#tw: mentions of violence and drugs

[confortaleza]

DEMIR KAVAS-FORTIER ( HE/HIM ) is a CISMAN, THIRTY THREE year old MECHANIC / BOXER who has been living in Moorbrooke for FIVE YEARS. They were born on JULY 23 and right now, they are currently residing in MAPLE COURT. It has been said that they look suspiciously like URAZ KAYGILAROGLU and if they had to choose a song to describe themselves, they would choose MOUNT EVEREST by LABRINTH ( cielo , 25, MST, she/her ) zahir’s brother connection

b a s i c s

full name : demir zavas-fortier sexual orientation : pansexual  occupation: former boxer. mechanic and fighter  +sociable +competitive + strong  -outlandish  -annoying -violent

h i s t o r y  s u m m a r y

tw: drug mention, 

demir had been fighting since the day he was born. from grad school bullies street fighters, it was no wonder he decided to put his talents to good use and go into boxing. and he was good. so good in fact that it immediately  threw him headfirst into a life of violence, lust, and drugs. it was like a dream come true. unfortunately, that dream came to an end when sit all became to much for him. he had a mental breakdown, resulting in a slew of lost matches and damaging scandals. so demir hung up his gloves and he moved to moorbrooke to be with his older brother. he helps him run the auto shop from time to time but the bulk of his income if from brinie bar’s fight club.

h i s t o r y

work in progress

w a n t e d. c o n n e c t i o n s

MEDICINE BALL - a personal nurse lol. demir often shows up to his person’s house after a fight, bloodied and in need of a nurturing hand. sure, he could go to the hospital, but why would he do that when he has a personal nurse? medical experience optional

JAB - let my boy be a bad guy. maybe an ex he screwed over in some way ( cheated, ghosted, maybe chose the ring over them ) idk but maybe demir can’t help but miss them sometimes, despite knowing he was the reason thye broke up in the first place

BODY WORK - friend with benifits lol thats it thats the plot

CHAMP - friends who despite all of his shortcomings, sees the good in him. 

CROSS - some kid he’s giving self defense classes to. maybe saved them from getting mugged or something

e x t r a s

- looks like he could kill you, could kill you, is a cinnamon roll  -he suffers from strong migraines. he’s fainted a handful of times, but more often than not they just result in his being cranky lol - his name means iron in turkish, which played into the his stage name.  “the iron fist” -his type? anything that moves lol but he has a weakness for older women lol -has never been in love before. at this point he doesn’t think he has it in him. -unloyal lover but damn it all if he aint a ride or die friend -hes the one you call if you want to bury a body. you just gotta deal with his eccentricities. -is surprisingly gentle when he needs to be

[m-ayo-o]

seeingdouble ɘldυobϱniɘɘƨ

KINKTOBER IV: DRUGGED starring: f!reader, megumi [25+], toji [mid 40s] synopsis: megumi is led down a dark path by his assassin father. his moral compass askew, lacking any real social experience, he's left to his own devices with a cute girl. thankfully, toji shows up in time to take control. warnings: murder, violence, spiking, drug use: narcotics + psychedelics. stripper!reader [who sometimes offers sex work]. virgin!megumi. restraints. choking. unprotected sex. incest [pussy sharing, dp, anal] guidance. non-con; reader starts to enjoy it [she is drugged] wc: 4.5k

⋆⁺/ don't like it? block it / do not interact i do not condone taking drugs. spiking is illegal. this is fiction

18+ EXPLICIT SEX | DARK CONTENT | HORROR THEMES

When Toji’s wife passed he managed to sell off his daughter to the notorious Zenin clan for a pretty penny, but decided to keep the ten shadows boy for himself. 

Without his wife, daughter and clan, Toji’s life spiralled out of control and he took Megumi down with him. 

Toji left everything behind, so did Megumi.

Toji became invisible, so did Megumi. 

He corrupted him and dragged him into a cursed life of killing for money. 

Leaving his boy in cheap, dusty hotels, Toji would go out to commit murder– it was as simple as grocery shopping for him, only returning home with his shirt all bloody and ripped. Young Megumi would eye his clothing curiously, his gaze wide and innocent, but would be too scared to utter a word. He knows his father has a terrible temper.

This routine continued until Megumi got older, into his late teens, when Toji thought it would be appropriate to start telling the young man about what he did. Then in his early twenties he started taking him along on his sinister missions, hunting. Lacking any formal education or training, he doubted his son would be of any use. 

But Megumi had become intelligent and strong in his solitude, reading for entertainment and experimenting with his powers, his shikigami the only life forms to keep him company.

Despite his independence, having Toji as his only guiding light led the younger man to have a somewhat twisted view on reality, and as far as sound moral judgement goes, he simply does not possess it. 

As an assassin, Toji likes a quick kill; clean and efficient, usually with a gun or a knife. He can get paid faster that way, delivering the body swiftly and avoiding any trouble.

But he’s noticed his son taking a liking to finishing his victims more personally.

⁺⋆

Another murderous evening had drawn to a close, their hands stained red once again, when he carelessly took his eyes off his son and their victim.  

A young, powerful sorceress who’d seemingly pissed off the wrong crowd. Still, a surprisingly easy target for the assassin in training.

“Megumi, s’time to go,” the older man wipes his knife and cautiously looks along the alleyway.

His son is unresponsive. 

Toji gets closer, squinting in the dark to find his hands wrapped around her neck. 

She’s still alive, barely, but clinging on nonetheless, fading in and out of consciousness. 

“What are you doing? Just– just fucking–” 

“Wait”

The younger man’s stern voice halts Toji from slitting her throat.

And he watches his son squeeze the life out of the young woman. 

His lips twitch when her eyes roll back. But still, his hand remains over her windpipe, feeling her pulse die when the last breaths escape her body. 

“Megumi. We need to go.”

His son finally pulls away, and they become invisible once more. 

Despite his grisly methods, not only did Megumi prove useful, but their missions also provided for some much needed father-son bonding time. 

So, with his son reaching 25 years old, they got into this gruesome habit together, becoming partners.

Another habit Megumi picked up from the older man was his tendency to visit strip clubs after their kill. They were great places to hide, especially if you knew the owners well enough. And Toji knew each and every member of staff in this place; the managers, the bar staff, the girls.

And he knew a certain pretty little girl very well indeed.

Despite his many visits he never made any inappropriate advances, only paid to watch you dance. Maybe a lap dance every now and again if he was feeling particularly self gratuitous.

You share few words, but seem to have a mutual understanding of one another. You know that he loves watching you, and you’ve come to like his stern demeanour and surprisingly respectful attitude, enjoying his ability to scare off creepy customers. He’s kind of like your personal bodyguard at work. You feel lucky to have met him.

Unlike some of the halfwit scumbags that frequent the club, he’s a real man. From his assertive, deep tones, those muscles, perfect for manhandling little girls like you, and those sharp eyes, staring as if he wants your body as much as you want his.

But you have no idea what he does for work– he almost seems nocturnal.

Then you notice that he starts bringing someone else to the club.

His younger brother? His son? You can’t tell. But you know for certain that they’re related as soon as they step in together– their hair is styled differently, but is the same absolute black. The strobe lighting illuminates different colours in the younger man’s eyes, but they have the same glare. Their faces are a slightly different shape, but they have the same wicked smile. 

How could there be two of him? One was already enough.

“Meet my son.” 

Oh. He might be the same age as me. You think, studying his features– bags under his eyes, more height than muscle, cheeks slightly sunken. 

His exchanges are awkward. He looks uncomfortable.

You offer him a dance, not knowing what else to do. You’re here to work, after all.

Toji pays for a private dance and you walk with his son to a booth, the older man giving him a wink and a devilish smile.

You draw the curtains and pause, looking at the way he’s fidgeting. 

“Got a girlfriend?”

“No,” he replies tersely, narrowing his eyes. 

You ask if he wants a lap dance, but he’s so hesitant that you just end up sitting next to him and chatting instead.

“So, do you enjoy working here?” he sounds less nervous now he’s gotten to know your name, at least. 

“Yeah, nice customers for the most part, but the hours are pretty long.”

“Same with my job– the hours, I mean.”

“You don’t work with the public?”

“Sort of…” he trails off, dark eyes darting over your features.

You notice, despite your clothing revealing most of your body to him, that he’s focusing on your lips more than anything.

“You’re um,” he takes a long pause, dragging his gaze back to your eyes, “very pretty.”

How sweet. Your eyes widen slightly, a smile forming on your lips. You’re not used to sweet. 

“Th-thank you.” you can’t help the stuttering– the way he’s looking at you with sudden intensity catches your tongue.

“Shall we–” you reach to open the curtain of the private booth, your arm caught in his strong grip, your body freezing. 

“You– you can’t touch me–” does he not know that?

“Sorry” he retracts his hand, fiddling with his fingers. 

“You change your mind or something?”

“No, I just wanted to… look at you, for a little longer,” you turn to face him again, “if that’s ok.”

So you nod and sit down.

He has a hungry look in his eyes now– he starts with your face, your eyes, in fact, making incredible, unwavering contact until you can’t take it, your pupils darting away to his amusement. Then he finds your mouth, and the way you’re chewing the inside of your cheek.

Then your neck, where he focuses intently on the slow thrum of your jugular. He licks his lips, making you squirm and wish he would’ve accepted the lap dance.

His gaze darts over the rest of your body and you watch the clock tick over to midnight, signalling fifteen minutes and the end of his private… whatever the fuck this was.

“Time’s up.” You stand and reach for the curtain, feeling his eyes remain over your figure as you step out and waltz back to the changing rooms. 

You get off early tonight, having a final smoke with your colleagues when you see a text pop through from Toji. After exchanging numbers months ago, he barely contacts you, only asking where you are if you’re not at your regular shift.

[00:14] Toji 

Come over?

You’re surprised he’s asking. 

You’re tempted– after all, it is for Toji. You’ve been wanting him to reach out to you, thinking that he would’ve made his move much sooner. Every cell in your body is telling you not to do this, but you ignore the feeling, finding his hotel.

You enter the room– luckily for you, in a slightly nicer establishment than usual– still, one that is filled with the smell of alcohol and cannabis, the TV blaring on some late night gambling channel.

So they sit you down, welcoming you into their little games and bets, offering you hard liquor and joints till you’re tipsy. 

After Toji’s multiple visits to your workplace, and seeing you at other clubs with your friends, he knows you’re into all kinds of drugs. 

He caught you with white powder under your nose on one occasion, your pupils the size of the fucking moon another night, and with a blunt hanging out your mouth after work one evening.

He’s seen it all. He knows you’re a fiend. So… what’s the harm in pushing you a little further? Surely you can take it.

⁺⋆

Your eyelids are growing heavy, your body slumped on the floor against the coffee table while you stare at the TV in stupor. Their joints were just so packed it's nearly finished you off, and the last few drags tasted kinda funny.

“Can we tie her up now?” 

You’re not sure if you heard that right, swivelling in the direction of the voice and blinking in disbelief.

You turn to find Toji with his legs spread wide, slouched back on the sofa where you left him, while the younger man stands holding some kind of cord in his hands. 

Your eyes widen, your mind jolting awake when you see the way he pulls and grips it, stepping closer to you. Your body lags. 

“Mm” Toji grunts, not taking his eyes off the TV. 

Megumi takes this as permission to pull you up and drag you to the bedroom, your legs stumbling after your body, your mind succumbing to panic. 

His hand tugs at your wrist, while you’re distracted by something strange in the edges of your vision. It’s subtle to start with, colours fading in where they weren’t before, shadows starting to move. 

You try to ignore it, blaming the weed and flickering lights playing tricks on your mind.

You’re pulled from your daze when Megumi jerks your arms roughly, your vision readjusting to find yourself on the bed, your wrists forced to the frame in a tight knot of coarse, black rope.

“Mm– Megumi,” your voice comes out more slurred than you expected, confusion crossing your features, “w-what’re you doin’...”

“What does it look like?” He shoots back, his sharp tone making you recoil.

“I, I don’ know– jus’, w-where’s Toji?”

He watches your eyes dart about, enjoying your fearful expression.

You notice a sinister glint behind his indigo irises, his face looming closer and starting to cloud your vision.

You’re squirming now, pushing yourself up the bed, trying to distance yourself from him. But he keeps coming.

“Stay still…” he stops your motions with a single cool hand closing around your ankle, dark eyes trained on your throat again.

Time stops still when he leans in and places a single, chaste kiss over your neck.

He does it slowly. Gently. As if you’re the only one he’d kiss like this. His silent intensity makes you tremble.

He pulls away with a pleased hum, the feeling of your heartbeat making his lips tingle, his dark mess of hair illuminated with a dull halo.

He’s not too far gone. You could still go back.

“Y-you don’ have to do this,” you stumble, your voice cracking.

“I know,” he presses another kiss over your jaw, becoming ravenous now he can almost smell your fear, “but I want to…”

His voice disappears into the crook of your neck, where he starts sucking and tonguing.

He wants to taste you.

There’s a deep ache inside you now, gripping at your heart and filling your lungs, where it spreads to your throat– to where you can feel his mouth over you.

Nobody has ever kissed you like this before.

The way he sucks and bites is cruel, your body starting to flood with pain. If he does it any harder you’re sure he’s going to taste your blood. He’s going to puncture your neck and let it spill.

“M-megumi– please–” your whispered sobs only urge him on, till he’s dragging his canines over you and sinking them into the soft flesh.

His impassioned movements finally ebb as he switches to tending your marked skin with his tongue and lips, inhaling your scent deeply.

He sits up now, looking longingly into your tear stained eyes, his pupils drifting to where your lips are quivering with his name.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he lies, stroking your ankles gently.

Standing up, he watches you shake your head again, begging him not to go any further and that you’d anticipated being with Toji tonight, asking where he is again.

“He’s a little busy…” he cranes his neck to ensure his father is still transfixed by the TV.

“Plus, you should be grateful,” he tugs off his belt, “you get to take my virginity.”

Your eyes fly wide, your mouth dry and gulping for air stupidly.

Just the way he looks puts you on edge– and now you know he has no experience, you can’t begin to fathom what he’s going to do to you.

“Nn-no– thought, thought Toji w-w–”

His next movements are too swift for your idle, drug induced brain to comprehend.

He’s over you, your arms twisted uncomfortably above your head, his cock nudging at the sweet bud of your clit.

That’s the only ‘foreplay’ you’ll be treated to before he slots himself up against your tight, unprepped entrance, shoving your dress and panties aside.

“Toji!!!” you cry out for the older man, “Toji, god–” but your voice is interrupted, choked by his cock sinking into you, hard and deep.

The man before you has changed, his resting scowl paling in comparison to the now fierce arch of his eyebrows.

Why are you crying for his father when he has everything you need right here?

“Ah– haah—” you shake and squirm, struggling with his untamed, crude thrusting.

Your head flies back when he pushes deeper still, slowly working your raw pussy open to the shape of him, while he watches fresh tears trickling over your waterline and gathering beautifully in the corners of your wide, glassy eyes.

“Hm,” he lets a little laugh escape, enjoying your quiet sobbing and whimpering as he gets rougher and dirtier, grabbing and marking your skin.

Your arms start to jostle and tug in the bindings, your wrists aching from the pressure.

“Untie me…” you sniffle.

“Untie you? But I haven’t even got started yet…”

He wipes the tears from your cheeks with his thumb, trailing his hand down your face and stroking the marks on your neck.

“Might untie you after I hear you scream,” he gives you an experimental squeeze, then leans closer, bringing his face down next to yours.

The way he’s talking has you wondering if he really is a virgin, your thought quickly dispelled by his hedonistic thrusting.

You can hear his shaky breath in your ear now, your legs lifting instinctively when you feel him haphazardly pressing on your g-spot.

“Yeah, open up f’me,” he whispers, sucking on your earlobe, his free arm encircling your head to cage you in closer.

You can feel his hips start to jolt unevenly. He’s close.

“D-don– don’ cum inside,” you beg, your eyes getting bleary as he constricts your windpipe.

You feel him smirking over your skin, speeding up his ragged motions, squeezing.

Your pained breaths consume him, urging him to crush your throat with a look in his eyes that makes you believe he’s going to take your life.

His pale, beautiful face hovers above yours, eyes enrapt by every miniscule expression of terror that passes your features.

“S-s—” 

Your voice is gone, you can only fight for breath now, your body succumbing to a helpless fit.

You struggle. Kicking. Hips bucking.

He drinks it all in, thrusting mercilessly now.

“You can’t do that to her.” 

You hear a sudden deep, booming voice, hands pulled from your neck, air flooding your lungs as you sputter and cough.

Toji takes his son’s arms and bends them behind his back, restraining him instantly and pulling him off you; out of you.

He lets the sight sink in for a moment, words failing him. 

Toji’s affected by the drugs and booze, but he can still get some kind of hold on this fucked up situation.

“Look. Just let me show you… what you’re supposed to do,” he drawls into the younger man’s ear before releasing him.

Sure, he needs to take responsibility. But he can’t let you go. Not yet.

You shake your head again, watching the younger man struggling with his achy, hard boner after being denied his first raw dogging orgasm.

His father readjusts you on the bed to his own liking, leaving you tied up and taking your thighs in his beefy hands. He dips his head low, lips skimming over your neglected clit. 

“‘M feelin’ hungry…” he mutters, proceeding to swirl his tongue through your heat, where his son’s cock was digging moments ago, humming while parting your labia and licking sensually at your little jewel.

However done you are with this situation, overcome with lightheadedness from your choking, you’re glad to at least be sent reeling through a few much needed orgasms.

And now you’ve had a chance to breathe and relax a little, you’re becoming aware of a shift in your consciousness. 

Your body is right here, in this moment, experiencing every fleeting detail in high definition. But your mind is somewhere else, overcome with a feeling of simultaneous presence and dissociation. 

The older man sits up, patting the bed for his son to join him.

“You ok, doll?”

He watches you look around curiously, taking in the room that’s now bending and changing before you.

“Think the lsd’s kickin’ in…” he mutters, “just lay back, promise we’re not gunna hurt ya.”

“The-the what?” you stutter, your hands starting to tense and grip in the restraints.

“Look, there were a few drops of acid in that last wrap, jus’ relax, ok?”

Fuck. You knew you shouldn’t have come here.

You let it sink in, taking a deep breath so you don’t lose your cool. You cannot let your mind spiral on this drug.

“That’s it,” he encourages you, “good girl. Jus’ let go.”

You give up trying to fight it, obeying his gentle tones, working past the nausea to find your mind and body entering a different headspace.

Reality fades in and out, feeling their tongues on you, one after the other, switching and exchanging till you’re unaware of what’s happening to you.

You can only sense their touch, submitting your body to the chemical pleasure.

Your clothes are torn off now, soft, deep words being exchanged until you feel them shifting around.

You feel the unmistakable nudging of a hardened cock at your entrance once more. Only this time, it slips through your folds easily, your slick hole welcoming the long, hard member.

You blink slowly, your vision wobbling as your mind enters a trance in sync with their rhythm.

“Megumi?” no, “Toji?” you honestly can’t tell, your faculties slowly dulling as the powerful drug takes over.

You reach out your arms hoping to discern who’s inside you, only for their body to move away as another frame enters your view.

You feel his cock sink in, hips rolling and stimulating your senses till you’re creaming and moaning around his girth.

“T-tojii–” you’re sure it must be the older man. He feels strong, manhandling you and pushing you wider.

But he pulls away too soon.

You focus hard, seeing both of them now, one figure in front of the other, one man guiding, the other following.

“...like this… take her… deep…” you can only make out a few words, wide eyes distracted by the scar on his lips.

But the way Megumi’s cock slides in is completely different than before– the feral jackhammering transformed into long drags, smooth and hard.

They exchange words, Megumi’s movements getting greedier until you feel his body consuming yours in a display of lust and passion so strong you let out a scream of his name.

The sound of your voice, combined with the grip of your pussy that’s drenched with the slick of a fresh orgasm, rips a groan from his depths.

You hear him panting and moaning, his thrusts getting sloppy, until he’s drawn out of you again.

That was close. You think, realising his father pulled him away before he could spill inside you.

Things are getting blurry now. They’re both over you, on you, in you.

With the surreal visuals taking over, your mind enters another realm while they kiss and fuck and share your body.

Spiky black hair, blue and green eyes flashing, hard muscles and sadistic smiles are all you can see.

Their images burn into your retina, becoming a blurred mirage of nightmarish beauty. 

A sight that you will never forget.

Now that Toji’s brought his son up to speed and you’re all wet, you honestly can’t tell who is who.

So you sink into it, enjoying the spiralling visions behind your closed eyelids while they draw waves of orgasmic pleasure from your body.

They bend and move you, pinning your legs back, pushing deeper, then onto your knees. You’re getting so absorbed in the trip now, the euphoric energy taking over, that you’re only partly aware that you’re being lifted.

You’re off the bed, you know that much.

You’re in a pair of strong arms. It’s Toji. You smile, your eyes clearing to see his roguishly handsome face before you.

“Hey pretty girl,” he places tender kisses over your lips, and you accept them with pleasure, “gunna try somethin’ fun now…”

You giggle, liking the sound of that very much.

He holds you, his massive cock melting into your core so deep he’s going to become a part of you, then slides his fingers over your ass.

You feel another body behind you. Megumi.

You turn, feeling his lips over you as well, murmuring sweet praise in your ear the whole while.

You feel him sliding over your ass now, through the wet juice of your pussy, pushing into the tight ring.

“Oh, oh my– fuck–” he edges in, his father thrusting slowly while urging him to be gentle.

“Haahhh–” you breathe out, your head falling back onto Megumi’s hard shoulder where he caresses your skin with his lips.

“That’s– that’s fucking good,” he hums in your ear, pushing himself all the way back while grabbing your ass.

They cradle you, thrusting in tandem, as you reach a new level of bliss.

Hearing them, feeling them takes you higher, until you can only sense their deep moans vibrating through you, the drag of their cocks.

Your thoughts turn slippery, losing focus on the world around you, wondering how you ended up here in the first place, realising that you don’t care.

Right now, you care about the man in front of you, tall and broad, scarred lip between his teeth with dark green eyes fixed on yours.

His ever sombre stare resides behind those fiery irises.

It captivates you.

Your body is convulsing with dopamine once more, slurred thank yous leaving your lips, and all you can concentrate on is counting the shades of green in his eyes.

Flecks of amber shimmer within the emerald, his lashes blinking slowly, eyebrows quirking.

“Watcha lookin’ at?”

“Mm, pretty,” is all you can muster at this time, earning a snort of laughter.

He mutters under his breath and starts taking you harder till you feel him pulling you off his son and pushing you down on the bed.

Your legs spread, wide and obedient, holding yourself by the knees while he takes your nipples between his lips, between his teeth.

“How many times s’that now?” he feels you clenching and bucking again.

You just giggle and sigh, stroking his obsidian strands in a dreamy state.

He hums with pleasure; you feel his nose dipping into your neck, where he places soft, gentle kisses, in contrast to his now animalistic pace.

Letting off hot grunts and moans, he finally spills his hot, wet cum.

He pulls away, his son entering your vision once more.

Angling your ass up, he guides himself in again, enjoying the way your tight muscle spasms around him, but takes him all nonetheless.

His hips get nasty, drawing whimpers from you until he nears his release, growling and sinking his teeth into your marked skin.

“Fuck– fuck–” you tug at his jet black spikes, encouraging him to take all he needs until you feel his hot load shoot deep into you.

“Ugh, oh princess– fuck me–” he sighs, strong muscles overcome with exhaustion as he watches your beautiful features relax once more.

You feel peaceful, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair hangs over those dark eyes.

Your wavering vision absorbs his graceful figure in all his glory, your mouth opening before your brain catches up.

“Art” you poke at his hardened stomach, earning a slight smile, “artist.” You look up at his father now, appreciating the view as he stands before you.

You giggle, laying back and focusing on the ebb and flow of your breath, feeling your senses leave you, your eyes resting as you enter transcendental sleep.

⁺⋆

You wake to find your body bare, but clean.

There’s no longer white liquid oozing from you– just soft, warm sheets and the fresh smell of soap.

You climb out of the bed, stepping to the bathroom, eyes still half lidded and hazy.

You look in the mirror, finding kaleidoscopic visuals in the reflection, where the glass bends and trembles.

But you can see your face. Unscathed. Unharmed. You look down. It’s just a few bruises. You’re fine. 

Despite their questionable methods, this has been a good trip… and you have to admit, a very good fuck.

So in your giddy state, you tiptoe out to the main room, watching their heads turn from the TV, grins emerging.

“Mornin’ honey,” Toji coos. It’s dark outside. You have no idea what time it is.

You step over to the sofa, sinking between the two men again, taking their lips and tongues while their hands roam and fondle your body.

You sit back, enjoying how they’re drawn to you magnetically, allowing their pleasure to fill your body once more while you ride out the most ethereal high of your life.

⋆⁺ [see you in hell]

toji | m.list

[in-love-with-writing-whump]

Prompt

Whumpee, who has night terrors, has never had anyone to comfort them. When they meet Caretaker, a gruff and stoic person, they don't want them to think they're a burden, so they try to stay awake using caffeine and distractions.

After they get injured in some sort of altercation, they fall asleep out of physical exhaustion on Caretaker's couch. They wake up screaming, startling Caretaker.

Caretaker's soft side begins to shine through as Whumpee apologizes, much to Caretaker's confusion.

[hannahssimblr]

“Jude,” minutes before the bell rings for the end of lunch, Evan calls me over to him as I pass him, lurking by his locker as he so often is. 

“Yeah?”

“You know Alison Littler, right?”

I saunter over to him, intrigued, and lean against the locker next to his, “Yeah? Why?”

“Do you know where she is?”

“No. Is there a reason I should know?”

“Are you not, like, fucking each other or something?”

I laugh awkwardly, because he doesn’t have to say it like that, and so loudly that at least three passers by heard him. “I dunno, I haven’t seen her since this morning, but we have maths together in an hour. Why?”

“She was supposed to meet me here, that's all, I’ve been waiting for the whole break for her.”

I find this amusing, “How do you know Alison Littler, Evan?”

“Oh, well, you know… everyone knows her.”

“Yeah but I didn’t realise you were on hanging out terms with her. Since when?”

“We’re not,” he says, “and if we were, so what? Would you be jealous?”

“No, I’m just a bit curious about what’s happening here.”

“Is Alison’s business your business?”

I grin, “No, but I’m nosy.”

He gives in reluctantly, “I have something for her. I said I’d give it to her, and she hasn’t turned up. That’s all.”

I shrug, “Okay well, I don’t know what happened, sorry. Can I pass on a message?”

He chews on his lip, “I’d text her again but maybe her phone is dead. If you see her later will you tell her you saw me? Let her know I’ll be here after school until about a quarter past four.”

“Yeah, sure,” I pull back to lightly punch his arm but it makes him flinch and then I feel like I should apologise for frightening him. He’s a bit skittish, and these typical, aggressive boy things I’ve become accustomed to doing likely won't to go over well. “Uh, sorry about-” I say, and my words are clipped short by the abrupt wail of the bell through the narrow hallway. I turn to head toward German class, “Um, so Alison, yeah, I’ll tell her. Quarter past four.”

“Thanks,” He says, and slings his bag over his shoulder as he walks the other way. 

Later, Alison is missing from maths, and now I am distracted by her absence. My eyes keep drifting toward her empty desk, where she is usually perched right in front me, hair draped over the back of her chair and wafting vanilla scented shampoo my way. From where she sits she is right within range for my flirtatious torment, for me to kick the legs of her chair while she tries to draw straight lines with her ruler or poke her with a pen when she’s trying to ask a question, but not today. She’s gone, and I have this strange, niggling feeling that something isn’t quite right. 

I smuggle my phone out of my pocket and text her under the desk. 

You go home sick today? 

“Jude, phone please,” The teacher says, because she’s the type that watches me all class long for even a hint of wrongdoing. She barely lets me away with anything, so usually I have to act out when her back is turned or when she’s gone to the toilet or something. She stands in front of me now and snaps her fingers at me like I’m some kind of unruly feral dog, so I hand my phone over without protest and let her store it in her drawer until we’ve completed our calculus lesson. 

I spend the rest of the class wondering if Alison has texted back. 

“Hey,” before the last class of the day I block Tara Neary’s access to her locker with my body and note the look of utter delight on her face. It is because I am giving her attention, and I’m not blind to the effect I seem to have on these girls. It’s because I’m tall, I think, but so often they shrink back timidly like Tara and gaze up at me through lashes, trembling nervously at their own imaginings of the things they want me to do to them. Her expression quickly turns to crushing disappointment the moment I start quizzing her about Alison. 

“She’s in some of your classes, right?”

“Um, yeah but I don’t know her that well or anything.”

“Really? I thought you hung out.”

“Sometimes,” Tara says reluctantly as she nudges me out of the way to swap the books in her bag with those in her locker, “But I don’t know where she is. She was in chemistry this morning, and she wasn’t in Irish this afternoon,” A shrug, “sorry, I don’t know anything else. She probably had her period and went home or something.” Tara glances at me with some measure of optimism, as though this revelation that Alison does in fact, get a period may have frightened and disgusted me enough to put me off her, but she can try that one with lesser boys. I’ve been so inundated by girls and women my whole life, platonically, familially and romantically that periods of all things do not shock me. There are far scarier things about women. 

“Okay, thanks, well, if you see her tell her I was asking for her.”

“I will.”

She won’t.

Evan is standing forlornly by his locker at the end of the day, and as I pass him I give him the nod. “No sign?” 

“No, I suppose she went home sick.”

“Yeah, I’d say so. See you tomorrow, Evan.”

“Yeah, see you.”

Out by the gates in the hazy light that girl I used to know is there again. She sees me and waves, and this time I cannot pretend that I haven’t seen her back, so I wave too, and there is nowhere to go but past her, so I approach her. 

“What are you doing here?” I say, and I had hoped that my words would come out sounding a bit less accusatory but it’s difficult. 

Leah smiles and wraps her arms around herself to shield from the cold. She’s wearing a coat, but it isn’t thick enough to protect her from this cold snap. “I’m just waiting for someone.”

“A sibling?”

“No.”

I peer at her, wishing I didn’t feel so guarded and suspicious, but my body reacts to her long before I do. Always. “Do you ever think it’s weird that you’re nineteen and you’re still hanging around your old secondary school?”

She scoffs, and I shrug, “Just wondering, like.” 

She fixes her face so that it is soft despite my offensive remarks, nostalgic, affectionate, even, the one she always makes when she looks at me and it annoys me. “Just an acquaintance is all, I said I’d be here at the gates.”

“Right.”

“How’s your friend Jen?”

“She’s doing fine.”

“Oh, that’s good. She was such a nice girl.”

“Yeah, she is,” I almost turn to go before I spin back to her “She’s actually doing really well. She’s sorting everything out and she’s happy.” I’m not sure where this sudden burst of childish venom came from, or whether it’s really true that Jen is sorting things out or if she’s expressly happy, but I say it anyway in defence so that I can prove that she hasn’t turned out the way that many people expected her to.

“Did you hear Pete was put in a psych unit?”

I falter, “Pete Lee?” 

She nods, “He went crazy, apparently, and his dad had to wrestle a knife out of his hand.” 

I remember Pete Lee. He was a quiet, but nice guy. A little weird, sure, but relatively harmless. He liked dance music and always wore these really bright, neon coloured runners. I used to talk to him about games we both played on the playstation and he taught me how to huff deodorant fumes until I felt like I was floating through time and space above the little dingy park where we used to hang out. We were thirteen. Now we are seventeen and Pete Lee is in a psychiatric facility, which makes him the second boy from that small group of peers to have a psychotic break. 

I want to say that Pete didn’t deserve this, that if we’d all been more careful back then with the things we used and the things we developed a taste for then all this wouldn’t have had to happen. But we were barely teenagers, we didn’t really know what we were getting into, someone else should have known better, like Leah, maybe. She was there. She should have warned us that solvent abuse turns to substance abuse so easily that you don’t really see it happening, but I know that it is too much to expect from her, so I don’t say this.

Or anything else aside from, “Oh, that’s really sad.” 

She sighs unhappily, “Yeah, that’s how it goes sometimes.”

“I suppose,” I reply, and begin walking away from her. 

“Will you tell Jen I was asking about her?” She calls after me, and I don’t turn around. 

“Yeah,” I say, though she probably already knows I'm lying.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[anti-terf-posts]

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oh ! nothing bad, you say ? 🤔 /j

[bi-and-bewildered]

In honor of my graduation, here are my favorite stories to tell about my high school experience

In my first week of freshman year, I watched a kid snort cocaine off his desk. To this day, that is the most blatant in-class drug use I’ve ever witnessed.

Freshman year, ancient literature class, our teacher had a week where he was in a bad mood. We brought in his favorite candy to give him as we walked in the door. He was completely baffled and claimed he was never in a bad mood to begin with.

Sophomore year, AP Biology, I wrote a lab report on mitosis. I wrote the phrase “cells divide during this process.” My teacher counted me points off and wrote back “Cells can’t do math.”

Sophomore year, AP World History, our teacher mentioned she once had a class with a pet fish. She said as long as we took care of it and she didn’t have to deal with it she didn’t care. I brought a fish and a fish tank into school and our fish, lovingly named Frank, remained our class mascot for the rest of the semester. Name suggestions included: Beta Mussolini (vetoed), Beta Male, Sparta-fish

Sophomore year, our spring musical was High School Musical. The day of opening night, our male lead (playing Troy) got hit by a car walking to get food before the show. He still went on that night and our director didn’t even find out about it until two weeks later when the show was over.

My junior year APUSH teacher said that she wouldn’t panic if I died in her classroom (lightheartedly playing off a joke I had made), I thought it was hilarious. 2 months later, I had seizure on the floor of her classroom. Low and behold, she was perfectly calm the entire time.

Same year, same class as the above story. A girl in my class (a friend of mine) witnessed a guy get shot point blank at an intersection on her way to school. She came in was like, “I just saw a guy get shot😐.” Teacher sent her to the counselor.

my senior year calculus teacher had pet lizards and decided to start breeding cockroaches for them. in his classroom. sometimes he’d throw cockroaches at kids to scare them. he also accidentally bred an albino cockroach and that was pretty cool.

in a single day of school senior year, a student got run over on the crosswalk in front of our school in the morning, a teacher had a heart attack during first hour, and a fight broke out during lunch and the kid jumped on a lunch table and kicked the other guy in the face. (no one died btw) (it was also the day i got rejected from my dream school lmao)

another day in second semester, in the morning there was a four car accident in the school parking lot that took out an entire light pole. not one to be out done, three hours later our senior class president drove through a wall like three feet to the left of the first accident.

love a good american public school🤘🏼🤘🏼

[dorkofclanlavellan]

Turning Point

Note 1: I got the idea for this chapter late last night and resisted the urge to work on it then because I was still fleshing it out. Also, I will be ignoring some "canon" information like the Killer Croc file, etc because I didn't care for the canon version. Faceclaim: Ethan Cutkosky as Jason Todd Pairing: Bruce Wayne x GN!Reader (Sweetie) Warnings: Violence, descriptive child abuse, alcohol abuse, drug abuse, vague reference of disturbing images on a bad guy's laptop. Sweetie as an alternative to Y/N (for those new to the series)

Jason pocketed the key the baker had given him the night before. He'd been scared out of his mind when Batman had shown up. It had been difficult to eat with Batman staring him down, expression entirely unreadable. But the baker had practically dragged the dubbed Demon of Gotham out of the kitchen.

Jason had a talent for moving without being detected. It was a skill he'd been forced to develop early on. So, quietly moving to the doorway the pair had ducked out, Jason began to listen in. They were whispering, clearly not wanting him to hear their conversation. Too late for that.

"He's a kid. I sincerely doubt he's going to kill me if I give him a place to hide out whenever he needs it." The baker had scoffed.

"You can't guarantee that, Sweetie. You don't know anything about him. He broke in. With a crowbar clearly he planned on using it on something." Batman's response made Jason cringe. He never planned on hurting anyone but he hadn't done himself any favors bringing something that could be considered a weapon.

"Pfft, yeah, on my display case! Bruce, I get that you're worried about me. And that's sweet and all. But this kid needs help!" It was at that moment that Jason realized why the baker had looked so familiar. He kicked himself for not remembering sooner. This was Bruce Wayne's newfound love.

But now he knew Bruce Wayne's secret. He took learning Batman's secret identity as his cue to slink back to his seat before his eavesdropping could be discovered. The adults had returned, seemingly unaware of the fact that Jason had overheard crucial information.

After he'd finished eating, the baker, whom he'd later learned to call Sweetie, had handed Jason a pair of keys. They'd explained the copper-colored one was to the bakery and the silver one was to their loft upstairs. They'd told him if he ever got hungry again or just needed a place to hang out for a while, he could let himself in, in a less destructive way, whenever he wanted.

Jason had been confused as to why this complete stranger was so interested in helping him. He'd expected to get hit when he'd been discovered in the bakery. And instead, they'd fed him, given him access to the bakery and their own loft, and had stood up for him to Batman.

He had just slipped out of the bakery for the second time after having been fed yet again by Sweetie and hanging around for what he assumed was long enough for his stepmother and her boyfriend to be passed out before he got home.

Boy was he wrong. As Jason slipped into the run-down apartment and began to silently make his way to his bedroom, his stepmother's boyfriend, Clay, stepped out of the kitchen, right in front of him, with a beer can in hand. Jason froze, hoping Clay wouldn't notice him. Again his hopes were dashed.

Confusion and surprise briefly flashed over Clay's face, followed immediately by anger.

"Where the fuck have you been, you little shit?!" At the man's yelling, Jason took a defensive stance, preparing for Clay's fist to come flying.

Then his stepmother, Sheila, came staggering out of the living room. "S'going on, baby?" She muttered, glazed-over eyes barely registering Jason's presence.

"Your shithead kid finally dragged his ass in! He has no respect for you or me, waiting so long before he finally shows up!" Clay snarled, stepping close enough to Jason to make the boy grimace at his foul breath.

"The fuck have you been?" Sheila demanded, glaring at Jason.

"Nowhere. I-" Jason's attempt at an excuse was interrupted by Clay's fist making contact with his browline, knocking him down to the floor. The blow made it impossible for Jason to register what Clay was yelling at him now. But he could take a guess.

Steeling himself, Jason kicked out at Clay's shin. Knocking the drunken man's leg out from under him. He attempted to scramble backward up the stairs but Clay was on top of him at a surprising speed.

Another punch, this time to his nose, and Jason silently wished it wouldn't be broken later. Followed by Clay's meaty hands wrapping around Jason's neck. Jason lashed out with both his hands and his feet, making contact on numerous occasions. But it was futile. Clay was too amped up on whatever drugs he'd taken to notice any pain now.

Jason could faintly hear Sheila screaming at Clay to let him go, not out of concern for Jason but out of worry that Clay would go to prison for killing him. Jason's vision was getting spotty and he was certain he was either going to die or at least black out and be left on the floor overnight like last time.

Then suddenly Clay's weight and hands were off of him. It became easier to breathe so Jason moved onto his hands and knees and began taking deep gasping breaths. They were a bit painful but Jason didn't care. He could barely make out the sounds of a scuffle behind him but the blood pumping in his ears drowned out most of the commotion.

Finally, once it became less of a chore to breathe and his heart rate, vision, and hearing returned to normal, Jason realized that someone had saved him. He had an inkling of who it was and the sight of his stepmother and her unconscious boyfriend bound a few feet away confirmed it. He heard the sound of laptop keys clacking in the other room. He followed the sound to the living room, where Clay kept his laptop hidden in the locked coffee table drawer.

There was Batman, typing away. Obviously looking for something to gain Clay further charges.

"How did you..." He started, wincing at the scratching in his throat. He rubbed his neck, hoping the swelling would lessen.

"Did you really think I wouldn't keep an eye on you after your little break-in last night?" Batman responded, not even bothering to look at Jason.

Jason watched him for a second, thinking how odd it was that he had the richest man in Gotham sitting on his ratty couch, using his stepmom's asshole boyfriend's laptop. The richest man in Gotham had just saved him. The richest man in Gotham had no idea that Jason knew he was Batman.

For yet another time that night, Jason was proven wrong.

"You seem to like spying on people, Jason." Batman suddenly said, again not looking away from his work on the laptop.

"Not really spying since you're in a common area of my home." If he didn't know any better, Jason could have sworn Batman chuckled at Jason's snark.

"True. But listening in on my conversation with Sweetie last night..." Bruce trailed off and Jason noted that his tone held no anger or hostility, merely amusement. Which just confused the boy even more.

Before Jason could ask or say anything else, Batman suddenly slammed the laptop closed. A sickened look on his face. Clearly, he'd seen something disturbing on Clay's laptop. Which didn't really surprise Jason. Clay would do anything for a quick buck.

Outrage soon washed over Batman's face and Jason remained rooted in place as he watched Batman storm over to Clay. Jason's eyes grew wide as Batman whipped out a red hot ring in the shape of his bat symbol and he couldn't tear his eyes away as the side of Clay's face was branded.

He only looked away when he saw blue and red lights flashing outside the window, growing closer by the second, accompanied by a chorus of sirens. When he turned back around Batman was gone.

But somehow Jason knew it wouldn't be his last encounter with Gotham's guardian.

[memesomething]

various medical starters

“Hold onto my hand, okay?”

“Don’t look at it. Keep your eyes on me.” 

“You were sick. I didn’t want to leave you.” 

“Can you hear me?”

“I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m going to change out your IV now. It will be quick.”

“I can’t breathe.”

“It’s probably just swelling, but we could check for a break if it would give you peace of mind.”

“What did you take?”

“Where are you, will someone find you if you pass out before I get there?” 

“Having nightmares that get that bad… that’s not normal.”

“You should be at home.”

“Keep talking to me, alright?”

“How did you get [injury]?”

“– Was that a gunshot? [Name]?”

“You might have to stay in bed a couple more days.”

“I made you soup. I wasn’t sure if you’d want it.”

“Your fever is very high. I’m [name]. We’re friends, you called me and asked me to come over.”

“Maybe we should head to the ER.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“Take it in sips, to start with. Go slow.”

“I think you’re concussed.”

“It’s too bright.”

“I’m really cold.”

“I’ll come and pick you up, just stay there.”

“So, what are you in for?” (said inside a hospital, probably)

[mad-hunts]

i just realized i haven't really talked about what barton is like while he's in arkham and/or what it's like for him. so... let me start by saying barton is probably among one of the inmates at arkham that has caused the highest number of incidents. and i don't mean small ones all the time, either. because barton will go so far to make himself sick just so he can go to the infirmary and steal scalpels / ANY sort of object he can cut people with (specifically the doctors.) now, of course i'm not trying to say that this is justified because of this, but he has also has a history of being treated very badly in there (though that certainly isn't an uncommon thing for anyone in arkham unfortunately) ... and i just feel like that's important to note because his behavior could very well be partially in retaliation to this.

however, i can imagine that the staff in arkham typically don't care about considering things like this since it is a SUPER corrupt place. and thus... i hate to say it, but whenever he is compliant, it's usually because he's drugged up to the point where he's drunker than a skunk. or loopier than a pot-holder. because it is DEFINITELY not normal for barton to not rebel against them in any way. he's also refused to eat in there several times and wellll — that probably didn't vibe well with them, either. so basically what i'm trying to say is barton 'acts out' a lot while he's in there, which could be attributed both to his circumstances AND to his very altered mental state

[incorrectbatfam]

Can we get some gooner hcs?

You guys are really into this, aren't you?

I guess since I created the characters this would technically be their canon? Even though they're in the Gotham universe? Idk let's call it Schrodinger's Canon

Anyway, some basic tidbits I came up with:

When they're not doing crime, they hang out together sitcom style—usually at Rob's apartment in Burnside. He regrets telling them where the spare key is

Milo lives with Rob and the twins full-time because the alternative is letting him wander the streets as a minor. Rob is a criminal anyway so might as well harbor a teenage runaway while he's at it. The verdict is still out on whether Milo's just a tenant or if there's a familial relationship slowly forming

Gene also doesn't have his own house. He stays with Rob about half the time and the other half he stays with Otto or occasionally his ex-wife. The latter two live in Crime Alley so Gene prefers Rob's place

Blaise got kicked out by his parents for being a stoner. He lives in Milo's car in the parking lot behind Rob's apartment when the car isn't being used for missions. Mac is similar—he has an apartment but spends so much time in his ice cream surveillance truck that he keeps spare clothes and a sleeping bag there

Kellin made a decent amount in their hired killer days and has a few safehouses around Gotham and Metropolis. Their assassin paranoia keeps them cycling between places

Kellin also occasionally sleeps over at Booker's dorm at Gotham U. He's been getting them caught up on pop culture since they fell a few years behind

Otto is the only one trusted to babysit Jackie and Gunner. He might look like a grinch on the outside but he enjoys being around children

Gene invents new prototypes and Otto tests them behind his repair shop before giving feedback. If it involves chemistry, Molly will also give her input

Booker is the chaotic academic who turns every wall he sees into a detective board and often gets the right solution with the wrong formula

Ironically, Milo doesn't like racing video games and Grand Theft Auto. He thinks they're not nearly as exciting as the real thing

Molly and Blaise have feelings for each other but every time they try to get together the universe finds some way to stop them—bad timing, other people, and once a family of hungry raccoons

Gene unofficially coined the comedic physics that follow them as "the Looney Toons force"

The only ones not affected are the twins. Milo isn't affected as much compared to the adults too

Molly is a massive Gotham City Sirens fangirl. Sometimes, to get new ideas for her chemicals, she'll walk through Ivy's latest crime scene to see if she can use anything plant-based

Kellin swears the most but they do it in Thai because this is a PG-13 program

[ladyimaginarium]

Hey y'all, just figured I'd let y'all know about something that's been going on in "Canada" lately.

The RCMP is planning on disposing the evidence of the victims of Robert Pickton, one of Canada's most notorious serial killers, with most of them being indigenous women and/or sex workers and/or addicts; there were also a few Black women that have gone missing and/or murdered, as well.

For more information on the victims, here's a list of a few of them. Just be warned it's very graphic & tragic. This is important because today, on December 17th annually, is The International Day To End Violence Against Sex Workers.

Advocates, academics, indigenous women's groups & lawyers have repeatedly said that this is a violation of human rights and it's extremely telling that the RCMP is trying to borderline cover this up and dispose of evidence when it's not even just Pickton who did this, he's stated that there were others involved and people who knew about what happened and nothing's being done about it. It's genuinely horrific that this is even being considered, and the victims and the families of the victims deserve better, especially the lives of indigenous, black and/or sex workers, because the fact that this is even being considered is basically telling them that their lives — these women's lives, but also the lives of Native women, Black women, addicts and sex workers — don't matter. It's fucking disgusting, especially as a reconnecting two spirited person.

Please keep the victims & their families in mind!!

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Good Eclipse: Soooo…Do you like beanbags?

Lunara: VIOLENCE AND MURDER! RUN THE EATTH RED!

Good Eclipse: …Ya like catnip? Because dear god, you remind me of a cat.

[anti-endo-haven]

That is rather uncomfortable, as someone who holds part of OCD intrusive thoughts and fears of that sort of thing due to some trauma.

As a cis man (though by no means heteronormative) in a transmasc nonbinary AFAB body, I can say I am thoroughly disturbed.

I should watch the first movie, but I worry that the content would be triggering. Gore I can handle, but SA? I'd vomit on the spot. /lh

Any warnings for it? Or is it just the later films?

-🧪 of 🪽🪻

The first movie? Death, nudity, sex, violence, gore, profanity, alcohol/drugs, smoking, certification , intense/frightening scenes.

Alien 3 does have a sa scene. It is stopped before it gets into it, but there is that one.

Always take a break if it gets too much, no matter what. We’re the same way. I can also go through the movies if I can find them on something we have and tell you which parts to skip as well.

(All the tw tags are also there if you just need a Quick Look as well)

[lonelysucker7]

Cigarettes out the Window

Pairing: Kaine Parker/Louise Kennedy

Summary: Based on the comic “Spider-Man: The Lost Years” (Specifically issue #3). Kaine Parker remembers his intimate time with detective Louise Kennedy and those cigarettes she never stopped smoking.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Heavy angst, mentions of death, mentions of violence, drug references

Not proofread. Wanted to make this after I got inspired by a song. Is it a song fic? Not really, but you could feel the references in here. The fic no one asked but the one I needed haha.

Enjoy!

………………………………………………………………………….

Kaine grew accustomed to the smell of cigarette smoke over the years.

Everywhere he walked, his nose caught the scent of burn wafting in the air from someone smoking in a dark corner. Or someone dangling their hand mindlessly out the window with the stick in their fingers as he swinged through the city.

But every once and then on the top of a rooftop, the highest there could be in Houston he would stare up in the night sky watching the stars glow. And its beauty becomes interrupted by the smell of smoke.

Even at the highest peak, it was always there.

She was there. Louise Kennedy.

A blur of memories that came back to him even in his sleep, startled him awake and he gasped her name out. His mind raced and his eyes searched the darkness of the hotel room and found nothing. Heard nothing.

Kaine would check on the sleeping Aracely, making sure she was alright and unharmed. Then he would leave to hang out on the balcony, taking an overview of the city lights go on and off like little flames in the night.

Nothing would beat their glow except the moon, the stars, the sun and a lighter.

In his own silence he thinks back to those many years ago…

………………………………………………………………………….

“Louise, why do you smoke?”

The half dressed blonde woman looks back over her shoulder towards the man on the couch who called for her attention. Her pink lips stretched to a friendly smile.

“They calm me down from my high. Or at least, feed more pleasure to it.”

The man nods a little, processing her words carefully. He thinks back to their shared kisses of intimacy and the tongue in his mouth swirls a little inside, tasting the faint flavor of smoke. It was sweet and sour.

His mind snaps back to reality as the couch sinks a little and the weight of Louise’s body acknowledges her presence. He can feel himself starting to smile as her head rests on his shoulder. He watches the way her lips move around the stick adjusting it to comfort, and her nose exhaling the smoke from there.

The way she does these things, it’s strange and amusing to him almost. But he can’t help but wrinkle his nose a little and lift a hand to rub the smell away. This action catches Louise’s attention and she leans away from him slightly.

“Oh, sorry about that Kaine.” Her hand comes up to remove and burn out the cigarette on the tray, but her wrist is grabbed gently by him. Kaine shakes his head and assures her.

“Don’t mind me ruining your moment. I’ll get used to it in time.” He offers a faint smile to her. Louise smirks a little in return and she nods, feeling his hand carefully pull away from hers. She drags another bit of the cigarette in her mouth and exhales slowly, letting out a soft giggle.

Louise reaches again for her cigarette and she turns to Kaine, raising it up to him. He eyes it curiously, the smoke following its swift trail behind it. Kaine gets the hint she wants him to try it out. With the back of his hand, he pushes it away from him and says,

“No thank you. I… I don’t like it.”

Louise raises an eyebrow, making a face that she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“How could you not like it?”

“Don’t really like the essence of it.”

“So you’ve never tasted it?”

“Never.” Kaine raises an eyebrow as she scoffs in response. She inhaled the smoke again and exhales it with a sigh. She says,

“Everyone smokes here. Am I supposed to believe that easily you don’t?”

Kaine snorts lightly. “I’m not like anyone else.”

Louise rolls her eyes a bit, and she waves him dismissively. She shifts in her seat and amusingly says, “How many times will you go on saying that?”

Kaine shrugs, pushing some of his curls closer to his face almost creating a curtain between him and Louise. He mumbled, “As much as I need to remind… myself.”

Louise sighs a little bit more loudly, and she gets on the couch to sit up on her knees. Her hands trail up to his arm and she leans closer to him. Kaine could smell her perfumed scent mixed in with the smoke, as he closed his eyes when he heard her soft honeyed voice near his ear.

“You're right. Remind yourself that. But let me add that it’s because you’re unique. Much more than anyone else here. You’re my one in a million.”

Louise's warm hands moved around his body, snaking her arms around him. In the gentle embrace Kaine leaned more into her and let himself be comforted. The tension in his body became relaxed and both him and Louise leaned back on the couch together. He rested his head on her chest, listening to the calm heartbeat and breathing of her smoking.

The dark room is silent for a moment as he breaks it with a soft monotone voice.

“I think I’ll try it out sometime these days. Smoking.”

He feels Louise’s hand pat him lovingly on his back. A soft chuckle rumbles from her.

“Whatever you say sweetheart. I’ll be here for your first.”

………………………………………………………………………….

On the night of her funeral, Kaine did everything in his power to avoid attending. But after everything, after murdering her it was hard not to go back. A final goodbye at least.

For the night he crashed (literally) in her apartment. Kaine remembered how he slept on the couch that night, afraid to go to her room and not find her there despite knowing she was gone.

Everywhere the lingering smell of cigarettes and Louise’s sweet perfume held him on a chokehold. The room illuminated with the glow of the moon, keeping him both awake and asleep.

Eventually he walked to the curtains and closed them completely, leaving him and the darkness in each other's company.

Kaine stared at nothing in the darkness as his tears streamed down the sides of his face. No sound was uttered as he cried and he could feel himself falling apart by the minute. So much for being one in a million. At this moment he had wished Louise pulled the trigger of the gun on him.

The weight of her betrayal was still fresh in his mind as her facade fell and became the monster he overlooked. Her twisted heart capable of fooling a love to a monster left him so blind and vulnerable. And yet in his mind he still insisted he was something, anything to her. She did spare him. She really did…And both paid the price for their faults.

Her screams couldn’t leave his mind as she struggled violently to be let go of his hold, her back pushing against his chest. He recalled his nose burying near her hair as he smelled her one more time. And the feeling of her delicate neck breaking and burning in his hands was a brutal reminder of the horrible joy he got from relieving the burden Louise had become to him. The many times he kissed that neck and face he never saw what the outcome would be in the end for those parts.

Now he knew.

………………………………………………………………………….

He left her place the moment the funeral had passed, bothering to clean up whatever mess he left. Underneath the couch he picked out the pack of cigarettes that she must have dropped and become lost.

Mindlessly he shoved those in his back pocket. And checked the place once again. And left.

Atop the buildings he ran and jumped, the rain crashing down to hit him in the face like a whip. Remembering when he first arrived in Utah, the first thing he saw was the graveyard. Not like it mattered to him at the time, only imagining what he would be like dead in one of those places.

For Louise to make it her final resting place was no surprise. How she died could have ended up differently.

He would have preferred her death to be the hand of her own smoking addiction. Get lung cancer once she aged. One where she’d be a dead woman walking.

Living, but dying.

At last he arrived at the graveyard, and he wasted no time walking around each place to find her name. He could have laughed if he realized it should have been obvious which one was hers. Everyone had their own set of flowers, dead and alive.

Louise Kennedy, had none.

Stopping in front of her, he slowly felt his chest swell up with the bubbling feeling of guilt and anger. It was pathetic and almost pitiful to see how her area was completely empty. Maybe she had no family close to her mourning for her. He didn’t sit down on the ground, instead squatting and hunched over as the rain poured down on his head. Kaine didn’t say a word, and just lowered his eyes feeling incapable of reading her name carved on the headstone.

His legs and body began to hurt from the position he was on and he decided to sit in the moist ground. He felt everything soak him up. His face was becoming wet and he couldn’t tell which of the wetness between the rain and his tears were.

Oddly, it was warm.

In his seat he shifted a little as his eyebrow raised when he felt something discomforting from behind his pants. Pulling it out, a shaky breath exhaled from his mouth. His chest hurt even more now that he was holding something very close to the person that once lived: Her pack of cigarettes.

The box was warm in the grip of his hand. Maybe he didn’t bring flowers but he brought her favorite thing. His silence and the soft trickle of rain hitting the ground were present in the background as he kept staring at the box. The edge of his thoughts kept insisting him to do something right now. In that instant an idea popped in his mind. He stared at the ground of her grave and back at the small pack and a startling giggle escaped his lips.

He remembered how he never really tried his first cigarette. She said she would be witness. And here they were: together again. Such a perfect final goodbye for them both. Shaking the box to his ear to listen if there was enough, he gritted his teeth in satisfaction. He turns to her grave and a rough mock in his tone rings out.

“Share a final smoke with me, Louise. You said you were gonna see me. Now watch.”

Staring at the pack he turned it in his hand noting the wrinkles on the surface. He paused when he noticed a faint pink smudge, and dented teeth on the side. The pad of his thumb traced there a little, feeling the small bumps underneath his fingertip. The pink smudge spread slightly to the right.

Lipstick.

Perhaps her hands were busy at the time and must have held the box in between her teeth. Well no more of that now. Shaking the box, two cigarettes dropped out onto his palm and he pulled out a lighter he had found on a nearby counter.

He ignited the lighter to life with a shaky thumb, taking a couple tries to make the spark. The open flame flickered in and out from the rain that crossed its way. Nearing both cigarette tips, they gently began to burn red and smoke emitted from them.

He closed the cap and tossed it aside on the ground near her headstone. With both sticks in his fingers, he shifted in his seat on the ground. He raised one towards his lips, muttering,

“One for me…”

His chapped lips wrapped around the stick, adjusting them comfortably with a small roll.

“…And one for you.”

He stretched forward and jabbed the cigarette in the middle of the dirt as it stared upwards. Sad quiet eyes watched it fight, keeping itself burning, but the weight of the rain was too much. The stick slowly shrunk down in the dirt, unable to keep its shape intact. The faint sizzle of the stick began to wane, the smoke whipping in the wind.

In an instant… The burn was gone.

Too bad.

Now it was his turn.

Carefully he took a slow drag of the cigarette with a pucker, closing his eyes as the smoke of nicotine settled in his lungs. The rich and nasty flavor settled on his tongue like nothing. The familiar taste of her kiss instantly coming back to him and his eyes watered. The rain pattered on his hair heavily, matting down his curls and they stuck on his breaking skin. His breathing ragged a little, already feeling the pinch on his throat and lungs at the same time, and his hands dug the soft earth beneath him.

A haze moved in his mind, almost leaving him in a trance like state. He lolls his head to the side and his eyes read the letters on the headstone.

R…I…P…L…O…U…I..—

“ARGH—!”

Kaine’s body aggressively recoils forward as the cellular degeneration kicks in, and his mouth drops the cigarette onto the ground. His hands reached up to his face, gripping his cheeks as he felt the skin stretch and rip a little apart. He lets out a bloodcurdling scream as the pain of smoke in his lungs and throat adds to his trigger. It burned and cooled, like chewing a mint gum and drinking water. He chokes out his tears, coughing out and huffing as much fresh air he can to ease his pain. His sight keeps being blurred by a mix of his tears and the rain.

His eyes keep darting at her headstone, and he shuffles desperately forward quickly pressing his face on the surface of it. He felt the coldness sink calmly onto his skin, wishing for her warm arms to wrap around him. Just like she always did.

Please… please Louise…

The rain kept on and the rumble of thunder came and went from time to time.

The pain eventually left, and he was left in a mess of grime, dirt, blood, and the taste of smoke. Gently he pulls himself away from the headstone and moves back, gritting his teeth feeling his bones shake inside him.

The feeling of wanting to go home ached immensely. But what home? After this what now? Questions he would soon have to respond on his own with any hope he had left. And that was the problem. He hoped too much.

Kaine pushed himself up from the ground, staggering back with a groan. His eye catches the box of cigarettes on the ground, sticks spilled and stained with dirt from his thrashing.

He didn’t know what to do except push the box near her grave and with the heel of his foot, started grinding it down. And he kept doing it and doing it and doing it, a new found rage burning again. He never liked them anyway. He probably never will. His mind rushed in an angry thrill,

I hate you I hate you I hate you—!

“…I-I love you.”

Hurriedly he pushes the dirt and grass onto the cigarettes, burying them and flats it out as if nothing had happened. And he turned away from Louise’s grave, not wanting to look at her again. He walks away with the bitter taste of her cigarette on his tongue. The rain settled down to a quiet drizzle, the peppered stars on the night sky twinkling.

She will never leave his mind. If there was smoke, she would be there.

Always.

[deathmimedream]

::: Rest and Recovery:::

@alastors-radioshow

While Cici wreaked havoc above in the ministry, Terzo slept below in Hell.

Granted,he’d just been through quite the ordeal.

Being drugged, tortured, murdered, beheaded, and returning to life as a Demon tended to do that.

He drifted in and out of sleep and consciousness the first full day, vaguely remembering that at one point, Alastor was curled beside him, still fully clothed, monocule clasped in one hand.

Terzo hadn’t hardly registered why his beloved would be in such a state, his mind still hazy with exhaustion. He gave a raspy hum, tucked his head under the demon’s chin, and slid his arms about the stag.

Drifting right off again.

He didn’t wake again until at least a half day later, still healing, still tired, but more aware of things.

He pushed himself up slightly, body sore, arms shaking in pain as he lifted himself up, almost panicking over his new surroundings.

Not the gray fog of screaming and grabbing, clawed hands that was purgatory, but also not the purple and black of his own bedroom.

This room, was red and black.

The bed was double the size of his, a bit softer, warmer, and he was only wearing one of Alastor’s shirts.

The entire room bore the stag’s scent, making his panic subside.

This was Alastor’s room, so it meant that he was safe.

He rubbed at his eyes, and blinked, noticing the changes, one by one.

Firstly, His hands were also black, fading to grey then his own, tanned skin tone as the color moved up his arms, fingertips now a claw-tipped bright gold.

He stared at them, and the cross shaped wounds along each arm, mostly healed.

He gave a tiny, strained, choked gasp as he began to remember. But rather than reach to the scars at his throat, his hand sought out Alastor instead.

If this was Alastor’s room, surely he wouldn’t be far away from him, si?