#iris murdock

[entertainingsimmer]

It's giving ✨gothic goddess✨

[pixelmoon-simmer]

Iris @piratepxls

[postersbykeith]

[rebar2042]

Short Murdock and Chase comics?(These are two different situations.)

Recently thinking about Chase(Former IRIS guard) and Murdock(Bat monster thing)

[theknightmarket]

I still think about Chase Me a lot and it.

Hmgh. 🙏

Not a lot of Murdock content that goes into his potential motives.

"You're a special case."

In which Murdock's cat and mouse chase comes to an end. TW: cursing, mention of murder Pages: 16 - Words: 6,500

[Requests: OPEN]

They got him.

They got him.

They’d trapped him in a corner and wrapped the cuffs around his wrists. He was sitting in a cell, chained to the desk, waiting to be interrogated.

If they hadn’t called you, you would have forced your way into the police department anyway, regulations be damned. But they were smart, or maybe they just remembered the last time you were kept from the end of your case – either way, you had been writing up a very particular, very private report when your phone began to ring. You nearly didn’t answer it, too determined to finish off the last paragraph of the page before someone could interrupt, but it buzzed once, twice, thrice, and then you grabbed the thing and pressed the call button. Your mouth hung open at the half-way point of a cursing out when the officer who called you spurted out the very words that kept ringing through your head like a church bell.

They got him.

They had captured the Serotonin Serial Killer, and he was waiting in interrogation room C to be questioned by a detective. You made the forty-five-minute drive into twenty, flashed your badge at the receptionist, and didn’t say a word to anyone as you dashed through the hallways of the bustling building. Officers pressed themselves against the wall to avoid being barreled into, knowing you were on the warpath just from the look on your face. Though, it was no secret where you were headed. Your little stint with the man of the hour was kept between the two of you, but people had picked up on your sudden determination to solve the cases. When you worked sixteen-hour shifts, whispers took your place in leaving your office building and returning to your apartment. Rumors spread, some nice, some rude, all patents of the news agency; apparently one of his victims was your sister or uncle or second cousin thrice removed, because it gave you a motive and you were obviously the most important in the case to grant one. Never mind the guy slitting the public’s throats, the detective who was doing their job had to have a personal reason.

But your gripes with the press and other detectives were nothing you were focused on; distantly, you heard the taps of your shoes against the clean tiles towards the room, the times new-roman C blazing against the white wallpaper outside of a locked door.

You opened it without a second thought.

“It’s you.”

“You sound surprised, sweetheart.”

Murdock sat there, as you expected, chained, as you expected, grinning from ear to ear, as you expected. You imagined he was the first to be smiling so wide in the cold steel of a police chair, bound to the table in front of him. He was still adorned in his usual outfit, a red turtleneck and black trench coat, with blood splatters barely noticeable even in the scrutinous glaring of energy-efficient lights. The only thing that put you ill at ease was the crack in his sunglasses. It brewed a pit in the bottom of your stomach as your thoughts fled to assumptions that only helped to deepen it.

But you didn’t verbalize your suspicions that someone had put a hand on the man before you, the only indication that it crossed your mind being the heightening of your shoulders and an overtaking scowl. Instead, you simply locked the door behind you and dropped into the chair across from him. “You got caught,” you stated bluntly, his eyes following your descent, and it felt wrong to be able to see part of his iris.

“I did,” Murdock admitted. “Well done, you cuffed me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

You couldn’t keep the venom out of your tone, but you didn’t entirely want to. What you wanted to do was find the officer who caught him, ask them how they did it, and then find out exactly how his glasses got shattered so you could repay the favor. You assumed the plan came from your innate distaste of the police force and the rest of the detectives – you relied on the idea so that the thought could pass your mind without worry for the real sentiment behind it. And it almost did.

Murdock, helpfully, brought it back. “Jealous that you’re not the only detective in my life?”

“And if I am?”

“I’d appreciate it.” Damn his charming smile. He leaned forward in his seat, balancing his head on one of his hands, and flashed his grin at you like some kind of reward. It made you tense up, aided by the chill of the metal chair but by no means outweighed by it. You didn’t like this. The uncertainty of your emotions. In your last encounter, you were so certain of your anger towards him and his constant evading of capture, and yet there you were, with the man himself in front of you and definitely captured, fighting a losing battle against your own mind to convince yourself you weren’t swayed by him.

“Good thing I’m not, then.” You ignored the spark in Murdock’s eyes that hinted at his doubt. “How’d you get caught?”

“I killed somebody.” You almost laughed. It wasn’t as though he would be in the same room as you for shoplifting given his track record, but you let him continue without interruption, “Jemimah Pims. Fraud. I got spotted going into her office by a receptionist.”

You knew the name. Pims was big in public service chains that weren’t fast-food; she’d always hated the things, so she pulled a complete 180 and threw herself into high-class wine bars and five-star restaurants. Go figure, she didn’t start those businesses with legal money in her pocket, and that was where Murdock came in. The issue was that you didn’t believe that was his place. You’d seen him take revenge for affairs, prejudiced, miscarriages of justice – not money laundering. And getting a witness?

He must have misinterpreted your skeptical expression, because he followed himself up with, “She’s perfectly fine. Probably clearing up a couple of meetings that are going to go unattended.”

That didn’t help quell your suspicions. Of course, the receptionist was indeed alive, she had been the one to report him, after all, but that wasn’t the part you doubted.

“Let me rephrase that; why’d you get caught?”

You hit the nail on the head. The missing shard of his glasses was enough for you to see his iris, and that was enough for you to see his true feelings. That must have been why he kept them on so much, but they weren’t helping him now. Any excuse he might have made was wiped off the drawing board, and he knew that, too.

Almost reluctantly, he answered, “You’ve been awfully busy lately.”

“You can’t just kill someone because you want attention.” You interrupted a useless continuation that he didn’t even get to start. Of course, you had been busy in recent weeks, but that meant you had enough on your plate already without him piling it sky high.

A few days after your interaction on the roof of the theater, you were handed a case file from the higher-ups. Manila folder, top secret stamp, the whole cliché that made you want to bash your head into your desk. Your actual desk, mind you, the one that had been slightly bloodied by James Pratt. Everything was cleared up relatively fast, the funeral was scheduled for two months’ time, and you were back to work like it had never happened, like there was never a body of a friend draining into the floorboards. That folder, though, pushed it further back into the recesses of your mind; it was a political assassination attempt that you were shocked it landed on your task list. However, it was definitely there, and it was definitely high up on the list, so much so that you barely had time for yourself, let alone the serial killer watching you from another office building’s fourth floor. You supposed that Murdock reached his boiling point quicker than you.

One of your hands leapt to the bridge of your nose while the other ran through your hair. This job was pure stress without a serial killer giving you bodies because he wanted you to look at him.

“It worked, didn’t it?”

He stretched out his hands in an attempt at a shrug, but the cuffs limited how far his dramatics could go. To compensate, he brought his ankles up to cross them over the table. You could already feel the headache brewing, and the incompetence of the cops around you was certainly not helping. Hadn’t they read a single guidebook or, hell, watched a crime movie? It didn’t have to be one of the good ones, either, for them to figure it out that the criminal needed to be chained by the arms and legs to the table. You were so, so close to wringing someone’s neck – whether that was Murdock or the incompetent police. Really, anyone within a twenty-foot radius was at risk.

But you couldn’t, no matter how much your hands itched at the thought. Instead, you took a long, deep breath, in and out and in and out. A pitiful chuckle bubbled up in your throat. “Jealous that you’re not the only serial killer in my life?” you asked, somewhere between sarcastic and genuine.

“Yes.”

Too bad.

“So, what now?” you asked, to which you only got a raised eyebrow in response. “You’re in a police station, Serotonin.” His pout became more noticeable. “How do you plan to get out of this one?”

“Who says I plan to get out of it?”

“You wouldn’t sacrifice your entire career to get some one-on-one time with me. You’re not stupid.”

There was a glint of pride peeking out from the edge of the sunglasses. The rest reflected back onto him, but it was enough for you to see, notice, and feel the rush of blood to your cheeks and ears. Your moral compass told you it was wrong, behind wrong, to be happy with his silent praise, but that thing was long since broken. You wouldn’t trust it to tell you the ethics of kicking a child into the road to stop a wayward fruit cart.

“Hmm, well, as much as I’d like to, you’re right; I can’t just abandon it all for one person, no matter how gorgeous they are.” You had half a mind to find an ice bucket to dunk yourself in. If only to yourself, you would admit you didn’t get complimented often – on your work or otherwise. It wasn’t for a lack of anything, but the general verdict wherever you went was to never initiate conversation unless someone didn’t like the look of their head on their shoulders. It happened often in the detective department, and that was where you spent the majority of your time – the rest was in your apartment, alone and whiling away hours until you got back to work.

But you weren’t allowed to dwell on that depressing thought for much long, before Murdock started talking again, leaning as far back into his chair as the cuffs let him go. “There are moles in the police, sweetheart,” he teased, “you said it yourself. Not one person here can’t be bought or blackmailed. The boys standing outside this two-way mirror, for example.” He turned to smile in the direction of that very mirror. You couldn’t see the officers outside, obviously, but you could imagine them sweating through their blue jackets, not only because they were caught but because Murdock had that look. The one that told whoever he was staring at that this would be their last day, like making eye contact with the grim reaper. Except instead of a bleached skull and hollow pits, he was a beautiful masterpiece come to coax you into the ‘sweet embrace of death’, as the saying went.

“I can taste the corruption from here. It didn’t take long to find out about the affairs and gambling.”

“I thought your whole thing was indiscriminatory vigilante justice. Moles don’t count?”

Vividly, the body of Pratt sprang to your mind. Still warm on the floor of your office. Head turned so that his check was mashed into against the grain. Eyes glassy like a frosted window.

Even though his gaze returned to you, you felt his words pierce the air as knives thrown to the mirror. “Oh, they do. I’ll kill them when I’m done here.”

Murdock was happy with himself. Proud of his work that rewarded him with this scene – two police officers paling from behind a wall, a detective sitting across him wearing a blush and a scowl, and himself haphazardly chained to the table. He wouldn’t have traded it for anything else. He sometimes, on the days when things were, the days when he was positioning old bodies or stalking new ones, when he had time to himself, he wondered what it the outcome would have been had it not been you assigned to his case. He couldn’t imagine the boredom; he didn’t give a damn about the press or the public, whether they were scared of him or in awe. When he first started this whole thing, he hadn’t even cared about the people chasing him, and, mostly, he still didn’t. But then there was you. A grizzled detective with a chip on their shoulder and enough experience with the law to sate thirty juniors. Murdock loved his job, but you made it that little bit more interesting.

Only, he could have done without your next question.

“Do I count?”

His head shifted to stare directly at you, his shattered focus pulled into one place, your expression of curiosity, doubt, a tinge of daring.

You continued, that tell-me-I’m-wrong look overtaking the rest of the emotions, “I let you get away with de Gaille and Lochlin. Doesn’t that make me a killer by association?”

Technically, he supposed it did. After all, he’d killed people for less. However, that wasn’t meant to be your ending. You weren’t supposed to be a pig on a hook in the butcher’s backroom.

“You’re a special case, love.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to help me get out.”

Your immediate thought was to resist. Mouth open to tell him a stern no and legs ready to storm from the room, you were sure Murdock saw, but he didn’t act. He just watched as your shoulders heightened and your grimace deepened. He just watched as you stayed seated, though the discomfort showed. 

“Your boys can’t do that?” you asked.

He shook his head. “They’re at the window because two officers have to be. They won’t go near me with a ten-foot pole, or without a foot of concrete between us.” A light chuckle bled into his words, accompanied by the flash of an eye and the corner of his lip perking up. “You, though, have been much, much closer. And you have nothing for me to play on, except for a little bit of affection.”

“Affection, is that what it is?” the scoff escaped you before you processed his words, and it was just as well. You didn’t want a serial killer to know he was – on the most basic level and not even that much and only if you wanted to actually define it and you certainly didn’t – correct. You did feel something for the man sitting before you, leaning casually back in the steel chair of the interrogation room, but you wouldn’t admit it aloud.

“Romantic, sexual, aesthetic, whatever your attraction is. It stops you from letting me fry, as you like to put it.”

“It stops me from letting you die, but that’s where it ends. Locking you up, I’m fine with that.” You were getting faster, pitifully desperate to prove to him, to yourself, to the two officers standing outside that you were not tied to him in any way. You had no reservations about keeping him behind bars. Despite that, it wasn’t the thought at the forefront of your mind – pride and place belonged to the reassurance that it wasn’t that simple. For one second, you assumed that you did enjoy his company and looking at him and his charismatic whisperings that set something aflame in your heart. You still couldn’t abandon everything to run after this maniac. You couldn’t. You couldn’t.

“Are you?”

Were you?

A horrible feeling of dread washed over you, thrown to-and-fro in the rush of the river Styx, your lungs filled with water, and you struggled to keep afloat. It wasn’t that simple. It couldn’t be. There were so many other factors at play. Your life, his life, his job, shit, your job. You were a detective sent to wrap the handcuffs around Murdock’s wrists.

As if he sensed your crumbling façade of calm, he pushed, “You’ll have to pick a side, of course.” You hated to admit it, but the choice would be easy, if you could convince yourself to acknowledge that you did have a choice. Left or right. You didn’t have to consider the nuance of it all, no matter how much you wanted to. The answer your heart made for you blazed in your mind, but trails of fog tried to cover it with questions and consequences.

“Sitting on the fence isn’t an option.” His tone was strangely gentle, like coaxing an injured animal from their hiding place. “If you let me out or if you lug me to a cell yourself, I’ll know where you stand. Hell, I’ll even give you a week to change your mind. But you can’t just leave and wash your hands of it all.”

Responsibility. That was the thing at the crux of his decisions. Who lived and who died all depended on responsibility. The corrupt decided their own sentences when they played both sides off against each other. Police and aristocracy, politicians and the church. The hypocrites were the ones with their necks on the block, and Murdock wielded the axe. He hoped that you would see that, and maybe, if you wanted to, find a handle for yourself.

The distance between the two of you seemed to close. The desk turned to mist. The walls around you felt as though they’d constricted without you noticing.

“Think about it, love.” You didn’t need to think, that was the worst part. “You can go back to your boring job where you aren’t respected or cared about, and you can file reports about a teenager’s accidental arson while the bigger cases are picked off by fat cats who just want the reputation and money.” You didn’t need to be convinced. “Or you can come with me and use justice how it should be used. How you want to use it.”

Heart thundering in your chest so loud you thought it might burst – but then you wouldn’t have to make a decision so maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad – the rest of your body stayed paralyzed with fear. Not of Murdock, of course not, but of the fact that you wanted to go with him. In a split second, you’d made your choice, and you didn’t need his fancy words to encourage it. You weren’t some injured animal, you were a detective who had lost faith in the system, leaving only a struggle with your morals and upbringing to contest with, two things that were fading fast from your mind.

Meanwhile, Murdock struggled with the twitch of his hand that compelled him to comfort you. He had never been a sympathetic person – most murderers weren’t – but he didn’t like this look on you. At least, he liked it much less than the vivid rage you so often sported, particularly when it was for him. This was a distressed look that he didn’t mean to cause. Give him the fireworks and the explosions and the sparks, not the earthquakes that rocked the very place he stood and threatened to knock him off his feet entirely. Deep in his chest, he wanted to exchange that expression for anything else, but he found him options vastly limited by the cuffs. His mouth dropped open, seconds away from offering kind words, but they had done enough.

Luckily, that enough was in the direction that he wanted.

You didn’t speak as you got up from your chair and walked to the door. You lifted your hand but switched courses quickly, aiming not for the handle but for the ring of keys hanging on the wall next to it. One of them would unlock the handcuffs. One of them would set Murdock free and damn you to a life of crime in one movement. You had witnesses, after all, and your own conscience wouldn’t let you be a traitor to either side.

When you were close enough, he reached out to you. A hand caressed down your arm as far as the metal would let him go. His contact sparked against your skin while the clang of the cuffs hitting the table rang out in the room like a church bell. When he was free, he did the most unexpected thing you would ever believe he chose to do.

Murdock wrapped an arm around your waist and shifted the hand that was on your arm around your shoulder. He was surprisingly cozy, like a warm-blooded animal, in the din of the interrogation room. As you stood frozen, half from his action and half from the reality of your own setting in, he tightened his grip and dipped his head into the crook of your neck.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he mumbled, words muted by his closeness to you, but you didn’t mind. You didn’t mind one bit. In fact, slowly, you drew your arms around him, too. 

“When we get home, we’re talking about this.”

He pulled back at that, barely enough for you to properly hear his question of, “Home?”

It went unanswered, but he had already gotten a sentence out of you, and that was much more than he could had ever expected. You propped your hands against his chest to subtly move him further from you, eyes cast down and expression downcast.

“Stay here.”

He followed your order easily, considering it was just him standing in the room while you left into the hallway. Both of you knew it would take just one turn of the key to lock him inside, a couple of steps to tell someone that he needed to be locked up as soon as possible, a quick course of action that would relieve you of all your guilt. Murdock wouldn’t hold you to it, because you still chose a side. It just wouldn’t be the one he wanted.

When you returned with a hat and jacket – and, unbeknownst to him, the image of those two officers paralyzed with fear seared into your mind’s eye – he felt his shoulders relax and a pleasant smile take over his lips. Pleasant wasn’t a word often used to describe anything to do with Murdock, but you had a strange way of breaking the norms, and he didn’t mind it one bit. He even let you manipulate his arms like a doll into the flimsy material before you dropped the cap onto his head. It dipped over his forehead slightly, so you adjusted it until you could just see his eyes out of the shadow.

“You don’t say a word until we’re out of this building and into my car,” you ordered, and Murdock thought it best to acquiesce. It was the least he could do after this whole situation that he put you in.

Briefly, he nodded. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He had.

But the next course of action was simple; you left the keys on the hook as you opened the door, unceremoniously shoved Murdock by the shoulder into the hallway, and lead him into the entrance. You had never been more appreciative of the other officers’ reactions to you. Seeing them jump out of your direct path like they’d been set on fire was good for you, if not practically – given you were escorting a serial killer out of the precinct – then emotionally. Nobody tried to look at the man in step by your side, mostly because they were too afraid to cast their gaze anywhere near you. Before, you might have felt disappointed at the reaction, but, if Murdock was right, they were no better than you.

You really hoped he was right.

You made it to your car promptly, and he was soon to round the hood to get into the passenger seat while you swung the driver’s door open. You almost drove off without looking in your back seat, your hand still on the keys in your ignition when you noticed the pile of equipment in the middle of the bench. Duct-tape, zip-ties and lo-and-behold, your original gun. It was as clean as the day Murdock had taken it from you.

Speaking of – you turned to look at the man next to you, who wore the most sheepish expression you would have imagined fit on him.

 “Seriously?” you asked.

“I wanted to be prepared in case you put up a fight.”

“You were going to kidnap me?”

“Only for a day or two.” Your eyes narrowed, and he took that as a sign to rush to his own defense. “Just long enough for you to come around. I would never kill you.”

How comforting. It was weird that the thought was half-genuine; you were indeed glad that he had never planned on ending your life.

Sarcastic or not, you muttered a, “thanks,” as you pulled out from your parking space and started the journey home.

Murdock was a surprisingly quiet travelling companion. You expected him to be chatting your ear off about his latest kills, their crimes, their lives, their deaths, etcetera, etcetera. The only thing noise he made, though, was his humming along to the radio’s soft rock. Some instrumental had him tapping his fingers along the window’s edge in its rhythm. If you hadn’t been driving away from a police interrogation, it might have been sweet. And even if you were…

But the magic didn’t last forever. You pulled into your apartment’s parking lot, the three scuffed paint lines amongst those alleyway dumpsters and loose beer cans constituting for one, and you turned off the engine. You didn’t live in a nice part of town, you knew that, and you weren’t ashamed. Sure, you spent most of your time in your office, but that wasn’t because you were embarrassed to live in the building. It was just easier for you, to the point that your apartment was more of a second home, like the grandparents’ that you used to spend every second Wednesday at.

You locked your car door when you were out, then made your way to Murdock’s side.

“This is your place?” he asked, shutting his own door behind him.

“What, you’ve never seen it before?”

“I steered clear of your intimate life.”

The image of the equipment that was still in your backseat had you raising an eyebrow. “Oh, that’s where you draw the line?”

“I didn’t want to rush it.” You didn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes, nor did you stop yourself from grabbing Murdock’s hand and tugging him towards the front of the building. From the outside, it looked like your standard run-down-rat-dream, but you’d taken the liberty of sprucing up your own rooms. It lessened the fear in your heart about showing your new partner – in crime.

Said man shot a look down to your hands. “No, I much prefer you doing this out of your own volition.”

The lobby of your building served its purpose. It had a reception table, a door to the breaker box and other things up-keep, and a staircase that led to the rest of the floors. There was only one other door on this level, which was for the owner’s place, but he was either hardly ever there or rotting on his couch, based on how little you saw of him. Another plus was that there were no cameras, but that was only a positive for right now. You would certainly be more worried about smuggling in a murderer had there been sufficient security measures.

So, with the ease of this mission, you took Murdock up to your apartment relatively easily. The other occupants of the building stayed put in their rooms as you went up the steps, before you stopped on the fifth floor. It took a second for you to fish your keys out of your pocket, but, when you had and you’d twisted them into the lock, Murdock let out a little whistle.

You were proud of the work you’d done to fix the place up. When you had first bought it, it was more of a trash dump than a living space – you hadn’t made it three steps without tripping on a bunch of tied up newspapers, which got you into the immediate mindset for clearing it up. The cleaning was over by the first day, the repairs by the third, and the refurbishment by the end of the week. All on your dime, mind you, but you were fine with that. It just meant that if and when you moved out, you would take everything with you.

Now, it was made into an actual home with crimson wallpaper, a plush couch, a bookcase in the corner and, the thing that Murdock took most notice of, an empty fish tank.

You closed the door behind Murdock as he sashayed to the centre of your front room.

“I didn’t see you as a fish owner,” he commented.

“I’m not.” You hung your jacket on the rack beside you. “Never spent enough time here to look after them.”

It was a sad tale you never liked to tell. Three betta fish and two weeks at the office was the most you let slip when people asked.

But, instead of asking, Murdock flopped back onto the cushions behind him and tucked his hands underneath his head. “Cozy.”

You were able to see his closed eyes when you sat on the coffee table. He looked peaceful, if you could ever call him peaceful. For a moment, you thought he might have checked out early and fell asleep.

His voice nearly startled you, but it only made you squint your eyes and cross your arms on your knees. “You wanted to talk,” he prompted.

“What’s the arrangement now?”

“I assume this is a one-bedroom and I don’t like sleeping on the couch.” He opened his eyes only to wink with the one you could see between the cracks of the glass.

You admonished him firmly. “Murdock.” For you, this was a turning point in your entire life. You didn’t believe in that second chance after death – not that you imagined you would get a good one after this – so you needed to make this count.

“There we go,” he whispered, a smug tone made by you finally saying his real name aloud.

As much as you’d like to continue his banter, easier now that you could actually talk to him in the privacy of your own home, you needed to be secure in your thought process. “Am I quitting my job?”

“Yes.” Blunt, but effective. That was better for you. “But you still have a week to mull it over. Not that I think you’ve made the wrong choice—” His hand jumped back to where it had once been in yours, “—You can do more work out here than you ever could as a detective.”

Whether that was true or not, you both believed it. Murdock had since his first kill, and you were steadily getting further and further from the fence.

“So, I’m joining you.”

“If you feel so inclined.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Whatever you like.”

“You’re being vague.”

“Sweetheart, this is your life.” As if to punctuate his point, he brought you closer by your hand. Your heart thudded in your chest while the memories from your first one-on-one flooded back. “You can come out stalking with me or go off on your own.”

Deep breath in, deep breath out. He was right. You assured yourself that, yes, this was your life. And you’d chosen to spend it taking the law into your own hands.

Now, your questions were for the simple act of asking questions. You needed time to process it, and listening to Murdock talk was surprisingly helpful. “Then why pull me off the force?”

“I saw what they were doing with you. You told me. I certainly won’t take credit for your work, and you’re not restrained by paperwork or legalities. I just wanted to open you up to more effective opportunities.” He leaned closer, almost out of his seat. “And, as much as I’ve loved our game of cat and mouse, it’s hard to carry on a relationship when you run the risk of shooting me anytime we meet. Although, I do love the danger. Complicated, isn’t it?”

“Not really.”

When you’d first become a detective, you would have never imagined that your career would end like this. Shot in the line of duty, punched a higher up, retired at a nice, old age to a farm in the countryside. Those were the scenarios you’d thought up all those years ago. And yet, you liked this outcome. It filled you with some kind of excitement when you thought about finally dealing with the other detectives you’d seen. And Murdock, oh, Murdock, he was your favorite part.

That was why you didn’t need any encouragement to dive forward and connect your lips with his. He was immediately receptive to the kiss, using his hand to pull you towards him. All the stress of joining a murderer melted away with the contact. Sparks danced along your skin where he drew his other hand from your arm to your shoulder to your neck. Undoubtably, you were touch-starved, you’d known that for a while, and that made the fire grow quicker than you thought it would. The dance you’d been doing with each other for months was nothing in comparison to the dance of your lips. It was less infuriating for you, and more prideful for Murdock. The little sounds that escaped your mouth as you shifted to get more comfortable gave him a boost to his ego that he really didn’t need. Still, he smiled while you pushed deeper. 

This was his prize. You would never admit it, but Murdock knew that you knew that he won. He wasn’t sitting pretty in a cell, he was sitting pretty on your couch, with a view, not of iron bars, but of a gorgeous detective who had practically pledged their life to him. He leaned back just an inch to breath, letting you do the same, in order to get a good look at you.

The breath was worth nothing when you knocked it out of him, anyway. Disheveled was a good look on you.

“I’ve made my choice,” you muttered, “and I don’t intend on going back on it now.” That statement made his heart quicken, more than fleeing any crime scene could ever cause.

His curiosity was piqued when you straightened your back and looked towards the bookcase.

You got to your feet as you said, “Oh, that means I can show you something.”

Murdock watched you rush to where you were looking. You grazed a hand across the dusty surface, eyes skipping through the spines to find the thing you were searching for. When you turned around again, Murdock saw not a book, as he would have guessed, but a manilla folder.

After your rooftop meeting, you had done some research. You used to tell yourself it was to keep tabs on the other detectives, so that you could possibly guess who Murdock would go after first. Now, you admitted that it was just to dig up some dirt.

You fell back next to Murdock on the couch, bringing a foot onto the coffee table. The folder was tossed open in your hands by the weight of the papers inside, and there were a lot of them, each separated with a tab. One name, one last name, was written per tab.

It didn’t take long for him to figure out what this was.

“Oh, I love you,” he sighed as he flipped through some of the documents. It was a dream come true for him. The background check was the most boring part of the process, he much preferred the chase. With you, he had gotten all of his information from talking to you, and he only stayed entertained because it was you. In your hands was the golden ticket to avoid all of that messy business.

Murdock was so happy that you chased him.

“I love you, too,” you replied, bringing a hand up to grab at his jawline. If it were any other moment, he might have teased you, but he was too busy falling in love with you, as if the cat and mouse schtick hadn’t been enough for him already. He was looking forward to getting your claws back. 

“So,” he whispered into the minimal gap between you, “Pierce or Vanderbilt first?”

You dropped your head, hitting his lips with a light laugh. It was the first time that you wondered what your life had become in a grateful sense.

[I don't actually think that this was a request, but I also think of Murdock way too much to only have one fic about him. Hence... you get this. I hope you enjoyed <3!]

[screechingmusicstarfish]

Why is nobody making a anipoke and amourshipping pmd au? Fine if you don’t wanna make it I’ll do it myself anyways here’s what main characters of anipoke would be if they were in my Pokémon mystery dungeon au feel free to draw my au if you like I really would appreciate it

Anyways here’s what Pokémon that the anipoke characters would be in my Pokémon mystery dungeon au

Ash: pikachu

Serena: meowth

Misty: Psyduck that evolves into Golduck

Jessie: Arbok

James: Haunter

Brock: Sandslash

Tracy: Scyther

May: Zigzagoon that evolves into a Linoone

Max: Poochyena

Drew: A male Roselia

Dawn: Buneary

Iris: Axew

Clian: Pansage

Clemont: Bunnelby

Bonnie: Tyrunt

Korrina: Mienfoo that evolves into Mienshao

Alain: mega Charizard X

Mairin: Chespin

Mallow: Steenee

Kiawe: Turtonator

Lana: Wishiwashi

Sophocles: Togedemaru

Lillie: Alolan Vulpix

Gou: zorua

Chloe: Galarian Ponyta

Liko: Oshawott

Ann: Sprigatito

Friede: A white Bombirdier

Murdock: Machamp

Orla: female Blaziken with her hair colours

Mollie: Chansey

Ludlow: Drampa

Roy: Fuecoco

That’s about it until New main characters are introduced that is but that will be a Long time so anyways what do you think of it I worked really hard on it is it really good? would you like to change anything? if so what would it be? I won’t get mad at you I promise

For those who are confused as to why Serena is a meowth, The reason is that this is also an au of my team Rocket Serena au in this au Serena joins team Rocket and stays with them until Ash saves Pikachu from falling which makes Serena have second thoughts on joining team rocket so she decides to leave them and go on her own journey and to follow Ash, Clemont and Bonnie and once she does catch up to them ash doesn’t trust her Until she gives him his handkerchief back Which reminds him of all of their memories they had together in Professor Oak’s summer camp and then she joins them And everything goes same as usual except she has a Meowth Who is friends with Pikachu and anything that happens after a Kalos it’s completely different so wait for a post on that, please

[wallflower-koharu]

pokemon characters and MBTI

(this is just a draft, and it may change)

Liko: INFP or INFJ

Anne: ESFJ

Roy: ENFP or ESFP

Dot: INTP

Friede: ENTP

Mollie: ISTP ?

Orla: ESTJ

Murdock: ISFJ??

Amethio: INTJ (I think)

Chloe: ISFJ

Regina: INFJ (the only one I'm 100 percent sure)

Dawn: (not sure, the site says INFP but I see her more as an extrovert)

Serena: ESFJ

Mallow: ENFJ

Lana: ISTP

Lillie: ISFJ or INFP

Misty: ESTP?? ENFP??

May: ESFP or ENFJ (not sure)

Iris: ENFP

Tracey: ISFP

Cilan: (not sure)

Clemont: INTP

Horace(tokio): INFP (I don't think he 's that much extroverted)

Gary: ENTP something

Ash: ENFP

Goh: INTJ

Mika (daisuki pocket monsters): ENFP or ESFP

[auxiliarydetective]

The OC Halloween Challenge - Day 5

You can find the challenge here!

Today's prompt was...

Vampires, Werewolves, and Witches… Oh My!

From Godzilla to Dracula to The Mummy, the monster-verse is rich with lore. Today we focus on those monsters that never go out of style, after all they’re called classics for a reason. Is your oc Frankenstein or his monster?

R.I.P. to the creatures that did not come to life:

Vicky Brandt as a witch

Iris Winchester as a vampire

Raevyn Maumahara as a mermaid

But one of them did in fact awaken:

Kit Kelley as a demon!

I've been thinking about 80s!Kit's faceclaim, but for now, both 80s!Kit and movie!Kit have the same faceclaim, so who of them this is is completely up to interpretation! I could honestly see it as being either BUT the following snippet was written with 80s!Kit in mind for one simple reason: 80s!Face is religious.

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄✼▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

"Don't worry, Face, she'll be fine," Hannibal assured him and patted his shoulder.

"How do you know that?" Face threw back. "She was outnumbered ten to one and we left her there!"

"It was probably more like seven to one," Hannibal corrected before heading out of the living room.

"That's still six too many!"

"Look, Face, she's fine," B.A. called from the kitchen. "Sit down and quit whining."

"They had guns, B.A.!" Face insisted.

"C'mon, it's Kit we're talkin' about here," Murdock chimed in. "She always finds a way out."

But his words weren't really doing a lot to calm Face either. He was still pacing around, hands in his pockets, looking over at the radio sitting on the table every now and then as if that would conjure up a message or any sign of life from Kit.

"You want some hot chocolate to cheer you up?"

"Yeah," Face sighed. "Put some rum in it, maybe that'll help."

He usually wasn't the type for day-drinking, maybe a glass of wine if anything, but in this case... Murdock disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Face all by himself. His mind was echoing with silent prayers, hoping that at least one of them would put something into motion.

Suddenly, he felt himself unable to keep walking, instead getting stuck in one spot. When he looked down, his heart stopped beating and his breathing got stuck in his throat. A large snake was coiling around his legs - and quickly too! Where had that even come from, in the middle of an apartment, HIS apartment, on the fourth floor?! While he was still pondering that question, the snake had reached his hips. Quickly, before it could pin them to his sides, he pulled his arms away.

"HANNIBAL!" he cried out in terror, completely unable to move.

Meanwhile, the snake reached his chest, lifting it's head to the height of his ear, flicking its long tongue against it. Hannibal, B.A. and Murdock came storming into the room, also momentarily paralyzed. Suddenly, the snake changed its form, most of its coils disappearing, only its hold around his waist remaining.

"Boo," a voice that was unmistakenly Kit's said.

Really, there she was, in place of the snake, resting her head on his shoulder with her arms wrapped around his waist. Immediately, he let out a gasp of relief, despite the fact that his brain was spinning. None of this made sense.

"There she is!" Murdock called out happily. "See? I told you she's fine! You want some hot chocolate, Kit? With rum, without rum, marshmallows, no marshmallows?"

"How about just rum?" Kit smirked. "And some hot chocolate for the Faceman before he faints?"

"Righty-o."

Really, Face did feel close to fainting. If Kit weren't standing behind him and holding him close, he would probably be falling over.

"Glad to have you back, kid," Hannibal said with a smirk. "Just next time try not to give Face a heart attack."

"I thought it was fun," Kit grinned. "Sorry for being late, by the way, I didn't wanna come here looking like a corpse."

Face finally got his voice back, but the only thing that came out was a jumble of confused sounds. Kit sighed and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before picking him up by the waist and placing him in an armchair, running her fingers through his hair.

"What did you need again?"

"I- How are you still alive?" Face blurted out.

"Because I can't die," Kit replied matter-or-factly.

"Huh?"

"You can't kill a demon, fool," B.A. remarked, arms crossed, a smirk on his face.

"Demon?" Face chuckled weakly. "You don't-" He turned to Kit, confused and scared. "You're not actually a demon, are you?"

Kit nodded with a smile.

"Of course, she is," Hannibal said. "Otherwise we wouldn't have been so calm. You didn't know?"

"No!" Face scoffed. "Am I the only one who didn't know?"

Both Hannibal and B.A. nodded and Murdock yelled a "Yup!" from the kitchen.

"I honestly thought you knew, that's why I never told you," Kit defended herself. "I mean, you're the religious one."

Hannibal and B.A. left the two of them on their own to have their potential lovers' quarrel in peace.

"Did you seduce me?" Face asked, somewhere between scared and angry.

"No, of course not," Kit scoffed. "That's a you thing. I'm not that type of demon. I'm more of a 'I'm here to drag you to Hell' kind of demon." She sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. I really thought you knew by now."

Face sighed. "It's okay."

"Is it really?"

"Yeah, I'll get used to it. But you'll have to promise to be a little more open with me from now on, alright?"

Immediately, Kit smirked. She popped open the top button of her shirt and pulled the opening down, prompting Face to pull her hand away with a smile of his own.

"Save it for later, yeah?"

[bookwormscififan]

The Glint Off Your Fangs, Chapter 7

Read on AO3!

Chapter 1 | Previous chapter

A/N: Introducing the Grand High Vampire! Some hints at some backstories, and some exposition. [Sorry it took so long to post this chapter, health really rules my life]

Warnings: Blood mention. Mention of death. Gruesome recount of wound care.

--

Actor shivered, looking at the floor-to-ceiling window in his room as a sudden cold chill swept through him. He felt his face pale when he spotted the silhouette passing in front of the moon, and he scrambled to put on his best blazer and stand beside his bed to await the arrival of the shadow.

“Actor.” The voice was deep, smooth, with a hidden darkness to its profile that made humans shiver in fear. Actor, however, simply squared his shoulders and tilted his chin up, looking down his nose at his guest.

“Sir,” he replied, watching the vampire stalk through the room toward him. “I wasn’t expecting you to personally respond to my letter. I trust your journey was pleasant?” He relaxed his pace when the guest turned away, watching him move to the desk.

The vampire wore a black jacket with grey lapels, softening the brightness of his red shirt and matching the black slacks he wore. His hair was swept to one side, constantly falling into his eye while he glared at people through the other, a red and black angled spiral scar emphasising the brown of his iris.

“I was coming to check up on you and your brother anyway,” he answered, thumbing through some papers on Actor’s desk. “Your pigeon reached me when I was already halfway here. I decided to find out what you had to say from your lips instead of ink on a page.”

“Night, it is lovely to see you again,” Dark said as he darted into the room, adjusting his blazer and standing beside Actor with a less poised posture. “Would you like me to call Noir for some refreshments?”

“Good evening, Dark,” Night replied slowly, taking in Dark’s appearance before returning to looking through Actor’s desk. “The stock in Actor’s vault is fine for now, thank you, no need to call the others.” He held his hand out to his side, waiting as Dark moved to the vault and poured a glass of blood, giving Dark a curt nod when the glass was placed into his hand.

“We have a slight issue,” Actor began hesitantly, shrinking back when Night looked at him. “We’ve been infiltrated by a couple of humans who were looking for our most recently turned, and there’s been a slight… conflict of interest regarding what to do with them.”

“It is not safe to send the humans back because they’ve met everyone in the castle,” Dark explained, eyes thin slits as he glared at Actor. “However, I do not want to turn them as we’re still handling Murdock’s acclimation to vampirism.”

“Murdock has been a vampire for four decades, correct?” Night asked, blinking when the others nodded. “It seems your concern is less about Murdock’s acclimation and more about his intentions toward the humans. Does he have an interest in one?”

“His name is Yancy, sir,” Dark rushed to say, beating Actor to the explanation. “What I found out about him is that he’s serving life in prison for killing his parents. He sings, and the man with him brought him here under a false pretence.”

“You fear Murdock wants to claim the human.” Night sat in Actor’s desk chair, sipping from his glass and tapping his fingers on the desk. “You remember your experience with a claim, and you feel a familial instinct to protect Murdock from that same fate.”

“I tried to tell him that he could just explain things to Murdock,” Actor said, shooting a sideways glance at Dark, “But he’s insistent that he should just keep Murdock and Yancy separate.”

“Damien,” Night began, noting Dark bristling at the name, “Damien claimed a woman in tune with the elements. Her mortal death opened a gateway to terror, and as a result, I locked her in a new vessel: Dark. What Dark has told me suggests that this Yancy is not as dangerous, so I see no issue with letting Murdock associate with him.”

Actor watched Dark storm out of the room, sighing heavily before looking back at Night.

“I think he’s still haunted by that event, father,” he said softly, pouring himself a glass of blood and sitting on the edge of the desk to face Night.

“Eventually he will move on,” Night replied, using his finger to draw a spiral onto the surface of the desk. “He just needs time.”

----

Murdock cracked open his door, peeping through the small opening to see Wilford a few steps down, humming to himself.

“Wilford?” he asked quietly, opening the door to let Wilford in when he turned around.

“It’s natural to be angry,” Wilford said with a chuckle, bending down to pick up a shard of chamber pot, “But you don’t need to destroy your room. We have the chambers for that.”

“Is it possible to feed from a human long enough for them to desire it?” Murdock let out in a rush, tensing when Wilford pressed a cloth to his bruised knuckles. “Can the humans be attracted to being bitten?”

“It is entirely possible,” Wilford answered, guiding Murdock to sit on the bed and kneeling to pick shards of glass and wood from his feet. “It is also possible that it’s simply manipulation. The humans that experimented on me discovered a lot about our species.” He flicked a shard of pot to the side, squeezing Murdock’s foot to push splinters out.

“What did they find out?” Murdock asked, barely registering the feeling of Wilford cleaning him.

“For starters, vampires can manipulate humans,” Wilford began. “We can seduce a human into being relaxed so we can feed off the rich blood of arousal, or we can make them believe that they’re not being drained. Humans will believe anything.” He stood and moved around the room, picking up all the damaged items and setting them in a corner.

“What else?”

“There is a small percentage of humanity’s population who are attracted to vampires,” Wilford continued, frowning at Murdock’s broken glasses. “They are rare, but they tend to survive a claim the longest. Until of course, they must be turned eventually.”

Murdock sat in silence, chewing on the end of his thumb as he processed what Wilford had said, frowning at the floor and slowly making sense of Wilford’s information.

“Wilford,” Murdock asked, lifting his head to meet the vampire’s eyes, “How do I claim a human?”

------

@iamvegorott @brokentimewatch

[entertainingsimmer]

@piratepxls

[pixelmoon-simmer]

Beach bums @piratepxls

[ghstbrthr]

⭑ All of the indomitable Blindspot's verses !

Marvel Comics (earth 616) Marvel Cinematic Universe Alternate Marvel: Demon Boy Mythology Supernatural Stranger Things

⭑ Marvel Comics (earth 616) – Rumour has it, there's a ghost haunting Chinatown. The old women gossiping on their corner-cafe perches think he was a boy who should have grown up with their own children, who was lost in the city and didn't find one soul who would help, who refuses to let anyone else slip away. No one has seen him, but they call him Ghost Brother and leave him red envelopes full of hopes and wishes and most importantly, fears. Samuel Chung, owner and creator of the worlds most functioning suit of invisibility, will do anything to keep his people from being scared: even if that means asking the Devil for help.

Outside of Chinatown, things are even more brutal. The people call him Blindspot and the criminals are more common. Despite a lifetime of gymnastics awards and theoretical knowledge that comes from raising a spoiled little sister alone, Sam isn't a great fighter yet. When he slips over the edge of a building, it's only luck that Daredevil is there to catch him and throw him back into the mix. It became a personal mission, after that, to make the Devil train him; to make him better than good.

Between them, it becomes clear that the Hand is back and rising through the city, they decide Sam should accept his mother's invitation to joing with her so he can bring insider knowledge. When things went poorly, Sam told his mother he was Blindspot, and she let him escape so long as he knew he was dead to her. Then Elektra appeared and broke Sam's arm. Again, luckily the Devil was close by because he offered Sam a job as a personal assistant and revealed his civillian identity to him. Whilst working with Matt, Sam would gain attention from the elder vigilante's gallery of rogues, including Muse. To get payback, Muse would gouge out Sam's eyes.

His mother reappeared in his life and brainwashed Sam to believe she was doing good work. Instead, she summoned a great demon, offering her soul in trade for Sam's vision restored. Before the deal could take place though, she used her new found influence over her son to make him summon Daredevil, and tried to bargain his soul instead. The appearance of Matt snapped Sam out of it, too aware that the man had come despite likely knowing it was a trap. The two fought hard to escape, and eventually Sam's mother joined them, but suddenly the great demon disappeared, and his vision was restored.

His eyes however, were now a pitch black all over, with a glowing blue iris.

A deal had been struck, and no one knew, not even Sam. Once again, he would fight Muse, but this time he would win. When he did, a deep, unnatural voice appeared in his head telling him to kill the villain. When he refused, the world once again went black, but he was left with the glowing eyes as a reminder of his betrayal of the Beast. The Beast tried one more time, wreaking havoc on Manhattan, promising Sam he would protect his precious Chinatown if he came with him. Before he finished though, Daredevil struck the demon down.

He was lucky, once more, to have Matt Murdock close by to help him learn how to function.

⭑ Netflix Marvel Cinematic Universe –

Same as the comics verse, key differences listed below.

His arm was broken by a metal bat he fell in front of to protect his mentor, who felt guilty that he wouldn't be able to take so much time away from work without losing his job, and told him about a job opportunity that would let him heal with Matt Murdock: Attorney at law.

Blindspot's eyes were gouged out by the Hand during the battle at Midland Circle, and his mother pulled him from the wreckage to an old temple where she could let the Hand brainwash him under duress while she prepared to summon an ancient demon.

The Beast did restore Sam's eyesight in black scleras and glowing blue irises, but Lu Wei had mistaken Sam's desperation for comfort from his mother for complacency, and he was not so easily bent to evil. Despite his terror, Sam fought his way free of his bindings. When the Beast would have killed him, his mother turned and killed the demon herself. With the loss of the thing, also went his eyesight, and his mother.

⭑ Alternate Marvel: Demon Boy –

Follows the comic verse to a point that Sam defeats Muse, but in the face of his home burning and people screaming, he agreed to the demon's deal as long as the Beast kept his promise to protect Chinatown.

He is suddenly more powerful than he ever had been before, and far happier walking tall. His sister, a promising artist, could still show him everything she created. For the first time in his whole life – a life filled with fear at the possibility of getting caught existing – Samuel Chung felt his shoulders relax.

At night though, people were less warm. The red envelopes came less and less frequently. His battles got more intense. Petty thieves and dealers walked the streets only in true desperation. People didn't call him Ghost Brother anymore, and Sam didn't realise how much he changed until he took the hands off of a man holding one of those old ladies at knifepoint in an alley: Demon Boy, she hissed at him before scurying her way home. He watched her get there safely, eyes glowing bright from the lip of a building in the cold night. He didn't feel cold. If a chill ever started in his finger tips (visible, the suit so rarely turned on these days) he would throw himself into a fight, waranted or not, and watch blue flames drip from his mouth and sword.

When he wakes up the morning after hearing the old woman's words, he realises he's dangerous, and originally he had set out to stop danger. Sam needed help.

⭑ Mythology –

Once upon a time not very long ago, there was a little boy who wanted to protect his sister from their mom and her friends more than anything else in the world. To do so, he spent as many years as he could learning from the professors at the best university so that one day he could build a cloak. It was easy, because he was already a very smart boy.

The cloak worked very well, and his sister grew up happy and beautiful, leaving flowers and paintings of all the adventures she would go on wherever she went. Sam grew up feeling confident that when the time came, he could hide her even from the ten Kings of Hell. He did not want her to face punishment, even temporary, for the crimes of their family.

One day his mother convinced him to come with her to the Church of the Sheltering Hands and Sam went, still sleepy from a long nights rest. When he got there however, she sat him in the centre of a grand temple and bound his hands behind him. Her Church, the followers, then began to chant, trying to summon a Beast. It stunk of sulfur and made him yell out in terror, and suddenly his eyesight left him with a slash of something that bit at his eyes. He turned his back on the lashing tongue that licked long streaks of burning acid across his skin. One lash broke the rope tied around his hands and he ran as best he could, hobbling and staggering as more and more blood poured from his wounds.

Eventually he hit the floors, knees cracking beneath him and he reached out for his own cloak, nestled between his shoes where he had left them close to the entrance. With the last of his strength, he wrapped it tight around his shoulders and disappeared, just as he tumbled into the afterlife.

When he awoke, a feather brushed over his eyes and he was granted his sight back. He found himself at the feet of a King emblazened with gold and laughing at him. Sam's head was peaking out from underneath the invisibility cloak.

He needed no introduction; King Yan was known to Sam as well as his family tree. The King of the Ten Afterlives offered him a deal for amusing him so: Sam could go to his afterlife and eventually return in a new body, with a new mind who would not know of any of these things and live in peace, or he could go back to the world with his cloak as a trickster, but be cursed to never have sight again.

Sam chose to return, so he could protect his sister, even if it meant that he would never see her art or face. Someone had to stop their mother and the demon she had unleashed.

⭑ Supernatural –

Lu Wei knew angels were real, had since she met one when she was a girl. The winged creature had said he would grant her a gift, and when her son- Samuel Chung- was born with the ability to prophecise she knew it had been given.

Samuel grew up with voices in his head, a happy boy, but happiest when left to his sketches. The voices told him what to draw and what it all meant. Then one day, his mom took him to church with her, a church full of strange people in red coats who made him sit in the middle of a star as they sang a strange song.

Suddenly, the floor opened up underneath Sam and he fell down for a long time until someone caught him. A long, wet tongue licked over his eyes and he screamed, it burned like acid and when it finally stopped hurting, he was blind. A huge sound rang around him like bells and whistling that made him yell out in confusion and panic before strong arms and the largest feathers were covering him entirely.

He prayed to the angel mom had taught him about to protect him. To Sam’s surprise, the thing holding him whispered, ‘ I am already here Samuel, you have become the Blind Spot of Heaven. ’

He woke up two months later in a hospital bed, completely blind. Eventually, a pair of FBI agents came to ask him some questions about a cult he might know something about, but Sam was confused since when they walked in the room his whole world lit up in flashes of bright blue and green- the imprint of a hand behind his eyes and whispers of hell and heaven in his ears. Then an all-consuming darkness and the weight of a crown falling over a man's eyes. The first thing he could bring himself to say was ‘ where is Castiel? ’

⭑ Stranger Things –

Number nineteen had never known anything except the labs just like the rest of the child experiments in Hawkins Laboratories. His abilities- turning himself invisible and supernatural hearing- first presented when a bigger kid in the rainbow room came to attack him and he disappeared entirely. During acrobatics class, he excelled, going on to beat even the instructors.

When the lab closed down, ravaged by demogorgons, most people believed Sam had been killed or escaped. The truth was that he had been found, eyes ripped and damaged from his head by a demodog before the thing was called away, the fear in his body turning him invisible to those searching the lab for survivors.

Eventually, his body was found when the lab was lit on fire one night, and he was carried to the nearest hospital before being placed in an orphanage. He stayed there, now sixteen-years-old and with a guide dog- Blindspot- given to him by the state ( a greyhound- due to his dog allergies ). His scars prevented most people from wanting to adopt or even foster him, great slashes across his face that seemed almost black, ruining even the appearance of his eyes.

He eventually recovered and adjusted enough to go to school, Hawkins High, and even began running track well enough to qualify for state. Being good at sports, joking with the guys in the locker room, it all added up to people generally leaving him alone. Then, one day, as he was messing about in the woods, he heard a voice he hadn’t heard in a long time.

[wearelondonhq]

Marvel or DC mw?

Thinking Superman maybe.

we would love to see clark/superman! also from dc, our most wanted would be selina kyle, harley quinn, diana prince/wonder woman, dick grayson, arthur curry/aquaman, victor stone, oswald cobbelpot/the penguin, the riddler, barry allen/the flash, iris west, dinah lance, billy batson/shazam, roman sionis and more! as for marvel, we'd love to see bruce banner, clint barton and natasha romanoff to complete the avengers, sam wilson, wong, maria rambeau, shuri, riri williams/iron heart, peter parker 2 and 3, norman osborn, queen ramonda, namor, sue storm, franklin richards, galactus, carol danvers, monica rambeau, kamala khan, matt murdock, pepper potts, happy hogan, hope van dyne, cassie lang, scott lang, janet van dyn, mobius, sylvie, b-15, peggy carter, wade wilson, nick fury and more!

[thebridgehqs]

The following need to post in the next 48 hours or message the main for an extension:

@prcphesieslie: Eddie Diaz, Billy Black, Matthew Scott, John Sheppard

@totouchthcstars Bonnie Harper

@lcnelylcves Evan Lorne, Aiden Ford

The following need to make an intro in the next week or message the main for an extension:

@virtuousouls: Octavia Blake, Rupert Giles + catch up

@cquity: Kathleen Harvey, Victoria Sutherland, Sophie Hatter, Medusa, Renesme Cullen, Juliette Ferrars, Leah Clearwater

@totouchthcstars: Quigley Quagmire, Louise Blecher, Ashley Magnus, Leo Valdez, Raven Reyes

@rosewaterdrunk: catch up

@allxthingsxglxtter: Nikola Tesla, Jonathan Carnavan + catch up

@prcphesieslie: Billy Black, Matthew Scott + catch up

@fidclium: Seamus Boyle, Orpheus Fraser, Jacob Black + catch up

@lcnelylcves: Sean Mulcahy, John Druitt, Anthony Lockwood, Allan a Dale, Salem Saberhagen, Evan Lorne, Aiden Ford, Helen Maclean, Cam Mitchell, Skaara

The following need to make the required posts in the next week or message the main for an extension:

@cquity: 1 on Alison Watts.

@hxlcycnx: 1 on Haythem Kenway, Lachesis, Lia Beaufort, Matt Murdock, Violet Baudelaire and Yvaine. 2 on Artagan, Dionysus, Marc Spector, Olive Smith and Saoirse O'Farrell.

@featherskies: 1 on Missy Moreno and Psyche 2 on Rory Gilmore

@dancngthroughlife: 1 on Quinn Fabray

@rosewaterdrunk: 1 on Alina Starkov, Anna Marie, Artemis, Asami Sato, Asta Runefist, Beauregard Lionett, Catherine Alexander, Clarissa Fairchild, Clarisse La Rue, Darcy Lewis, Demeter, Ellie, Fauna Nylund, Flora, Gwen Stacy, Iris West, Jean Gunnhildr, Katara, Kate Bishop, Lara Croft, Leia Organa, Loriel, Miaski, Nimue, Penelope Crawford, River Mekhala Niranpai, Sersi, Vex'ahlia De Rolo, Wanda Maximoff and Zelda. 2 on Aloy, Allura Vysoren, Cora Hale, Daphne Scott, Hope Van Dyne, Mako Mori, Malia Tate, Rayla Dragonguard and Sarah Wilson.

@roarunderpxpercuts: 1 on Alex Claremont-Diaz, Blair Waldorf, Jesse and Patrick Commerford-Blanco 2 on Benedict Bridgerton, Carl Grimes, Castiel, Charlie Spring, Edwina Sharma, Josie Saltzman, Niklaus Mikaelson, Maxine Baker, Peter Parker, Ricky Bowen, Sebastian Matthew-Smith, Shego, Steven Universe, Stiles Stilinksi, Tamar Kir Bataar, Willie Stewart and Zed Necropolis

@allxthingsxglxtter: 1 on Angrboda, Aurelia Gunner, Bryce Claiborne, Cassie Anderson, Diego Hargreeves, Hadie, Jason Todd, Lady, Leo, Lochlyn Boyle, Lyra Samos, Maelstrom Adler, Maive Mccullough, Morpheus, Odysseus Pierce, Sapphire, Shade Barrow, Shaun Gilmore, Veralidaine Sarrasri, Viktor and Xiao 2 on Adam Carlsen, Alex Mercer, Billy, Daja Kisubo, Ember Cobalt, Levi Sullivan, Nikola Tesla and Lisa Snart.

@totouchthcstars: 1 on Belle, Bonnie Harper, Chloe Sullivan, Clove Kentwell, Crowley, Dustfinger, Dorothy Gale, Elena Gilbert, Effie Trinket, Gabriel Van Helsing, Grogu, Grover Underwood, Han Solo, El Hopper, Jessie Cook, Jim Hawkins, Klaus Hargreaves, Lucifer, Maddie Buckley, Melody, Olaf, Pippin Took, Sabrina Spellman, Silena Kyle, Spock, Stede Bonet, Tony Stark, Velma Dinkley, Valkyrie, Wall-E 2 on Giulia Marcovaldo, Lorna Dane, Peter Parker, Rhaegar Targaryen, Son Goku

@virtuousouls: 1 on Lo'ak Sully 2 on Faith Lehane, Galadriel, Genya Safin, Grace Augustine, Huan, Joel Miller, Jaskier, Joyce Byers, Maya Lopez, Raleigh Beckett, Rick Grimes, Sam Gamgee, Skye Richfield, Spencer Reid, Steve Rogers, Thema, Xu Xialing, Yelena Belova.

[infinitelycomplexpuzzles]

Wanted Opposites

Okay so this is just a list of various muses that I have ideas for, opposite one or more of my muses. I’ve separated them by fandom; so if you’re curious, you can find them by that. 

Expect lots of minor characters! Minor characters meaning barely used, not under 18. Characters without a ton of screen time, essentially. I support minor characters a great deal, and I encourage them existing. 

Marvel: 

Thor

Loki

Hazmat

Jemma Simmons

Maria Hill

Pepper Potts

Karen Page

Jessica Jones

Matt Murdock

May Parker

Jennifer Walters

Sharon Carter

Claire Temple

DC: 

Cat Grant

Kara Danvers

Alex Danvers

Bruce Wayne

Damian Wayne

Ra’s Al Ghul

Iris West

Caitlin Snow

Felicity Smoak

Ava Sharpe

Helena Bertinelli

Barbara Gordon

Edward Nygma

Selina Kyle

Various TV Shows: 

Lucifer (Lucifer)

Amy Santiago (Brooklyn 99)

Naruto:

Ino Yamanaka

Tenten

Hinata Hyuga

[joinsarcadia]

bring us children of pietro maximoff, erik lehnsherr + charles xavier, david haller + ruth aldine, wally west, harley quinn, pamela isley, the joker, loki, thor, gabriel summers, madelyn pryor, ben reilly, harry osborn, felicia hardy, steve rogers + wanda maximoff, jean grey + scott summers, logan howlett, ororo munroe + t'challa, kaine parker, carol danvers, hal jordan, iris west + barry allen, artemis crock + wally west, kyle rayner, sam wilson, bucky barnes + natasha romanoff, eddie brock, matt murdock, scott lang, namor, laura kinney, namora, attuma, m'baku, nakia + t'challa, shuri + namor, johnny storm, sue storm + reed richards, clark kent + lois lane, jean-paul beaubier + kyle jinadu, bobby drake + st. john allerdyce, bruce wayne, selina kyle, st. john allerdyce + warren worthington iii, warren worthington iii + bobby drake, lorna dane + theresa cassidy !!