#potential fucking plant killer

[chrstnfotos]

[wisecura]

Sheets

megumi fushiguro x fem-reader

p.1  ( ⸝⸝꩜ ᯅ ꩜⸝⸝;) p.2

AN: this is still being edited and I'm not entirely sure if it'll be everyone's cup of tea. it'll be a slow burn, and a long fic but I have an idea laid out! each chapter will be around 3k just to keep things spaced and easy. Thank you for reading!

warnings: i'm putting these here for future chapters too, and ill sprinkle some in as I go. I want to make it clear, there is no underage sex, but later on there will be some more raunchy shit. this is somewhat non-canon compliant-make it up as I go

-ok for the real warnings: yandere, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, mommy kinks, mommy issues, arranged marriages, forced marriages, angst, eventual smut, clan politics, age gap (5 years from meg, and a little over 10 with toji), toji aint the best dad, mentions of child abuse, slowww build. I'm already 20,000 words into this shit so if your ready lets ride.

Short summary: Your arranged marriage to Toji Fushiguro had been sudden and unexpected, but now you found yourself living under his roof alongside his moody stepson. Your only directive from your clan head before moving in was clear: keep a close eye on Toji, the notorious Sorcerer Killer, and his son, a potential sorcerer prodigy.

Lets Begin

Your arranged marriage with Toji Fushiguro had been quick and unexpected.

The black sheep of the Zenin clan wasn’t exactly known for his well-rounded reputation, teetering on the edge of severing all ties to his family at any given moment.

He hadn’t been in contact with them for years, and financial support on their end was nonexistent. He was constantly broke, especially after Megumi was born. He assumed it was retaliation for marrying outside the clan—without their approval. But when his late wife passed, he had already taken on her surname, somewhat severing himself from the dingey clan he had once called "family."

After her death, he picked up side gigs, earning just enough to provide for the two of them. Megumi was older now, around thirteen, which made it easier to leave him alone for longer periods. Toji often took days-long "business" trips.

He’ll admit he wasn’t a great father, but he had kept his promise of keeping Megumi away from the Zenin clan and that sorcerer bullshit.

That was until he received an official notification from the Zenin clan head.

He hadn’t heard from the bastard in years, only to be met with a request—a demand—for his compliance in an arranged marriage. Initially, he planned to refuse. He wasn’t interested in an arranged marriage, wanted nothing to do with the sorcerer world, and even less to do with the Zenin clan. Hell, the only reason he bothered showing up at the clan house that day was to set that fucker straight.

Then he saw you—a pretty little thing. You couldn’t have been more than ten years younger than him, likely just turning seventeen, maybe eighteen. He couldn’t say for sure. But you were just too young for this shit—he knew that much.

They’d already brought you along for the proposal, as if they knew it would change his mind when he saw you. And, fuck, if they weren’t right.

You were beautiful. Polished and respectable. Speaking in low tones like the proper little housewife he was sure they’d trained you to be. He could see the endgame here—the reasoning behind pushing this arrangement on him. It wasn’t subtle.

The higher-ups likely wanted a presence in his home—someone to keep tabs on him and Megumi, no doubt. They hadn’t explicitly stated as much, but Toji had caught whispers through the grapevine about their interest in his son’s cursed technique. And with his own tendency to remain elusive, (and with all the whispers of him being titled a Sorcerer Killer) it wasn’t surprising that they’d want to keep a closer watch on him, too.

The thought of them using someone barely older than Megumi to achieve their goals left a bitter taste in his mouth. The arrangement reeked of manipulation—a calculated ploy to plant a spy in his home, someone to funnel information back to your clan, his clan, and the higher-ups.

Toji didn’t give a rats ass about his reputation, but it was clear they were fishing for confirmation. Likely hoping to uncover all of the unconfirmed truths. No matter how much he tried to brush it off, the whole setup just didn’t sit right with him.

But when he caught the way your eyes stayed steady, unwavering. You looked nearly indifferent to the situation, but he could tell this wasn’t what you wanted. It couldn’t be. You were really just a child. And yet, that dead expression of yours sealed the deal.

He accepted.

Another mouth to feed, another brat to deal with, no doubt. But maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to help keep Megumi in line while he was out working. Better that than leaving you to the wolves. He understood the clan system all too well—how they saw their women, how they treated them.

He’d seen how young brides were shuffled like pawns, in a game of chess. Paired with whichever man could best serve the clan’s interests. The thought of you being handed off to another pathetic bastard made his stomach churn. At least here, under his roof, you wouldn’t have to endure that.

Call it generosity if you wanted. But if he were honest, it wasn’t that. You reminded him of his late wife—the fearlessness bordering on defiance in your eyes. The sheer willpower it must’ve taken to show up in the first place. Most girls in your situation would have cried or begged, pleading not to marry some old geezer, especially one as infamous in the community.

But you didn’t beg. Didn’t cry. You just stood there, composed, unshaken. Bored. You could’ve been out shopping for groceries.

He could respect that.

And like that, the black sheep of the Zenin clan would become your husband. Your family. And your sole protector. 

He remembers the quiet way you stepped into his apartment for the first time, your gaze sweeping the room with a calm, measured air. There was no hesitation, no unease—just a quiet assessment of the space, as though you were cataloging everything in that sharp mind of yours.

The look on your face didn’t match someone your age. You carried the weight of forced maturity, a burden that stirred old painful memories he immediately shoved back down.

He could tell you were judging, though you didn’t say anything out loud. It was in the faint crease of your brow, the almost imperceptible way your lips tightened. It sparked a flicker of irritation in him, the kind he couldn’t entirely shake. If you didn’t like it, you didn’t have to stay, yeah? 

But, color him surprised, you didn’t say a word. You’d easily found your way to his bedroom, setting your things down, navigating the house easily. Then, as if you’d been living there for years, you got straight to work.

No requests, no questions—just quiet purpose.

It was like you’d already claimed your space, like you’d accepted the role handed to you without a second thought. He wasn't necessarily gonna ask you to do all that, but hell he sure as hell wasn't going to complain. 

Your former clan had trained you well. He could see it in the efficiency of your movements, the way you moved through the apartment as though it were second nature. No questions asked, no instructions, no unnecessary chatter. Just straight down to business.

Toji didn’t linger.

He slipped out quietly, already lost in his thoughts about the job he had to handle. He’d be gone for two days—maybe one, if he played his cards right. Not that he needed to tell you. You didn’t need to know the details. You were here to stay put, to take care of things while he was gone. Simple as that.

As he rounded the corner outside the apartment, that nagging feeling crept in—a vague itch at the back of his mind, like he was forgetting something.

He paused mid-step, frowning as he patted his pockets. Wallet? Keys? No, he had those.

His smirk faltered for a moment, but he quickly shrugged it off, muttering under his breath, "Can't be that important."

Megumi had taken the long way home today.

Several boys in his class had been pissing him off to no end, and he’d been itching to punch something. He needed a distraction—something to cool him off. He really couldn’t afford to get into another fight. The pitying looks his teachers gave him felt degrading, especially when Toji never bothered to show to pick him up.

The long way home was scenic, at least. Trees and plants lined the path, offering some peace as he trudged along. He wasn’t sure whether Toji would even be home when he arrived. He never really knew for certain.

And honestly, Megumi wasn’t in the mood to hear his dad’s loud TV shows or his obnoxious phone calls. If he wasn’t, then the apartment would just be empty, cold, and silent.

Either way, it didn’t matter.

What Megumi really cared about was dinner.

The fridge had been empty for weeks, and his deadbeat dad hadn’t bothered to restock it. Megumi had been scraping by, finding ways to earn enough cash for food. Sometimes he’d deliver things for the neighbors or help them with spring cleaning. Those odd jobs usually kept him going, but lately, there hadn’t been any requests. The lack of work only adding to his frustration.

He didn’t interact with Toji much. Their relationship walked a thin line between hatred and indifference.  Most of the time, Megumi ignored his father, as much as Toji seemed to ignore him. On the rare occasions Toji remembered Megumi existed, it always ended in chaos—loud arguments, dismissive grunts, relentless teasing, or worse, painfully awkward attempts to act like a parent.

It had been that way ever since Megumi turned eleven. And today, more than anything, he was just hungry. Too hungry to fight with his absentee father, even if he was home. Too tired to care.

Walking up the stairs to his apartment, something caught his eye. The kitchen window was open. That stopped him in his tracks.

Toji wasn’t the kind of guy to leave windows open, even in decent weather—a weird thing to notice, but Megumi was always acutely aware of his surroundings, always attuned to his father’s patterns.

Megumi made his way inside, creeping slowly and so, so quietly. Peeking around the corner, he froze.

Someone was in the kitchen—a girl. No, a woman?

Your back was to him as you worked at the counter, slicing onions with quick, precise movements. He blinked, his sharp eyes narrowing. You were young—maybe just a few years older than him.

Younger than Toji’s usual type, that was for sure. You didn’t fit. Toji wasn’t a stranger to bringing women around the apartment, but they never looked like you. And they never lingered. Most were gone by breakfast, hurrying out with an awkward smile and a strained “bye” when they spotted Megumi at the table.

He watched you chop onions, noticing the glint of a ring on your finger. So, you were married—

“You can come out from there, y’know.”

Megumi flinched slightly, caught off guard. For a brief moment, he felt the sting of embarrassment—spying and getting caught really wasn’t a good look—but he quickly reminded himself this was his home.

He had no reason to feel embarrassed. Straightening his posture, he stepped out from behind the doorway, his sharp eyes fixed on you as you casually wiped your hands on a towel.

You turned to face him, a soft smile playing on your lips. The first thing he noticed was how pretty you were.

Tall and poised, you stood at least a head above him, dressed in modest, traditional clothing that seemed entirely out of place in this shabby apartment. There was something elegant about you, a kind of refinement that felt worlds away from the usual sleaziness of his father’s one-night stands.

“Who are you? Why’re you here?” His tone came out sharper than he intended. Unintentionally huffy and childish, and it made him pause a second.

You studied him for a moment, and for some reason his scowl almost endearing. You introduce yourself and explain, simply, that you lived here.

Megumi’s brow furrowed, and he crossed his arms, his voice ever defiant, no doubt pushed from the shitty day he just had. “You don’t live here. Leave.”

The attempt at a threat would’ve been more intimidating if his stomach hadn’t chosen that moment to growl, easily breaking the tension. You bit back a laugh, quickly covering your mouth, but it was hard not to find the situation amusing.

The way he stood there, furrowed brow and stubborn glare, reminded you of a fussy kitten—all bristling fur and misplaced bravado. It was clear he wasn’t used to strangers lingering in his space, and his defensiveness only made him seem all the more adorable. Still, he was being serious—you really shouldn’t laugh.

He looked so much like Toji—same sharp features, same brooding energy—minus the flat hair and scar. You’d heard about him before coming here, mentioned briefly by your clan head, but the reality of meeting him was something different. He was much cuter than you’d expected, truly embodying the “fussy kitty” vibe, and you had to resist the urge to tease him outright.

“Ah,” lightly, your tone as soothing as you could make it without giggling, “but I’m in the middle of cooking. Why don’t we eat first, and then we can talk?”

Your tone was gentle, your smile genuine, and Megumi couldn’t sense any malice from you. Besides, whatever you were making smelled incredible, and his stomach had been growling from the moment he walked in.

His gaze shifted to the counter, where ingredients and half-prepped dishes were laid out. He hesitated. Sure, his dad had brought women home before, but none of them ever bothered to cook—especially not for him. Against his better judgment, he gave a small, reluctant nod.

And before long, the two of you were sitting at the kitchen table, three plates set neatly in front of you. It was late, but you still held onto the idea that Toji might come home. You made light conversation with Megumi, trying to get a feel for the boy you now understood to be your stepson.

You’d been briefed by your clan about Toji and his son—vague instructions to “watch Toji” and “get on his son's good side.” They hadn’t been specific about why, but their motives were never selfless. Still, you had no intention of playing those games. Not fully.

What you wanted was to build an honest connection with your new family, especially with this grumpy, sharp-eyed boy who seemed to have a chip on his shoulder as big as his father’s. It’s the first time you’d really been away from the clan estate, so this was just really nice.

As the meal went on, you began to learn little things about him. He remained distant, of course, his responses clipped and matter-of-fact—but the warmth of a good meal and your gentle smile seemed to soften him, if just slightly. You managed to coax his name out of him, and though he said it without much fanfare, it felt like a small victory.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

It was a Friday night, and you figured Megumi would be around the house tomorrow. As you finished the surprisingly comfortable dinner, your eyes lingered on the third, untouched plate at the table—Toji’s. You wondered, briefly, if he’d show up at all.

“He probably won’t be back tonight,” Megumi said, breaking your train of thought. His voice was matter-of-fact, as if he had long since grown used to this routine. He shoveled another spoonful of food into his mouth before adding, “Probably be gone for a few days.”

This surprised you, sure, but you weren’t going to complain anytime soon. As long as you didn’t have to go back to that horrid clan house, you could put up with a missing husband. In fact, you kind of preferred it this way.

You laughed softly at Megumi’s puffed-up cheeks, causing his ears to dust red as he swallowed quickly. Your constant smiles still seemed to throw him off guard.

The conversation flowed easily—a mix of lighthearted bickering and probing questions on both ends. Megumi was really curious about the random woman that showed up in his home.

“What’s the ring for?” he asked suddenly, his sharp gaze flicking to your hand. His tone was casual, but there was an underlying curiosity, as if he hadn’t noticed the simple band until now.

Your fingers instinctively twisted the warm metal as you glanced down at it, the question catching you off guard.

“Ah, well, I’ve just married,” you replied softly, your voice carrying a faint melancholy despite your attempt to sound neutral. Your eyes zone out as you stare at the heavy band.

“It’s still new…An arrangement by my family.” You hadn’t meant to let that slip, but the truth clung to the edges of your words. Quickly, you smiled, avoiding a damper on the evening. You quickly reached over to ladle another spoonful of food onto Megumi’s empty plate.

“Arranged marriage? With who?” he asked, the concept not foreign but undeniably unsettling. You seemed like such a nice person, except for the fact that you were sitting in his kitchen—someone he’d assumed was just another one of his father’s passing flings.

But unlike the others, you’d cooked for him and his father, cleaned the kitchen till it looked better than it had in weeks. And now you were sitting down to dinner with him, as if you had nothing else you’d rather be doing.

Though he’d only known you for a few hours, he didn’t think you’d be the type to cheat on your husband or worm your way into their lives without cause. Maybe that was just his full stomach talking.

His mind caught up to him, the pieces falling into place.

“…Not…Toji. Right?” His voice faltered, and you couldn’t help but think how strange it was to hear him refer to his father by his first name.

You let out a soft laugh at his shocked expression, restraining yourself from patting his head, before nodding your own. “The one and only,”

The look on his face was comical—brows raised high, his mouth slightly agape. But beneath the initial surprise, there was something darker—an unease that settled into the lines of his frown. Wary, guarded. He didn’t like this, not one bit. 

After dinner, you sent Megumi off to bed, tidying up the plates left behind. He didn’t wait for you to finish cleaning, retreating to his room with his thoughts spinning.

As he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, he couldn’t stop replaying the conversation in his head. His father was married—to you, of all people. Supposedly. And for some reason, that knowledge left a bitter taste in his mouth.

It was weird. Megumi had left the house empty and returned to find you. If what you were saying was true, you were about to take over as his stepmother. He wouldn’t put it past his shitty father to pop up suddenly married—it was exactly the kind of thing Toji would do.

Still, the whole situation didn’t sit right with him. An arranged marriage wasn’t out of the question. You seemed way too sweet and proper to have chosen someone like Toji, willingly. Megumi’s knowledge of clan life, hierarchy, or how arranged marriages worked in the sorcerer world, was frustratingly limited thanks to his father’s insistence on keeping him far removed from all of it. 

Then there was your age. You were young—too young for his dad. Closer to his age than Toji’s. Was Toji an even bigger pervert than he originally thought? He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to settle down. What was this about, then? Did he just want a housemaid? Someone to clean up after him and Megumi while he went off on his “business trips”?

It didn’t seem fair to you. What were you getting out of this arrangement? You did say your family set it up…but what could have possibly led you to agree to marry someone like Toji?

The more Megumi thought about it, the more wrong it all felt. You seemed too kind, too proper, too... normal for this situation. Surely there was more to the story. Were you being forced into this? Did you have your own reasons that you weren’t sharing?

But then again, there was always the chance you were lying.

People lied all the time. You could be some psycho ex-girlfriend worming your way back into his father’s life. Or worse, a manipulative stranger with motives that had nothing to do with Toji at all. Maybe you’d rob the place blind, and by the time he woke up there’d be nothing left.

You might’ve seemed nice now, but Megumi wasn’t about to take anything at face value.

He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall, his thoughts racing. He didn’t know what to make of you, couldn’t figure out whether to trust the calm sincerity you projected or to see it for what it might be: a well-crafted facade.

One thing was certain—he wasn’t going to let his guard down so easily.

He’d just have to wait it out, keep an eye on you, and see what happened when Toji finally dragged his ass back home.

p.2?

AN: Thank you for reading! Please reblog and like if you enjoy this series!

I will also be posting updates here:

https://www.tumblr.com/communities/obsessedjjk

come home

[deputyrook]

Impressions- 6/?

PART 1. PART 2. PART 3. PART 4. PART 5.

You're a psychic. He's a detective. And a serial killer.

(Enter: FBI)

Mark Hoffman x psychic!Reader (trouble in paradise?), with a teensy tinge of Strahm x reader. Sue me.

Word count: 5002

WARNINGS: Corruption, abusive dynamics, general Saw-levels of horror & violence. Mentions of child abuse. Not much romance in this chapter, sorry! Reader is still drinking the Jigsaw Kool-Aid.

---

How many derelict warehouses can one single man own?

The meat processing plant that you're making your way through isn't exactly easy to navigate. Much to your chagrin, Mark has left you to make your way through it yourself, apparently having "work" to do. You're not sure whether he means detective work or Jigsaw work, but you don't ask for details.

The place smells like metal and blood, two scents which are becoming more and more familiar to you with each passing day. You tap your cane along as you go, the vibrations travelling up your arm. It's taking time, but you're slowly getting used to the tool.

The responding echoes of the different sounds reveal to you the type of surface you're stepping on- concrete floors, metal grating, scattered pieces of glass. This abandoned plant is cool and quiet, your footsteps by-far the loudest sound you can hear.

The cane also keeps you from running into walls. Still, it's slow going. Not having any idea where John Kramer is doesn't help. If the echoes are anything to go by, this place is huge.

Strangely, you suddenly wish that Kerry could help you out with this sort of thing- not that this was the universe she belonged in, or the side she fought on, but you could almost hear the dry, sardonic comment she would make about the state of this place.

After fifteen minutes of wandering in mounting annoyance, you think to yourself- could this be another test? Marco-polo? With John, everything had the potential to be one.

You do have another tool that you can use to get information about your surroundings. With a sigh, you flex your fingers on the cane and reach out with your awareness instead, scanning.

There. High above you, forward and slightly to the right. No one else flutters against your awareness, confirming for you that it's just you and Kramer, alone in the plant.

Now where the fuck are the stairs...?

Slowly making your way around the warehouse, you go from room to room, feeling your way around. Every so often, you'll hit the edges of some strange, metal contraption that's impossible for you to get a clear mental picture of. You just feel jutting edges, sharp points, and thick bolts, and back away.

Eventually, you find a railing, which lets you know you've hit the bottom of a set of stairs. Climbing very carefully, you keep your senses trained on John Kramer's signature like a hunting dog on a scent.

It leads you to a closed metal door. You rap on it with your knuckles, waiting. When you don't receive an answer, you shove it open anyway.

"I know you're in here," You say as you enter, "You couldn't have met me on the ground level?"

You freeze in place, though, when you hear a shuddering breath and the hiss of an oxygen tank.

The cancer has spread like a rot, making even simple tasks difficult for him. It wrings the time from him like blood from a soaked cloth. He has a hard time even holding a pencil, anymore. It used to be his sword.

He would have met you on the ground level if he could. But he can't.

"I had faith you'd find your way," John says, after taking a deep breath.

"And so I did. You can't say I'm not resourceful," You lean your cane against the wall and walk over slowly, feeling your way over to the area where John is seated. You hit the back of an armchair, and ghosting your fingers over it, manoeuvre yourself to sit down across from him.

"And gifted," John adds. He seems to have caught his breath now, as his voice, though shaky, grows stronger, "You've experienced firsthand the kind of growth that being tested allows. What do you think of it, now?"

He's already gearing up to his thesis point, the reason why he asked that you come here today. He doesn't have the time to waste on small talk. You entertain his question.

"There's no doubt it's changed my life," you say magnanimously, "Being in a traumatic, life or death situation has a way of isolating what's important to you. Of cutting the fat from the bone."

Back when you could see, you never would have thought that one of the hardest things about losing your sight would be the social aspect of it. Not being able to gauge how people are reacting to your words- without delving into the nebulous depths of their souls, anyway- was socially stifling.

Particularly when the reaction you're trying to gauge is that of a hair-trigger serial killer. Ah, if Kerry could see you now- trading philosophical quips with Jigsaw himself.

"Detective Hoffman doesn't see the purpose of all of this, not the way he should. He's sharp, but shortsighted," John says, sounding almost wistful about it. "You've taken a liking to him, and he, you. That much is obvious. Overall, I've come to believe it's for the best. He'll need you, if he wants to continue my work... uninterrupted."

You can feel John's concern. The way he dwells on the future, knowing he won't be here to see it. Will the embers of his creation smoulder and burn out into ash after he's gone? Will it have all been for nothing?

"Amanda... she understands the lessons she's supposed to teach, but she's too emotional- unstable, at times. She will need to be tested again. Should she pass, she'll need an anchor. Someone to keep her... grounded."

Yeah, okay. That seems like a stretch. Amanda hadn't seemed to like you all that much the one time that you met her, but you don't bring that up. Instead, you ask, "So what, you want me to keep the peace between them? Make sure they play nice? Bit hard for me to keep my eyes on them now, don't you think?"

There's a pause, and you hear John move in his seat, before he takes a deep, rattling breath with the oxygen mask. Then, he continues.

"The ability to accurately predict human behaviour is my greatest asset in my work. It is an ability that, of my apprentices, you singularly possess. The others may be able to create the instruments, but only you can design the tests. Only you can choose who needs to be tested, and predict the outcomes, in the same way that I can."

You hum to yourself, mentally noting that he just referred to you as one of his apprentices. He has a point, though. Similar to the one that Mark had been impressing on you. There's a feeling of doom that lingers on the periphery of John's empire. Without you there to notice it, to be the stalwart defence and augur of his work, it would swallow everything he held dearly whole.

Gripping the arm of your chair, the words come before you know what you're saying.

"It's kind of a funny coincidence. My mom tried to drown me as a kid, you know," You're not sure why you tell John this. Surely it's a mistake to be so open with him. "She said the world was too sick. That it was easier to die."

"I know. It was in the paper. They printed your name, and everything," John replies, and it's a bit of a slap in the face. You wonder if he learned about it before or after he strung you up in the acid trap. You wonder if Mark knows about it, too. He's a detective, so it isn't too much of a leap to think he'd searched for information on you. It feels like a betrayal, just a little. "What did that teach you?"

You purse your lips, and choose not to answer his question directly. It seems the two of you keep doing that- replying to questions that the other hadn't asked. Maybe you're more like him than you thought.

"Mark thinks that your actions are justified, and that you're doing the world a service. I'm not sure how Amanda justifies it- maybe she just wants to be close to you, I don't know." You pause, considering.

"To be honest, I think what you do is monstrous," You confess, "It's brutal. Absolutely inhumane," You can't see John's reaction, and you get absolutely no read on him. He's silent, before you continue.

"But. I think this world needs monsters, sometimes. And that I'm one of them. That's what my mom taught me. That's what you and Mark taught me, too." You smile to yourself. "Probably not the answer you were looking for, right?"

Would Kerry think you were a monster for this? Maybe not initially, but after hearing what you'd been up to the last few months, you had to think that she probably would agree with you. That she'd be disgusted-

You freeze. Why do I keep thinking of Kerry like this? Out of the blue?

"Kerry. What're you doing with Kerry?" You ask John quietly. He takes another slow, shallow breath, before he responds.

"I was wondering if you would notice," He murmurs in reply, and you think you detect a note of amusement in his tone. "Like you, she is being tested. Right now."

"She has the will to live. Stronger than anyone I've met," You say steadfast. But there's a creeping feeling, hiding somewhere behind your lungs, that says wrong, wrong, something is wrong.

"We'll see, won't we? Like so many of her colleagues, she neglects life to focus on death. You know better than anyone." Despite how shaky he sounds, John somehow manages to sound smug.

Suddenly, it all seems like bullshit to you. Or at the very least, a resource issue.

"There are a lot of people out there who overwork themselves," You snipe, "But it's the lead detective on the Jigsaw case you happen to grab. Funny. You know, there are other ways to get good people off of your case."

"You're angry with me," John remarks, "Our work needs to continue. If she survives..."

Something occurs to you, then. John keeps talking, but his words are drown out by a whooshing in your ears- the thundering sound of blood coursing. You can't hear what he's saying, but one thought dominates your mind.

You could kill him. Right now.

You wonder how he'd do in one of his own games. One he couldn't anticipate or control. To be thrust into a situation where fear overtakes him, where his brain needs to desperately try to find a way out of the situation. If you had the time, you'd be interested to see how his philosophy fared under a bit of pressure.

But you don't have that kind of time. Instead, you could lean across the gap between you, wrap your hands around his throat, and squeeze the rest of the life out of him. You were blind, yes, but he was already dying, halfway to the grave. You would win a physical struggle.

Even if you weren't able to watch him die, you'd know- he would die afraid, angry that this wasn't like he planned. Terrified that it was all for nothing.

His reign needs to end. More... capable hands need to take over.

The only thing that stops you is a consideration of the consequences. If you were able to confirm that you could fully trust Mark... maybe you'd be able to make it out alive. But Amanda was out there, and she would want your blood for it. The accomplice, Dr. Gordon, was a wildcard. You had no idea how he'd react.

Patience. Be patient.

Your fingers twitch on the armrest. Abruptly, you stand.

"Goodbye, John. I don't think I'll see you again," You tell him, voice cold.

"You will. In one way, or another," He answers cryptically. Unlike your own, his voice almost seems to have a warmth to it now, "And you'll understand me, in time," He pauses, before he finally claims the last word- the last thing you ever hear him say.

"Goodbye, Oracle. I'm glad we met."

--

Kerry is dead.

Kerry is dead, and you don't know how, or why. And nothing makes sense.

You need answers. You need to speak to Mark- you'll find the answers in his soul and yank them out, if you have to.

Kerry didn't need to die like that. She shouldn't have died like that. You should have seen it coming, you should have warned her, you should have-

The door to the interview room opens. A man strides in, a presence you've felt before, though distantly. A woman trails into the room behind him, quiet as though deliberately trying not to make a sound. You sit in an uncomfortable plastic chair, your hands on the table in front of you.

"Comfortable?" The FBI agent asks, "I've got a few questions for you. Hope you don't mind."

The man's tone of voice conveys that he really doesn't care if you mind or not. It's immediately obvious that this is the man that Kerry was in contact with- he's brash, demanding, and you catch a hint of something a little feral, just beneath the surface.

"Of course. Happy to help, if I can," You pause. "You're FBI, right?"

You hear a shuffling of clothing, and deduce that he's pulled out his badge. As if realizing you can't see it, the man quickly adds, "That's right. Special Agent Peter Strahm"

Strahm. The one who knows the water as well as you do. He pulls out the chair from across from you, and sits. The woman's presence remains hovering like a spectre toward the back of the room.

"I'd say it's nice to meet you, but..." you grimace, "Allison was my oldest friend. It's only been a few hours since I heard that they'd... found her. Sorry if I'm not all together."

"You didn't hear it from Detective Hoffman first?" Strahm asks. Every word he speaks seems tinged with irritation, as though everything is moving too slowly for him and he's waiting for it to catch up wit where he's at. Ah, so he knows.

"No. I expect he was busy with the fallout from the discovery. She was his friend, too," Forcing the words through your teeth is a bit harder than expected, "The station radioed me and asked me to come in. They told me... the basics."

"How much did they tell you? What do you know, exactly?" Strahm's words are like daggers, pointed and direct. The man is quick, and gives no quarter in his pursuit. Clearly, he'll be a dangerous adversary for you and Mark.

But maybe it's the water thing- you find that you kind of like him, right off the bat. Short-temper and barely-concealed-rage and all.

"Just that she was found... uhm, in a Jigsaw trap. I didn't even know... she was missing. We haven't spoken in a few days, but she was pretty busy, so it wasn't that uncommon. And then suddenly I get a call-"

You'd met with John several days prior, and when you'd gone home, you'd tried to reassure yourself- Kerry is a survivor. She would be fine. You'd texted Mark, anxiously looking to talk. He hadn't replied.

Days had turned into nights with no news. Your dread had grown, until you got the call.

Guilt is choking you. If you'd just done something... been a good friend, a good person. Maybe all of this had been a mistake. It's too hard to think logically, rationally.

Kerry is dead.

"Sorry," You mumble, wiping the tears from under your sunglasses, "it's been a lot to take in."

"Take your time," Strahm says, the subtext in his tone demanding that you don't. Then, after barely a moment has passed, he moves on and adds, "Open the door and you will find me."

"Excuse me?" The phrase is so strange it snaps you out of your misery spiral.

"Mean anything to you? Did Kerry ever say anything like that?"

"No?" For once, you're drawing up a complete blank at the phrase. It means absolutely nothing to you. "Was it... was that something she told you guys?"

There is a long, pregnant pause. The air in the room, already stuffy, grows thicker.

"What did you just say? Can you repeat that?" Strahm asks, an edge to his voice that is equally quiet and dangerous. You wonder if you've slipped up somehow, in a way you haven't caught yet.

"Did she tell you that?" You repeat, still confused.

"Who were you referring to when you said 'you guys?'" Strahm asks. Your sightless gaze slides over to where you know the woman is standing, and you realize your mistake.

Clever. You'll have to watch yourself around this one.

"You and your partner" You say, gesturing her way. No point in pretending you don't know she's there, "Who I guess you haven't introduced yet."

"What I'm wondering," Strahm says as he stands and walks over to your side of the table, "Is how you knew she was here, if I didn't introduce her. It was Jigsaw who abducted you and blinded you, isn't that right?" He leans down, bracketing his arms on either side of you.

A man used to using his physicality to intimidate. He reminds you of Mark.

You smile up at him. Gloves off.

"I guess I've always been perceptive, Agent Strahm. It doesn't mean I'm not really blind," you reply.

You're not sure what you're expecting him to do, but it comes as a surprise when he grabs your sunglasses and takes them off of your face. He's close enough to you that you can hear his sharp intake of breath when he sees your eyes- or what remains of them.

"Sorry to disappoint. I assure you, the police department here isn't that incompetent. You can check the hospital records too, if you want. They ran a bunch of tests which boiled down to acid will do that." You look up at him, still smiling a little sheepishly, in a way you really hope creeps him the fuck out.

"That won't be necessary," He hisses out, pissed. It's hard to tell if he's angry with himself, you, or the world at large.

You pluck your sunglasses from his outstretched hand, without bothering to pretend that you don't know where he's holding them, and slide them back onto your face.

"Special Agent Lindsey Perez. Good afternoon," The woman finally introduces herself, and you nod in her direction, "As I understand it, you're dating the lead detective on the Jigsaw case- Mark Hoffman. How did you meet?"

Strahm leans away from you, retreating from your side of the table. You get the distinct impression he wants to flip it.

"Well, I knew him a little through Allison," You say, "But then when I was kidnapped- he was the one to find me. I got to know him better, after that."

"How charming," Strahm sneers, "How well do you know Detective Rigg?"

"Uh, not particularly well?" The questions are coming quickly, non-sequitur. Probably to keep you on your toes, "Don't tell me something's happened to him too?"

"No, don't worry. We just want to get a sense of how involved you are in all of this. Jigsaw frequently targets the police, and those associated with them," Perez makes a good good-cop to Strahm's bad-cop. Her voice is soothing, a stark contrast with Strahm's demeanour. You can see why they were partnered.

"And you're right in the heart of this. Tested yourself, and you lived to tell the tale. Your best friend is murdered. And your boyfriend's the lead investigator," Strahm makes no effort to hide his suspicion, "I'm going to take a wild leap here and say you know more about this case than the average civilian."

"That's true," And because you can't help it, you add, "Allison did tell me the FBI agent she was in touch with was a real pain in the ass to deal with."

Perez coughs, in a noise that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. Strahm doesn't. He slams his palms down on the table, in a move that makes you jump.

"And now she's dead," he nearly shouts, killing the levity as he moves back over to tower over you, "And you've got nothing to add whatsoever. You didn't see anything when you were taken, you don't know anything now, is that right?"

"It is," You answer evenly, "But I can tell you this. She never gave up on Matthews. She was sure he was alive out there. And... you're right, about me being tangled up in this. It's obvious Jigsaw goes after people who are getting close to him. I've been tortured already, so I'd turn my gaze toward the other people at the forefront, if you're worried about finding his next target."

"So how were you?" Strahm all but murmurs in your ear, hovering close to your face once again, "Getting close?"

Shit. You really have to mind your words. He's good. A truth here was better than another lie.

"I take it Allison didn't tell you she brought me in as an advisor to the case, at one point? Before I was tested." You reply quietly, "I didn't want to say- to make her look bad. We were all a bit embarrassed by it. Me, her, Rigg, Mark-"

"Why the fuck has no one told me this before now?" You hear Strahm ask in annoyance, his head turning toward Perez, "Kerry brought a civilian into the investigation, and the whole goddamn precinct knew? And no one mentioned it?"

"Because I was brought in as psychic," You reply, still unable to keep yourself from cringing.

There is another long pause of silence.

"Run that by me again," Strahm says, voice tight.

"I told you I'm perceptive. Allison believed-"

"No, no, no-" You feel like you can hear Strahm pushing his palms into his eyes, "You've got to be kidding. Is everyone at this division a complete moron?"

"This is why no one told you. It didn't go anywhere, we didn't get any leads from it. It was a last ditch attempt. But maybe Jigsaw is superstitious. He must have found out somehow. I don't know." Skirting around the truth seemed to be working better than evading his questions outright.

As Kerry had often said, you weren't a good liar. But maybe you were improving.

"Is that how you could tell I was here?" Perez asks, sounding genuinely curious. Strahm lets out a noise of complaint and protest at her question. You nod in response.

"Yeah. I guess," You shrug.

"Great, great. A complete circus, all of this. Christ. I think we're done here." Strahm walks back around to the entrance of the room, his steps tinged with a frustration that echoes off of him in waves. Before he leaves, he turns to you.

"Oh, any predictions you want to tell me before I leave? Like who the killer is?" He asks, like he still can't believe what he's heard.

You say the first thing that comes to your mind.

"Just one bit of advice. Keep a ballpoint pen on you," You say. With another scoff, he leaves, slamming the door to the room behind him with so much force that the room shakes.

---

[4:53PM - Outgoing] We need to talk.

[5:12PM - Incoming] little busy right now

[5:13PM - Outgoing] I spoke to the FBI today. I swear to God, Mark. If you don't talk to me I'll ask for a follow-up interview.

[5:17PM - Incoming] you do that you burn yourself

[5:19PM - Outgoing] My best friend is dead. Fucking try me.

---

Mark calls you. He can't even spare a visit.

"Do I need to be actually worried? Or are you just blowing off steam?" Is the first thing that he says to you when you answer your phone. You immediately get the impression that he's not concerned in the slightest that you might actually report him.

"Did you rig Kerry's test to fail?" You demand to know.

"Answer my question first. Did you mean it when you threatened me?" Mark huffs out a laugh, "Because if you're going to threaten me, you should mean it."

Just like that, all of the fight in you, the anger and the fury and the guilt, is snuffed from you like a candle light. God, you're tired. You've missed his voice.

"What am I supposed to do, Mark? How else can I get your attention?" You hate how much it sounds like you're pleading with him. "You haven't spoken to me in days. You leave me in the dark. My best friend turns up dead. What am I supposed to do?"

He sighs. "I wanted to keep you out of it. Knew you wouldn't like Kerry being tested, and I didn't want you more involved-"

You laugh, strained and almost delirious as you cut him off. "Involved? Mark, up until now you have gleefully drawn me further and further into this chasm. Don't tell me you regret it now."

"Things... are going to get bad over the next few days," He tells you, voice low, "I needed you separate, so that if things go south-"

"Did you rig Kerry's test to fail?" You repeat, voice like stone, "No more secrets, Mark. You want us to be partners. I need to be able to trust you. So this is it. Tell me the truth."

"No," He answers, and you can tell he's holding something back. At your silence, he relents and continues, "But I suspected Amanda would. She's been killing all of her targets."

You let out a shaky exhale. You don't feel angry. You feel empty. Mark continues.

"Kerry was getting closer to the truth. And with those FBI Agents on our trail too... listen. John's going to be dead by the end of the week. Amanda too. I figured these FBI Agents, they'd be able to pin it all on her. Then after she's dead, it's a nice and neat end to the story," You can hear him frown. He sounds tired by it all, too, "But they know about me. They know there's an accomplice. They realized Amanda and John couldn't have strung Kerry up like that alone. I'll need to kill them both, too."

John Kramer had certainly been right about one thing. Without your influence, his empire would crumble under Mark's leadership alone.

In your mind's eye, you see a pile of limbs. Bodies piled high, twisted and broken, jagged pieces of metal jutting from their sides. The pile seems to move, breathing like a beating heart. An amalgam lump of desperate moves. One of the corpses looks at you with empty eyes. It looks like Mark.

"You can't kill every single person that catches your scent, Mark," You tell him incredulously, "You think this will end well for you if you just murder anyone who gets in your way?" You feel exasperated, but its mixed with a kind of relief: that you're talking again, that he's being honest with you. That maybe, you can move forward and get through this. That you can help.

"I can until they stop coming," Mark mutters darkly. A chill runs through you as you realize he's not kidding. He really would kill his way through hoards of people, until the walls closed in around him. Corpse pile, indeed.

"And then what? Mark, come on, think about this. You can't slaughter the entire FBI," He growls in frustration, and you continue, "Run me through the current plan. Let's talk. Two heads are better than one."

And he does. Mark tells you everything about his plan for the next game- John Kramer's final one, it seems. The testing of Jeff Denlon, his wife Lynn, and Rigg, with the two games played simultaneously. Jigsaw's magnum opus, with the dramatic return of Eric Matthews. Mark would be indisposed, cast as an apparent victim through the trial. To swoop in at the last moment, a hero.

"And if Amanda doesn't fail- well, I'll make sure she does. Amanda and John will die. You leave that to me," Mark tells you. You nod, working through the plan again in your mind.

"Okay. Listen, I really think you should hold off on trying to kill the FBI agents. They are not going to die easy, Mark. Fuck, if we just had more time, we could stage this better, to really get them off your trail..."

"You think I can't handle a couple of FBI agents?" He remarks, and you can feel the excitement at the challenge of a rivalry in his tone. You can't exactly fault him for that. Part of you had been a little thrilled during the interrogation earlier, too.

"Fine, give it a shot, then. Have it your way. Don't say I didn't warn you," You sulk. What is the point of being psychic if no one listens to you?

Mark's problem, you think to yourself, is that he doesn't realize how close this all is to the precipice of complete ruin. That he is proud enough to believe he would be able to take up the mantle of Jigsaw alone, once this last game with John Kramer and Amanda is through.

You wonder if he sees you truly as a partner, or as one of his accomplices. Despite his honesty with you, you file that thought away for later- what is it? Just paranoia? Or a problem that will need to be dealt with?

Speaking of problems: Strahm and Perez know that there's an accomplice. Likely a male accomplice, one who could do the heavy lifting.

Until they find one, they won't give up- not the agents, nor the FBI itself, which would undoubtedly send more agents in their stead to pick up where they left off.

Hm. An accomplice of Jigsaw's. You smile to yourself.

Good thing you know about a spare one of those. Who needs to sacrifice a rook, when you could play a knight?

---

A/N- Sorry this took (checks clock) four months to write. I figured it would be better to just stop agonizing about the writing/rewriting and put it out there. Do you guys mind that we're drawing away from the romance, and more toward the MC's journey? Is anyone still reading this? If not, then I'll just do what I want, anyway 😌

TAG LIST: @icarusinstatic @honimello @haven-is-happy @karmaswitch @the-jester-calamity @teamhawkeye @thebrideofcaliban @mjrkime @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @mrs-hotforhoffman @aliengutzstuff @lostbetweenvampiresandmusic

[bvtbxtch]

Movie Marathon | Eddie Munson

Day Thirteen of Kinktober

Summary: Five years after the Ghost face killer has ended his reign of terror on Hawkins, the local movie theatre has decided to host a premiere of the movie based off the massacre. You and Eddie decide to go and revel in his glory.

Pairings: Ghostface!Eddie Munson x Accomplice!Fem!Reader

wc: ~ 3.5k (it feels good to be back)

Content Warnings: This is porn with a plot so like normal, 18+ MDNI!!! Mentions of murder, stabbing, serial murder, blood, knifeplay, public sexual acts, handjobs, fingering, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up pls), sadism and the idea of getting sexual pleasure from pain inflicted on others, choking, anal, squirting

A special thank you to everyone for the warm welcome back from my hiatus <3 y'all are amazing! Specific thank you to @darknesseddiem for being a wonderful friend and helping me through this month!!

Five years had passed since the massacre at Hawkins. Five years since 7 of your classmates died within the span of three weeks, and it has been four years since evidence was planted to put the wrong person away for the crimes. It had been three years since the story was picked up by some big wig film buff and today was the day of the Halloween screening of ‘Scream’.

Coincidentally, it was Halloween five years ago that you and Eddie Munson were rowing out to the middle of Lover’s lake with a weighted box full of bloody clothing, masks and knives. You had nothing to do with the murders, but that hardly mattered now. You were as guilty as your boyfriend now - hiding evidence, harboring a fugitive, obstructing justice, mutilating a corpse… you would go away for almost as long as he would at this point. You were in deep and as much as you hated to admit it, you loved the rush. You adored the desperation that Eddie had for you; begging and pleading for you to help him - to keep his secret, to keep him safe… You would do anything for your boyfriend… You think you have made that pretty clear. 

The movies were the icing on Eddie’s revenge porn cake. The seven that were murdered came from Eddie’s own personal list (which made it a surprise the idiot detectives didn’t put two and two together, but that’s what you get when bigwigs from the city come to a small town like Hawkins. You had both made sure protections were in place. Gareth and Jeff were to ensure that they told police about certain band practices and trips to the city for potential work with Corroded Coffin would corroborate with yours and Eddie’s stories.) and the satisfaction of swift justice allowing the teen to get away with it all? It stroked Eddie’s ego a dangerous amount. 

His ego had gotten you into this position, and as much as he scared you sometimes, his infatuation with his life’s work intrigued you. He riled you up talking about taking what was his just as much as he excited himself. The nights that he had come back from taking the lives he thought he was owed, you had earth shattering sex. The night you dumped all the evidence in Lover’s lake, he ate you out on the small canoe you rowed out like a man starved, like it would be his last time tasting you. You missed that feeling of desperation, that fear of getting caught, but you had a feeling that a literal fucking movie being made about your serial killer boyfriend might spark some new inspiration for the two of you…

-

You were fortunate that the late October weather was mild enough that the premiere of the movie based off of your sleepy little town could be hosted at the outdoor theater right down the road from Hawkins High (the exact place where three out of the seven bodies were found during the original massacre: Jason Carver, Patrick McKinney and Chace Williams hung up like scarecrows on the football posts by their intestines - a gruesome and impressive detail of their deaths). Eddie and you could sit in the back and revel in the glory that made him so anonymously infamous. Kids and teens alike flocked to the ampitheatre donned in their ghostface masks and cloaks like Eddie wore for each one of the massacres.  He told you it made the fear so much more satisfying, that watching the life drain from Chrissy Cunningham’s eyes in her own bedroom was much more satisfying thinking that it was just a shape of evil coming for her, not the freak of Hawkins High… The two of you quietly took your seats in the aisle of one of the back rows, glancing up at the projector screen in arousal and anticipation. Eddie was vibrating, the whole town coming to pay homage to him without even knowing it. He could hardly contain himself. You had to place your hand on his thigh to stop his leg from violently shaking. You flashed him a knowing look and rubbed circles into his upper thigh. There were laughs and joyous shrieks coming from the rest of the audience as everyone settled into their seats. You had lucked out, most people choosing to sit closer to the front, leaving your aisle empty, save for a group of teens sitting on the other end of the row. You could gloat in peace while being out of earshot. The stadium lights scattered around the theater seats flickered off and the air grew thick with anticipation. A cacophony of laughing, cheering and screaming echoed through the air as the opening credits began to roll…

-

You had only been 17 when you were thrust into Eddie’s plot. He had loathed you for a long time, being a cheerleader and in with the ‘it’ crowd, you had originally been on his kill list. When you had joined Hellfire at the beginning of the year (after much persuasion by the freshmen), you went from one of the people he loathed the most, to one of the people he loved the most. You and Eddie began dating in September, a month and a half before the murders took place. You had walked into his trailer unannounced - Eddie had just hung his cloak up in the bathroom and was cleaning the blood off of his hands when you found him. 

“Eddie?!” you gasped. You had felt all of the blood drain from your face and your limbs had gone numb. You laugh when you think back to how terrified you were at first - the poor little lamb. Eddie had rushed you with his knife in his hands, someone’s blood still decorating the handle. He slammed you against the trailer wall and held the knife to your throat. You wanted to cry, you wanted to scream, but there was a sense of peace. You knew that Eddie wasn’t going to actually hurt you, you could sense it. 

“So, it was you all along?” you whispered. Eddie was flabbergasted. You didn’t ask out of fear, but out of wonder. You were impressed. There was nothing in your eyes, nothing like what he had just seen out of Patrick McKinney’s deep brown irises. Still, he kept his jaw clenched and he pressed the cold tip of the knife into the skin on your throat. You winced at the contact, but didn’t plead like he thought you would. 

“Don’t worry, babe. I’ll keep your secret.” You had gulped. You dared to raise your hand to grab his wrist and pull his armed hand away from your throat. Allowing only a beat, his mouth was on yours. You had only ever had sex once before, and never with Eddie, but there was a primal desire that was missing from the first time you did it. Eddie trailed the knife down your body, using it to tear away at your T-Shirt. You knew you should have been more scared, you should have run, or at least told him to wait until he wasn’t cleaning someone’s fucking blood off of himself before he fucked you… but his magnetism was too strong, you felt like you couldn’t help yourself. It was like that after every kill. It was like that after every time you went to hide evidence. You listened intently to Eddie’s plans, and the more he told you, the more you agreed with him. Vengeance against the people who made his childhood and life a living hell seemed pretty warranted to you. 

-

The movie progressed and you could feel Eddie growing antsy in his seat. With each slash on the big screen, Eddie’s breath hitched. You slid your hand up further to the apex of his thigh and you could feel the tip of his cock standing at attention against the denim. 

“You getting yourself all hot and bothered seeing your work, baby?” You whispered into his ear, finishing off your question with a bite to the mop headed man’s earlobe. You heard him shutter against your touch as you rubbed against his growing erection. You grabbed at him through the denim and he moaned quietly. Your bodies moved together while your eyes stayed glued to the meathead and his bimbo girlfriend getting diced on screen.

“You think that’s supposed to be Billy and Heather? Or do you think they’re trying to make connections between Andy and Chrissy? You know how everyone said they were boning behind Carver’s back” Eddie snorted and you couldn’t help but giggle along with him.

“Nah, that’s definitely Heather and Hargrove” you cooed, squeezing hard on Eddie’s cock, making the laughter fizzle out in his throat. He cleared his throat to cover the moans that were desperate to escape his mouth. “This broad has a lifeguard bathing suit hanging out of her closet there, see?” You pointed to the blurred red fabric in the background of the shot, a beautiful brunette with blood all over her face took the main frame. Eddie’s head lolled back as his eyes rolled. He already felt so good, but he wanted to push it. He wanted to feel the danger he did the first night. 

While you stroked his angry, hard cock, Eddie shimmied his hand into his back pocket. You didn’t notice until you felt something cold on your tight-clad inner thigh.You look down to see Eddie’s pocket knife pressed into the meat of your thigh, right above the hem of your pleated skirt. Your breath hitched as you huffed a small smile at your boyfriend. 

“Better be careful, babe. Wouldn’t want this knife to slip” With the end of his words, Eddie’s knife pressed slightly into your skin to snag your tights. You squeaked out a moan from the surprise sting of the knife nicking your upper thigh. Eddie leaned in impossibly close, his lips rested right by your left ear.

“Ah, ah, ah… don’t want us to get caught, right, dolly? Who knows what kind of trouble we would get in.” His dark chuckle sent shivers down your spine. “Now sit back and behave for me baby. I want to celebrate. You nodded your head feverishly and looked around at the audience at a distance from you. No one was the wiser about either of your arousal, to the sweet nothings you whispered to each other. Fuck, you wished no one else was here so Eddie could take you right then and there. Your pussy quivered at the thought and you were suddenly hyper aware of how badly you needed the metalhead to touch you. You turned your head to the left and nuzzled yourself into Eddie’s neck, your lips finding Eddie’s sweet spot. You suckled at him while continuing your teasing assault on his throbbing cock.

“Eddie… please… touch me” you begged between kisses on his neck. You could hear a shaky breath escape him, and felt his Adam’s apple bob. He was losing control rapidly. He moved the knife away from your body and into his other hand, allowing his fingers to hook themselves into the hole he had made in your tights and tear. Luckily his actions and your moans in response coincided with the scream queen’s tits being splayed across the screen, resulting in a roar of laughter and cheers. Eddie’s spry fingers took no time to pull your soaked panties to the side. His digits entered you with minimal resistance. 

“Fuck, baby… you’re so wet for me already.” the boy growled in approval. “You tried to keep quiet, but your mewls couldn’t be contained by your bitten lips. Eddie moved the knife to the side of your ribs and poked you softly with it’s tip. “Now, dolly, we talked about this,” he chided as he added another finger to your pulsating cunt. “You make noise, we get in trouble, and then I gotta kill whoever the fuck snitches and then you get punished.” Eddie’s words went straight to your core and you could feel the heat in your abdomen growing molten hot. You could faintly hear the slick of your own essence being pumped in and out of you by Eddie’s fingers. You tried to undo Eddie’s jeans but he pushed the knife into your skin and you winced, a small bead of blood dripping onto the tip of the knife.

“I’m not done with you yet, dolly. You can’t have my cock yet.” Eddie raised the knife to your mouth, for the first time since the movie started, his eyes met yours. They glinted wildly in the light of the screen. He narrowed his eyes, demanding you to open your mouth and stick out your tongue. You obliged him and he rested the knife on your tongue, leaving you to the shock of tasting your own metallic blood. You cleaned off his knife for him without averting his gaze. Before you knew it, Eddie had removed his fingers from you and grabbed your elbow in a bruising grip.

“Get up. We can’t do this here.” Eddie pulled you down the amphitheater steps until you were back on the open field you had walked in on. Even though you slightly wriggled against his grip on you, Eddie didn’t let up. He pulled you down a corridor that led you to the backside of the projection screen. There was only a few feet for the two of you to stand before your shadows would interrupt the illumination of the slasher being played for you.

“It’s like our own private screening,” Eddie grinned at you. He pulled you into his chest and placed his lips on yours. What started sweet soon returned to the desperate need for each other that you had in the audience.  Eddie bit down on your lip hard, eliciting a cry to fall from your lips. Blood spilled from your bottom lip and Eddie was more than excited to clean it up for you.

“That’s it, my girl let me hear you. You taste as good as you sound.” Eddie backed you into the cool cement wall that helped support the screen. His lips traveled across you, covering your neck and chest in a constellation of purple and red bruises. You hitched a leg over his slender waist as your bodies were covered in a sea of red light from another fictional victim being slaughtered for the hundreds of people on the other side of the screen. Eddie’s pants are now hung low on his hips, allowing him to stuff his cock inside you. You grid into his thrust with a groan.

“Look what you did, Eds. Look what you started. This is all for you.” The curly haired boy hastily shoved up your sweater and bra, exposing your tits to the cool autumn air.

“No, dolly. We did this. People won’t fuck with people like us any more. They’ll get what they deserve.” Eddie spurred himself on and thrust harder and harder into you, keeping his gaze up at the screen above him. You cried out as his thick cock hit high into you and Eddie’s knife was back at your throat. With his other strong hand, he grabbed the one leg steadying you on the floor and fucked up into you to keep you on the wall. Your eyes rolled and your tongue lolled out of your mouth as Eddie thrust into you at an even deeper angle. 

“Fuck, Eddie. You’re gonna make me cum.” That was all the permission Eddie needed to hear. As screams of terror filled one side of the theater, behind the scenes, your screams of pleasure and pain filled the small backstage area. Eddie dropped your legs and flipped you, your face pressing into the cool concrete, knife now dragging up and down your spine. The sting of the cool metal threw you closer and closer to your climax. Eddie’s bruising grip on your hips gave him more leverage to thrust into you harder and he pressed you into the wall harder and harder. 

“Ahh, fuck.” Eddie pocketed the knife and his white knuckle grip that once was on the knife’s handle was now around your neck. Your vision went fuzzy and with a strained squeak, your orgasm flooded over you. Eddie pulled your body up to his while you shook on his cock. 

Eddie worked you through wave after wave of pleasure until you could barely stand up - your pussy throbbed around his cock deliciously and with the mix of watching his real life magnum opus being celebrated by this fucked town, his orgasm was hurling at him with no chance at him stopping.

“Get ready for me, babe,” Eddie barked. You whimpered and nodded at him, too fucked out for words. You guided yourself to lean forward on the wall, exposing your dripping pussy and tight asshole to him. You felt a cool ball of spit hit your puckered hole and you moaned, your whole body still so sensitive from your orgasm. You hissed at the unbelievable stretch of Eddie pressing into your hole. You had never felt so full. Maybe it was the movie, or maybe it was the unconditional devotion you had to your boyfriend (and he to you), but one small thrust of Eddie inside your asshole and you could feel the small heat of another orgasm creeping up on you. Eddie paused inside you, looking up to watch the final confrontation of the movie version of Chrissy Cunningham - Hollywood’s final girl, she was drenched in blood, tits see through in her white tank top, and her face tattooed with fear. She looked like that when he had slit her throat and she watched his masked face as she fell to the ground. Power. He held all of it. He held it with the seven teens he murdered, he held it with you, fuck he even Held it with Hawkins - even though he despised the town and almost everyone in it. He had the upper hand. He got his revenge. He got the girl. He got to live the life he wanted when those who tried to break him rotted in the ground. 

He shivered as a wave of ecstasy washed over him. He thrust into your tight hole, pulling all the way out and slamming himself back in. You swore you were going to have a bruise on your cheek with how hard your face was being fucked up against the wall. You could feel his impending finish, and you were desperate to feel the waves of pleasure with him. You ran your hand in between your legs and rubbed small, furious circles onto your clit. You were brutal to your own body, licking up any fiery bolts of pain you could, Eddie felt your pleasuring yourself and he felt the first shockwave hit him. 

“Fuck, doll I’m going to fill you up.” He could tell you were, again, on the brink of another orgasm “cum with me”. 

The only responses that you could muster was a sloppy babbling of pleases as you sent yourself flying over the edge again. Your skin was white hot and your asshole pulsed, milking Eddie of all the cum he had. Your vision went dark and you felt your legs vibrating. 

“Fuck!” Eddie yelped as he pulled out of your hole. He was flushed with adoration as you continued working yourself through your orgasm, spilling your clear essence all over the floor. You were totally spent, and Eddie knew better than to try and let you stand up fully. He grabbed you gently by the waist and spun you so you could wrap your arms around his neck. Eddie kissed the top of your forehead, his shit eating grin unable to be wiped from his face.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Eddie exclaimed. You pressed your forehead to Eddie’s chest and giggled in embarrassment.

“I didn’t know I could either… I was just so turned on… just thinking about how well you’ve done”. Eddie cupped your face in his hands and kissed you gently on the cheek. You helped him do up his jeans and he made sure to put your panties back over your spent holes.

“Let’s get out of here” Your boyfriend offered. “I heard they keep Chrissy’s character alive in the end… so not faithful to the source material.” The grins on your faces widened and with a giggle, the two of you began to trace your steps back to the entrance of the amphitheater, hand in hand. Before you reached the exit of the theater, you pulled Eddie to a stop.

“What’s wrong, dolly?”

“Umm… I had an offer I wanted to make you.” You murmured.

“What is it?” Eddie cooed. 

“I was wondering if you wanted to make a sequel with me.” You asked, eyes to the floor. Eddie lifted your chin with his large hands. 

“Darling, that is the best idea I’ve heard in a long time.”

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[wimble-warcrime]

Ooh can I request how you think kid and killer would show their interest in you? Basically their way of courting you/beginning of a relationship. Together or separate, whatever you feel like 🖤🖤

hi anon, thanks for the ask! i'd be happy to do both :)

im a big fan of the concept of courting in general (to many period drama influences) so some of these may seem weird or ooc

kidd-

different from killer, who would take a more traditional approach to courting/wooing a potential partner, kidd's approach is more... chaotic... we'll say

we all know that this tulip head has the emotional range of a teaspoon, and therefore struggles with expressing any emotion other than rage and pride, so be prepared for a whirlwind of whiplash

he doesn't know what he wants, you don't know what he wants

killer knows what he wants, but won't be at all helpful in this case

while he will staunchly deny this until the day he dies, kidd's love language is acts of service (beating the shit out of people for you), gift giving (making you things to beat the shit out of people) and quality time (discussing in depth on how to beat the shit out of people)

expect a lot of shiny things, handmade metal contraptions, and requests for you to just sit with him (he tells you he needs someone to hold something for him, or shine the light at a particular angle, but we all know he just wants to be around you)

he fails miserably at any attempts of flirtation

the first time you cackle at him for his terrible pick-up lines, he shuts himself away for a few days. the second time, (with killer's guidance) he realizes that making you laugh would be great way to warm up to each other.

it becomes a witty back-and-forth of banter and cheesy pick-up lines, and a solid friendship is formed. you talk about whatever, he gives his (sadistic) input, he rambles on about his latest invention (probably a weapon) and you give your feedback

you don't know that each of these conversations are pertaining to the same creation, he's (very secretly, and quite skillfully (to killer's surprise)) getting your input, because he's making it for you.

it's months in the making, he probably started right after your first lengthy discussion about preferred weapon types or something like that.

i'd like to think that for kidd, it's obsession at first insult with him, so you'd probably be relatively new to the crew. he wouldn't last long enough to have known (and liked you) for years, no patience with dis man

he gets talkative when he drinks, so i guarantee you the first time he gets like black out drunk around you, he spills his guts. its an unspoked rule amongst the crew, that any 'gushy' feelings that come from that captain while he is inebriated, are not to ever EVER be brought up afterwards.

so you kind of just. sit there. thinking abt the fact that this angry tulip man like you. and wont admit it to your face.

after the first emotional moment TM you guys share, things start to pick up. you are witness to a softer side of the one-dimensional captain, and quite like it.

start seeking those out more. he won't, but the best progress is one made in emotional vulnerability. (dr. wimble advice corner approved)

he cant take a hint, so dont bother dropping any. if you wanna go forward, say something. kidd cannot read (alegedly), let alone between the lines. your best bet is to whip out your tits (gn) in front of him.

i will die on this hill, kidd is firmly a boob guy, dont try to change my mind. he lov em

there is no "so, should we date now?" phase with this guy, he just skips right to the "fucking them with the lights on" phase. a hot and heavy encounter later, and he has firmly planted himself at your side, no takes-backsies~~

you wake up the morning after hovered in hickeys and bite marks, and EVERYONE know your his now. he wont say it, but you are.

killer-

killer on the other hand, is a traditionalist, an 'el hopaness romtic' if ya know what im sayin

he will woo the pants right off you, season two anthony bridgerton wet shirt scene style (iykyk)

you probably aren't new to the crew, kil strikes me as the kinda guy who doesn't know he likes someone until it's too late. like man's good at self reflection and all, but it takes TIME to get to him, so there is no 'love at first fisticuffs' with him.

it starts with friendship (demi killer till the day i die), you two are like each others bestfriends. no one tops kidd (ehehe) for this guy, but you can tie

it's the little things at first, and more one-sided at the beginning (on your end), like complimenting his cooking, offering to help with dishes

maybe you buy him some hair stuff, he did mention that he was running out, off handedly. or, you sharpen up his knives for him while he's away

Killer's love language is also acts of service, more so on the receiving end tho, but he likes to give gifts. he'll cook for you, personally

like one meal just for you type thing. he says he wants you to try out a new recipe of his, but really, he just made you a nice meal, and cant say it to your face.

you two act like a couple already, but both deny it, saying youre just 'really good friends'

he first really realises that he likes you, seriously likes (maybe love) you when you get injured. and not like, oh little scratch, but like, almost died injured.

a foe has never been downed faster, than when killer heard your scream of pain and terror from across the battle field, and fucking flew across to get to you.

it's obvious to anyone that mans got it badd. he doesnt leave your side until youre concious again and the promptly blows up you for being dumb and reckless and almost getting killed. its a nasty fight, one that shatters your friendship. no one expected anything like that from him. probably the most anyone has ever heard from him in one go

he is just worried, but cant tell you that he loves you, without fully knowing how you feel back. not a guy who readily takes risks like that.

it's a few weeks before he's talking to you again, afraid that he astronomically fudged it by his little outburst. the exchanges are clipped, (you, who had been pining hard for him for like ever) and you're positively sure he hates your guts (he doesnt he just scared)

he avoids you, trying to put as much distance between you two as physically possible, trying to get rid of his feelings for you. but the you go and get yourself hurt. again

it was an accident this time, he saw it happen. like slow motion, the knife you were holding was bumped out of your hand by someone backing into you, it fell, cutting your hand open, before notching itself into the flood

he blows up at the person responsible, before dragging you to the medbay to patch you up. all the while, muttering about how clumsy you are, how much of a danger magnet you seem to be.

its at that moment you know how he feels. it's not said outright, but the care he takes with you, treating you like you're glass

you lean down to kiss his mask. just a small pec, an utterance of a 'thank you' whispered after

but

his heart is beating like a wild mustang, and he freezes. he makes sure your affection wasn't just because you were grateful (after he starts working again)

your reassurance is like cupids arrow for his heart. you like him, have liked him for a while

nothing really changes between your dynamic after that, at least from the outside. really, you've started to be more physically affectionate behind closed doors.

it's a huge step when he takes his mask of around you. the lights are off, and you can't see his face, but he lets you touch it. huge step in your relationship

he's still a baddie, violent and unhinged, (to keep up appearances), but when no ones looking, he'll love on you

this feels kinda rushed ngl, but alas, when is it not? anywayz anon, hope you like it! iv'e already done poly! kidkiller here, i hope you enjoy :)

btw my requests are open, but im still in college, so be mindful if it takes me a hot minute to reply to them

[hacash]

ted lasso 3x01 thoughts

WE’RE BACK BABY

God, what a corker of an opener - whenever I take a break from Ted Lasso I forget how much I’m going to enjoy it and then we open up and fuck me it’s always so good

and the big news on everyone’s lips: Ted is officially the character under focus for season three! I wasn’t sure if they’d go there but if this episode has shown us anything it’s that Ted desperately needs something to change! someone else on tumblr pointed out that there was a washed-out feel to the entire cinematography in this episode which was clearly corresponding with Ted’s long-term depression, and that really landed with me - as someone who’s had depression come and go in waves that’s exactly what it is: you’re making the same jokes and doing the same stuff, but there��s this colourlessness that begins pervading everything. Ted’s never been more self-deprecating :( he’s making slip-ups like walking past his own front door….God, the poor man’s a mess.

BUT he’s still talking with Doctor Sharon! Ted’s taking his mental health seriously! this is a good thing!

and on that subject

GET IT DOCTOR SHARON

(I honestly thought that was Hunky Luca she was with for a second; what a turn around that would have been)

so the big question that this season is clearly going to be ramping up to is does Ted decide to stay in Richmond or go back to the US. I can’t wait to see how this unfolds - I did have a minor heart-pang moment when Ted was about to go in and comfort the team about Nate, but Jamie jumped in without even being asked and did a Tedism into the bargain. It was so sweet and so demonstrative of how Ted has planted those seeds for his team, but it will beg the question: if the boys are doing this on their own, will Ted feel he’s still needed at Richmond?

I’m worried about Rebecca this season: it’s clear there are some serious issues around the West Ham v Richmond rivalry that ain’t going away any time soon. It was interesting seeing her scoffing at Nate when he (unbeknownst) ducked away from the press conference to have his panic attack. Bear in mind, this was before he started being a dick about Richmond: so she’s clearly bitter about Nate moving to West Ham (which, as I’ve said before, is pretty unfair: people move jobs all the time) - it’ll be interesting to see if her anger at Rupert starts blinding her judgement again.

It’ll also be interesting to see if her desire to beat Rupert clashes with Ted’s own style and issues…

(I’m also predicting here and now that new, potentially high profile player Zava might end up being another Jamie Tartt but more arrogant and more aggressive on the field - and while Ted may worry that he’s not good for the team, Rebecca will want to keep him around because he’s such a significant player. Watch this space!)

Nate

NAAAAATE

From Nate’s ongoing addiction to Twitter to his unkindness to the players, to Rupert’s constant manipulation of how Nate talks and what he drives, to his dressing down a dickish journalist, to that panic attack, to the car - I am flailing about so heavily right now. Nick Mohammed is going to ruin me this season, stg

Did we notice when he was talking about settling in with his new team, Nate’s comments were that he was ‘getting to know all about them….getting to like them…getting to hope….’ straight before having a flashback of being bullied by the team? Did we? Are our hearts hurting yet?

Even his insults about Richmond - ‘they’re in the sewer because they’re a shitty team’ - are just childish! he’s trying to be a killer because that’s what Rupert wants but it doesn’t work!

Also Disco’s only spoken one line of dialogue yet but I’m immediately adopting him as my new favourite character

I’ll be honest, because we all predicted Keeley and Roy would have broken up, the reveal scene didn’t hit as emotionally hard as it did some people. But on the end I’m absolutely convinced it isn’t going to last - both Roy and Keeley clearly have some growing in their personal lives* to do, and when they eventually find their way back to each other it’s going to be beautiful. I also think that if it was an actual Planned Plot Point (TM) we’d have seen that scene play out in real time; as it is, I think it’s less important how Roy and Keeley break up than how they get together again.

*God, can you imagine Nate’s reaction if he realised Roy was comparing himself unfavourably to him?!

The sewer school trip was such a lovely little reminder of what a good team dad Ted really is. That being said, after two years of this shit, Ted could probably have realised that the sight of Richmond team dropping down into a sewer in broad daylight probably wasn’t going to play out all that well.

Katy Wix is joining the cast!! well, at least we know where she went off to after BBC Ghosts.

SHIRTLESS LOCKERROOM SCENE IN THE VERY FIRST EP; this show truly does give us everything. 

I’ll be honest, I may have inhaled a mouthful of tea here; at the sight of Sam’s arms and shoulders I became a simple Victorian maiden prone to the vapours and in need of a good lie down on a chaise longue.

I, like Dani, am traumatised that Paddington Bear doesn’t actually exist

Colin gets bullied by nuns. (also I swear he was in more lingering shots this episode; the impending Colin storyline is making me so nervous and so excited)

All of the himbos are just so fucking pretty in this episode. Even despite Jamie’s hair choices. I’m also so delighted by the increasing amount of himbo interactions we’re getting: I can really imagine that the writers didn’t quite realise how popular the footballers themselves would be, and are now looking to include more himbo content for sheer funsies. Particular shout out to Phil Dunster for making Jamie as cocky and oblivious as he ever was, but this time using his powers for good. It’s a 

God bless Henry Lasso for joining the Nate Shelley defence squad, and God bless Ted for listening to him. That was such a telling little moment and a promise of things to come, and I can’t believe I got that emotionally affected by a freaking Lego set.

There was so much emotional stuff in this episode, I can’t wait to see what happens next...

….nope, still distracted by Sam’s arms.

[nebulastarss]

World building the Catbatfam AU:

About Gotham: it's actually peaceful there. Yeah, all is casual, no need for costumed vigilantes. There's still a dark and dreary aesthetic, but is it truly GOTHam without the gargoyles and rain and darkness? It's just a normal city, no unusually high crime rate.

About the Rogues: honestly? They're either also cats or don't exist. With things being the way they are (peaceful Gotham, no vigilantes), some of the Rogues dont have their problems.

Examples:

Mr Freeze: Nora's illnesses don't work if she's a cat, and we can't have Victor going villain, so instead she has a rare illness, but beats it against the odds, and they live together happily. This works as both cats and humans

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

The Joker (a potential side story in a series): he's a human, he's just a bitch with a bad sense of humor who doesn't like animals. He moved to Gotham thinking the smog would lower the amount of animals, but not only did he move in across from a (thriving?) Park, but also his last remaining relatives died, and all they left him was their fucking cat named Harleen, or Harley.

(They did that as they left everything else to their close friends. They hated him, so they didn't want him to sue for being forgotten in the will, and instead left him something they knew he'd hate. They figured he'd give Harley up within a week. The Joker has too much pride for that.)

He hates that cat. He refuses to get a litter box, so she very quickly has to learn to be an outdoor cat. Harley does not know how to outdoor cat. She is struggling.

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

Ivy: a stray cat who's taken over the park outside of the Joker's house. She's got plant powers, always having plants threaded through her orange fur. She helps Harley, and their story ends with her kicking the Joker's ass. They become Gotham's resident cat-park lesbians. Honestly, she's living her best life. Harley is no longer struggling.

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

Killer Croc: Waylon is a cat with a skin condition, he always seems to be covered in scabs. He was taken in by a lovely family.

I can't think of anything else, I don't really care for the rogue's backstories tbh

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

The Wayne's (main plot): the owners are Martha and Thomas Wayne, and their cat Alfred. They refer to him as their friend, talk to him like a person, and eventually claim he's co-parenting their kitten Bruce. They got Alfred in college, and I'll post a drawing of him the second motivation hits. Until then you don't get to know his breed, it's a surprise. (I found out that the breed exists like. 10 minutes ago. Never heard of it before) from there, Bruce slowly collects his kittens and everyone lives happily ever after

Potential other families

The Kent's: lovely older couple bigs up a dog off the street. Who picks up a dog off the street (they're apparently related? Hello Kara.). And then another dog (who... he's also related too? Why do you have a son. Where did he come from. Whatever, his name is Kon) And then another dog, but at least he brings his wife this time. (Your wife's name is now Lois. Your newest son is now Jon. How many of these are we getting?) Etc etc for other superfamily members. They become those farmers with a whole clan of dogs who help out.

The Prince's: honestly I know jackshit about Diana. However I think she has a boyfriend? (Steve? Trevor? I dunno.) So he's a loser living alone with his badass cat. She could beat him in a fight and he knows it. He's pretty sure that she has more muscles than him. Also she's not like. Aging? Girl how old are you. Why do you look at me with such intelligence. I love you with my entire heart and would do anything for you but also you scare me. (I feel like he'd get her a talking button pad. She'd love it I think.) ("Is Diana otherworldly?" 🤷. If you ask her boy he'd say yes, but her vet would say no)

The Allen's: Barry is a bird. End of story, I shouldn't have to explain myself here. He is a bird, along with Wally and Bart.

J'onn: fish. He is a fish. To me. I dunno I'm working off of vibes here. M'gann is also a fish. Martians are fish.

(Picture me, desperately trying to remember the other members of the Justice League after having a busy day and 2 big meals. I'm so tired)

The Lanterns: there's canoically a rage cat. There's a cat with the red ring. They are cats. All of em, Hal, Guy, Kyle I think, there's probably more but I don't know em, all cats.

The Queens': genuinely I do not know this man. Well, no. I have like the opposite problem here as I do with Diana, as I know Diana's personality but I know nothing about her. I know Oliver's backstory, but I know nothing of him as a character. I can't accurately say anything about him. I think it would be funny to make him a cat because Bruce is a cat and these 2 parallel each other, but I'd rather make that decision based on him, not Bruce.

[sketchfanda]

A Little Moxxie Love:Now THAT’S Comedy!!

Somedays was just another day in hell, especially in Imp City. Violence on the streets, the odd riot here or there as its denizens of imps, hellhounds, sinners and all the manner of hellborn walked to and fro going about their business. For Moxxie, his business would've been enjoying a rare bit of peace and quiet at the I.M.P office, basking in the downtime before and inbetween jobs or gigs.

But noooo, could't have that now could? Maybe even just some quality time with his lovely wife, Christ on a stick, he'd take some personal time with Loona or one of his, what was the word he was looking for? Oh right, Booty Calls. But insead of any of that, here he was in the living world, sneaking his way around a local park somewhere in Burbank, California looking for a tree house.

No not like some little cabin club house for some neighbourhood tykes, as like an actual, literal treehouse!! A very infamous one at that for you see this treehouse belonged to quite the celebrity. One our favourite little Imp Hitman had the distinct pleasure of being designated to deliver the client's revenge by proxy. As the sharply dressed, put own upon killer for hire mumbled to himself like a certain dastardly mutt, hauling a package securely in his arms, he couldn't help but reflect on how he wound up here. Thinking back to how it all started with that goddamn wolf....

~Imp City, The Pride Ring in Hell as overseen by King Lucifer Morningstar. To be precise, The Office of I.M.P (Immediate Murder Professionals, duh!!),a few moments ago~

??:"And that's why I want that damn-blasted squirrel dead!! DEAD!! YA' HEAR ME!! D,E,A,D DEAD as a doornail!! As dead as she made me!!"* Moxxie along with his ever lovely wife Millie and Blitzo's surly teen hellhound secretary and dispatcher Loona simply sat at their usual meeting room table, varying degrees of deadpan expressions on their faces as their latest potential client seemed to finally finishing his rambling tangent of ranting and raving, nonplussed as he seemed be coughing up a storm. The sinner before them was particular as he looked similar to but sure as fuck wasn't a hellhound like Loona. No this wolf was a sinner of the recently deceased variety and depending how well you knew your toon celebrities, he was a famous one.*

Loona:*shares a glance to her imp co-workers,slash friends with benefits (Don't tell Blitzo,none of his business what a grown hellhound does with her sex and love life.) before she rolls her eyes as she types at her phone.)"Right so yeah no shit Sherlock,we get that. You want this lady offed, kind of what we do here Pops..."

??:”That’s Walter Wolf to you, you punk ass whatever! Kids these days not even a mister, no it’s just pops, you’re about as worse than that squirrel!!”*The hellhound effortlessly ducked the old sinner’s cane as he once again went on another rambling tangent. Loona and the imp couple rolling their eyes as they waited for Yiddish accented codger to refocus. Yes sir, the one and only Walter Wolf, archenemy regular punch bag of Slappy Squirrel. Still holding a grudge and no doubt having wound up here because he finally bit the big one and it really came to bite him in his senile furry behind.*

Moxxie:*deciding it was time at least to try and get this conversation back on track. Particularly before the old lupine sinner caused himself to die...again. Was it possible to die twice in Hell for a sinner?* "Sir yes we get it. As Loona told you, we make it our business to go to the living world and get the likes of you their payback. So details would be nice, especially if there's any specific way you want her to die?"

Walter:*paused mid rant as he adjusted his glasses, squinting at Moxxie.* "Alright you little red skinned horned opossum, that's how you want it, you got it. I want you to take this little bundle right here and plant it somewhere in that uppity Slappy's tree in Burbank. Put it somewhere she's never gonna find it and KABOOM!! Ol' Walter Wolf finally wins one!! In your face ya uppity squirrel bitch!!"

Millie and Loona could only narrow their eyes with deadpan intent at the coughing, wheezing old wolf sinner, given the state of him implied exactly how he'd died in the first place. But hey leave it to old Walter Wolf to never learn a lesson, right? As Moxxie nervously eyed the package he now held in his hand, hearing the ticking of a clock as beneath its simple light brown wrapping paper was a bomb. Realising with little to no doubt he was going to have to go to the living world and actually try to kill Slappy Squirrel of all people!!

Moxxie:"....Oh crumbs...."*Now really given the circumstances and the magnitude of the situation he was about to find himself in? Who could blame him for being only able to respond like that? if Blitzo were here, there was no doubt he'd tell moxxie man up, stop being a little bitch and go kill the old squirrel!! It was their job!!*

~And now back to our regular feature present~

That moment of reflection made Moxxie grit his teeth and spit, if not outright hiss as he reminded himself if and when he saw that old wolf again? He'd slap the absolute shit out of him, like it wasn't bad enough he was going to try kill Slappy Squirrel? One of the few fondest moments in his otherwise abysmal childhood had been watching old Slappy cartoons from the living world with his gone far too soon saint of a mom. But of course sweet precious Millie took a moment to convince him to take up this job alone as 1. Blitzo was too busy with his usual shenanigans and 2. She felt going solo would do his confidence a world of good.

So of course he continued on, mustering up the fortitude to carry out his mission. Besides which he knew he had to make it fast enough since that stupid fucking wolf didn't tell him how long he had exactly left on the timer for this bomb!! Any further hesitation or delays and KABOOM!! but finally the sweet relief as he found himself at what had to be the tree that the squirrel called home.

It was fortunate especially for our fave little imp boi that it was dark out, made for a little stealth. Millie was onto something, doing this solo was doing wonders for his self esteem especially when he didn't have to be overly elaborate like at that summer camp trying to be in charge. Unlike that mission this would be direct and to the point, get in and plant the bomb then hightail out of there like bat out well, hell. Determined more than ever, the imp managed to pry open a window soon as he got close to the house, entering the living room so far so good, still unseen and unheard.

Now all he needed was a good place to plant the explosive package and he could haul his crimson behind out of here. But he had to be still smart enough about this, Slappy was a crafty one in her cartoons and there was no doubt age only increased that. Spying around the room as he stopped his sights upon a large pile in the corner. Bags and mountains of fan-mail and packages, no doubt too much for the squirrel to bother reading and sorting thorugh, it was perfect!!

Pleased with himself as he hummed a merry tune quietly, the red possum got to work as he dove his hands into the pile, burying the packaged TNT deep within fan-mail pile. A silent sigh of relief at a job about to be very well done, that ought to get Walter to shut up. Before he could start on making his exit, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket, fishing it out to see a text notification from Loona. It had to be legitimately serious for her to message him during a job, she'd been getting somewhat better with the dispatch details and she sure as hell wasn't sending him a sexy pic now of all times as he opened and read it.

Loona:"The stupid old fart just mentioned he set the bomb for 3 hours when he handed it to ya. If you're good to go then haul ass!!"

Moxxie checked his watch and saw the time, doing the mental math between when Walter handed him the package and the time he left for the living world and tried to find Slappy's house. He had about 2 hours, just enough time to make his escape and hopefully plenty of time before Slappy woke up or got home, assuming she was out late. Just as he was about to put his phone away, he froze like a deer in the headlights as he heard the flip and click of a switch, the living room lights snapped on. Turning to the source of the sound and knew all too well at once, he was screwed as he turned and saw Slappy Squirrel herself standing over him......in nothing but a towel as she grabbed him by the shoulders and pinned him against the wall, damn she was a strong old broad.

Moxxie:"Ooh crumbs...."*Now of course Moxxie wasn't just saying that due to being caught in the act but also well, just look at her!! Slappy had more than aged well, hell she was a figurative silver fox!! She had more curves than a freeway and a set of tits and ass that would make Minerva Mink green with envy. Her deadpan blue eyes twinkling no doubt with twinkling with thoughts of how much she was going to make him suffer.*

Slappy:*eyeing the imp as she began to speak up in that grizzled ol' new yorker like accent of hers.* "Ya know, I'll give ya points on the breaking and entering there slick, ain't often I had stalkers sneak into my place and almost not get caught. Would've maybe gotten away with it if I hadn't seen you outside my bedroom window right when I was I was finished hitting the showers. Real ballsy I'll give ya that...."*Moxxie gulped nervously as he awaited whatever toon type mayhem was about to befall him. Slappy was a mistress in the art of comedy-fu after all. It didn't help he was feeling rather turned on seeing her up close like this.*

Moxxie:"Now Ms.Squirrel, or uhm..sorry you've never married, have you? Not to be rude but I explain..."*The Imp paused as he noticed Slappy's eyes narrowed into a seductive gaze. A grin to match forming that sexy furry face of hers, causing him to see she was looking down at his crotch. Oh just terrific, Slappy Squirrel now no doubt thought he was some creepy looney pervert stalker. There was no doubt going to be a mallet in his future for sure when she suddenly spoke up, getting his attention.*

Slappy:"Well now far as sneaky fans go, you're definitely a looker...and really packing it. So I'll give you a pass, hot stuff if you do Lil' Ol' me a favour. It's been way too damn long since I got any and looks to me like you know how to help a lady scratch her itch."*Moxxie had a feeling he knew exactly what Slappy was going on about but there was no way this was happening, right?" Blinking as Slappy unpinned him and let him down, cluthching her towel as she walked with the sort of sway to her backside. Her hips giving off a hypnotic vibe that practically yelled for his attention before the silver fox or rather squirrel turned around. Looing at him with sensual mischief as she made a little come over gesture, finger wagging as she made it clear she wanted him to follow. The imp naturally obliging her of course as they made their way upstairs.*

Moxxie of course was interally freaking out and who could blame him? Okay on the one hand Slappy Squirrel wanted to get laid with him BUT on the other hand he had less than 2 hours and counting before the bomb went off!! If he wanted to get out still alive and breathing then this would take all his prowess and experience he could muster. Bring the A game as they would say because someone of Slappy's age and all clearly got around and anything less would not bode well for our Imp boi.

So there Moxxie now sat on the mattress of Slappy's bed, shirtless and his pants remaining on for now as the fine wine aged squirrel stood before him. That mischievous erotic minx grin on her face as she proceeded to flash him, dropping her towel as she stood before him in all her naked glory. Oh yeah this silver fox of a squirrel hadn't merely aged gracefully, if anything she'd gotten better with age. As she walked up to him, leaning in a way that made those luscious furry boobs of hers jiggle as she took his hands and made him touch them.

Moxxie:"Ooh crumbs..."*Now really could you blame the little guy? Less than 2 hours passing by every second yet here he was with a naked Slappy Squirrel. Her body language just screaming she was down to fuck, her odor a scent of acorns and the indication of her recent aforementioned shower. There was no doubt this toon hit her peak at puberty and never left since and only gotten truly better with age. Unable to look away as she struck a few seductive pin-up poses, showing off and displaying her stunning assets.*

Slappy:"What do you think Little Man? All natural unlike some bimbos I can think to name? No need for all that gentle love making crud, go on ad give them a nice squeeze."*The sensual cougar of a squirrel playfully goaded, shuddering as she sensually bit her lip in response to Moxxie obliging her.* "Mmm damn good hands there...guessing I ain't the first set of tits you played with...then again, what gal wouldn't want that, right?"*She teased coyly as she reached down to caress his crotch, the material of his pants stiff and swollen with his length and girth. Licking her lips as she decided to get a more direct look at the goods she was going to be playing with. Unzipping his fly and pulling down the waistband, boxers and all when her prize sprung out like a jack in the box.*"........Jesus, Mary and goddamn Joseph, where you been all my life, Little Man?"

Moxxie:*blushed as he smiled cutely and modestly, unable to help himself from massaging and playing with Slappy's furry boobs.* "Uhm something like the south...the very deep south."*It wasn't quite a lie, after all Hell was a deep south as you could get. Before he shuddered as Slappy grasped and began to stroke his cock, firmly and steady as she pressed her lips to his. Feeling her tongue shove its way with a thirst on par with honeymoon night with Millie.*

Slappy:*broke the sloppy kiss for air, stray strands of saliva connecting as she panted with desire, hugging Moxxie's face as she pressed it deep against the valley of her grey furred titties. Still beating his meat as she felt Moxxie purr against how warm she felt, her blue eyes gazing at him with a skyrocketing lust.*"Well Little Man from deep down south, I want you to take this damn cock and fuck me into a sexual coma. Fuck me 'til it feels like your dick falls off or I literally die of orgasm. Can you do that for me, Little Man? You want to fuck me so bad I might look like I'd be carrying your kids?"* The sly erotic squirrel grinned with delight as Moxxie gave her his answer in the best possible way. Squeezing and suckling on her boobs, showing he wasn't just experienced with women but not stranger to handling a furry woman either.*

Naturally Slappy was only more than fine to let out deepthroated gasps and moans as she began making out with the imp with a thirst and passion that put horny, hormone addled teenagers to shame. Their lips and tongues dancing together with sloppy desire as they fell on the bed together rolling a tangle of limbs. Silvery grey fur pressed and rubbing against crimson red skin before Slappy found found herself laying atop the imp in a 69 position. Planting her furred booty his face as her bushy tail wagged sensually in satisfaction as grasped and stroked his cock once more.

The silver fox of a squirrel breathed in deep the raw masculine scent radiating off of that dick as she began to plant kisses and licks upon it, spine tingling from the tip of her tail right along her nerves to her brain. Her arousal skyrocketing as she felt Moxxie’s hands grabbing her ass with firm squeezes as she found him eating her out, a very skilled and long tongue probing aw at her slit. This served to further fuel Slappy’s desire as she proceeded to return the favour, taking the length and girth of the imp’s dick and displayed her wealth of sexual experience with stunning fellatio. Deepthroating him in ways that would put even the most skilled porn star to shame before she levelled up the pleasure by sandwiching his shaft between her tits.

Slappy:*grinning sensually as she shot a look over her shoulder at the imp, as she rode on his face. Squeezing his head between her thighs as she stroked and jerked him off with a furry titfuck on his drool soaked dick.* “Mmhm, you’re not making too bad a first impression little man, I’ve made horses and bulls blow their load just from a handjob. Now I’m really looking forward to the min event. Remember, don’t do gentle, I want to fucking rut…” *She further emphasised her point as she locked her mouth back onto that dick. Licking and sucking what wasn’t covered by her big furry melons.*

Moxxie was well aware how intense and rough Slappy wanted it, unknown to most but a few select fans was that Slappy had a very active sex life. Some rumours went about that she’d done some porn here and there, even still today she held a high rank as the most searched GMILF/GILF around. Plus the fact he still had a bomb to worry about only reminded him this wasn’t just sex for surviving the wrath of Slappy, it was to fuck for his life!! As he smacked Slappy’s ass like a bingo drum, making the cougar of a squirrel moan as he continued to display his own oral skills, getting her nice and wet.

As soon as the moment to proceed past foreplay presented itself of course, our fave possum wasted no time in seizing the moment to rock Slappy’s world. And oooh was she finding it rocked Damn good as Slappy rode him cowgirl style, moaning deeply and lewdly with little to no shame. Her furry tits bouncing hypnotically as the Imp’s hands were squeezing her furry booths and sensually rubbing her swaying tail. That absolute unit of a dick of his hammering away as the squirrel saw a rising and falling bump indicating how deep his length and girth was hitting her.

It was enough to make Slappy wish she was a few decades younger just so this stud really could put a baby in her but all the same, he really knew how to make a woman feel horny. The silver squirrel relishing any and every moment he would cum inside her as they went through a variety of positions. A minute man he was not, no wham bam thank you ma’am here as even took it anal and oral, especially loving when he’d fuck her face as if her mouth and throat were an onahole. It was like he was fucking her as if his life depended on it which unknown to her, it literally was!!

Eventually after what felt an eternity, Moxxie checked his watch to see he had between 5 to minutes remaining on the bomb. Hips blurring as he was taking Slappy doggy style, the intensity and pace so bliss numbing that Slappy couldn’t help but fall into a prone bone position. Ass jiggling as her eyes glowed with pink hearts showing how pleasure overboard her brain was, her face a very rare expressions of fucked silly no fan had likely ever seen on her eben in her porn career. Before she felt the sweet embrace of unconsciousness take her as she came together with the imp one final time, sleep taking her as she basked in the afterglow.

Slappy:*mumbled into her pillow as Moxxie scrambled to make his escape, cock withdrawn from her slit as he rushed to grab and gather up his clothes.* “Daaaamn little man, if I was to die right now? I’d have no regrets…Fucking, A…”*So out of it that she hadn’t realised anything amiss or notice Moxxie jump right through her window. The imp running far away fast as he could, calling Millie or Loona to open up a portal back to Imp City. Just in time as the timer hit Zero, Slappy’s treehouse going up in a flaming mushroom cloud implosion.*

Over the next few days, The living world headlines were running amuck with the news of the sudden and shocking passing of Slappy Squirrel, most chalking it up to a possible gas leak at the least or a hit from one of her enemies. Down in hell, to be precise IMP’s office in Imp city, Moxxie, Millie and Loona were enjoying a rare bit of peace and quiet. The former Especially needed it given he was coping with having survived getting caught in the crossfire or the fact he up and actually offed Slappy Squirrel thatnis after he boned her. When suddenly the phone rang as the hellhound picked it up to answer.

Loona:”I.M.P, who do you want dead and why? Make it quick while I actually try to give a fuck…”*Speaking in her usual aloof blunt manner, humming as whoever was on the other end seemed to do something rare. Actually holding her attention and curiosity as she seemed intrigued.*”Ah-huh…mhmm…you don’t say���hang on…” *Moxxie and Millie seemed puzzled as Loona was grinning, giving the latter a knowing look as she set the phone to speaker. A familiar New Yorker accented husky voice speaking up.*

Slappy:”Hey there little man…..”*Moxxie widened his eyes in shock and panic. Why oh crumbs of course the squirrel wound up and no doubt wanted one thing…revenge!!*” Eeh now don’t worry I ain’t mad at you, You were doing a job besides which, I found ol’ Walter and tore him a new one. That’s what he gets for thinking he got the last laugh. Now how’s about you being that cute little Red Devil booty of yours over here and make my afterlife erotic? See you soon handsome…”*Moxxie had the most adorable dumbstruck expression on his face as the sinner squirrel hung up. Before he felt his phone vibrate, fishing it out to find she’d sent him her address…in the lust circle along with a picture of her naked and posing seductively. Millie and Loona looking over his shoulder, quite impressed.*

Millie:0w0”Hey Moxxie can I come along? I want to have a taste of that silver squirrel myself….”

Moxxie:”ooooh crumbs…”

[tobiasdrake]

We understand the What. But there's still much more ground to cover.

Oh shit, that's a good point Yuma. I can't believe I didn't think of that. That means we can eliminate Iruka from the suspect pool entirely, since she made the fucking thing.

It can only be Icardi. No other killer is possible.

I didn't get the impression that it was his idea. I don't think he ordered a custom gun. I think Iruka made him a gun and he as like. "Uh. Yeah. Thanks." in that civil tone you use when you don't want to hurt someone's feelings.

It was pretty clear from his behavior that he wanted nothing to do with the thing.

Yuma knows what's up. Iruka designed the gun for Shachi because she's a gun nut and thought it'd be a great present for him. Given that it was then used to shoot him, this was a terrible mistake. Gun culture, amirite?

This, in turn, proves that Iruka - One of only two people of the appropriate height and location to have fired that gun - is out-of-the-question as his killer.

Bestie, we are solving a case here. You can ship the Persons of Interest once we've cracked the mystery.

Roof of the hideout, of course. We already talked about this. There's only one place it could have happened. As difficult as it is to believe that a person was up on that roof with Shachi and then mysteriously vanished, it is the only thing that can be true.

This is basically a freebie. The important question isn't, "Where was the killer?" The question is "Where did they go?"

That means they had to vanish fast. They couldn't go down the emergency stairs or through the door.

Unfortunately, we never got a chance to investigate the rubble behind the building, from where the potentially evidence-concealing bombing took place. And I didn't remember to get a peek at the space between buildings. So it's possible there was a body of water for Icardi to dive into. But we can't just make up evidence like that.

Oh good, an opportunity to rectify my mistake. You can even see the blood spray I was talking about, and how it could only have come from "southwest".

Yuma, do me a solid and look down between the buildings real quick.

There is a body of water down there. You can reach the flooded city below from here. But it'd be a hell of a trick to pull off with that giant pipe in the way, even for a professional diver.

What's particularly interesting about the method of escape isn't just that they didn't use the emergency stairs. It's that they didn't intend to use the stairs. They didn't know we were coming. When they shot Shachi, the next course of action should have been to run to the stairs, bump into us, and go, "WHOOPSY DOODLE I'm busted!"

It's possible they didn't do that because they heard us clambering up the emergency stairs, though. But either way, they had a third avenue of exit already planned out in advance. They knew, going into this, that they couldn't trust the stairs or the door; That they couldn't just leave and had to instead vanish. Probably because they anticipated the place swarming with Peacekeepers after that bombing stunt.

Since I think we can safely assume they did not leap between the buildings and then break their collarbone on the pipe, that leaves only the rubble behind the building as the key to our mystery.

Without knowing what they destroyed, we can't solve the escape method. I guess we do have a use for Shinigami's Revisit Crime Scene ability.

I want to go back to when we first showed up on the rooftop. To see what the back of the building looked like then.

Nothing that's visible from the rooftop. That's because the key to our mystery isn't on the rooftop.

And there's the smoking gun.

Icardi removed the grate from the storm drain so that he could make a high-altitude dive into the hydro-electric channels below. He shot Shachi and then made his great leap. Then he swam through the channel into the power plant and disappeared into the flooded Marunomon District.

And that is the truth behind Who and How. Though Why remains unsolved. The most plausible reason is that Icardi (and Servan, who had to be in on the terrorism plot with him) was working with the Peacekeepers. But if Icardi was a pig in a blanket then he wouldn't need to premeditate an elaborate escape method like this.

The alternative is that Icardi and Servan killed Shachi because they didn't want his pacifism holding them back. That they were more violent revolutionaries trying to strike a spark.

But then it's weird that they'd play Terrorism Minigames with Yuma instead of, like, carrying out real bombings. Still can't make heads or tails of what that was about.

We should note here that, since they planned to intentionally provoke CTU, it's conspicuous that Margulaw excused himself and left the district before it could become flooded with cops. That doesn't necessarily mean he's a co-conspirator but it's a bad look.

And we all know the one person who could make that dive.

Don't worry, bestie. Only two, maybe three of them.

Ha! They're standing in Most to Least Suspicious order right now. Servan isn't the killer but he had to be involved in the bombing plot. Margulaw has no reason to suspect him of conspiracy but it's suspicious that he left. Iruka is totally clean; She wouldn't have let Icardi make that stupid right hand/left hand mistake.

In what sounded very much like Icardi's voice, giving him away.

That would explain why Shachi didn't go out the front door, yeah. It was super weird that he went to the roof when he was trying to flee the police.

Maybe that's why he left the key in the lock? It might make the lock sturdier somehow? I dunno. That's still weird to me.

It's funny that I finally pegged the right killer on the mystery I had the most trouble piecing together.

[weirdcat1213]

ok i have an oreo on one hand and a shark plushie on the other, lets do this

trimax volume 8 (pls dont hurt me)

thoughts

BUT BEFORE THAT, ACTUAL QUESTION: how are the 1st timers holding up? yall doing good?

ok now long post is here

chap 1:

-oh that title page its SO FUCKING GOOD

-MY BOI HES HERE

-oh hes not....doing it by choice.....oh

-legato looking like a pizza pocket is the comedy relief we all need tbh

-GET HIS ASS VASH GET HIS ASSSSS

-oh my geesus i heard that, i felt that shit

-"they abuse us" and here you are knives...doing the same shit

-OH THANK GOD YOURE HERE

-could you look less happy while doing this shit knives? pls?

-something something divine punishment from the skies, something something yeah ofc not anyone can do that shit

-oh hey why is he with them i actually forgot

-aw :3 i wonder who taught him to not shoot to kill :3

-also pls leave him alone hes not just a killer pls youre hurting my feelings-

-:c

-STOP VASH DONT LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT HOLY SHIT

-rem mention :c

-knives can you stop being right for a second, thanks

-the arm...wow

-OH YES ITS THIS MOMENT YES

-i dont remember what the other translation said but "that was the day we both lost our minds"....yeah im gonna sit with this one for a bit and cry cuz its true, they did

-oh yeah i didnt get this the 1st time lets try again :D

-ohhhhh....oh shit

-i hate siding with knives on this chapter but i cant help it. i also love the idea of being even

-also he looks so fucking cool while being evil, cool points for you knives

-"invasion" and it ends with him looking at the stars/nightsky? brilliant

chap 2:

-STOP BEING RIGHT KNIVES

-ALSO STOP DISTRACTING ME FROM WOLFWOOD TIME

-ah yes, the classic, sweetest, full of angst potential "i will remind of you of your home and how you dont belong there anymore" card, good to see you here

-oh god i forgot about this part, geesus

-ah crap i love this tho, gives you time to actually take in everything that knives is causing. its so easy to gloss over it with some quick panels but to actually take the time...i love it

-ok ik they get absorbed by knives but the idea of them flying away and being free (for a bit) is so pretty, im happy for them

-...geesus christ

-YES MY GIRLSSSSSSSSS :D

-it makes you wonder what they did to stay alive actually, like you never think of that stuff ig

chap 3:

-wait they didnt know???? hold up....yeah ig that makes sense but...hmmm

-YEAH YOU TELL THEM LUIDA >:D

-:c

-ALSO interesting how the borders didnt go black to represent a flashback, so maybe it wants to show how present is that memory in luida's mind. wow

-"maybe hes been waiting for us to come and help him" aaaand thats enough to make me tear up, im the weakest bitch on the planet let me tell you

-YES SEE LUIDA GETS IT

-GET WRECKED BY THE EXISTENCE OF GOOD PEOPLE ASSHOLE

-OH MAN HES BREAKING

-COOL ASS PANEL ALSO

-oh shit so he hit some plants oh shit oh damn

-AH SHIT

-omg she looks so epic while killing people <3

-THERE HE IS HERE WE GO YES GO GET YOUR HUSBAND

-oh look its the man in the tin can lmao

chap 4:

-KILL HIM WOLFWOOD KILL HIM

-HALF A YEAR???? damn i always forget, this is still going at the speed of light tho

-aw no :c my baby :c

-then again i like that you can see that even if it was just half a year (literally nothing for vash) it still caused him pain and suffering, 10/10

-GEESUS BRO HE JUST GOT FREE

-oh shit oh shit no

-im not really sure how he escaped legato but im glad :D also vash is longgggg i lvoe it :3

-well thats just depressing livio

-pls leave livio

-KILL HIM KILL HIMMMM

-ok but vash being basically a ragdoll rn while wolfwood is fighting and bleeding breaks my heart let me tell you

-wolfwood shut the hell up ok? shut up, i dont wanna hear it

-oh im going insane :) i hate wolfwood so much rn (his crime was to say sad things)

-OH IT WAS HERE I ACTUALLY FORGOT THIS WAS THE MOMENT AWWW HOLY SHIT MY BOY

-YES SAVE YOUR HUSBAND

-"youre not lost wolfwood" wolfwood saying all that shit outloud and IK FOR A FACT vash's heart almost broke ik it i feel it

-baby dont apologize :c

-............................................................ :c

-ah fuck hes here

-WAIT HOLY SHIT THAT LIKE SHADOW OF LIGHT???? AMAZING???

-oh oh im sick to my little stomach i fear oh geesus my boy, my baby, im so happy that wolfwood is all you need but also im so sad you dont have anything else, do i make sense?

-threatening you brother and begging him to not sacrifice himself in the same breath...knives the plant that you are

-woooooooooooooooooooooooooow i love that shit, hes so little...

-PLS GOD LET THIS BE IN STAMPEDE PLS PLS I WANT A SCENE WITH BOTH OF THEM IN THE SKY SO BAD PLSSSS

-im not entirely sure what is happening but damn thats nasty

-NO DONT FUCKING SAY THAT

chap 5:

-LMAO HIS FACE XD

-welp...this is terrible

-nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo :c

-oh righttttt, i forgot about that plan, so thats why people called him chapel

-oh that panel with livio thats fucking brutal geesus nightow. like the old livio seems so pure and far away while the current livio is so violent and present

-my god he looks like shit

-MARLONNNNNNNNNNNNN :D

-oh meryl my girl :'3 omg shes the best

-im so depressed rn :D

-idc if hes rotting, sadly the man looks majestic af

-ooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh oh ok

-NO DONT LEAVE PLS DONT FUCKING LEAVE PLS NO STAY STAY STAY STAY STAY STAY STAY STAY STAY

OH SHIT THIS IS FREE BIRD OH SHIT OH NO HELP HELPPPPPPPPPPPP

free bird time ig:

-freeeee biiiiird yeaah tururururururu

-wdym congratulations cmon man

-oh honey......

-awww :c

-oh wow now im DEPRESSED :D

-ugh that fucking face

-hes so cool sometimes >:D

-aw you made her cry :c

-"tired of filling a space in other peoples lives"....hmmmm

-aw :c

I hate whats coming i fucking swear.

[shineybuddies]

A couple things I’ve done, The Inner World deserves so much better 🙁

It’s a good game that has so much potential, unfortunately it wasn’t so popular

🔆Lol some spoilers ahead(just me info dumping and ranting)🔆

The series would’ve been fire too, I want to see the sillies being silly in their world of soil. I want to know more about the world and it’s lore, like the lore was pretty solid but it had some slight issues. Though I didn’t notice them till I played both games about 7 times back and forth.

I also want to know more about Conroy and Emil, I get that they’re the bad guys and all but I wanna know about their life.

We know about Robert’s, him being taken as a baby after conroy ‘killed’ (well they weren’t really killed now were they?) off the dynasty and never being able to leave the palace while also being neglected by conroy, and we know about Laura’s too, her being hidden under the Mechatre plotting the death of conroy while also trying to find her dad yada yada alright we know that good stories 10/10, but what about the bad guys.

What we know about Conroy is that he was supposedly an orphan along with the other two Windmonks (how Mama Dola found them is beyond me) and that they were all raised in the mountains, specifically the Shovel Mountains, so basically they were brothers. We don’t know what their lives were like during that time or how they were raised in those mountains or anything really. I guess at one point Conroy was just like “Ottilie’s mad fine tbh” and Y’know…did the DEED, that scandalous Windmonk… but I understand him I mean Ottilie IS fine asf.

Fast forward Conroy wants to implement the death penalty for giggles and the king says no, so Conroy says “fuck you” and plans world domination which includes having Reminepo (Laura’s father duh) build ‘wind gods’ AKA Basylians. Y’know the deal, boom boom you’re stone and you’re stone and you’re stone and OO look a baby mine now fuck all of you FFFFFFFFFFFFFFLOOTnoses.

And some small notes I found is that Conroy dabbles in Art (which I think he displays in the throne room as you see down the hallway with all the abstract art but I’m not sure), he keeps plants on windowsills specifically the spiky ones, he takes knock out pills when he can’t sleep or is feeling lonely (poor guy), he hates fosfoses AND tumblemice calling them evil (dawg..) but loves his killer hedgehog Fonk (I do too but make it make sense), I did have more but while I was writing this a friend texted and when I texted back I forgot what I was gonna write for this but in conclusion Conroy is a LOSERMAN despite his narcissistic, good-doer image.

Now Emil is kinda difficult, we know that he tumbled down a windfountain as a child (he was probably a toddler when he fell despite his brother saying he was a baby) and we don’t know HOW he survived the fall but he did and ended up in front of the wacky stuff store where he was taken in by his adoptive parents, whom are unnamed, and his brother, who also doesn’t have a name (well, more so everyone forgot what his name was) but is referred to as Emil’s Brother, Emil probably had a good childhood seeing how he has a photo of him and his family in his office which is shown on the bookshelf he has. They look pretty happy to me, besides Emil, born emo.

Someway he heard about conroy and absolutely Fell head over heels (there’s no way he’s straight. Look at him. Plus that time when he said he’ll NEVER be as attractive as Conroy.

It’s like that “I’m not gay but damn” “you don’t have to be gay to appreciate a man’s beauty.” “Nah bro I’d FUCK you”)

Then he got all Conroy obsessed, like really obsessed. Killer obsessed (he’s so real.) Anyways somehow someway he showed up with a mob of asposians to the wind chapel, WHICH MAY I REMIND YOU. WAS DEEP WITHIN THE ROOT FOREST? HOW’D HIS ASS GET THERE AND WHAT WAS THE REASON HE WAS THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE, anyways he saw conroy’s remains and was like “NOOOOOOOO THE SOON-TO-BE LOVE OF MY LIFE IS DEAD. you dirty flutenoses KILLED him 😾” “😯” boom bam bang flutenoses are hated, conroyalism is a thing yada yada deedoo yknow what happens at the end.

Some small notes of Emil is that he can get so obsessed with something that it scares people well that’s what his brother says (again, he’s so real), apparently he didn’t have friends if not a couple of them so he was probably lonely in childhood but he still had a good life with his adoptive family, he didn’t really choose to be alone though he did try to fit in but I guess him wanting everything to be orderly and wanting little to no fun drove people away, alright we get it. You’re OBSESSED with conroy. I mean cmon you have him everywhere, your office is filled with it, the wacky stuff store has a whole shelf dedicated to him, you’re spending the rest of your life for one thing only and that’s to be Conroy’s second hand man.

Istg he’s in love with Conroy there definitely is some hints of fruit in him.

And one last thing on the small notes, Emil is scary good at sculpting stuff and building, he’s spent 2-3 years on the cable car sculpture thing, in his office he has a model of Conroy’s palace on display sitting on the bookshelf, this means he could technically put conroy back together and revive him. But he’d have to figure out how, I mean conroy did shatter into tiny pieces.

I think that’s all I wanted to dump for now, but I’m very passionate about TIW and will do anything for that series. If you put in enough effort, you could find a way to make TIW 3 filled with new critters and characters. Though this is all fantasy, I know that there will never been another TIW nor will the series ever be released unless a miracle happens. But I’m keeping it realistic so my mind doesn’t build up hope that shouldn’t be there.

None the less even fanart that was made years ago makes me sob tears of joy, maybe one day TIW will get more recognition and the love it deserves.

Do I ship Conremil (conroy x Emil)??? Maybe…maybe….(absolutely 100% hands down ARFARFARFARAFRFARAF yes just yes my dictator husbands)

[scarletlizzard]

First of all, I have never looked at smut scenes so closely lol. All mistakes are mine, I wrote this on my notes app.

This piece turns both common religious notions and assumptions made by the characters on their heads. Nothing is really as it seems as we open with reader at a party with a friend, it’s a new, overwhelming place—we can liken this party to being a diorama of the real world/life—and Natasha has been watching reader the entire time like an omnipresent being, like god - then walks through the crowd—cutting through the chaos of life and telling reader “hey, follow me”.

Keep in mind reader has been drinking up until this point. As previously discussed, alcohol is a suppressant, a crutch—it can cloud a persons judgment and vision with a rose colored tint. It can also be a catalyst for choices that one might not usually make—like going upstairs to fuck a tatted stranger.

Throughout the encounter, reader is in awe of Natasha, calling her a god right off the bat (bingo). Natasha is tall, strong, fit, covered in tattoos with piercings and a split tongue. these are all deemed to be attractive or eye catching attributes to most people. Natasha is like a walking museum of attraction and awe only to be consumed by the public and right now reader is no different than previous patrons. It’s worth noting, through the lens of religious undertones, Nat doesn’t look like the god everyone usually envisions, she looks like the opposite, to be frank.

Further into this encounter, nat kneels before reader, so who’s worshipping who at this point? Spoiler: it’s still reader lol. Tangentially, I grew Catholic so that’s where my perspective comes from. I will argue that this scene where Nat eats out reader could be a parallel to taking communion. Natasha could be accepting something new into her life by taking the body of reader. Anyway, reader finds out this is nats house. House! God! Church!! This whole night is a religious experience that reader is having in the house of god aka nat effectively being evangelized into a believer, a follower of Natasha.

Let’s talk about the dick for a moment. So AP girlies know that items like a cane, or weapon like a sword are interpreted as phallic, representing men and patriarchal values because women obviously need men (sarcasm) Here? Natasha has a literal dick, men are not needed here. This is taboo, outside of the norm for a woman to be like man. But keep in mind Natasha also has other typically masculine characteristics such as big hands, muscles, height, strength so this was being made clear from the jump! Men do not have a place in this story, these characteristics do not exist solely for them and this isn’t a piece being made to appease a male audience. All of this is being told through the ‘female’ gaze.

Moving on, there’s mention of “Christ” and “god” which just adds to the overarching theme of religion and worship. As a far reach, the arc from the sex starting out gentle and exploratory to rough and direct can be seen as a potential parallel to the ebb and flow of god’s love, pulling between all loving and wrathful. We get to the climaxes, which could also be a parody of the concept of immaculate conception and even abstaining until marriage. This whole thing is just, sinful and maybe even blasphemous to a degree, it’s the anti to what men and the church want women to do which is save themselves until marriage and then have so many kids. lol I also said nat nutting into reader was “planting the seed of this newfound religion” smh.

There’s a secondary theme of assumptions. Reader is getting ready to leave because it’s just a one night thing right? But nat says “you don’t have to leave, I’m not like that” despite being a person who is eye candy to the public, she’s saying “you’re wrong about me, you can stay and I can shelter you”. Nats assuming that reader assumes that this is a one time thing because nats probably just some lady killer. Just like how I assumed everything I just wrote (:

-🧊

I'm going to start off by saying this is so fucking perfect. You get a 5 because everything written is not only true, but extremely well thought out and so detailed I'm losing my mind. The fact you focused on the religious elements of it, LET ME TELL YOU! CORRECT! On all counts!

Very much the dynamic is - a new scene, a new place, an unknown feeling, the rush of adrenaline from a stranger in the corner watching R's every move. The alcohol once again being the crutch, an excuse to feed into her deplorable, unholy thoughts. So, really, is alcohol the reason for R giving in?

(Bingo is correct) The use of religion comes up in my writing more than I care to admit. But God, the idea of worshipping someone like that? To get on your knees and just worship the human standing in front of you? The fact that a simple human can bring you to your knees, not an omnipotent being.

If you continue to part 2, you'll see who really is worshipping who. I liked the idea of this "God," falling to her knees for the woman she wanted.

What would we do without the female gaze? Men, leave me alone! Been there, done that, not interested.

"Planting the seed of this newfound religion." TOOK. ME. OUT!

The entire fic is based on assumptions, and those assumptions being completely wrong! The theme continues into parts 2 and 3, I'm afraid. The religious aspect is in a few of my works, especially when it comes to the smut. I can't help it!

I think in my sessions series, I said something about Wanda praying between readers' legs. There's nothing hotter than blasphemy, apparently.

I truly will be reading this over and over! Every single paragraph killed me. Well done, Icarus!! There is not one person who has put this much thought into my work before, I am just astonished with this. AP level interpretations!

[furryprovocateur]

ladies and gentlemen, we got him.

did you know tumblr has a text limit on posts? well, it does for specifically when you do the bullet indented format. the way i see it, if i can't have it that way. i'll just do it paragraph style. i WAS going to fucking use pastebin dot com, but for whatever reason, their filter wouldn't let me post it due to potentially having "offensive" material in it. is a man not allowed to use the word gay anymore without the sanitized internet trying to censor me? 1984, etc. etc.

anyways, look at that turn recipe. LOOK AT IT. astute and observant and smart and swag people might notice one thing: there's no RNG advancing. well, there's ONE part where i advance with heath, but that was ex post facto because i had accidentally advanced and wanted to preserve it in case i died. but notice my verbage. . . the second i started writing down my moves, i got it on the first try. i did not even have to reference these directions once, thankfully. i stopped taking notes by turn 11 because the bad part was basically over and any and all movement could be improvised + that was when i started accessing the arena.

but let this good news not mislead you: this chapter was a challenge. a very big one. linus himself is not the boss of this chapter, as many people will tell you. he does have threatening stats, but he doesn't move and is on the entire other side of the map (the same could not be said of lloyd if you did his FFO). no, the unit who qualifies as the boss of this chapter is that god damn sage that's right by linus. he has a bolting and is doing 32 damage (before resistance). he is capable of wrecking ASS and he will move if a unit manages to land in his attack range that spans legitimately 2/3s of the map. the biggest issue with that is you basically have to draw him out in some capacity. i forget if you could theoretically reach him if you used a promoted mounted unit (in my case, sain, but more preferably florina/fiora) and used a 2-range weapon to rush him, but doing so early on is a huge risk, and waiting until all the WKs are gone is impractical because you're looking at reinforcements until turn 18 (read: 4 turns before you're losing rank in tactics). so, the safest and most logical way to proceed is to bait him out. 32 might is very scary, but by this point, i have a decent amount of units who can at least take one of those boltings; even relatively resistance starved units like kent and heath can handle it if they're at full HP and not in immediate danger of being rushed by other units.

still, you do need to be exceptionally careful because this map is flooded with units, most of which are WKs that will break through holes in your defense and annihilate anyone who can't dodge tank or (in someone like heath's case) tank. so, in actuality, units like ninian and priscilla are relatively safe, especially if planted on a forest square, meanwhile it's units like fiora and bartre that you need to be careful with. even worse still is that you need dart to recruit geitz, and, sure, you don't HAVE to recruit geitz, but you absolutely want to. he comes with a killer axe, which by itself justifies trying to recruit him. combine that with the fact that he's an already good unit that gets made better because of HHM bonuses and recruiting him suddenly becomes non-negotiable. i mean, my goal with this playthrough was to recruit every character i could, but you get my point.

so, with all that in mind, the units i took were priscilla + serra (it's absolutely mandatory to bring them; healing is vital in this chapter, especially for the fliers, who are doing the lion's share of combat.), dart (he's there to recruit geitz, plus this was a golden opportunity to capitalize on feeding him some kills and bolstering the experience rank. am i using him beyond this chapter? absolutely not, but WKs and pirates aren't too scary for him if he plants his ass on a forest tile and the pirates in this chapter generally have terrible hit rates regardless.), bartre (similar to dart, i wanted to get him some experience. it's more important with bartre because i am using him long-term and i wanted to use this chapter to catch him up. both him and dart aren't dodge tanks by any means, but WTA against WKs while being on a forest tile puts the WKs' hit rates at a generous 30ish% at most. i slapped two 3 use vulneraries between the two of them and was able to keep them alive without chaining one of the healers to them.), florina (she's arguably my best unit for this chapter if not just also generally being one of my best units period. using her is non-negotiable.), fiora (well, she's not florina, but she's sure trying, isn't she?), heath (he's another unit that's vital to my success in this chapter. he's one of the few units capable of tanking the hits from WKs while also being able to occasionally dodge, and i needed him to run interference against the tidal wave of WKs that spawn. it also helps that he gains experience fast due to being considered "low level", even though his stats tell a different story. most importantly: my heath is doing great, so i have even more reason to want to use him.), rath (it might sound like crazytalk to field rath in a chapter where WKs will tapdance on him, but he's not that difficult to shield with better units that WKs piss themselves over like hector, and, much like dart, he's got a great opportunity to pick off some weakened units to gain experience quickly. the only real risk for him is the bolting one-shotting him, but that's relatively easy to manage. again, not planning on using him long-term, but i could see myself using him in potentially another chapter with weak enemies. besides, the emblem bow being free is a nice incentive to do gold-free attacks with him, combat rank be damned.), kent (all around good unit, if a little lacking on stats by this point of the game. i fielded him so i could get some experience on him. the thing about cavs is that you usually need very little reason to field them, but it also helps that he was very helpful for making optimal use of the arena.), raven (going in at level 18 and change, i definitely wanted raven to promote sometime during this chapter, and with a plethora of enemies and an arena in this chapter, i have ample opportunity to do so.), and ninian (as mentioned in previous updates, she is essentially a must-use unit whenever possible.)

the basic strategy was this: divvy my team up into 3 different squads: the landlubbers (kent, raven, hector, raven, rath), the crow's nest (heath, florina, fiora), and the seadogs (bartre, dart, geitz). priscilla and ninian oscillated between the latter two groups to help when necessary. the villages in this chapter look scarier to save than they are. in fact, you're given plenty of time to reach them. the one on the right isn't in real danger until around turn 6, where you need to have someone either already at it or within range of the pirate that can reach it (any time a brigand/pirate has the choice between a village or attacking a unit, they always will go for the unit, thankfully.). the two villages in the upper left area are very far away from the pirates, and the pirate closest to land is stationary, so you have plenty of time to deal with the hordes of mercenaries that will be rushing you before having to deal with the pirates.

i ended up fortifying a chokehold with the landlubbers to keep the mercenaries one at a time. this is where rath spent most of his time after killing an errant WK or two when possible. in spite of me saying that using the emblem bow would be ideal, i used the short bow a fair amount to roll for crit kills. i don't think i ended up getting any, but such is life. the seadogs had an initial challenge of recruiting geitz, because geitz needs to be baited out and, as mentioned, he has pretty respectable stats. i ended up going with the strat of using nini's grace on bartre and just having him tank two steel bow hits from geitz. even if he hits with both, bartre'll live, and that section of the map isn't too scary if you do it before it starts getting swarmed with WKs. to wit, that meant that the crow's nest was in the scariest and most vulnerable position of having to deal with all the WKs that spawned. priscilla was a literal lifesaver for this part, because if i didn't have her using a physic to heal (usually twice a turn with ninian's assistance), even heath would've eventually fallen.

going through this chapter, i came to the unfortunate conclusion that fiora is just not pulling her weight in the way i need her to be doing. sure, a bad flier is still usually a good unit overall due to the multitude of things they can do for you, but with florina and heath both outclassing her in basically both polar directions, she's kind of just average. i'm not necessarily benching her, but i'm considering it. that said, i did manage to get her and florina a C rank support, so i'm hoping that'll give me incentive to keep using her. C rank gives +1 attack and +5 crit, which isn't stellar, but it's something. B rank will give double that + 1 defense, so it's something to try to do if possible.

anyway, florina and heath absolutely FUCK right. they've both gotten great level ups, and the only real distinguishing feature in their utility is that where florina can dodgetank more, heath can just outright tank more due to his great defense. heath ended up being more useful due to having the great defense to fall back on in tandem with his occasional dodges, whereas florina could only realistically take 1 hit from a WK before being in kill range. i also generally didn't want to use her too much because she came into the chapter at level 18 compared to heath's 12, so getting heath the experience was much more efficient, not to mention economical. it's not wholly possible to keep your units' levels pancaked, but whenever you can balance it out, it pays off.

so, once the seadogs recruited geitz, the plan was to get geitz to the village and have bartre + dart plant their asses on those forest tiles and collect autowin i mean collect experience. again, it sounds dangerous in theory to roll all those 30%s, especially because i am notoriously an accident magnet in these games (in one attmept of this chapter, i had a 93% miss and then an 18% chance for priscilla to get hit happened (both before true hit)). but, considering that both of them have over 30 HP + were steadily leveling up and increasing their speed and luck stats, thereby increasing their avoid, it was a much less dangerous endeavor for them than i was worried it would be. no, the one who got put into danger was fucking geitz of all people. i expected him to be better at dodging than he was with a bow, which, in retrospect, was very silly to think. he got as low as 7 HP at one point, but fortunately slapping his killer axe back on and sitting him on the third forest square made him unkillable. even still, i did use the vulneraries on him to cover my ass, and it worked out. i'm most impressed that bartre did as well as he did. he didn't get stellar level ups iirc, but i think he leveled up speed just enough to consistently double the WKs, so that's all i can ask for. my standards for bartre are rock bottom, but the emblem seal helps shore up his hit rates, and having 11 or so speed (i forget how much he has currently) is honestly good enough. again, extremely low expectations, but considering i only ever throw him intentionally at lance users or (weak) axe users, he does his job relatively well. or, at least, better than i could've asked for.

once the mercenaries were out of the way, the landlubbers and crow's nest needed to team up to take out that bolting sage. my plan was thusly: use raven as bait to draw the sage as close as possible to heath or florina (i had both waiting in ambush just outside of his attack range.), and then strike. it worked out very well! he missed raven, heath was able to kill and milk that promoted unit udder of experience, and we got the deadliest part of the chapter dealt with. i cannot overstate how large that fucker's range is. i lost track of how often i'd accidentally set heath or florina in his range and suddenly have an aggro'd long distance 32 might to worry about. anyways, with him dead, the chapter was essentially over, so i took that opportunity to do a shitload of arena grinding. i needed the gold and more experience could only be a good thing. i won't go into extreme details, but all you need to know is that using kent, florina, and fiora, i was able to get a minimum of two units per turn in that arena. i got very good luck in that i only had to back out of around 2 or 3 fights, though it's absolutely worth mentioning that i made it to this point in the chapter and lost heath due to a miscalculation on my part. nothing kills your soul quite like something like that.

anyways, all this is to say: i got raven to 20 and promoted him, i got heath to 20 and promoted him (he was honestly the safest unit to use in the arena due to his combination of high defense, access to lances, and relatively high speed.), and i even used rath a little! i can't say rath was exceptionally great but. . . he did things! this was the chapter that i learned ninian's ring buffs will persist in the arena, so i tried to take full advantage of that (along with the rescue-buff glitch that makes buffs persist more than one turn) to get rath in the arena. the results were. . . a little underwhelming, but he did get some wins and experience, so i can't be unhappy with that. everyone else was either too far away to put in the arena (the seadogs), a healer, or a mounted unit that i needed to utilize to rescue chain multiple units hitting the arena. all of this was instrumental because not only did i need gold for grocery shopping (as you can see in the bottom of turn directions, i needed lances badly.), but i also needed 20k so i could get farina by next chapter. this is why i ultimately sat on FFO for 25 turns instead of finishing early. yeah, farina is optional and basically nothing but a detriment. but i like her and want to recruit her. plus, in a weird way, i feel like i have to recruit her, because it would balance out the funds advantage i got from early access to a silver card. i've already tried to counterbalance against that by using the boosters on eliwood, but i think this would almost certainly put to bed the advantage i gained from that. or, at least, it will make annoying nerds less inclined to speak up. besides, looking at it in a positive light, farina is another unit i could get some experience on and potentially she could help my experience rank. cog of destiny has only magic units (besides lloyd and vaida's group), so if i give her a javelin, maybe i can get her some action. i'm already planning on using nino that chapter as well, so it's something to consider.

anyways, end of chapter time. raven went to linus and his two hero friends with the silver sword equipped. they aren't necessarily trivial, but considering raven had 20/20/20 stats and pretty good defense before promotion, they got decimated by hero raven. you almost have to feel kind of bad for the dude, because he's so much more imposing when he's sitting on a throne but trivial otherwise. meanwhile, lloyd is always scary to fight despite swordmasters being generally less useful than heroes. i guess that can be attributed to him being both aggressive and having good crit. ah well. bye linus. it's weird that your name is linus, you strike me as more of a zeke or a derek. something with a k.

next chapter is crazed beast. having a good turn buffer for this one is great, because it means that i don't have to feel super duper pressured about finishing it asap (though i still plan to). and with all the bad units in it, i'm thinking i could potentially get some more growth units in the fray. if nothing else, that southern fort with all the axe users has guy's face painted on it. maybe i'll even field lyn or eliwood for shits and giggles. you never know.

if you read all of this you are gay btw.

[evaofkonoha]

I feel like I know the answers to a lot of the ask game questions already haha so I'm going with 10, 14, 18 😊

MissOblaine!!!!! I feel like we are slightly indulging each other but I love it! Okay, my responses~

10: Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

Yes, sort of. MLFYWND(NMHMTYTTKM) got a much more positive response than I was anticipating. It's such a strange concept, that I was worried it wouldn't resonate with anyone. But quite a few people took a chance on it and enjoyed it! So that's good!

The other is "The Past Tense." This isn't to call out readers, and I totally get where they are coming from, but I think most people want stories where the couple end up together, no matter what. I have gotten a few comments saying sentiments along the lines of "I wish this had a happy ending/In my mind this has a happy ending where they end up together." Which, everyone can have their own HCs, that doesn't bother me, but like, to me that story does have a happy ending, even if they don't blatantly end up together? (so, spoiler ig). I guess it goes back to the convo of what constitutes a 'happy ending?' and maybe it just looks a little different for everyone! I did go into that story with the prompt of "bittersweet goodbye," so I can easily see how that is interpreted as "sad ending."

14: If you could see one of your fics adapted into a visual medium, such as comic or film, which fanfic would you pic?

So, I think the obvious answer here is MLFYWND(NMHMTYTTKM)! I think it would make for a really funny comedy film. I was really inspired by my favorite black comedies when writing it, and there are some really funny, dramatic scenes that I think would translate well.

I have another, different answer though. I think "Violet" would be a really cute webcomic/graphic novel/manga kind of thing. I was inspired by shojou manga greatly when planning it and writing it, and could see it being pretty cute! (now I just have to pull it out of haitus hell, maybe)

18: What's one of your favorite lines you written in a fic?

Oof, toughie (mostly because I hardly remember any lines on their own)! There's a lot of lines in INYT that I really like. That fic lets me write a quippy Shisui who's maybe a smidge overconfident, so I think that lends itself well to having some good lines. Serial killer fic (not doing the acronym again lol) has some really good ones! And I think anything from Stick Season has potential just due to how much of myself I poured into it. I like going back and reading Stick Season, honestly, because reading the descriptions I wrote of the mountains and the details remind me of home <3.

But if I have to pick one for this, I'm going with this one:

“It is hotter than two racoons fucking in a wool sock out here, why in the fuck are we digging ditches and not planting trees, Sasuke?” Naruto asks, leaning on his shovel to take a break from the arduous task of digging in rocky mountain soil.

[toomanytookas]

Some day, I promise, I will be normal about what you write...

GIF by masterelrond

The care and love for one another that you have given these characters is astonishingly beautiful.

Like, to start off with, taking this line as a reference to not just the house but potentially their relationship is killer on its own: “It needs work, but I think there’s something special here.” But it’s made all the more special in the way you thread that notion through so many different elements of what we learn about them in this piece.

Frankie and the reader's levels of insecurity and self loathing and self doubt and self sacrifice hit me so hard. Seeing how they both make such an immense but also understated effort to bolster each other, to be that complementary other half that fills those aching, insecure, unbalanced gaps and help make it less of an individual burden to bear… there’s so much understanding there, so much gentleness.

Speaking of filling gaps, I could write an entire essay on your use of kintsugi as a metaphor. It's gorgeous. I'm obsessed with how you call back to the imagery of a gilded repair after introducing it. This nearly ended me:

“I wanna marry you, Fransisco Morales.” He is covered in gold. Dripping with it.  

There is something so wonderful about being sure. About being able to say with confidence what will come next—being able to plan for a future that that will be better, but better because it will mean even more time together in a less cramped and penny pinching era, not because anything has to change for things to be good.

For two people who—at least from my reading—probably always felt like the future was something that would haunt them once they got to it and so they might as well leave thinking about it until later, I can imagine it must feel so healing to be able to look forward to the future knowing they'll be in it, married, together.

On a mostly related note, I'm fucking obsessed with this line: In the end, Frankie Morales used love to build his life, not death, and you’re the one who gave it to him.

To return to kintsugi for a second (lol I told you I could write an essay), I think my favourite detail of the craft itself that has high allegorical potential is that the lacquer that is used to make the repairs, urushi, is highly irritating for human skin (the plant is related to poison oak/ivy). You have to be very careful when applying it to avoid getting a pretty awful rash. However, as it hardens, it loses this property, leaving just the very strongly bonded repair behind.

I think there's a lot in this fic that celebrates a similar thing— the love that comes from a person who sees you, all of your damaged bits, and will happily work through discomfort and discord (and, to refer to your wording, maybe a bit of dislike even while being in love) with patience and attention in order to build an immensely strong relationship that embraces and incorporates the once jagged edges.

One more kintsugi-themed line that I really wanted to applaud you for and then I'll move on (because believe it or not there's another theme I wanted to address before shutting up):

He’s going to snap you in fucking half and maybe he does but he’ll be there to seal you back up again.   Pour himself into you. Fill you. Make you whole once more. 

Jeeeeeeeesus fucking christ. 🥵

That actually does tie in quite well to the other thing I wanted to yell (fondly) at you about, which is all of the metaphors of possession and consumption and destruction that I swear are the hottest, most beautiful fucking* things. (*ha literally!)

I'm not going to highlight all of them—you wrote the thing, you know where they are—but I did want to give these two a special shout out:

It’s hunger, he feels, but not a tangible hunger, one that can be so easily satiated. It’s not painful, or weakening – no, he is made stronger by it

... you bite his pec muscle, your love for him twisting you into an anthropophagist. You want to consume him, like your pussy swallows his cock. Having him impale you is not enough; you want intercourse with him on a subatomic level. 

It’s such aggressive, passionate language, but it somehow all feels so reverent and warm and loving at the same time. I adore the fact that it's a reciprocal thought, that they are both so obsessed and in love and encountering this feeling of wanting to swallow each other whole (and even that might not be enough).

I’m bad at ending these so I will just say: Thanks!The end!! Finally!!! 💕 🙈

in another life . . .

rating: explicit, 18+

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

word count: 7K

summary: Partner. That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself. And then he met you and the definition changed again.

warnings: domestic!frankie, marriage kink (if that’s a thing), oral (f receiving) but i think that’s an expectation from every frankie fic, improper use of a kitchen table, unprotected piv, no use of y/n, brief mentions of PTSD, improper use of Spanish, eating in bed 

a/n: requested for my 100 followers event! Anon: hiiii firstly! congrats on the big one hundo you totally deserve it 🥂‼️ secondly wondering if I could rq a Pedro boy drabble with prompt number 12... I wanna do laundry for Frankie Morales :D “did you just wash these sheets?” “I did.” “they smell nice. and they’re still warm.”

🤍Masterlist

. . . I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.

Frankie fills the silence of the house without you in it with music. This house, it had been your choice, even though he never expressly made you choose, or even presented the dichotomy. This house, with its leaky faucet and janky AC unit and finicky pilot light, was what you wanted instead of a diamond ring, and so he gave it to you. First down payment, along with every other red cent you and he had both saved up, went into buying your first home together. This wasn’t forever, you both agreed (with only two bedrooms it wasn’t enough room for a baby, he often thought) but even as the real estate agent glanced around with disdain for the house and your budget, one look from you and it was settled. 

“It has good bones,” you said, standing out on the concrete deck overlooking a postage-stamp-sized backyard. There were weeds in the corners and holes from some unknown animal but he could see the wheels in your head turning, imagining how you, like everything else you did, planned to tackle and wrestle control over it with your bare hands. “It needs work, but I think there’s something special here.” 

“Yeah?” he asked, threading his fingers through yours, the real estate agent no doubt off somewhere inspecting the drains. “Is there something here?”

You grinned and shoved your nose then a soft press of your lips into his denim-shoulder. 

“I’m sure of it.”

All his life, Frankie worked best in a unit. As children, his older brother, his younger brother, and him were practically inseparable, their physical similarities almost presenting as the same person but at different ages, and when that group disbanded because Oscar left for college, he went on to find another one. First, his army unit, then the boys. His boys. Left to his own devices, Frankie was terrible at remembering to eat, sleep regularly – focus on anything other than fixing cars and planes, really – but he’d do it for them. He hated to see that worried crease show up on Will’s brow when Frankie admitted he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He hated that Benny had to show up at his apartment to drag his ass outta bed to get him into the sunlight. And he hated when Pope felt obligated to take him out to bars to try and meet women.

“I’m not dating someone just so they can be my mother,” Frankie muttered into the lip of his beer bottle. “I don’t need anyone thinking I need to rely on them like that.” 

“Yeah, but you do better when you have people relying on you.” Pope’s dark eyes flitted from a woman at the bar top to him, with intention and full of force. “And I’m not saying I’m trying to get you to fuck your mother, but you need a partner.” 

Partner. 

That word had been jammed up inside his brain for as long as he could remember. Gym-class partner, lab partner, work-out partner, partner-in-training, partner in this fucking life or death situation where we’re only going to get out alive if we trust each other more than I trust myself. 

And then he met you and the definition changed again. 

You are his best friend. You are the woman he wants to fuck every day for the rest of his life. You are the first person he wants to tell good news to and the first person he wants to talk to when he’s had a shitty day. Your voice quiets something inside him that has been far too loud for far too long. You are a relief and a refuge. For all his faults, you love him and sometimes he can’t fathom why. 

You are his partner – in life, in marriage (one day), and forever (he hopes).

“I might not always like you, Catfish,” you said to him in Will’s backyard for Benny’s birthday party. You had been drinking and every sip seems to bring you closer and closer to him. With your face tucked up into his neck, arms up under his flannel and hugging his waist, the only way he could be physically closer to you was if he was inside you – which he was about two seconds away from suggestion when you leaned in close. “‘M not always going to like you, but ‘m always going love you.”

And love him you did. You loved him when he decided to go back to school to get some additional certifications so he could maybe teach flight school. The army would pay for most of it, was a fucking relief to your shared thread-bare, cartoon-spider-web empty savings account. But what the army would not pay for was for you to go to nursing school. You worked in hotels for the events services branch, coordinating everything from weddings to conferences, walking (mostly running) from one end of the hotel to the next. Your sister got you a Fitbit for Christmas one year and after the holiday rush, you walked twenty miles in two days. 

“After that, this nursing stuff should be a breeze,” you said flippantly as you signed your paperwork for admissions. 

Of course you got accepted at one of the better hospitals in the city – he never doubted for a second you would – and as the fresh-faced trainee, you got stuck with most of the night shifts. 

Which meant his days looked a lot like this: wake up at 6AM, drive an hour to the helicopter tour building on the coast, fly rich idiots around all day, eat the lunch you had prepped for the both of you on Sunday night, continue flying rich idiots around, drive home in two-hour traffic, change into his work overalls, go work on some cars Benny’s buddy had at the local garage for some extra cash, then go home, heat up dinner you also made Sunday night, and then attend to the most pressing thing you or the house needed. 

Which could be:

Fixing the AC unit, resealing the back door so it would close properly, re-caulking the shower, building more attic space, repainting the back fence, or replacing the hand towel holder.

Frankie didn’t mind the hard work. It kept his mind and his hands busy. What he did mind was the house silent and eerily empty without you here. 

He didn’t mind the hard work because even for a few hours, he got to hold you while you slept. He got to eat with you at 10:30 at night and it was the highlight of his day.

Pay your surgeon very well to break the spell of aging

Sicker than the rest, there is no test, but this is what you're craving?

Frankie bobs his head, his earphones carefully tucked up under his shirt to prevent the laundry from tangling up in them. He hauls out the latest load and moves onto the washer, fishing out one more sock when suddenly the lights go off. All of them. Total darkness.

And then light and he’s staring down the bottom of the drum.

Then dark. And light.

You. Your code. One you designed when you read that PTSD victims are often triggered into a fight-or-flight response when startled. You, who knew before he did, how to manage the symptoms, create workarounds, and find a pathway through, instead of not at all. 

He takes out one of the earbuds and smiles.

“Hey, you’re home.” 

You lean against the doorway, smiling that smile that is reserved for him and him alone. Sometimes he’s selfish and wants everything of yours to be only for him – all your smiles, your laughter, your sighs – but that’s like trying to capture sunlight in a butterfly net: too focused on the impossible and you end up missing the daytime. 

“How goes this fucking Sysphian task?” You nod at the baskets of laundry at his feet, referring to how you’d often rant and rave about how laundry, the dishes, and grocery shopping were never tasks that could simply be done. He knows how much you hate being unable to cross things off your to-do lists, so he holds your hand during all of these rantings and kisses your knuckles when you take a breath. 

“Good,” he shrugs. “‘Bout to fold your scrubs for tomorrow.”

“Ah, have I told you lately that I love you?” You swing into the room and kiss him on his cheek, on the division where his patchy beard meets his skin – the place that you most often claimed on him. Your fingers squeeze around his bicep as you pull away and your eyes fall to the basket behind him. You gasp with glee. 

“Did you just wash these sheets?” You ask like you’d just uncovered buried gold. 

He smirks, propping his hip up against the dryer. “I did.” 

Without another word, you scoop them up in your arms and inhale sharply.

“Mhmm, they smell nice.” You bury your head in deep. “And they’re still warm.”

In the rare moments when you’re both home and going through laundry together, he never fails to scoop up a load of hot towels and dump them over your head, relishing in the girlish giggle from beneath the clean laundry. “It’s so toasty,” you whimper with glee. 

“They’re not gonna be if you get your hospital gunk all over them,” Frankie tuts, going back to add a new load into the washer as you glare at him over the lump of sheets. 

“Ha, ha. Move over, Mr. Morales, and watch a master at work.” 

“Yes, Mrs. Morales.” It’s stupid but his heart always fumbles when he calls you that. It started as a joke, one that you initiated, but now it’s like berry jam on his tongue, sweet and sugary. He’s thought about calling you that while he’s inside you but figures he should save something for the wedding night. 

He sidles back, giving you space near the dryer as you pick up a basket of t-shirts.

“You know there’s dinner waiting for you in the kitchen.” He shakes his head as you begin to fold the shirts with lightning speed and precision – a side effect of being the oldest daughter in a family of five kids. 

“Yeah, but you’re in here,” you say and bump his hip. He bumps you back and helps with the load. “Besides, it’ll get done faster with two people.”

He can’t exactly argue with that, so he lets the silence grow. But it’s not silence, not really. In the distance, dogs bark. Outside the room, the temperamental AC grumbles, a sound he never thought he’d come to appreciate. Inside the room, fingers tug at fabric, the soft thump as the shirts grow into a continuous pile. Then there’s you, breathing in the lilac-scented air, the scent of his deodorant and sweat and something entirely unique to him– his Frankie-ness as you’ve called it many times without elaborating. I’d bottle it if I could, you told him, bathe in it. You’re kinda weird, he told you, and you know he likes it. 

Every once in a while, his elbow brushes up against yours, yours skirting around his, but never colliding, an awareness of the other always present and attended to, a flow of familiarity and recognition he’s never felt before or known since. 

Bit by bit, you’ve taken pieces of him into you, picked them up, held them to the light and found them beautiful, until a second bit of his soul lives outside of his body. He knows every inch of you, how every atom calls out to him, begs to be close to him, and held tight. It’s not sunlight he’s trying to keep safe, it’s your heart. Your precious, wonderful heart that is somehow so full, it was enough to fill him up too. Gold filling in the cracks. 

Kintsugi, Benny called it, when he got obsessed with anime for three months that one time two years ago. Frankie never could remember the actual name, and maybe that wasn’t the point and maybe it was a little ridiculous, especially when it was explained by a deliriously drunk and bleary-eyed Ben Miller at one in the morning on his brother’s lawn chair. 

Maybe a better way of thinking about it was how separate, disparate, jagged and raw edges came to fit together. How someone like him got a do-over, another chance to be remade in the kiln, and how someone like you was allowed to love unselfishly, to ask for things and never be threatened with reparations of some kind – as if loving you deserved some sort of compensation. 

Pieces, broken and scattered – he looked up and saw you carrying yours, and you witnessed the scars and blood dripping from the shards of his own past, his life, his love, and despite how slippery his pieces were, how dried and empty and wanting yours were, something pulled them together and made them stay. 

Something stronger than light.

Stronger than gold. 

You shook his hand and looked at what you built together, the pieces that came together, and in the end, that was your partnership. A creation of something greater – home, family, love. 

So much fucking love.

In the end, Frankie Morales used love to build his life, not death, and you’re the one who gave it to him.

He drops the last shirt on the stack and he turns, his fingers seeking the drawstring of your pants. 

You know what he wants. You want it too. A singular desire in two separate bodies.

The inherent closeness of domesticity draws you into him, closing the already limited space as hands find waists and lips find skin. He drags his nose against your jaw, somehow already shaking, his teeth grazing your throat, unwilling and unable to press his lips to you, wanting to drag this out as much as possible. He squeezes your hips, thumbs flipping under your shirt to touch, touch, touch, until his fingers wrap around your ribs and you make your first sound of the night. It snags at his restraint, pulling it threadbare. 

“Frankie,” you sigh and he cannot fight the cataclysmic pull towards you – he stumbles, pinning you to the laundry room wall, his tongue cupping your earlobe into his mouth and he sucks. The next noise you make is high and keening and it turns his touch frantic.

Caught between the wall and his broad shoulders, he does with you what he wants. He nips at your cheek, your neck, the dip of your clavicle, as his thumb presses up each knot of your spine, drawing out the tension from your body like draining poisoned blood, and by the time he pinches off your bra, you’re all but hanging onto him. 

“Baby–,” 

He can hear you say, it’s late, we have work in the morning, you don’t have to do this,

I’m not worth this 

With a low growl that is all possession, all anger that someone ever made you feel like your love was too much, he tugs your shirt off, knocking his hat off as he goes. In the drift, he sees your eyes flutter, mouth twisted in pleasure and guilt – you don’t want to be asking for things like this – and so he silences every doubt, every worry that he’s tired or it’s too late or his knees are aching too much to make you feel the way you deserve – he kisses you with enough force to knock out every unpleasant thought you’ve ever had about yourself and flattens you against the wall. 

You let him pry you open, his touch fervent and insistent, tasting of iced coffee and gum. He licks into you, telling you things with his tongue, the way he tugs your bottom lip between his teeth, in the soft puff of breath that escapes him when you cup the back of his neck. Closer, he begs, closer. 

His wide palm arching your lower back into him, he squeezes your ribs, up under your breast, before finally taking your nipple between his thumb and the meat of his hand and twists, just enough to make you break apart from his demanding mouth, gasping as if tapped by a live wire. But it’s him who is electrocuted, who catches fire, who wants to be chewed down and swallowed up. He shuffles and pulls you into him, the throbbing in his pants bordering on painful. He rubs himself against you once and you sigh like you know he hurts. You nod.

Your fingers peel your shirt up and over your head as he cups one thigh then the other until your hips hug his waist, smearing the hem of his shirt up over his skin. He feels the heat coming from between your legs, the slight dampness, against his lower belly and he groans, low, right near that source of warmth he wants to die in. 

You curl above him, tipping his head back, as you dive into his mouth again, fingers twisting into his hair, thumbs brushing his temple right where you know he tends to get headaches. Your tongue brushes against his upper lip, tasting his mustache, and his knees threaten to buckle. 

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he laments, he praises, into the supple wetness of your tongue. You nod, pleased, and press your chest into him. He cannot fucking wait to get his mouth around your tits.

Mouth sealed to yours, hands cupping the meat of your ass, Frankie works entirely on sense memory to carry you into the kitchen, to a long wooden table beneath a wide window, white curtains closed and blinds shut. 

This table had been one of the first purchases for the new house. Tan cedar boards with white knobby legs, it instantly reminded him of the one in his own childhood home, where he and his brothers fought over meals and did homework together. Where he held his mom after his father died and where he dropped his bag after coming home from a life too long spent fighting other people’s wars. 

This table mattered to him and he’d be damned if it wouldn’t mean something to his own child one day. 

That was something you too wanted to give your child, never having a table like this in your own life. You loved the stories he told about the table in his kitchen. How much it meant to him.

And now he was going to fuck you on it, this symbol of stability.

He just wonders how stable it really is. 

His fingers clutching the back of your neck, arm running in tandem with your spine, he lowers you down, shifting your weight onto his arm so you don’t bump your head against the wood. He releases you but you protest, a muffled uh-uh, as he tries retreating. You loop your arms around his neck, tugging him flat against you and he feels your breasts mold against his chest, nipples already tight.

“Baby,” he breathes, sucking up and out of your mouth, “let me make you feel good.”

Behind him, he hears your sneakers clatter to the floor, your heels digging into his back as you toe off your shoes, and you shake your head. 

“I am.” Kiss. A thumb under his bottom lip. “You do.” Breathless, reverent, grateful. 

Grateful.

Grateful that he is kissing you. 

Not good enough. God, he’s going to eat that self-loathing right out of you. 

You whine, frustrated and hot, as he pulls back. He wants to go right for your pussy, but stutters at the sight of your unmarked tits. Smooth, flushed, heaving. There is no part of you he does not love, does not feel the need to worship on his knees. 

But suddenly sour shame strikes him as he realizes enough time has passed since the last time you’d had sex for the hickeys to heal. He intends to amend that right now. 

His thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips, to calm himself, he folds himself over you, dribbling kisses along your throat, over the wings of your clavicle, at the barest incline at the top of your breast, and then to the meat of your tit, the heaviness, the sway, and he bites down. Predictably, you yelp, nails scratching roughly into his scalp and that only makes him suck harder. You have very strict rules around where he can mark you, but on the places he can – oh, you beg him for it. 

He palms your other tit, just to feel the goosebumps break out across your skin, to roll your nipple with the calluses on his palm. His teeth release, his tongue laving over that already pink and swollen skin, and he glances up, his other thumb coming to massage that fragile patch. 

Being a pilot, a soldier, a brother, a son, those are the things he is. But Frankie lives – aches, pines, desires – to watch you come apart. 

The purple bruise on your tit shining like a luxurious necklace, your eyes flutter open when you feel him pull up. Your fingers around his ears, your chest wet with his spit, you let him take you in. You give him this, because you know you’re about to get so much more. With your legs still wrapped around his waist, he can feel the soft cant of your hips, the quiet, patient begging, as you thought he needed reminding that you needed this. You rub up him, knees pinned to his ribs, and he lets you pull him into your mouth, grounding him. This kiss is brief, soft, a far cry from the tearing and biting that got you onto the table. Knowing exactly the state you need to be in to ask for what you want, he holds your jaw, thumb against the apple of your cheek and he slips his tongue out of your mouth. Again a protest, an instinctual reaction to the repeated pattern of abandonment, but like all cries for help, he quiets your squirming by sliding his thumb between your lips. 

“Suck,” he murmurs gently. Your eyes flutter shut, your nails carving half moons into his forearm, lips creating a vacuum seal around his knuckle and you obey – you suck – and he rewards you with a trail of kisses across your sternum, over your breasts, to the soft swell of your stomach. He nuzzles your belly button and you groan, eyes still shut and his thumb still in your mouth. He bites, softer than before, just above the thatch of hair and you whine around his finger, body going supple for him. He slides his thumb out, dragging a shiny string of spit over your plush lips, down your chin, joining his other hand at the waist band of both your panties and your scrubs. 

Any fast movement will awaken that anxious, overthinking, beautiful brain of yours, now that he has it fuzzy and unfocused, so he keeps kissing, keeps sucking and biting, that spot just above your curls. He tongues your hip, and then the other side, your bottom half wonderfully bare before you can open your eyes. 

His shoulder bumps the back of your thigh as he stands up right, inhaling the sweat behind your knee, the pungent tang of your glistening curls, your almond butter body lotion. It’s hunger, he feels, but not a tangible hunger, one that can be so easily satiated. It’s not painful, or weakening – no, he is made stronger by it. He feels your blood pulse beneath his hand on your inner thigh as he opens you up and he’s made better by it. 

He kneels, a holy servant before the divine meal of their goddess, on shitty linoleum beneath harsh lights in a kitchen he can barely afford. 

Frankie takes your hand, kisses your knuckles, and slides your grip into his hair. 

“Recuérdame cómo te gusta, nena.” 

He eats. He consumes. He licks. He sucks. He slurps.

He tastes your dripping wetness on the seam of your cunt, before his tongue ever gets the chance to explore, to open, to divulge. He licks until he feels your breath hitch – a curse in the shape of his name, as if he needs scolding for making you feel so good – and then he opens his jaw and tongues your hole. 

In a lust-drunk haze you once told him he has something better than DSL – he has a pussy-eating nose. He prods you with that nose you can’t seem to get enough of, licking in as far as he can, coating himself in everything as it leaks out of you, and he moans as he can feel it on his chin. You vibrate with the sound and above him, your fingers clench down into his hair. 

“Oh, fuck, holy – fuck, Frankie–,” your trembling shakes the bowl of your hips, spilling his meal, so he sucks your clit in a way that makes your body freeze and then melt. You go limp, pliable, and gushing. He gets a few more moments of twisting and sucking and swallowing, until by the third time he puts his lips around your clit, you open-mouth whine and it’s like his body violently remembers he has a cock. He is seized with such a need to fuck you in this warm, wet place he’s dug out with his tongue, he doubles over and rests his teeth against your thigh. 

“Frankie, I’m so close,” you writhe, chest flushed and brow sweaty. 

Before you, he never knew sex could feel like this, could do this. Sure, he used sex to keep away those circling, vulture-like thoughts from time to time. But this, this drawing out and unthreading, unspooling, of himself and someone else, tearing at ego-drenched threads until all that was left was a being of pure want and desire – he didn’t know this was possible. 

He didn’t know he could feel like this.

One more broad lick, coating everything in what he hope fucking smells like him, and you arch, thighs shaking, his hair in danger of being ripped from his scalp. You gasp as you flatten, the first orgasm of the night rolling through you, sweat making your skin salty, as though you had been breached by the ocean. 

He laps you through it, of course, a nascent smirk on his face. 

You open your eyes to this self-satisfied Frankie, eyes only visible over the top of your cunt, and you whine. 

You reach for him and he goes, smearing your slick over your face, offering it to you in supplication on his tongue. He tastes your rising desperation, the way you sharpen your teeth against his lips, batter his tongue into the corner of his mouth, try to claim what your cunt already has. His hunger is an infection and your fever has reached a boiling point. 

Your trembling fingers curl his shirt up his back, passing over the ruddy scar on his shoulder where he got hit with a stray bullet, the jagged white line over his ribs where a knife nearly split him open. He used to only fuck with his shirt on. He doesn’t now. 

His shirt crumples to the floor as he sits up, you following, eyes dark, and you bite his pec muscle, your love for him twisting you into an anthropophagist. You want to consume him, like your pussy swallows his cock. Having him impale you is not enough; you want intercourse with him on a subatomic level. 

You inch back to give yourself enough space to unbutton his jeans and he sees the wet slick left behind on the table. The heat behind his groin shoots up his spine and he grunts, burying his face into your neck where he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth, hands planted on either side of you.

“Hurry, baby, I gotta fuck this pussy,” he whispers against the curve of your jaw. He wants to leave a giant purple bruise there, this instinct to claim, to mark, stoking the roiling heat at the base of his spine and drawing up his balls. 

But his attention snaps back to your hands when he hears a click, the release of his zipper is almost euphoric. He moans in relief, unable to see through his half-lidded eyes the explosion of goosebumps over your skin as his breath tumbles over your back and down your chest. 

His urgent hands overwhelm yours, one pushing his jeans down his hips, the other palming your stomach, pushing you back and you go willingly, but seemingly mesmerized by the sight of his aching, flushed cock springing up against his stomach. You lie down, but only barely, still on your elbows, as he tugs you by your ankles to the edge of the table. 

Your uneven breathing could mean a lot of things. He thought you were being complementary the first time you told him he was too big, but your eyes always widened at the sight of his cock. 

“Do you need to be opened up some more, cariño?” 

At his rawest, Spanish came out of him like a spilled bottle of molasses, sweet, slow, rich. 

“Hmm? Tell me what you need. Hable mas alto por favor.” He rubs your knees, your thighs, hoping you’ll ask for what he wants.

“F-fingers, Frankie,” you swallow, eyes still latched on to his now weeping cock. You glance up at him, face open and full of trust, and he feels his dick pulse. “Please, Frankie, put your fingers in me.” 

“Fucking anything.” He plants one hand and cups your mound, lost for a moment in the soaked curls, before pushing two fingers inside and thrusting. “I’ll fucking give you anything you want.” 

His hips jerking slightly in tandem with the pulse of his fingers, his slacked mouth an indication of how unconscious his humping has become, as he watches you dissolve with every stroke of his hand. God, he didn’t know they made things this pretty. His hand pushes your knee up and back, finding room for three fingers and your eyes roll back in your head. You scrabble for anything to hold onto, fingers searching for the ghosts of your bedsheets, but finding none, your arms curl over your head and latch onto the other edge of the table. You present your fucking tits to him like you’re letting him admire artwork. 

It almost brings him to his knees.

“Oh, I’m coming, oh, Frankie, I’m gonna –,”

He pulls out his fingers just enough to let you gush down his palm, his wrist, and he licks it up like a glutton. It drips a bit onto the linoleum and he smears it with his bare feet.

Frankie slides two fingers back in, his brain going fuzzy at being away from the clutch of your cunt for too long, when you grab his wrist. 

You can barely breathe, your skin a pale pink, your cunt no doubt must be sore, but your eyes are as hard as diamonds in your skull. He swallows the flush of spit in his mouth.  

“Now, Frankie,” you plead, fingers tight around his wet wrist, the hairs on his arm standing up at the sound of your commanding voice. “Fuck me, now, I need you inside of me.”

It always makes him a bit dumbstruck, the way you beg, the way you let him and only him see this side of you – this side of you that is sick with wanting.

His hand squeezes the base of his cock once, eyes fluttering, to remind himself he cannot blow his fucking load the instant the tip of him is inside you. He taps your clit, once, twice, lubing himself up as if he hadn’t moved around internal organs to make way for himself. He notches, then slides, white-knuckling his impending orgasm in favor of making this good for you. He steps farther between your legs, hands sliding from your thighs, up to your waist. He thumbs your nipple and your pussy twitches around him. He swears his heart flat out stops for a concerning length of time.

“How is a pussy this good all mine? All fucking mine?” He rolls his hips, pushing deeper, movements marionetted by the high-pitched whimpers and moans of your mouth. He could catalog every single one of them, has done so in the deep recesses of his brain, and it takes just a second to know when it switches from pleasure to pain. 

He bends over you, you choking on his dick, and kisses you hard, shattering the tense look on your face.  

“I love you,” he tells you, a secret that despite being well-known to anyone who sees him look at you, still feels precious and fragile. His hand plasters your hair to your sweaty neck as he kisses you desperately, speaking a language only you understand. “I love you so fucking much.” 

You sigh into his open mouth. “I wanna marry you, Fransisco Morales.” 

He is covered in gold. Dripping with it. 

His nails at your hip dig into your skin and you know exactly what you’ve done. 

“Say it. Say it louder, nena,” he snarls, face pressed into your cheek, and he thrusts forward with enough force to rock the table. The table legs squeak as you pin him to you one more time and nip at his ear. The last drop in the well, the rope slipping over the edge, the coil locked into place.

“I wanna fucking marry you.” 

With a breathy grunt, he yanks you down onto his cock by your waist and slaps your ass with his balls. It’s been a while since your cunt has taken a beating like this. You clutch at the edge of the table again, mouth torn open.

He knows you like it when he plays with your clit, and he will, but he needs to get this out of him. 

“Yeah? You’re gonna marry the guy who’s fucking your pussy so good right now?” It’s amazing that words escape at all through his gritted teeth, jaw taut. He watches as he disappears and reappears in you, your lips puffy and pink already but he needs more. He doesn’t want you to be able to walk out of bed tomorrow. 

“Yes, Frankie – oh, god, there, right there – yes, I’m gonna marry you.” He tips your hips up as he pounds down and you arch, crying out at the angle, the depth, how full you feel. He fucks like he’s trying to bruise your ribcage through your pussy. 

The thoughts in his head collide with the others, knotting together, blurring, until the only noise he can make, the only thing he can verbalize is the tight grunts, the hm, hm, hm, as he focuses on chasing this fire. 

He feels it approach so fast, he’s nearly taken under by the intensity of his orgasm so he slows, grinds instead, and with his eyes on your face, he cups himself around where he’s split you open, feeling your lips suck in and out with every thrust. 

He closes his eyes briefly, helpless against the waves of arousal that coat his fingers. He smears your clit with his thumb and his name is a split, jagged thing that burns your tongue. He wants that taste on his tongue again. 

You throb once, a sharp climax warming your pussy, and he backs out, drops to his knees, and licks you up again. He can taste his sweat there this time and he groans. His hands slip over your skin from the sweat in the crease of your thigh.

The cries from your mouth are wet now, on the curve of a salty tongue. You tremble like your orgasm is a physical thing, thrumming under your skin, warming your blood and you claw at his forearm. 

“B-baby, please–,” 

Wiping his mouth on your inner thigh, then licking up the mess he made, Frankie stands. He swats your bottom lightly, tutting. He’s a mad man, he knows it, he can’t tell if it's delirium from the rough ache of his balls or masochistic joy in hearing you beg, but again he rubs himself through your folds. It’s not the same, not nearly enough, but it helps last just a bit longer. 

“No crying until after I’ve made you come.” 

“I’ve already come twice,” you whine as you buck your hips, trying to take him in deeper. “You said I can have anything I want.” 

“And what does princesa want?” Yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with him. 

Your eyes flash as your nails dig into his shoulders, that fire he so loves to stoke flaring out.

“I want to come on your cock, Mr. Morales.”

And he unravels, divinity calling his name. 

His pace is slow, then rough, then deep. 

The table is just the right height. He balances on knee on the lip, bending your knees over his shoulders, and fucking down into you. He’s going to snap you in fucking half and maybe he does but he’ll be there to seal you back up again. 

Pour himself into you. Fill you. Make you whole once more. 

Baby, please.

The first drip of tears starts out the corner of your eyes as you come, open-mouthed, throat exposed, a cry loud and in the shape of his name tearing from your lips, your body locking up, cunt squeezing him until he feels himself burst. 

With a shudder and a groan, he spills, hot and flush into you. He comes, and comes, and comes, until his gooey spend is forced out of you and down the crack of your ass. He can’t see anything past the white spark in his eyes, feel anything but you and the tingle of his limbs. 

The excess of you and him is everywhere, leaking out onto the kitchen table, soaking the wood. There’s a ringing in his ears he can’t quiet. 

Your breath is hot on his neck, sweaty skin stuck tightly against his, he knows he’s crushing you, his arms given out at some point, but he really doesn’t think he can stand up right. He kisses your cheek by way of apology and thanks but you don’t seem to mind, your own gaze unfocused on the ceiling. 

“Fuck, Frankie . . .”

He laughs, realizes his legs aren’t working, so trembling and uneasy, he slides out of you and manages to make it to the floor. He blames the sudden dizziness on a lack of food and then blames the dizziness for lying down on the floor. 

His eyes flutter and somehow you’re suddenly curled up next to him, your palm resting over his pounding heart. His fingers find their way up into your sweat-damp hair, thumb gently rubbing against the knot at the base of your skull. 

“Your back is gonna be killing you in about fifteen minutes, sweetheart,” you grumble sleepily into his chest, a grin on your face. 

“I can’t feel anything below my waist right now.” He yawns. “So, we’ve got some time.” 

You nod, absentmindedly stroking the dark hair on his chest. 

“We need to talk about Pope’s birthday party this weekend. Will put us on drink duty . . . but I can’t really focus on anything right now.”

“Good,” he smirks with his eyes shut. “That was some of my best work.” And then he frowns. “You need to eat.” He pokes your side and you huff.

“Okay, if you’re awake enough to berate me, we can at least go to bed.” 

Groaning, you pull him up and he threatens to stumble you both into the wall, but he kisses your cheek and swats your ass, before snagging a tub of ice cream and a spoon. He meets you in the bedroom with the cap off and a smear of chocolate around his lips. 

You’ve got one of his shirts, grinning up at him from the center of the bed, and he’s torn about whether he likes you in his boxers, or nothing at all. 

You take the ice cream from him before he has a chance to flop down on the bed. 

“Not exactly a nutritious meal,” you mutter around the spoon and he turns his face from the pillow to glare at you. 

“That’s the other dinner I made for you, so eat.” 

Your giggle is all you can give to show your thanks.

He rolls onto his back, groaning theatrically, before tucking his hand behind his head, and his fingers coming to rest on his stomach. 

Behind the lids of his eyes, he can feel you watching him.

“What?” He grumbles, feeling around for your foot to pinch your ankle. He hears you move so he knows he’s close. “Not the right flavor, princesa?”

“No,” you laugh and prod his hip with your toe. “It’s just . . .”

His eyes open, finding yours in the half-lit gloom. You’re grinning the spoon in your mouth, eyes bright with something unnameable. You shrug, eying his hand between you both.

“I just never knew Fransisco Morales could be domesticated.” 

He wipes the chocolate off your chin with his thumb.

Yeah, who knew?

[doodledork01]

Fucked around; tried seeing what would happen if Kenny and Knifey somehow had a child, and here we are! I made the little ankle-biter in Gacha Life 2. You can draw her in your style, if ya want! (if you don't know what to do with her; you can make something where she meets her grandma; kenny's dad, for the first time?)

Name: Sydney

Age: [Unknown; you're allowed to make it convenient to the storyline ya got goin]

Species: Gatlian Cross-Breed (currently unknown to me whatever the hell Knifey is)

Gun/Gatlian Variant (currently undiscovered; until now): Grappling Hook

Personality: Skittish, and rather talkative; once you get her to open up. She has crippling anxiety that her friends might ditch her at the slightest mistake she makes. She's rather optimistic; trying to see the bright-side of things. However; due to one of her fathers being from a species biologically equipped for murder; she's extremely volatile! A ticking time-bomb, if you will. She's actually really nice, and it's easy for her to tell if something's wrong; a good companion if you need someone to talk to.

Use; if she was present in-game: Makes getting around dense forestry much easier, and the hooks can actually pierce a material if it's soft enough. Can't really pierce more than flesh or cardboard; due to Sydney still being young. If equipped; she increases the range at which enemies can be heard; you can hear chittering, when she hears a potential threat; warning the player to tread carefully. Her hooks can clasp together; forming a spear-like thing, impaling the enemy, and drag the enemy closer; whilst eliminating half of their health; if they're just a grunt. She'll often spew random facts about the local Flora and Fauna; which'll actually come in handy later. Some plants can be used to heal the players & gatlians involved, possibly upgrade the suit, and even aid in weakening mini-bosses/legitimate bosses.

Extra Information: She fucking hates how people will think she'll be nothing more than a ruthless killer; merely because of who one of her parents are. She's actually scarily intelligent for her age, and she's friendly! However; one of her fathers (knifey) tries to encourage her to embrace the killer instinct. She (respectfully) rejects that, and she's trying to be peaceful. Sydney has a habit of being jittery when she's nervous, and being talkative.

Academics (Social Life, and Grades): She's socially awkward, and gets really happy when someone doesn't pick on her for not being a pure-blooded Gatlian, or is just willing to listen to her rant about exotic plants. Her interest in plants is why she took her school's Agricultural Program up! However; speaking of her getting picked on... She doesn't want to tell her dads; because she knows that Knifey might turn a school-day into a fucking masacre if anyone hurt his baby. She actually pulls A's and B's; except in math, as her math teacher is a little bit of a bitch (and math sucks for me to).

She only has one close friend; the person she's friends with is actually fairly well-known; due to them winning multiple art competitions.

This is really good! I’m not doing any free requests right now, so I probably won’t draw it, but you did a great job creating the character, keep it up!