that Doc, we were just shocked is all ma'am" Gaz says from behind Roach "It's not often we get to see the Bloody part of Bloody Mother Hen," there's a smile and chuckles from the joke.

For what is a Mother without furry towards those who hurt her young?

[hayden-christensen-verse]

🥀Memento Mori Memento Vivere🌿

Summery: Clay is due for his heart surgery and overhears a plot to end his life. destressed clay leaves the hospital to sit on a bench to make sense of this revelation, someone takes notice of the sadness and betrayal and comforts him. Unknowingly it is death who provides such comfort

warnings: mentions of conspiracy to murder, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, soft loving smut bc clay deserves it, happy ending (lmk if I missed anything)

reader outfit

readers dress

clays god outfit

clays ring

edit lol: I'm eating sour gummy worms and hot chocolate as I write this, plus reader is kind of based on lady death from the marvel comics, it's just how I think she look like

Edit 2: the picture of the graves is mine that I took about 2 ish years ago :)

clay pov

I stumble out of the hospital doors, me bare feet dragging along the concrete. I make my way to the nearby park and find the nearest bench and sit down with my face in my hands. I sob as I replay the words that I hear from my friend and my gf Sam, they were planning to kill me while I'm in surgery. My mom was right, I shouldn't have pursued a relationship. I drag my hands down my face looking down at the ground, and soon I see a pair of black heels before I look up and see a breathtakingly beautiful woman. her long (h/c) loose and wavy flowing over her shoulders, her captivating (e/c) with gold makeup and red lipstick. her one sleeved black jumper with a deep v-line and a gold belt, her fingers wrapped with gold rings and wrists with gold bracelets. she smiles at me with her kind eyes shining warmly before she sits next to me

no ones pov

"Now what's wrong with you sweet boy?" she says softly, her voice kind and understanding, not pushing to know what is wrong. "My girlfriend Sam and a trusted friend planned to kill me and take all my money and such," Clay says softly, tears still running down his face. her face twists into anger and sympathy, she reaches her hand out and rubs comforting circles on his hospital gown clad back. "Oh, that's so horrible, sweet boy, nobody deserves that at all" she says sweetly. The two continue to talk before Clay checks the time and sees that it is almost time for the surgery, she gets up and bids him goodbye and wishes his surgery goes well, he watches as she disappears into the crowd. Clay stands up and walks back to the hospital and goes along with the surgery but under the hand of his mother's doctors.

y/n pov

After I walk away, I quickly turn into my actual form and out of my human form. I fly over to the hospital and through the wall, searching for the beautiful blonde man and soon I find him, laying on the operating table with a tube in his mouth. I walk to the side of the gurney and lean down and Lighty drags the back of my nails down his cheek. He's so beautiful, so ethereal and so otherworldly, I lean back and watch as he undergoes his proceger. 

Time skip, months later, no ones pov

It's been months since Clay had his surgery and he and his mother start noticing little things appearing in the house like Clay's favorite cigarettes, cute little trinkets of what he likes. Lilith and Clay start getting a bit freaked out and call up a psychic to come check out the house. The bubbly woman walks behind clay and his mother, looking around the penthouse taking in her surroundings. They stop in the living room and start talking about what has been happening.

“So my name is Erica as you know, so tell me what's been happening,” said Erica looking at the duo as they all sit down, clasping her hands.

“Lately we have been noticing things in our home, like trinkets of things clay like or hand made jewelry out of unknown materials” Lilith starts, handing Erica a black ring. The ring has a wood like design that holds in a beautiful gem that looks like it holds the galaxy in it. Erica looks over the ring before her eyes wide and almost drops the ring.

“Oh…..mr.clay have you met anyone that was dressed up nicely in black with gold accessories by chance?” erica says softly

“Hmm, oh! Yes i have i never got her name but she was beautiful” he says confused but happy as he rubs his hands together

“I don't know how you're alive but I think you've met lady death,” Erica says wearily, looking at the duo as their faces turn into shock.

“Death?!” they both say loudly, eyes wide and mouth open

“Yes death, it seems she likes clay and is trying to court him, thus the trinkets and handmade gifts” erica says nervously but happy before she continues

“She's never done this before, usually she would place a mark on you that would make you love her but it seems she's trying to get you to actually love her. You must be really special clay, she very very rarely takes interest in anyone” 

Clay and his mother look at each other before clay speaks

“How would one accept or reject the courtship?’ clay asks,brows furrowed

“If you wish to reject her advances just ignore the object and it should disappear and decline in appearance in your home and to accept you need to wear, use or hold or say how much you like it before she reveals herself after a while.” erica smiles as she gets up and bids them goodbye and leaves the penthouse

From that day forward clay starts wearing the jewelry and admiring the little handmade trinkets with a soft eyes and a small smile, finding it endearing

Time skip

It has been months since death started the courtship and with clay accepting her advances, clay types away drowzee at his home computer, eyes droopy and red. He soon feels hand rest on his shoulders and a whisper as he falls into a deep restful sleep

“Rest now, Vida”

Slowly clays eyes open and glances around, seeing that he is in bed and he sits up slightly panicked and confused.

“At ease vida, you alright” a sweet voice says, the same voice that clay was once comforted by at the park, snapping his head in the direction of the voice. Seeing the mysterious woman with a tray of Clay's favorite food.

“S-so your death?” he asks, swallowing the lump in his throat

“Mmm yes that's one of my names but call me (y/n), mi vida” she says setting the food on his lap

“Mi vida? What does that mean?”

“It means my life” she says sweetly

-

(smut time)

It's been almost 2 years since I've met death and decided to have a relationship with her, she's just wonderful. Though she is busy sometimes, what do you expect when you're engaged to death herself. She's perfect and so sweet, she is just what you could dream of.

I moan softly as I arch my back off the bed, the surprising warmth of her mouth warped around my cock as she sucks softly, her hands rest on my thighs softly as I flood her mouth with my cum. She slowly takes her mouth off my cock and swallows before she crawls up to straddle my hips, grabbing my cock and aligning with her slick cunt before she lowers herself, once all the way down she leans down and peppers kisses all along my face before trailing down and sucking hickeys lightly on my neck. While still leaned down she raises her hims and drops them softly before repeating the process, soft moans of pleasure leave our lips, i move my hands to rest on her plush soft hips as her hands rub and caress my skin as she places a soft trail of kisses along my scar from my surgery, she shows her love is so many ways. like the soft loving kisses, the loving caresses and in her gaze. She looks at me like I've hung the sun, moon and stars, like I'm her entire world. I feel her ethereal silk walls tighten around me telling me she's close, the pit in my belly tightens before snapping as I moan softly in her ear as she does the same. She goes lumps on top of me whispering praises and asking if I need anything. I knew at this moment I had made the right decision by accepting her courtship and I'd spend forever with me.

-

Years pass as Clay grows old and passes into the afterlife and turns into his wifes opposite but immortal companion and lover. Clay sits in a field of flowers dressed in an all white loose outfit with a small crown of black flowers given to him from his godly wife while death is wearing a loose black dress with a deep v neckline. Death sits between lifes legs both looking down with joyful smiles as they caress death's swollen belly that moves with life.

It's said that life and death send each other gifts in the forms of their creations. Life makes life that will die and death will collet and immortalize the gifts and send them to life's eternal paradise onec they are done being given their new bodies. You cant have life with out death or death without life.

memento mori memento vivere

“Remember that you will die so remember to live!”

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hey! tell me of what you think of my fic, likes and reblogs are apricated

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Dangerously in Love (Part 2)

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 28 Alt 8. Kidnapping Fandom: MCU, Frank Castle, The Punisher, f!reader Summary: After witnessing your murder on a video call, Frank's only focus is on revenge. But he's about to learn that things are not always as they seem... Word Count: 4389 TW: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Whump, Grief, Fighting, Blood, Gun Fight, Minor Character Death, Frank Carries Reader, Happy Ending Notes: Part of @ailesswhumptober's event

Part 5 of the “In Love” series

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist

It had taken Frank three days and a trail of bodies in his wake, but he had finally located where Costa had streamed from. 

He had barely stopped since the moment he had left your—his—apartment and only to grab a handful of food or a few hours of sleep to keep up his strength for what was coming. Not that it would have made a difference if he tried to get a full night’s sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your terrified, tear-soaked face pleading with him before hearing the deafening bang of the gun and your blood spraying as the camera cut out. While he hadn’t actually seen the damage that the bullet had done to you, he had seen enough bullet wounds in his life for his brain to fill in the blanks. And when that happened, he would jerk awake with tears streaming down his face.

After Maria and their children were murdered, Frank had sworn never to allow himself to care for someone like that again. It was too dangerous…he was too dangerous. And yet, all of that flew out the window the moment he met you. 

He tried to keep his walls up, to keep you out, but you quickly burst through them all as if they were made of vapor. And when you found out about the Punisher and who he really was yet still accepted him, it was over. Frank’s bullet-riddled heart began to beat again and it was all because of you.

You. The girl who would make fun of herself a hundred times over before ever saying a word against anyone else. The girl who couldn’t cook to save her life but still continuously put in a valiant effort. The girl who hid under a blanket during horror movies or gagged at the slightest scene with gore, yet pulled out the first aid kit without hesitation when he came home dripping in blood. 

He knew the risks, he knew the danger, but he also knew he couldn’t live without you in his life. But now that danger had caught up to you and he had lost you anyway. At least if he had kept his distance you would be out there somewhere living your life happy with someone else—not shot to death in a warehouse while you were alone and terrified.

As Frank approached that same warehouse now, he thought back to your last kiss just before he sent you off to stay with Red. At the time, he had promised you it wasn’t goodbye, that he would come back to you. Yet even though he knew there was a very good chance it was a lie, he never expected you to be the one not coming home.

Looking around, he was surprised to find there weren’t any men standing guard by the main entrance or on the rooftop. He remained on high alert, but crossed the empty lot to the front door and kicked it in. When no one opened fire or swarmed him, he ducked inside.

It appeared the warehouse had been abandoned for a while. Even though he could faintly hear the churning hum of a generator somewhere below him, it must only be for the lights since there didn’t seem to be any sort of air conditioner or fans in the building. But that made sense. Costa must have known Frank would come for him after what he did, and it was better for Frank to locate one of his temporary bases of operation instead of his main headquarters. 

Without slowing, he rubbed his face on the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the sweat out of his eyes as it poured down his brow. He continued through the warehouse—gun raised—as he scanned for any traces of Costa, even though so far it seemed as if he wasn’t here. But Frank wasn’t going to stop looking until he made sure. He wasn’t going to stop hunting him down until Costa lay dead at his feet.

However, when he reached the door at the end of the hall and threw it open, he stumbled to a halt as his heart froze in his chest.

It was the same room he had seen from the video call—barren concrete walls, a single light hanging down from the middle of the room, and a metal chair with your lifeless body still strapped to it. 

All of the air was instantly sucked from Frank’s lungs and his knees went weak. 

He hovered by the door, unable to make his feet take a single step closer to your limp form. He swallowed—hard—as tears stung at his eyes. It had never crossed his mind that he might find you here. He assumed Costa would have dumped your body somewhere it would never be found or incinerated it. Maybe Costa thought having Frank see you like this, to face what had happened in person, would throw him off his game. If that was the plan, it was succeeding. Seeing your violent death over video had been one thing, but finding your long cold corpse days later—

Wait. Something wasn’t right here.

You had been left in this dank, humid room for the past three days. He should have been greeted by the putrid smell of rot and decay as soon as he opened the door but instead, he only sensed the metallic bite of fresh blood. Blood that should have long since dried and lost its potency. Yet he could see the dark red pool beneath your chair was still wet—it was recent. 

Frank stumbled forward as if in a trance. It couldn’t be. He watched you die…hadn’t he? He saw the gun go off, a spray of blood, and your head snapped back—but he never saw the aftermath. Not really. The feed had gone black a second after the gun went off. Was there a chance?

The closer he got to where you were tied, the harder it was to look at you. You were still wearing his hoodie that you had been wearing in the video so it covered most of your skin. However, what was showing was littered with bruises and cuts of various sizes, layers of blood coating most of your visible skin as it had dried and been coated once more. The top layer still looked damp in some places, the color more vibrant and shiny in the dim light, and Frank silently prayed for a miracle. 

He hesitated as he reached you, knowing that the tiny flicker of hope he was allowing himself to feel could be instantly extinguished the second he touched you.  The air around him was deathly still as if the room itself was holding its breath waiting for an answer. He sank to kneel at your feet, as if you were some holy miracle he was prepared to worship. Unable to wait any longer, Frank slowly reached out and placed two fingers against the side of your throat.

For a moment, he felt nothing. Just your cool, clammy skin beneath his fingers, and his heart began to sink. But then—

Just as he felt the first weak thump of your pulse, your eyes slowly flickered open. Your gaze was glassy and unfocused but there was a small spark of recognition as you stared at the man kneeling before you. Your tongue ran briefly over your cracked, bloody lips before you weakly rasped, “-ank?”

Frank’s eyes grew wide as he clutched at your face, his fingers tangling deeply in your hair as he tried to convince himself you were real. “Yeah, sweetheart. It’s me. Oh god. I thought I’d lost you.” He fought back the tears that were building behind his eyes as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours.

You flinched as he shifted you and for the first time, he noticed the blood-soaked wrapping across your shoulder. Unlike the rest of your injuries, this one seemed more severe yet cared for and, if he had to guess, was probably where the bullet from the video call had struck you instead of the head as he had been led to believe. It was still a dire injury, yet he still felt a wave of relief flood over him. A shoulder wound you could heal from; a headshot was another story.

He stayed with his head pressed against yours, reveling in the fact you were alive and he had found you. Then he pulled back to gaze into your eyes. 

However, where he thought he would see joy or excitement, there was only terror. Slowly—painfully—you began moving your lips as you tried to tell him something but nothing came out except a hoarse exhale.

“Shhh. You don’t have to say anything,” Frank murmured softly as he rubbed his thumb gently across your cheekbone. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m gonna get you outta here and bring you home to get some help.”

But you shook your head, the fear only intensifying in your eyes as you struggled to get your message across. Finally, you took a deep breath and managed to rasp out your message, “–’s a trap…Run.” 

Before Frank could process what you had said, the door to the room slammed open and dozens of armed men rushed into the room. Frank sprang to his feet and tried to put himself between these newcomers and you, but they quickly surrounded the two of you. 

“Well, look what we have here. Mr. Castle, we’ve been expecting you.” Costa chuckled cruelly as he walked through the door. “Although truthfully, I thought you would have been here a lot sooner. Three days is a long time to make your girlfriend wait with no food and very little water, especially when she is losing so much blood.”

“You bastard,” Frank growled as he stepped towards Costa, but he stopped as all of the soldiers around you raised their guns.

Costa’s grin widened. “Uh, uh, uh…I would be careful, Mr. Castle. One wrong move and my men open fire.”

“I can take it,” Frank said, stalking forward.

“I’m sure you can. Which is why not a single gun in this room is aimed at you.”

Frank froze in his tracks before glancing around the room. He hadn’t noticed it before, but Costa was right. Every gun was raised and they were all pointed directly at where you were still tied to the chair behind him. 

Turning, he locked eyes with you and it was clear you had noticed this as well. And yet, the fear that he had seen in your eyes the last time he had looked at you was gone, and in its place was a sort of calm acceptance. You gave him a small smile as you nodded and mouthed, “It’s okay. Go.” 

Frank’s heart swelled. Even after everything this bastard had done to you these past three days, you were still putting his safety above your own. God, how he loved you.

Costa laughed at the tender silent exchange between the two of you. “Oh, is this not precious? You know, she never once lost faith you’d come save her. She said you promised you’d come back and you never broke a promise. Every time one of my men came to check on her or to torture her, she insisted we’d all pay when you found her. Too bad her faith in you was so misguided.” He held up a finger and the men surrounding you all cocked their guns. “Just a word of advice, Mr. Castle that you will never have a chance to learn from: When you try storming the hideout of a known crimelord, don’t try doing it alone. You will always be vastly outnumbered.”

Frank raised his head and looked Costa dead in the eye as his lips curled into a knowing grin. “Who says I’m alone?”

Costa’s smile dropped just as the room was plunged into complete darkness. Frank immediately pivoted and dove towards the spot where he remembered your chair being. His aim was off slightly, but he still managed to grab the edge of the seat as he fell and he pulled it down to the floor with him. And just in time.

“Shoot them!” Costa’s voice rang out through the darkness. He was so focused on not letting you or Frank get away that he did not consider what he had just commanded his men to do.

Following their direct orders as they had been trained to do, Costa’s men opened fire. Bullets whizzed through the air over your heads, and Frank scrambled to cover you with his body as best as he could. You hadn’t made a sound since the lights went off, but Frank felt your hand weakly wrap itself into the fabric of his shirt, giving him a sign you were still with him.   

As the bullets continued to fly above you, cries of pain and heavy thuds began to fill the room. Quickly, those sounds became more frequent while the sounds of gunfire grew less and less. When the lights flickered back on, Frank saw that only a handful of men—including Costa—were left standing. All the rest were lying motionless on the floor where they were hit by the bullets from the men across from them. 

Glancing down, Frank saw you nestled safely under him with your eyes closed and your fingers still curled in his shirt. When you started to peek one eye open, Frank placed his hand over them. “Not yet,” he muttered. “Keep ‘em closed until I tell you to.”

He moved his hand to see you had followed his instructions—and just in time.

Frank felt the barrel of a gun dig into the back of his head. Slowly, he raised his hands. 

“Get to your feet,” Costa growled from behind him.

Slowly, Frank did as he was ordered. Your eyes remained closed, but he felt your grip on his shirt tighten. Carefully, he eased himself back until you were forced to let go, then he rose to his feet. Turning, he faced Costa, the gun still pressed against his skull. 

The mob boss’s face was deep red and a prominent vein in his forehead throbbed. “You just cost me a lot of men,” he snarled, spit flying from his lips and hitting Frank in the face. “I think it’s time we finally say goodbye, Mr. Castle. Tell your family I send my regards.”

Costa stepped back, his gun pointed at the center of Frank’s head. But just before he could pull the trigger, something flew from the hallway and struck his hand, causing him to drop the gun as he cursed loudly. Costa looked down at the red billy club lying next to his gun on the floor then raised his head just in time to see a red-clad figure with a horned helmet burst into the room. 

About damn time.

Frank grinned as he watched Costa stumble backward at the sight of Red ducking and dodging as he lay blow after blow on his remaining men. Using this momentary distraction, Frank charged forward and wrenched the gun from Costa’s hand. The other man’s eyes grew wide and he started to beg for mercy, but Frank didn’t deal in mercy��he dealt in punishment.

Pointing the barrel of the gun between Costa’s eyes, Frank growled, “I’ll see you in Hell.” And he pulled the trigger.

Costa’s head exploded as his body crumpled to the floor. Wiping blood and brain matter from his face, Frank turned to see Red knocking out the last of Costa’s men. 

As the vigilante turned towards him, he sighed. “Frank, you promised if I helped, there’d be no killing.”

Frank threw the gun to the floor as he snapped, “Yeah well, tell that to my wife and kids who he had murdered or my girlfriend—your friend—he left to waste away as bait tied to that chair.”

Red pressed his lips into a tight line but didn’t say anything. Frank knew this discussion wasn’t over but he was grateful Red was willing to leave it alone for the time being. There was a much more important matter that needed to be attended to at the moment.

Hurrying over to where you lay on the floor still tied down, Frank carefully righted the chair and cupped your cheek, tilting your head to get a better look at your face. Your skin was littered with bruises and cuts in various stages of healing, and your bottom lip was split wide. Your eyes were still closed just as Frank had instructed you to do.

Glancing at Red, he asked, “Is she gonna be alright?”

Red placed his hand on the side of your neck just below your jaw. He cocked his head slightly as he listened for a moment, then sighed. “Her heartbeat’s weak and parts of her body are shutting down.” He turned his head towards Frank. “It’s really bad, but if she gets help soon, I think she’ll be okay.”

Frank felt the tightness in his chest lessen slightly. At least there was a chance. 

As Red dropped his hand, your eyes fluttered open. Surprised to see the other man with Frank, you asked, “M-Matt…?”

Red grinned sadly down at you. “Hey. Long time no see.”

You exhaled softly in a poor attempt at a laugh but then your lip began to quiver. “—’m sorry…shouldn’ta left…”

Red placed his hand on your uninjured shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze. “No, it’s my fault too. I knew you wanted to be with Frank and I should’ve kept a better eye on you.” He paused and tilted his head “...That one wasn’t actually supposed to be a joke.”

“You two can pass around all the blame you want once we get outta here,” Frank grumbled before you could try to muster up another response. “Costa might have backup arriving at any minute.”

He wiped his hands on his pants to clean off as much blood as possible. Then he pulled out his knife and cut your bonds. Now unconfined, your body slumped limply in the seat until Frank gingerly lifted you up. 

You felt so delicate and frail in his arms. As if you would snap in half with the slightest pressure. Your breathing was still very labored and ragged but no matter how Frank repositioned you, nothing seemed to help. 

Moaning softly, you muttered, “Frank…?”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you now. You’re safe. Get some rest, sweetheart.”

You nodded into his chest just before your body went limp in his arms. It seemed as if the trauma from the last few days had finally caught up to you and now that you were safe, your body and mind finally allowed you some peace.

Staring down at your broken body as you still struggled for each breath, Frank felt tears begin to silently stream down his face, and for once he was glad that Red couldn’t see him. However, by the way those red lenses were locked onto him, he had a feeling the vigilante knew exactly what was happening. As Frank passed by him as he held open the front door of the warehouse, Red’s hand shot out and grabbed Frank’s arm. 

Giving it a tight squeeze, he said, “It’s over, Frank. You saved her and she’s going to be okay.”

Yanking his arm from Red’s grasp, he growled, “We both know for her, this will never be over and I doubt she’ll ever really be okay again.”

Without another word or even a glance in his direction, Frank stalked through the warehouse and out the exit. It was time to get you home.

When Frank got you back to your shared apartment, Claire was already there waiting for you. Red must have called her on the way. Frank was used to tending to his own injuries, not someone else’s so as much as he preferred to handle things on his own, he was grateful for the help. 

He was also grateful Claire didn’t mention the destroyed living room that Frank had left after thinking you had been killed. In all honestly, once he killed Costa, Frank had never planned to return to your apartment. It was too painful imagining living here without you, surrounded by the memories of what was and the dreams of what might have been. Yet now that he knew you were alive, he was going to have to clean up his mess. But for now, he carried you into the bedroom and laid you down on your bed.

Claire tended to your gunshot and your various other injuries. Then she hooked you up to an IV to replenish your fluids and help fight off any infections you might have gotten in sitting in that sweltering warehouse for days. Then she gave Frank a bottle of extra-strength pain medication and told him to give it to you as needed. She promised to check back in after her shift at the hospital and she left. 

Several hours later, you were fast asleep but Frank could see it wasn’t a peaceful one. Your jaw was clenched tightly beneath a furrowed brow and your right hand clutched at the sheets, twisting them tightly into your fist. Every so often, you would let out a soft whimper or your breathing would momentarily become more ragged. And at one point, tears began slipping down your cheeks.

Frank watched it all from his chair next to the bed, the stabbing ache in his chest growing stronger with each passing moment. He had helped you into a fresh tank top after Claire finished patching you up. As you shifted, the blankets slipped down revealing more skin and Frank noticed more injuries he hadn’t seen when you were wearing his hoodie. You hadn’t said a word about what they did to you, but Frank had seen enough injuries like these to get a pretty good picture. And while some would heal completely, the deeper ones would never truly fade. You would have to carry these scars as a permanent reminder of how he had failed to protect you. 

“I found the perfect wedding dress.”

Startled, Frank’s head jerked up to see your eyes now opened and a soft smile on your face. “What?”

Patting the empty spot on the bed next to you, you said, “I looked online while I was at Matt’s place.”

Frank chuckled as he climbed into the bed and placed his arm behind your head. “You were there for less than a day and you found one?”

You nodded, snuggling your face into his chest. “The second I saw it I knew. It was the one I wanted to marry you in.” You paused, then added, “Just like at that moment I knew I didn’t want to be apart from you, no matter how much danger I might be in.”

So…it was time for this conversation.

Frank sighed, “Sweetheart—”

But you cut him off. “No, Frank. I know what you’re gonna say. But it was my fault, not yours. You sent me away someplace you knew I’d be safe. And I would have been—if I had stayed. But I came back—knowing the risks—because I love you and couldn’t stay away. So everything that’s happened is all because of me and my decisions. Not yours.”

“But you wouldn’t have ever needed to be sent away to keep you safe if you weren’t with me,” Frank countered.

“Maybe. But any life without you in it isn’t one I want to live.” You pressed your lips against the bare skin of his neck. “So if that means I’m put in danger from time to time, it’s a cost I’m willing to pay.” 

“What if I’m not willing to pay for my happiness with your life? Because that’s what might happen one of these days if you stay. As bad as this was, we were lucky. Next time, we might not be.”

Sighing, you sat up and stared at him, your lips pressed together in a frustrated line. “Frank, do you realize that everything you’re feeling right now—all this dread and uncertainty and heart-stopping terror that something might happen to me—that’s what I feel every single time you walk out the door as The Punisher. I never know when I kiss you goodbye if that will be the last time I ever see you alive. But I never try to stop you. I just sit here patiently and pray you’ll walk back through that door to give me another kiss. And yes, this life you’ve chosen is dangerous for the both of us. But are you telling me that you aren’t willing to deal with those same feelings you put me through on a weekly basis in order to be with me?”

“Well, fuck, sweetheart,” Frank muttered looking down at his hands. “When you put it like that, it’d be pretty selfish of me to say no, huh?”

“Exactly.” Placing your finger under his chin, you tilted his head up until he was looking at you. The adoration in your gaze made the last lingering doubts about whether or not he should stay vanish. As you stroked his cheek, you cooed, “And if I know one thing about you, Frank Castle, it’s that you are one of the most selfless men I know. And I love you with everything in me.”

Frank leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “I love you too, sweetheart. More than I ever thought possible. And if you’re sure this life of danger is what you want, then you can buy that wedding dress tomorrow.”

“Too late,” you giggled, wrapping your good arm around Frank’s neck in a half-hug. “I already ordered it while you were in the shower.”

Frank shook his head with a soft chuckle. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Marry me,” you said with complete seriousness. “Then we’ll have the rest of our lives together to figure out what comes next.”

Frank pulled you down—carefully minding all of your injuries—so you were lying on top of him. As he felt your eyelashes flutter closed against his bare chest, he murmured, “That’s exactly what we’ll do. I promise.” He pressed his lips against the top of your head. “And have I ever broken my promise?”

Taglist: @green-socks, @mayhem24-7forever, @blue-aconite, @ohtobeleah

@foli-vora, @lucyysthings, @tavners, @merlehs,

@sunshineflowerchild789, @myguiltypleasures21, @androah,

@imreading,  @arduadastra, @infinitelydreamingx, @weallhaveadestiny, @dreamcatcher121, 

@andromacher, @assemblemotherfuckers

[salamandergoo]

STWG Prompt: “Goodnight Love”

Sue Sinclair was a smart woman.  She knew her children were hiding something from her.  She knew there was something wrong with Hawkins.  She knew that this town was operating under a mob mentality.  At the moment though, all she cared about was getting her children home.

The last few days had been bad.  Particularly bad, like the nights Lucas had disappeared, only to show up hours later, visibly shaken and with the chief of police of all people.  Like when Erica had disappeared over the summer and Lucas hadn't come home, both of them silent and terrified outside the burning mall.  But this was... this was a new level of bad.

They'd run from the cops, dangerous on any occasion, but the way Deputy Callahan's hand had twitched towards his gun had made her heart stop.  They'd vanished and then there had been..  Well, the official explanation was an earthquake, but it wasn't like any earthquake Sue or Charlie had ever heard of.  The ground had opened just a few blocks down...

The phone lines were miraculously still working.  And hearing Lucas plead for them to get to the hospital had nearly stopped her heart yet again.  Lucas was a level headed boy, only occasionally got overly emotional, and she only heard him cry when something truly awful happened.  He'd reassured her that he and Erica were alive, but the way he'd said it hadn't sounded right.

She clutched Charlie's sleeve, his hand solid on her lower back as they walked briskly into the overcrowded hospital.  "Lucas?  Erica?"  Her head swiveled as she tried to catch a glimpse of them.  They were in the corner of the waiting room and she pulled Charlie that way.  Her heart broke at the way Erica burst into tears at the sight of them.  Charlie picked her up like she was the baby she hadn't been in many years and Sue could see bandages on her knees and palms, dress stained with dirt and grass and blood.

Lucas wasn't doing much better.  Tears had already begun to fall down his cheeks, eye badly bruised and lip swollen.  She could see blood at his hairline and it didn't paint a pretty picture of what had happened.  "Lucas," she whispered, pulling him into her arms.  "Oh baby, what happened to you?"

"Jason Carver happened to him."  A girl she recognized, dressed up in camouflage and reinforced leather clothing stood up, reaching out a shaking hand to lay it on Lucas' arm.  "He was- Max-"  The girl, Robin, Sue belatedly remembered, couldn't seem to get a full word out.  She was injured too, it looked like someone had tried to strangle her along with various scrapes and cuts and bruises on her exposed skin.  Her hand looked burnt, hastily wrapped in bandages.  "Shit," she hissed, wiping at her eyes.

Lucas let out a soft sob into her shoulder at the mention of Max.  She knew they'd been through an elongated rough patch, Lucas insisting things weren't over between them.  "They won't let me see her," he whispered, voice trembling.

"She's in surgery."  The other girl with him, Mike's older sister Nancy, spoke up, but her eyes didn't settle on one place for long.  She was scanning the room, only lingering on the entrances and exits.  Her hands twitched like she was supposed to be holding something.  "She was hurt.  Bad.  She wasn't the only one."

"Who else was hurt?"  Sue had Lucas lift his head and she delicately wiped away his tears.

"Steve... and Dustin... and- and Eddie."  The last name came with another sob and he was burying himself in her arms again, clinging like he hadn't since he thought Will had died.

"Eddie Munson?"  She frowned, the name all too familiar.  Chief Powell had seemed sure the boy was behind the latest string of murders, had asked them and the Wheelers and Claudia if they knew where he was, seeing as their boys were in his club at school.  She didn't quite believe it, even if Lucas had his disagreements with him, she doubted the fantasy game had anything to do with real violence.  "What happened to Eddie Munson?"

Robin scrubbed at her eyes, keeping the heels of her hands against them as she squeaked out a quiet "he died."

Lucas cried harder and she could hear Erica's quiet sobs to her left.  "Oh honey," she murmured.  "Because of the earthquake?"

"...yes."  Sue could hear the hesitation in her voice and knew that this wasn't adding up.  But Lucas' sobs were growing in volume and Erica seemed inconsolable.

"What about Dustin?"  A sweet boy, he'd been one of Lucas' first friends when they'd moved to Hawkins.  He could be loud and eccentric, but Lucas had never had anything but good things to say.

"He broke his ankle, he's getting it set and put in a cast."  Robin wrung her hands and Sue felt the urge to reach out and stop her before she hurt herself.  "And Steve was... he's hurt, they're taking care of him."

Steve Harrington was the only babysitter in Hawkins who could keep up with Erica.  She insisted she didn't need a babysitter, but she didn't argue when it was Steve who came over.  Sue wasn't sure why he got along with her so well, but he'd been present for Lucas too, after saving him from that Billy Hargrove a couple years back.  "Right..."  She cradled the back of Lucas' head as he seemed to slump against her more firmly.  "We should get you two home," she murmured. 

"But Max-"

"We can come back tomorrow."  Part of her was tempted to ground both of her kids, keep them locked in their rooms until summer break.  But it wouldn't be fair.  She needed the full story, but knew that wouldn't be happening anytime soon.

The older girls promised to call if anything changed, and she and Charlie got the kids in the car.  She glanced back on the drive home and saw Erica clutching Lucas' hand in both of hers, shaking like a leaf.  It was unusual to see her shaken like that, to see her upset and quiet.  She was usual outspoken and a little too bold, but she looked young and small in the back seat.

In the light of their home, the injuries felt worse to Sue.  Felt wrong on her children's bodies.  Charles knelt on the kitchen floor and wiped Erica's scrapes clean while she cleaned blood and tears off of Lucas' face.  It was quiet, far too quiet.  The kids seemed to be settling into the shock, Lucas still trembling with every touch.

"You two go get ready for bed, we'll be up in a few minutes," Charlie said, voice low as he stood from the floor.

Erica reached out and latched onto Lucas' arm before going upstairs with him, an odd sight.  She hadn't reached for her brother like that... maybe ever.

"There are so many questions I didn't think to ask," she whispered, falling into her husband's arms.

He held her to his chest and kissed the top of her head, but there was a steadiness that wasn't present like it usually was.  It was almost nice to not be the only one knocked off kilter.  "I didn't think of any either.  Eddie is... Wayne's kid... Christ, do you think he knows?" 

Charlie went out to the bar with a few other veterans in town, he'd mentioned Wayne a few times.  "I wonder..."  She sighed.  "I don't understand.  Erica has never done this before, Lucas... I don't know what the connection is or why he keeps disappearing.  It's always just when we think it won't happen again."  She clutched Charles' shirt in frustration.  "What aren't they telling us?"

"I don't know, honey."  He sighed.  "We'll take them to see Max tomorrow, but then they're grounded indefinitely."

"Until college," she agreed.  "Mike isn't even in town, why were they with his sister...?"

"And not all of those scrapes are just from tripping, who would hurt Erica?"  They were both quiet for a long moment, knowing very well that the type to hurt a young black girl existed in Hawkins.  It was just hard to understand the why.

Sue shook her head sadly.  "For tonight... we'll let them sleep.  We'll get answers in the morning."  She let her hand drift down Charlie's arm, just grounding herself to him for another moment.

As she climbed the stairs, she could hear hissed whispers from Lucas' room.  "We can't tell them."

"We didn't sign anything this time!  They're going to find out!"  Lucas had never been very good at whispering.

"What if we get in trouble?  Hopper isn't here to keep us safe anymore.  Who knows when the suits are gonna show up?"

"If they show up.  They're going to leave this town to the dogs," Lucas spit, sounded far too bitter.  "Literal dogs."

"I still don't believe you on that.  We need Eleven."  Eleven?  What did that mean?

"Mrs. Byers would know what to do.  Or Will.  I wish they hadn't moved."

"Even Wheeler might have some idea.  He's been your stupid leader long enough."

"Hey!  He's not our leader!"

She took that as her cue to finish ascending the stairs.  "Kids?"  She looked inside just in time to see Erica scramble off the bed.  "Remember to brush your teeth," she called after her.

Lucas went quiet and looked down at his lap.  He was holding a pajama shirt in his hands, but wasn't making any moves to change.  "Mom?"

"What is it, honey?"

"...I'm scared," he whispered, eyes going glassy.  "Max- she-"  He sniffled and wiped at his eyes before any new tears could fall.  "Her heart stopped, mom."

"Oh Lucas," she whispered, pulling him into her arms again.  She wasn't sure when he'd gotten so tall, but sometime around Christmas she'd realized she had to look up at him now.  But here, he was bending down in her arms until he could tuck his face against her neck.  "She's in the best place she can be right now.  They'll do whatever they can to help her."  She didn't know that for sure, she didn't even know what had happened, but it was what Lucas needed to hear.  He sniffled and she could feel his tears on her skin.  "Never disappear like that again.  You aren't getting out of trouble, you got it?"  She held him tighter and felt his arms clutch at her.

"I know, mom."

She held him for a few more minutes, could hear Charlie come upstairs and heard his low voice from Erica's room.  She sent Lucas to change and brush his teeth, hating the way he looked so small when he came back.  The blood had been wiped away, she hadn't found any deep cuts under his hair, but the bruises stood out and his eyes were bloodshot.  "Come on, it's time for you to rest."

He let her tuck him in and kiss his forehead, but before she could go far, he spoke up.  "Mom?  Will you... will you stay?  For a little bit?  Please?"

Sue sat on the bed on top of the blankets and gently pulled him until his head was by her side.  "I'll stay."

It had been a long time since she was here, sitting with him like this.  He held her like he was still the same little boy he used to be, but instead, he was a young man now.  It hurt her heart just as much as it warmed it to be clung to by him.  "Goodnight, my love," She whispered to him, watching over him until he fell asleep.

Tomorrow would be another day, just as long and harrowing as this one.  She'd demand answers and get them, hear things more horrifying than she could ever dream up.

But for now, Lucas slept, curled right up to her side. 

[luulapants]

The Fix - Chapter 1

Destiel | Rated E | WIP

Castiel’s eyes scanned the file once, quickly, then again more slowly, taking in every detail, starting to sort them into mental boxes: basic, irrelevant, potentially consequential, definitely consequential, exploitable.

Basic: Kansas Representative Dean Winchester, age 32. Republican. Brown hair, green eyes. Born in Lawrence, Kansas. Resident of Gypsum, Kansas, a suburb of Salina, with an apartment in Washington, DC. Appointed to his seat after the untimely death of his father, former representative John Winchester.

Irrelevant: Graduated from Brown University with a Bachelor’s in political science. Competitive skeet shooter. Classic car aficionado. Chose classic rock songs for all of his campaign rallies.

Potentially consequential: Married to a Lisa Winchester-Braeden, age 34, with a son, Ben, who was born healthy seven months after their wedding. She owned a wellness brand that operated more-or-less as a pyramid scheme. Mother, Mary Winchester, was murdered in a home invasion in 1981, which inspired her husband’s tough-on-crime political campaign.

Definitely consequential: Younger brother, Sam Winchester<, a liberal activist lawyer working with groups such as Greenpeace, The Green Party (a picture of him shaking hands with Ralph Nader), the ACLU, and The Innocence Project. Currently involved in a massive class action lawsuit against the Kansas Department of Corrections. Dean’s previous jobs were in the orbit of their father – his campaigns, his staff, more recently on the board of The Mary Winchester Foundation.

Exploitable: A single Polaroid photograph, stored in a black plastic sleeve, of Representative Winchester, naked face-down on a bed, hands bound and a blindfold tied at the back of his head, the penis of whoever took the photograph buried in his asshole.

Cas traced his thumb along the edge of the photograph, then carefully tucked it back into the sleeve. “So what’s the plan for him?” he asked.

Zachariah held his hands wide as if this were not his devising but rather an inevitability that had fallen into his lap, leaving him helpless but to receive it. “He’s young. Conservative. Politically viable.”

“And easy to control,” Cas supposed. He could see it, the whole trajectory they had planned for Mr. Dean Winchester. Today a representative. In a few years, he could be appointed to the senate when Brownback went for the governorship. He wondered if they would dare to lift a puppet like this any higher than that. A sex scandal waiting to happen. Or maybe that was where Cas came in.

Read the rest on AO3

[core-bagg]

----[TAKING WHAT'S NOT YOURS]----

!NO BETA, WE DIE LIKE HENRY!

1,138 words

Characters: Angus Ciprianni, Matteo Schiavoni (Belongs to @double--hh, check them out they're super cool!!! :3), Dr. W Afton, Oswald Keppler

Trigger warnings: Violence, guns, minor cannibalism, mentions of scars, mentions of stabbing, mentions of organ theft, threating at knife point

Author's note: @double--hh I'm sorry if I wrote Matt out of character, I tried to follow your posts as much as I can. I hope you like this :3

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Angus leant on the armrest of the chair, watching his business partner, Matteo, fold his checkered suit into a neat pile. Something caught Angus's eye, there was a new scar on his partner's body, a scar just left above his waist with visible lines coming off it.

Angus: "Another stabbing, ey Matty?" Matteo: "Actually, some parassiti da laboratorio stole it while I was out…Dunno where it went since."

Angus raised an eyebrow as he sat up.

Angus: "What did they look like?" Matteo: "Ginger hair, lavender shirt, small glasses, weird logo on his lab coat sleeve, sembra mezzo morto, why'd you ask, angel?"

Angus gazed on with a determined, enraged and shocked looked. He seen someone with that appearance before. It belonged to Afton's friend. Angus loaded and cocked his gun, his grip on the gun was tight.

Matteo: "Ang-?" Angus: "I just wanna talk to him, amico."

Matteo only stared in confusion as he saw Angus get up from the chair, walk out his front door and march down to where-ever-the-hell the kidney stealer lived with murderous intent, before deciding that it would be a good idea to follow his purple friend.

Meanwhile, Afton and Oswald sat around the latter's wooden dining table. Oswald prodded the kidney with the back of his scalpel. Afton parted the sea of biology books with his hands to talk with his pal.

Afton: "Soooooo, who did you get this from again?" Oswald: "Some guy in a yellow suit passed out in the gay bar. I dragged him to the bathroom, made an cut on his abdomen, jarred the kidney and patched him back up just as he was about to come back to consciousness, Wali." Afton: "Why were you at a gay bar?" Oswald: "I was banned from almost all of the normal bars." Afton: "For what?" Oswald: "Organ theft, why-?"

Angus kicked down the door to Oswald's apartment, causing Afton to jump back in fright. Oswald quickly spun around to face the other duo. Matteo was behind Angus, trying to make sure he didn't do something stupid.

Angus: "VA BENE, COGLIONE VIOLA, DOV'È IL RENE!?" Oswald: "MY DOOR!!! AND I JUST GOT IT REPLACED TOO!"

Oswald launched up from his seat and pulled Angus closer, holding the scalpel up to his neck. Anger boiled in Oswald, nobody was going to barge into his apartment, spouting, what was for all he knew or cared, some random voodoo language at him and get away with it. Matteo stared at the unfolding situation, not knowing whether or not to draw his own gun. Afton, on the other hand, was silently panicking, it was rare that he saw Oswald angry and even rarer that he was at a state where he was willing to draw blood. Angus was trying his hardest to not sweat bullets, but Oswald's faux-friendly smile and one-stubbed-toe-away-from-going-postal eyes didn't help it all, not to mention the fact that the scalpel was threating to pierce his skin.

Oswald: "Now then! I'll give you one chance to answer this: What are you doing here? Keep in mind that the penalty for not answering me is to be strapped to my operating table and be dissected while you're awake…And no, there won't be any anesthesia."

Angus would've gulped if there wasn't a blade dangerously close to his throat. He shook his head and scowled at Oswald.

Angus: "I want my partner's kidney back! And, for the record, you're not beating my pervious allegations of you being a complete and utter lunatic."

Oswald scowled back, pressing the scalpel deeper near Angus's throat. Matteo shot in Oswald general direction as a warning, one that put a hole through his drywall. Oswald's eye visibly twitched at the site of the hole before he dropped Angus and glared at Matteo.

Oswald: "Oh sure! Because that's what my klutzy ass needs, more property damage. Thank you! I shall keep the kidney as payment…Gelber Trottel…" Matteo: "Ovviamente lo scienziato pazzo sa parlare tedesco, perché a questo punto perché no… Aspetta, cosa-"

Oswald threw the scalpel at Angus, narrowly missing him as he tried to snatch away the kidney. Matteo rolled his eyes and began shooting. Afton joined the brawl for the kidney. He grabbed the kidney from Angus, used him as a launch pad and attempted to kick Matteo in the chin. Unfortunately for him, Matteo had bones of fucking titanium so Afton broke his foot. Afton used his last moments in the battle to fastball the kidney at Oswald. Oswald, thankfully, caught it. Angus clambered onto Oswald in a attempt to get the kidney off him, Matteo went into the apartment and watched them both from the side to he who'd win. Angus almost had the kidney in his grasp until…

HOMPH!

Oswald, in an admittedly gross act of "act now, think later", shoved the kidney into his mouth to the shock of everyone else in the room. A tear welled up in his eye as he choked down the kidney. Angus watched in disbelief as he saw the thing he was fighting two goddamn scientists for get pushed down Oswald's throat. Afton looked like he didn't know whether to either gasp or throw up. Matteo, for some reason, looked so shocked and disgusted that it looped back around to being admiration. Angus got off Oswald and began to walk out of his apartment, dragging Afton behind him.

Angus: "For the record, I'm going to make sure you never live that down Afton."

Matteo and Oswald stared at each other. He began to approach Oswald, towering over him in height. Oswald cowered and raised his hands up to his face to shield himself, expecting the worse…But Matteo laughed and jabbed Oswald in the rib playfully.

Matteo: "Taste good, Doctor?" Oswald: "No, obviously…You might as well head home, there's nothing here for you."

Matteo smirked at the doctor's comment.

Matteo: "Ohoho, that's where you're wrong, gazza zenzero. Vede, sono interessato a toglierle qualcosa dalle mani. Forse mi venderebbe una delle sue scoperte in cambio di un po' di denaro?"

Oswald scowled at Matteo, not understanding a word he said.

Oswald: "Wenn du kein Deutsch sprichst, heißt es Englisch oder verschwinde, Kumpel."

Matteo nodded, he didn't understand all of what Oswald said, but he knew that he didn't speak Italian.

Matteo: "To paraphrase what I said, I would like to buy something off you." Oswald: "What do you want?" Matteo: "You don't happen to have any…Sedaters, do you?"

Oswald went to his medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of trichloromethane. He swished the liquid inside it around as he turned to Matteo.

Oswald: "Will this do, big guy?"

Matteo nodded and pulled a $50 bill out of his pocket, handing it to Oswald. Oswald pocketed to bill and bid Matteo goodbye before he was left alone in his apartment.

------------------------------------------------------------

[notyourmoon4528]

The stranger: I sense... Osha

Qimir: ok big guy, we practiced this all night.

The stranger: she will be mine 🫡

Qimir: ok dude, rip the sleeves off your robe and go rub dirt all over your arms.

The stranger: won't just killing everyone get the job done?

Qimir: this is operation thirst trap not Future diary. We want her in our pants not running scared

The stranger: I do not want her in my pants... I want to eat her.

Qimir:... What ever you say dude.

The stranger: time to execute plan murder everyone who saw me but Osha and then make Osha own me.

Qimir: wait! That's not the plan... FML

The stranger: OSHA!!!!

(Head cannon for episode 5 when Qimir and the stranger is off screen)

[frost-eyed-autumn]

Homecoming || starsburned

@starsburned

Standing outside of here now was a weird feeling. It wasn't as though he'd ever been to this place before - Dazai's place, the one he'd taken up in after leaving the Port Mafia. He'd never once visited it or even given it a glance, hardly even knowing it existed. Even when he did learn about it, he never made a point to come by.

Yet, standing here now was surreal in a way. The Black Lizard and a scattering of their men were on standby elsewhere, watching and blocking off every street and alleyway leading in and out of this city block, to make sure no one they didn't want could get through while the two of them worked. Not the police, not civilians, and certainly as fuck not the ADA.

The latter was highly unlikely at this hour anyway. The deep hours of night had always belonged to the Mafia; that never changed. Once morning hit, it wouldn't matter if they knew. Everyone here would be long gone with a job well done.

But...

"You're really sure about this?"

Dazai, dressed to conceal his identity as just another Port Mafia grunt, stood beside him. Chuuya's hands were shoved into his pockets, his coat customarily hanging off his shoulders with the sleeves dangling loose.

They'd discussed it at length ; Dazai's leaving the ADA. More importantly, faking his death so that he could do so without hassle. They didn't need those Agency toddlers getting some kind of bullshit in their minds about staging some rescue operation over something that was inevitably Dazai's choice and Dazai's choice alone. As much as Chuuya would deeply enjoy the Agency giving him an excuse to crush them, he knew better than to instigate anything if it wasn't on Mori's order.

Everything was set to make this night happen. They'd discussed every step at length and how to make it look convincing. Both Dazai and Chuuya had plenty enough experience killing people, so it wasn't hard to imagine just how a murder scene should look.

The biggest complication in all of that would be potential civilian witnesses, which was the largest hole in their plan they would have to cover, and the part they'd spent the longest discussing, but they'd come to a reasonable way to handle that too.

"You know, once this is final, there's no going back. I have no doubts the Agency would be fine taking you back and I'm sure you could come up with a convincing excuse for your absence if you ever decide you liked being with them better after all,--"

After all, the Agency were soft and, frankly, gullible. If Dazai fabricated some story about how he'd been attacked and taken prisoner or held against his will, likely they'd believe it. It wouldn't be hard to trick them into letting him come back with few, if any, questions.

"--but the Port Mafia isn't going to let you get away with betraying them twice. Matter of fact, I'd hunt you down and kill you myself, for real this time. You'd better be absolutely certain this is what you want."

[berrypass-de-murdler]

2 - 33 Gambling and Murder Are Both Illegal

AGH MY BOOK WON'T COME TIL TOMORROW WHY

Obviously I haven't been posting them because that's kind of a waste of time, but I've digitized quite a few of the murdlers' official artworks!

They're not beautiful, but they are convenient when I need basic transparent pictures of them.

I mean.... yes!!!!!!!

DON'T READ THE EPISODES WITHOUT READING THE BOOKS!!

Logico looks through his mail. He finds a scrap of paper with an invitation to an underground gambling ring written in blood! He and Tino laugh their asses off for a while.

IRRATINO: So are we gonna go? LOGICO: I mean, I was cordially invited. IRRATINO: And I’ve devised a system for winning at poker! LOGICO: Yes, esoteric gambling. IRRATINO: I swear it works!!

They enter through a manhole in the alley. The tables are set up in the sewers! Silverton the Legend and Boss Charcoal were also invited. (They left Drakonia as soon as the Lady Violet news got out.) And, of course, the twins.

BLUES: [with a ridiculous fake mustache] Welcome, welcome. It’s time for gambling time. Come get your cards and lose money. (Let’s get a beer.) Yeahh.

Irratino gleefully plays some rounds with the gang, and loses so much money. But he seems to be having fun, so it’s fine. 

LOGICO: Except that’s MY money too…

He’s more interested in the fact that there’s a human pinned to the wall (good god!!). That’d scar any sane person for life!

LOGICO: Um, hello! IRRATINO: Huh? [goat scream]

They have to solve this extremely gruesome murder! Who would have thought there’d be shifty figures in a sewer gambling operation? 

IRRATINO: All right, Logico. First things first, you need to FULLY learn numerological code. LOGICO: NO I DON’T! IRRATINO: Really? Then how else are you going to decode this clue? 

It’s made out of numbers. Clearly he wrote it, and is just trying to taunt Logico. 

LOGICO: JUST TELL ME THE CLUE YOU IDIOT IRRATINO: This is a learning opportunity!

Logico has no choice but to sit down and let Irratino teach him the way, when there are far more important things he could be doing. In the example, Tino uses a short name for reference: ‘Red’. Logico grows deeply uncomfortable once again. He wants to forget that awful trip ever happened!

LOGICO: I get it now. Please stop.

Irratino is distressed by the sudden change in mood, and decides to take statements for him. Charcoal is walking very funny, for one.

IRRATINO: Say, um… what’s… what’s up? CHARCOAL: N-Nothing!

Tino notices that it’s his left arm that’s hindering him, and that he’s wearing a jacket when he usually doesn’t. He brings out a pipe from under his sleeve!

IRRATINO: Aha!

Charcoal falls over.

CHARCOAL: NOOO!! I HAD TO HAVE THAT ‘CUZ I BROKE MY ARM!!!  IRRATINO: OH MY GOD! OH NO, I’M SO SORRY

Charcoal sobs in pain. Irratino tries to put it back but makes it worse.

SILVERTON: Real charming guy you bagged there, Logico.

Logico tries to whack him, but there’s not much use against the glob of slime. He turns to the Blues instead.

BLUES: We, I mean I, know this: a shoe knife was at the cashier! LOGICO: A… ‘shoe knife’? BLUES: Yuh-huh. LOGICO: And what, may I ask, is a shoe knife. BLUES: Wha- duh!! It’s a shoe knife! You’re not a real adult so you don’t understand, short man! LOGICO: I am not short! I am just very compact.

Logico just has to wait out the answer for this one - as the Blues struggle to stand straight, a knife pops out of one of their giant boots!

BLUES: (I told you the boots were a terrible idea!!) LOGICO: I think you’re too young to gamble. BLUES: NO I’M NOT! I’m a grown man!

Logico opens their coat.

BLUES: I’m STILL a grown man! This is just my mistress! (Your WHAT?!) Shut up and carry me! [Pink throws her to the ground] [Blue screams] I want my mom! (She’s not coming! Dad MURDERED her!)

Logico and Irratino wince at the turn this is taking. 

LOGICO: Why not we take you home.

Logico carries one kid piggyback and Irratino holds the other as they head back into town where they belong.

The end! 

This gets really really bad when you remember that their dad is Mayor Honey

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!