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torgerandsuzanne · 11 months

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This weekend, all the major movers and shakers in Formula 1 have descended on Silverstone for the British Grand Prix. On track, seven-time world champion Lewis Hamilton will attempt to slow Max Verstappen’s seemingly inexorable charge towards a third successive title. Off it, their respective team principals, Mercedes’ Toto Wolff and his nemesis, Red Bull’s Christian Horner, will also do battle. But arguably the most significant power move made in motorsport this week may already have taken place. Its architect was none other than Susie Wolff, wife of Toto. And just quietly, she is hoping she may have triggered a revolution.

As managing director of F1 Academy, a new all-female single-seater series, she is currently thrashing out what she believes could be a ‘game-changing deal’ with F1’s 10 teams, which she hopes will boost female participation in motorsport like nothing before.

......

Leaning back in a chair in the library of the Monaco Yacht Club, Wolff lets out a snigger. ‘It’s true,’ she nods. ‘He really did once describe me as a donkey!’ We are talking about her husband, Toto Wolff. The donkey reference actually cropped up in an interview the couple gave to Ben and Georgie Ainslie’s Performance People podcast last year. In the YouTube version of the podcast, you can see Susie, by this point in hysterics, miming someone digging a hole ever-deeper. The exchange is a window into their relationship: playful, loving, with Susie giving as good as she gets. But it also says something about both of their characters. Toto is a high performer, there is no doubt about that. And Susie? Well, ‘donkey’ may be a bit harsh for a woman who once gave Hamilton a run for his money in karting. But she knows what her husband meant. ‘Don’t underestimate the donkey,’ she says, grinning. ‘It gets there in the end. I do have a lot of tenacity.’ She is going to need it in her latest role.

There have been various attempts down the years to drive female participation in motorsport and achieve the ultimate breakthrough: returning a woman to the F1 grid. Wolff believes F1 Academy is different. For starters, it is the first all-female series launched and owned by Formula 1 itself. That means it is in F1’s interests for it to succeed. So whereas W Series, for instance, was given an enviable platform by the sport the fate of F1 Academy is far more intertwined with the brand. Not only will it compete on the F1 circuit from next season, but the two series will collaborate far more closely. Wolff cannot speak just yet about what that might look like, as the finer details are still being ironed out. Suffice to say there are some very exciting plans in the offing that she hopes to announce soon. ‘I think there are some forward-thinking team principals in Formula 1,’ she says. ‘I certainly feel a real commitment from within the paddock to help change things now.’ ‘When I met them all after my announcement in Bahrain, I said to all of them, “Please don’t think of this as a ‘woman’s thing’ being run by a woman. This is for the greater good of this sport. I hope it will add value to Formula 1 long-term. And we need to be on this journey together.” So far, the response has been very positive, I have to say.’ Wolff smiles. ‘But F1 Academy cannot just be about 15 young women racing. And we cannot have the sole purpose of trying to find the next female F1 driver. We have to stand for something much more. It’s about creating opportunity. How are we making motorsport accessible to girls? That’s why I’m spending a lot of my time in the world of karting right now, trying to understand, OK, who’s out there racing? At what level? What is stopping girls from racing? I think that’s where we’ve got to be really proactive. Because that talent pool is what we need to grow.’

......

Wolff is uniquely well-placed to do so. Born in Oban she had a typically outdoorsy upbringing. Both she and older brother David, were put on skis and bikes as toddlers. Her parents, owned a motorcycle dealership and her father raced bikes competitively, so racing was ‘in the blood’. But, Wolff says, she was ‘never a typical tomboy’. ‘I had my Barbie. I had my dolls. I liked that stuff. But I also loved going fast.’ Eventually the family got a second-hand kart and that was it, although Wolff insists it was just ‘for fun’ until she was taken to a Formula 3 race at Donington Park one year and watched Jenson Button win. ‘That’s when I was like: “This is what I want.” After that I started racing in the European and world championships.’ It was at that point, too, that Wolff began to experience sexism for the first time. She had always been ‘the only girl’ in karting races. Or at least one of very few. But as her participation became more serious, so too did the feeling of being not just different but unwanted. ‘Funnily enough, half of my battle was with the parents of my competitors,’ she recalls. ‘For them, it was not wanting their sons to get beaten by a girl.’

Sometimes her own teams, supposedly on her side, were just as culpable. When she reached DTM, the German touring car championship, Wolff was famously made to drive a pink car. ‘I hated it,’ she says. ‘It was such a cliché. No one wanted to be overtaken by that car.’ Wolff recalls one particularly awkward episode when three-time F1 world champion Niki Lauda came to watch his son Mathias. ‘Mathias and I were teammates and it was a real thrill that Niki was coming to watch,’ she says, wincing. ‘So anyway, he walks into the garage, and all the drivers were in there, and without even saying hi to Mathias or anything, he took one look at me and said to Mathias: “Whatever you do, beat her.” Even Mathias was embarrassed.’ ‘Years later, when we obviously became friends at Mercedes I brought it up and Niki was like, “Yeah, I know. But I knew it wouldn’t have been helpful to Mathias if he got beaten by you.” I said, “But Niki, I was an impressionable young driver.” Obviously he was of a certain generation. But I think that still exists. That stigma. Not wanting to be beaten by a girl. The preconception that women are bad drivers. We have to change that.’

.....

In other times during Wolff’s career it has been double standards that infuriated her. Male drivers could advertise products or cash in on their celebrity. But when Wolff did the same she would be accused of ‘using her body’ to further her career. This is someone who had, and still has, a genuine interest in fashion. ‘It was frustrating,’ she admits. ‘I turned down loads of things. I remember being questioned about one shoot, with Vogue Japan. “What? You’re going to turn down Vogue? No! It’s one of the top titles…”’ ‘Ultimately, I think it’s about finding a balance and doing what you’re comfortable with. I had one golden rule. I would never date another driver. I wanted to look after my reputation and just be someone that was seen as credible. But I think this idea that you just put your helmet on and race and nothing else matters… that’s not the case. Take Lewis. What he brings to the table is his outstanding talent on track. But also, all of the stuff he represents off-track. So if anything, I look back and say, I should have gone even harder.’

.....

Does she believe she was held back? Wolff shakes her head. ‘I think I fulfilled my potential. If I look back now, with more perspective, I wasn’t one of the most talented. I had a lot of tenacity and a lot of determination. A lot of thick skin. So I look back with no bitterness whatsoever. There were a lot of tough moments, I won’t lie. But I also met Toto, which led me to where I am now.’ They met in 2009 when Wolff was competing in DTM. Toto, 11 years her senior and with two young children from a previous marriage, was the co-owner of HWA AG, which ran the DTM race programme for Mercedes. He proposed one year later on a boat in Venice (well, on a boat back to the airport after his original plan to propose at a romantic restaurant was scuppered when a couple they knew sat down at the next table) and they were married in Capri in 2011. Inevitably their relationship, her subsequent role at Williams, and rise through senior management positions at Venturi Racing, a Monaco-based Formula E team, to F1 Academy, have led to allegations of nepotism.

‘I am completely fine with that because in the end, I know the truth,’ Wolff says. ‘I got the drive with Williams after I met Frank at a DTM event at Brands Hatch and told him I’d done a school project on Williams as a 12-year-old girl and it was always my dream to drive an F1 car. At the end of the conversation he said, “I’ll give you 25 laps at Silverstone.” It kind of snowballed from there. How much of that was Toto? It’s impossible to judge. But I feel I grabbed my chance.’ ‘Toto was never on the radio telling me how to drive a Formula 1 car. He wasn’t holding my hand telling me how to run a Formula E team. I did all of that on my own two feet. I know I’ve got what it takes to be successful, I don’t need Toto to open doors for me.’ She pauses. ‘I think in some instances, it can be very helpful having the Wolff surname, in others very unhelpful. But I wouldn’t change it for a second.’

Marrying up their schedules can’t be easy. The couple’s main home is in Monaco, but when we meet, Toto is back at the factory in Brackley, having just returned from the Canadian Grand Prix. He will fly out to take over parental duties from Susie when she heads to Zandvoort at the end of the week. ‘I don’t think we’re dissimilar to many couples who have busy jobs,’ Wolff says. ‘I have Toto’s schedule on my phone so I always know which country he is in, or at least when he’s coming home. And we just have to prioritise. If that means Jack and I jumping on a plane to wherever he is to make it work, we make it work.’ Wolff admits it is her who generally compromises. ‘Someone has to,’ she shrugs. ‘And right now it’s me, for sure. I’m based here. And Toto is in and out. It’s a big advantage that I understand the industry so well; why he has to be away, why he has to stay longer at the factory. All of that means I’m not giving him a headache at home when he does return. I get it.’

Have Mercedes’ recent struggles on track made things more stressful? ‘Actually I’d say he is in a better place than he was a few years ago,’ Wolff replies. ‘I think he had a moment in lockdown where he didn’t know whether he wanted to stay in the sport. But now he has really got the bit between his teeth again. Sometimes I’m in a room when he’s on a very difficult call and I’m starting to feel, “F--k, this is some serious pressure!” But he can just pile it on. It’s definitely one of his strengths.’ In 2021 the couple moved to Monaco from Switzerland, although they also keep a place in Oxford from which Toto can commute to the factory. ‘Believe me, I never imagined I would be living here,’ Wolff says, laughing. ‘Obviously I started coming out a lot when I joined Venturi. I’d leave cold, grey England and land here in blue skies. I just started thinking, it’s not so bad out here… It works for us now.’ As you would expect, Jack attends a school with the sons and daughters of other international jetsetters. ‘His best friend is Augusto Farfus’ son. Naila Rosberg is a year older, her sister is a year younger,’ Wolff says. But really, she insists, they do not have a lavish lifestyle. ‘My son spends every school holiday back in Scotland because I want him to have that balance. You know, this is a bubble. It’s not quite reality. So he goes camping with my parents.’ As for the Monte Carlo nightlife, Wolff says, ‘We keep ourselves to ourselves. The buzzing social life is just not my thing at all. You find your tribe but we spend so much time away, I’d much rather stay in during the evening than go out somewhere.’

Susie's interview with The Telegraph where she talks about F1 Academy, sexism and double standards she experienced as a female racing driver and her relationship with Toto.

#susie wolff #toto wolff #f1 #interview #f1 academy

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easilyentertained99 · 28 days

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hey quiiiick question. how can you replace an assistant after she 'died' in 2003 and then work alongside a man who definitely got offed by his wife in the 80's? (crucially, before he becomes a ghost.) (and how long were they working together? what age is 'too young for such a job?' I'd argue you can be a grandpa and still be too young for a job that ends with you getting eaten by a coffin or a hallway.)

That 2003 detail is 100% wrong, since it's said by Jonathan Sims who isn't really yet THE Archivist as of MAG 29 (next post: The moment Jonathan Sims becomes Heisenberg) but I still have so many questions. Emma was testing Fiona for decades. How many decades? How old are these people? What is life? Who is lying about bitches dying of liver transplants 20+ years after they got got? Why can't I find any shitfucking dates in a podcast that starts its episodes with "original statements given..."

RIP Michael Distortion, you would've loved me rn

#the magnus archives #michael shelley #michael distortion #this was me trying to figure out his age but since the only definite number we get is WRONG i gave up

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baby-xemnas · 2 months

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PLEASE TALK ABOUT THE LUZO SABAODY/2 YEAR TIMSEKIP STUFF IM BEGGING YOU

oh its so much....its So cute that u know that panel where they step away to talk like "hey where did the bear guy send you to? 😄" its so casual for what a heavy event it was, and how hard what came after had been.....but i kinda love it you know it's not unrealistic to be like haha its fine NOW so we can laugh and have fun and relax and smile again....just like lawbepo hug on zou - bepo is SO happy to see law that he instantly forgets and forgives all the fear and pain law made him feel, it doesnt matter its over!!!

its the same with luzo at sabaody reunion they are all grins and "i cant wait to rediscover you, I'll enjoy learning how youve changed bit by bit, ill savour it like a good meal" long looks. Because its Safe they are together again and they both, they ALL worked to become stronger so they can stay together, so luzo have that sexy confidence about it and instead of regretting the wasted time they think "nothing can separate us now"

and its CRAZY cuz they've been through so much. from the absolute horror of the initial incident, to the pain of finding out what happened to luffy at marineford and zoro going insane because he isnt there for luffy. luffy going through that and not wanting to live afterwards but being brought back Because he has zoro and the others - no doubt in those tears of love and gratitude there was a mix up of guilt for considering offing himself because it would mean hurting THEM. he is very sorry, it passed.

so reunion is So full of joy and comfort Despite that horrible baggage makes it all the more beautiful for them to feel So Light as they fall into each other like: there you are, my love, my home, isnt it amazing how we sync up so effortlessly again - its pure happiness

not only both of them worked and changed and became so much stronger to be able to stay together, not only did they endure so much pain for each other's sake (others' too but u know. its fucking luzo) they also both discovered a facet of their love that only distance could give so theyve matured with it too

its Nuts

zoros devotion got formed under pressure of kuma fight and his training like a diamond. as ive said i love post ts zoro being a shameless trophy wife/bodyguard who is So openly proud to be a dog its DISTURBING (positive. appreciative)

if luffy was possessive before he somehow becomes Worse much to zoros happiness. But luffys determination to be great to reach his goal is inseparable from his greed and selfishness, and that includes zoro, its crazy really because greed usually implies large quantities but with this its intense greed focused on one person (because zoro is luffys only lover and he wants no other. zoro is the best) which makes it Suffocating. in a way even the fact that "thought of zoro saved me from giving up" kind of = zoro is mine completely, its a batshit logic but thats not unusual for luffy -

luffy doesn't want to become king alone - he wants to do it with zoro and the others, his goal is his life, he is nothing without them and it just so happens that zoro is most important there, not making others disposable just cuz they arent sucking his dick but zoro is zoro, zoro was always different, zoro is the most HIS out of this group of people who will die for him

and they all came back...and zoro came back.. it's like by doing that they signed a second new and expanded unspoken contract between them that yes you are our captain Yes we will see you through the end etc

and luffy is so giddy that zoro is there ..not that luffy doubted him but he really feels like celebrating

😊😊😊

(sorry this ended up being a scattered train of thought and i didnt even talk about them fucking but i did cry typing it up if that helps cuz i love them...)

#one piece #luzo #anonymous

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itsstrawberrymochi · 2 years

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Kny men reacting to you freaking out about a bug

Warnings:none

Genre: crack

Reader’s gender is not mentioned

A/n: It’s been so long since I’ve written for kny so so sorry T.T

Sanemi

- No because Sanemi was literally ready to russle and tussle when he heard you scream

- He was so ready to hurt the bastard who dare lay a finger on you

- So imagine his annoyance when all there was, was a bug

- Looked at you with the most unamused expression

- He was very tempted to leave you there to suffer

- But how could he when you’re looking at him with puppy eyes begging him to get rid of it

- Besides he knows you’ll give him hell later for leaving you

- But before he kills it, if he’s feeling like a little shit which is often he’ll chase you around the house with it

Giyuu

- Like with Sanemi he got really worried when he heard you scream

- But that worry turned into utter confusion when he saw why you screamed

“A bug? But y/n you’re a demon hunter how could you be afraid of tiny bug?”

- He doesn’t directly say anything mean but it’s so obvious he’s silently judging you

- Gets rid of it to make you stop screaming because it’s staring to hurt his ears

- He’s not an ass like Sanemi and won’t chase you around with it but would do a quick scan of the room to make sure the bug didn’t invite it’s friends or anything

- Always makes you feel 100 times more comfortable to stay in the room

Kyōjurō

- He didn’t have much of a panicked reaction when he heard you scream

- Not because he wasn’t worried but because he knew exactly what had happened

- Definitely wouldn’t kill the bug

- Head ass thinks it deserves to live 😑

“But sweetheart what if the bug is father? And has a little bug wife and child at home? You don’t wanna make them worried when he doesn’t come home do you ?”

- Mans then got you feeling bad for every bug you’ve ever offed

- Finds it cute and amusing how scared you are of it

- Tries to tell it’s more scared of you than you are of it and you’re like yea right Kyō then why did it try to fly in my face?

Tengen

- Honestly wasn’t worried at first because you’re always screaming about something but got a bit concerned when the sound of things crashing on the floor was heard

- walked over to the room to see you standing on the table now he was really worried

- but then when you pointed to a medium sized beetle on the opposite wall of you he burst into laughter

- Laughed for a good 10 minutes before getting rid of it

- Once it was gone the teasing won’t stop and would tease you about it for the rest of the day

- You were probably better off letting that bug bunk in your home tbh

#demon slayer #kny x reader #kny headcanons #kny rengoku #giyuu x reader #rengoku x reader #sanemi x reader #tengen x reader

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soup-of-the-daisies · 26 days

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ya know what Dorcas Meadowes was actually the definition of an “erm actually🤓👆” kind of person and very annoying and the reason she was powerful enough for Mr. Mort to kill her himself was because she was a booky person with an intensive knowledge on obscure magic but she’s very “i’m not like other women i read book at parties” about it so not cool and she’s misogynistic to Lily

YES. she was two years older than the lot of them and was a prefect, who proceeded to make lily miserable when she got the position by being snooty and constantly criticising anything she did. she wasn’t in the order, didn’t fight, and had decided to research horcruxes—which she was loud and proud about. voldemort got annoyed when he heard about it and offed her quite easily the next day, making him only two minutes late to the next DE meeting.

marlene mckinnon? nearly four decades older than the marauders, and went to school with mr mort. perfect student, just like him, and became an unspeakable after graduating. taught DADA in the marauders’ second year but quit in march bc she hates children not on her own (she ended up adopting three with her wife, and they were the only ones she could tolerate—still pleased when they finally became functional adults). mentored the marauders when they joined the order and found them very annoying. death eaters assassinated her and her entire family during a birthday weekend by making ppl unable to exit and then setting fire to it.

abraxas malfoy was not an original death eater. he despised voldemort because he thought voldemort was ridiculing the pureblood movement (and he was right). was entirely unaware that lucius was pumping his allowance into the war machine, and lost his shit when the kid showed up with a dark mark and an order for arrest. regardless, he was a fun and sweet grandfather to draco and it’s a good thing he passed before voldemort showed up at malfoy manor and gave draco the mark as well.

you can do SO MUCH with these characters and the limited information canon gave us. make them as uninteresting or interesting as you like. they are not set characters. fanon is ideally diverse in ideas, and certainly not a rule. you can play with them SO much.

the only thing i ask is to not make every character “”cool”” and “”edgy”” because humans are just not like that 😭 some people are just boring. you can make your meow meow boring or awful, i promise like regulus as an absolute, despicably racist dickhead who was simultaneously incredibly boring

#ask #lemongrass77777 #dorcas meadowes #marlene mckinnon #abraxas malfoy

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mercysimming · 2 months

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Welcome to the inciting incident the beginning!

Prev / Next.

Transcript:

Candy: It just feels like it’s time. The kids are getting older, we have more free time.

Mikhail: You’re sure? I know we’ve talked about opening a cafe for years, but it’s a huge step.

Candy: We finally have some money set aside. . .

Mikhail: What about college?

Candy: You know the college funds are good. Besides, I hear that Villareal guy is opening up a new scholarship fund.

Mikhail: The guy who offed his wife?

Candy: That’s just a myth.

Mikhail: My mom said the same thing about vampires.

Candy: It’s just something to think about.

Mikhail: . . .You’re not mentioning something.

Candy: Okay, okay. Chaya said that she and Raina would be early investors.

[info: Candy Banks. she/her. adult. very goal-oriented. from Sulani. has 3 kids with Mikhail. relatively well-known painter in Copperdale.]

Mikhail: Candy—

Candy: I know you don’t like relying on people, but they’re family. And you know they won’t miss the money.

Mikhail: Very funny.

[sound: phone vibrating]

Mikhail: [sigh]

[info: Mikhail Banks. they/he. adult. named in honor of their grandmother's Russian heritage. (did not continue that trend.) has two vampire siblings. incredibly human. don't ask them about it.]

Mikhail: Speaking of—it’s Raina.

Candy: Put it on speaker.

Raina: Hi, baby sibling!

Mikhail: Hey, Rain. Is this about the investment I’m just learning about?

Raina: Um. [awkward laugh] No, it’s actually not. I think I’ll let you two discuss that more before we talk about it. I actually was calling because, well, it’s summer break, isn’t it?

[info: Raina Banks. she/her. one of the aforementioned vampire siblings. has two kids. (also didn't continue the naming trend.) world-renowned investor. in other words: rich.]

Candy: Oh yeah, the kids are ecstatic.

Raina: Candy, hi! Well, I had a fun idea. I know you two can’t come visit Mt. Komorebi this summer, but I was wondering if the kids could fly out.

candy: Alone?

Mikhail: Julien is turning 18 this fall, love.

Raina: We would keep a close eye on them—swear. I just thought they could spent their summer break on a trip out of the country.

Mikhail: You miss them, huh?

Candy: They definitely miss you guys.

Raina: The added benefit is getting to see them. So, how does it sound? It’s fine if you guys want to talk about it first. And make sure the kids actually want to come too, of course.

Candy: Oh, they will. Yeah, let us discuss it some, though. We’ll get back to you.

Candy: Take this as a tentative probably-yes. Right?

Mikhail: Right.

Raina: Great!

Raina: Looks like we'll probably be having some guests, darling!

[info: Chaya Banks. she/her. stylist. Raina's wife. turned by Raina. (Caleb did not approve.) father is from Mt. Komorebi. moved back with Raina after becoming empty nesters.]

Chaya: Really? We've got to start getting ready for them, then!

Raina: They're going to have the best summer of their lives.

#ts4 #sims 4 #the sims 4 #ts4 story #sims story #show us your story #returning dawn #chapter 1 #candy banks #mikhail banks #raina banks #chaya banks #surprise i posted it earlier than expected lmao #okay not all updates will be anywhere near this long #but this worked best as one post #anyway sorry that if fixed the text like partway through LMAO #i promise it will stay the new way from now on since it's more legible

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dangermousie · 1 year

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Ming Ye, stop interrupting your ex-wife in murdering your wannabe-girlfriend! (Ming Ye and his women should be one of those delightfully trashy daytime talk shows.)

That is what many men claim about their divorced wives, Ming Ye, are you a God of War or a 50-something IT specialist grumpy about custody arrangement and alimony payments.

This is like talking down someone in the middle of a psychotic break...

And she does. Literally.

It HAS been 5 whole minutes since a Luo Yunxi character got whumped.

A day late and a dollar short, as always, my poor, beautiful, noble, dumb as a brick Ming Ye!

Bwahahaha how nice you feel guilt. Is it gonna bring clam people back to life? You need to go to the xianxia version of The Hague, dudes!

Speaking truth to power, yes! It’s a pity Snake Girl is such a...well...snake, because all the major gods seem to have been, for once, awesome people. Guess that’s what happens when you are a xianxia nepo baby.

Good Luck!

God, he really IS rocking “clueless dude” tropes, what is this “she is too emotional” nonsense. Damn right she’s emotional, her whole people just got offed!

She wants him to dispence the punishments to be like Medieval Spain but alas for her, he’s more like Modern Sweden.

“I wanted the guillotine, not kitten prison for these people!” She should have gotten the main god from Immortal Samsara in charge of punishing these people, that was one man who was devoted to immortal torture.

When your boyfriend is Gandhi but you are Attila the Hun.

Why does this drama keep misinterpreting my requests for on-screen penetration?

The amount of collapsing they are doing into each other’s arms is beginning to rival Listening Snow Tower.

Snake Lady is soooo dumb. What does she think is gonna happen when Ming Ye, destroyer of Devil God, comes back. Is he gonna be “OK, squatters’ rights” and peace out? But then I also don’t know what she thought when she did all that insanity when he was in seclusion. Did she think he was gonna go “oh, you committed some light genocide? NBD, let’s go have dinner.” Oh, and if her brains are scrambled, why is the rest of her tribe similarly afflicted by dumbness?

It is not in the least surprising that the ep ends like:

I am snarking a lot because while I am enjoying the visuals and the acting and the story I (a) really want to get back to murder meow-meow and his bamf wifey and (b) by now I find MY and SJ incredibly frustrating and rather stupid for different reasons and while they did not orchestrate their misery, they ably assisted in it and so I am just frustrated by them.

Communicate, think things through, take your time - you are freaking immortals, you don’t need to rush like it’s the last baguette on sale in the supermarket.

#cdrama #till the end of the moon #bai lu #luo yunxi

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theknightmarket · 1 year

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"Chase me."

In which Murdock and a pursuing detective dance around romance and dead bodies.

TW: murder, blood, cursing, suggestive themes

Pages: 23 - Words: 9,500

[Requests: OPEN]

Criminals are like an itch. You go after one, and, when you catch it, three more pop up in the most inconvenient places. It makes you wish you had never bothered in the first place, but leave them alone, and they’ll fester, make you suffer, weeds that stay rooted in the ground until the entire thing is burned to a crisp.

In the most recent months, murders have spread like a wildfire, and, sure, they destroyed the thieves, the addicts, the scammers, scared them into hiding, but it left you dealing with the smoldering remains. Among the fire starters, the ringleader was elusive and infamous, labelled by the media as the Serotonin Serial Killer. You knew the press liked giving them quippy nicknames, but it was always a dumb move, because, in your and the rest of the departments’ opinion, it just made them more feisty – more likely to act out just to see those letters blazing in the newspaper. It gave them God complexes as their actions drew attention to them, whether you knew their actual name or not, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was people talked, and they talked about them. The murderers who made your entire life harder.

However, as much as you hated the rise of crimes in that industry, you benefited from it, despite how much that statement left a sour taste in your mouth. You were one of the top detectives for cases like those, the ones where people knew next to nothing about the murderer, nor the victims, nor the motive, nor anything at all! It enraged you like a bull, taunted by the waving of a flag, a knife stuck into the back of a higher up had you seething with just once glance. Half of them deserved it, too, which made it even more infuriating that you couldn’t just stick them behind bars and let them rot.

You dragged another red string away from the man’s dead body, a photo you had taken just as vague as the rest of them and linked it to the centre. That was all you could do, and even the middle wasn’t clear; a shaded, grimy picture of a man with sunglasses. You wanted to punch it. So, so much. But you couldn’t because it was the only linking feature to each of the victims. The first to be offed was a girl barely past 21, working nights in the nearest café. As much as you were aware, they had nothing in common. Meanwhile, the latest man to die by Serotonin’s hands was a – supposedly – honest businessman, who ran a couple grocery stores down the bay. Killed in his own home, wife still sleeping next to him. It was a horrid sight for her to wake up to, made only worse by the fact that it wasn’t to the police knocking on their door. Rather, it was the ruckus they made across the street.

You remembered it well, and now, the embarrassment and rage burned like suns through your veins, setting alight your skin and cursing your cheeks with warmth.

You had gotten the call late at night, stars sparkling brightly, making faux promises that sleep would come easy and delicate – though, delicate it was, and you woke with the first chime of a ringtone. Lazily bringing the phone to your ear, you mumbled out a rough, “Hello?”

“15 Mayfield Way, Peteston.”

You squinted into the darkness, as if looking hard enough would bring any kind of logic to your mind. It didn’t work, and it left you asking shakily, “Can you… could you repeat that, for me?”

“15 Mayfield Way, Peteston—” You groaned, they weren’t giving you much to work with and it was getting on your nerves. Hell, you were about to press down on the end call button, but five little, simple, blunt words made you pause. “We think we’ve got him.”

All the other person heard was the clatter of the phone dropping to the floor, shuffling around a room, and constant ragged breaths. That was where the call cut off.

The officer glanced around the scene, shrugging, and giving an assuring smile. They assumed you were on your way, but they couldn’t be sure with how distant you were from their department. They weren’t aware you were on the case until you arrived at the last crime, dressed in a dark trench coat, and brandishing a cup of coffee like a gun.

Now, they were expecting you to make an appearance, no matter the time or place. There’d be hell to pay if they didn’t let you in one what was happening, and, for such a big event as having the chance to catch the guy tormenting the city for the last four months, they were sure you’d want to know.

But the officers – who crowded around 15 Mayfield Way with guns, tasers and bullhorns at the ready – were not the only ones eager to see your car pull up.

Sitting in the window, leg pulled up to his chest and cradling a bloodied knife, was the Serotonin Serial Killer. As his friends knew him, Murdock. With a name like that, what other choice did he have than to go on a calculated killing spree? He laughed to himself; a gravelly chuckle that didn’t dare reach anyone else’s ears. Not the wife laying peacefully behind him, and certainly not her dead husband.

Red and blue splashed against his face every second, playing a silent funeral march. A grin crept onto his face as a more subtle but vastly more interesting vehicle sidled up to the cop cars. Your car. The first time he had seen it, he hadn’t guessed you would be behind the wheel, but it made sense. Dark, sleek, unnoticeable. He liked that.

There was something he liked more, though. Oh, he loved your cat-like movements, the barked orders that sent shivers up his spine like none of the pigs could. He almost wished you would find him, but he couldn’t let that happen. Not before he introduced himself properly, he wouldn’t want your first words exchanged to be the last, now, would he? The thing that he absolutely adored was that scowl. The deep concentration molded into pure wrath, a challenge to God to take this opportunity away from you, and the tip of your lips. He would talk for years about those, he would let them be his final words, and that flicker of light against your irises. Flames that ate up the sense of duty instilled in you, consumed your morals, and tempted you to just do the job yourself.

Murdock was conflicted on that front. He dangled his weapon of choice in his hand, the blade scratching at the window, teasing you without you even knowing it. You were just too good. In that moment, he knew he couldn’t get you over to his side. You’d rather take the high road, lock people in cells and risk them escaping, legally or not, than use the gun given to you by your title. You would rather do a lot of things than outright kill a man.

With time and attention, he pledged to change that.

The smirk widened. It was a fantasy he couldn’t wait to make come true. Later, he had to remind himself, but another part of him bit back that it would still happen, eventually.

You only looked mad when you arrived at his crime scenes, and he felt a pang of pride swell in his chest. Only he could make you so angry you nearly cracked the fingers of the officer you shook hands with.

Only he could be the cause of a pained yell that echoed down the street. It was a glorious orchestra of the gods, and he had front row seats from the window of 13 Mayfield Way, Peteston. Those incompetent pigs had got it wrong; he had never set foot in 15, but 13 was exactly where the body of Frank Deffler, an old man who got away with loan sharking under the guise of a fine grocery store owner, was laying.

Murdock had nothing against Lucy, his wife, but you had to leave something unique for the police to remember you by, and he planned to be in your mind for as long as possible. Or, at least, until he could strike again. He was already coiling up, like a snake ready for the kill, but that was for another time. Another chuckle, only barely audible over your ranting from outside. You called the officers all the names under the sun, barely turning back to apologize to the family you had disturbed.

He couldn’t wait to see you again. Maybe even hear those insults pointed towards him, for a change.

Sliding off the ledge, he absentmindedly fished a card out from his jacket. It didn’t matter that it was clean before he tossed it somewhere, it didn’t matter that he heard the splatter as it landed near Frank’s neck. It didn’t matter because you knew what had happened, and you were coming to get him.

Scratch not wanting to damage your only shot of the killer, a dart was lodged between his eyes before you were fully aware of what you were doing. It gave you a sick sense of glee seeing the piercing metal lodged in his head. You knew it shouldn’t have, but it did, and you couldn’t find it in you to feel bad about it. A couple more shoves towards the edge of the cliff and you might be ready to do it in real life if you ever got the chance. You weren’t there yet.

“Damn, did he fuck your girl, too?”

James Pratt, your ever helpful colleague, came strolling through the door just in time to see you stare daggers and throw them into Serotonin’s face. You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother to turn around; you already knew what he looked like, you didn’t need to see him again. Blond hair, shit-eating grin, scar along his neck, cute dimples. No, you were too involved with trying to figure out what the killer would look like without the shadows, without those sunglasses, and – without admitting it out loud – without a nose.

“Piss off, Pratt,” was all you could muster up, falling into the desk seat behind you. Your office was home to a plentiful number of trinkets and furniture, your favorite being the plush spinning chair given to you after solving your first ever case. That was a piece of cake compared to this, and you knew you’d get little more than a pat on the back and another file on your desk by the morning. It was to be expected, you weren’t the baby detective you were three years ago, but you chalked it up to the new management. Two new fat cats getting the medals and media’s attention, which you could always do without, for your discoveries. The Henderson murder, the Bayside Break-ins, even the mole you uncovered in the room two offices over fell under their names and their credit.

You groaned, took a deep breath, leaned back in the chair to find some kind of calm after a stressful night. It didn’t work.

“Alright,” he hummed, “but I thought you’d want to know.” Tap, tap, tap. He drew a manicured hand along the wood of your table. A sweet mahogany he had always commented on, whenever he had the time. He was not doing so now, which lead you but to one conclusion.

You picked your head up and shot to your feet. A warning look settled on your face… if he was wrong, if he was tricking you, if something like what had happened light night dared to happen again, he would pay.

James smiled placatingly.

Tap, tap, tap.

You blinked.

“Diamond Avenue, first house on your left.”

Like a bullet from a gun, you disappeared from sight within seconds. The rattling of your footsteps would send lions into hiding, but you would have to settle for every member of the investigative department. They knew when to bother you, and when you should be feared – by the hard-set flame erupting in your eyes, it was easy to tell which of those sets of rules they should abide by.

Your colleague was left swaying from side to side, not from drunkenness, but from an attempt to keep himself awake and aware. It was easy to let your guard down in those dingy, dark offices, where the blinds trapped mystery and deceit inside and scared off the blinding light. Your hands would disappear into shadows, your feet would scatter inches away from your legs, and monsters could stay hidden in the corners of the room.

If only you had looked at James when he’d entered, you might have finally noticed the man you had been trying to catch for months aiming a knife in the general direction of your friend. Murdock stayed silent, pressed against the wine painted wall, while James tipped you off. It was his game, and he wanted to make sure the roles were played perfectly. A courtesy he would never offer to anyone else. He wondered if you would appreciate it, or whether you would punch him in the face for invading his privacy – either way, he didn’t mind.

“You might want to hurry,” the officer noted, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. Trying. “They’re quicker than they look.”

Murdock only laughed, mocking and genuine at the same time. A strange combination that had James’ heart beating faster and faster the longer he spent with joy in his throat.

“I only need to be there for, eh, the last five minutes?” He twirled the knife around, digging it into the plaster and etching a small hexagon like how children wrote their initials in a heart. He thought about doing that but figured it would be better to do it later when you were actually present – possibly tied up in your chair, it was comfortable enough for you to be there a while, and nobody would check up on you. He had watched you long enough to know that not a single soul dared enter the lion’s den without your go-ahead, and that was what duct-tape was for.

Taking a step back to look at his artwork – having added a pentagon and some more straight lines – Murdock continued, “Really, I don’t have to be there at all, but I can’t resist seeing their face when I’ve gone to all that trouble. Pictures, as well, aren’t I kind?”

James didn’t respond. Understandable, given how his throat was filling up with blood. Otherwise, it’d be rude to leave him without an answer.

The clatter of his body as he fell to the floor didn’t bother the rest of the department. If it was dangerous to go into your office while you were there, it was a death sentence to go in when you weren’t – so, Murdock could get away with leaving him there.

He grimaced as he stepped forward, a disappointed growl forcing itself through his throat when his shoes came away sticky. Great, now he’d have to throw them out – they were his best pair! Oh, well.

“It’s your lucky day,” he mumbled to himself, leaning against your desk to wrestle off the stained shoe. The other one was removed, too, but he only placed the bloody one on your desk. Mahogany, he noted, and he was gone just like that.

Stepping out of your car, the quiet grind of gravel underneath your wheels having calmed your nerves, you noticed there was a distinct lack of police. Of course, it would make sense for James to come to you first, he knew how devoted to this case you were, but it was off-putting to pull up to a completely normal looking house with the knowledge a dead body was stuffed somewhere inside. Just in case, you dialed the number of the cop from before, left a blunt message and hung up.

A shaky breath escaped you as you steeled your nerves. This didn’t have to be hard; this didn’t have to be a battle. You could be in and out within minutes, handcuffs on the Serotonin Serial Killer and another tally on your ladder.

The door was already unlocked when you pushed at the handle. It wasn’t even properly closed, letting frigid air, as cold as the grave, swirl around your feet. You stepped over the boundary and looked around. It was a big place, fit for a king, or a man making six figures, but you didn’t know if there was a difference. A wooden-boarded hallway stretched far in front of you, a couple of rooms falling out at the sides. You could see the back of a couch through an archway, and at the very end was the kitchen. A staircase spiraled up around a corner, and, while the designs in the banister were nice, you were more concerned with the splatter of blood at the first step.

You made sure not to tread in it as you ascended, and you quickly noticed that it wasn’t the only mark. It was steady, but the further up you went, the more blood pooled on the wood. A drop, a lining, a splash, until there was more crimson than brown. Half of you felt guilty, immeasurably so, for wishing such a fate on someone just to catch some guy, but the other part was bursting with excitement, raising your heartbeat, and forcing sweat to gather in uncomfortable places. Although it was better for the rest of the city, you didn’t like that you were happy now.

Especially when the trail of blood had you marching past a door marred with crayon and glitter. In this profession, those were facts you had to brush off, or lose yourself in the morality of the situation. Anybody with half a conscience would be troubled to the point of no return, hence why a lot of the new recruits quit after just a couple days on the force.

You had lasted three years; what did that say about you?

You would debate the ethics later, you promised, as the lead came to a stop. Not slow by any means, all that blood couldn’t have come from just one person, but it ended either way before a closed door. With the spread of sticky ooze against the ground, slowly melting into the cracks of the wood panels, you didn’t avoid getting your shoes dirty. The imprint of the soles haunted you as you twisted the handle.

The body was not hard to spot.

Peter Burrows slumped in his chair, a black tie curled around his neck like a snake and his jacket was shed lazily around a pair of strong shoulders. They lacked form but held him up enough to show meticulous strikes near his collarbone, though the rest of his body was shadowed by the desk light flashing from a side. It flickered and spat, eventually snuffing altogether when you stepped up to the table. A horror movie cue that had you squinting suspiciously, but that wasn’t the only thing that worried you. The thing that caught your nerves and pinched them tight around your heart was something that the Serotonin Serial Killer had never done before; he'd left clues. Purposeful and overwhelming helpful, so much so that you wondered if this was even his doing.

But it had to be. Who else would cut out the chemical formula of their namesake from the victim’s corpse and lay it in front of them? A copycat, maybe, since he had been around long enough to garner a cult following. You leaned forward to look at an array of photos spread across the desk, hoping they would provide some ideas to who this really was the fault of.

The light reflected off of some of the polaroids, but the gist was pretty easy to get – the guy was a serial cheater. Not as bad as a killer, but they had both committed their crime more than once. This one was, strangely, harder to look at, though, as you were confronted by Mr. Burrows in a variety of positions with a variety of women. Some blonde, some brunette, some old, some young – none his wife. Why were the wives always getting the short end of the stick? Whatever, it matched with the murder of Frank Deffler, so that added to it really being Serotonin.

And then, the theory was fully tossed to the side when you noticed the literal calling card sticking out from Peter’s suit pocket. Oh, and he had been generous enough to draw a winky-face. How sweet.

You brought it close to your eyes, scanning for every little detail that could give him away, before flipping it over. You huffed, bit back a growl, chucked the thing somewhere behind you and started to look around the crime scene for more information. The man was getting on your nerves, not least of all because he was suddenly changing so much! You weren’t one to enjoy the chase, not as much as other detectives in the department, but being given the answers this easy was almost insulting.

There was a number in bright, bold white set against that blue background – a burner phone, it had to be. He may have been giving you too many clues, but he wasn’t an idiot. Or, that you knew him to be.

Breathing in and out, it was easy to forget you had never met him before. It pissed you off that you were always so close, just seconds away from getting a glimpse of a torn coat or pair of sunglasses, and then everything would be ripped away from you because of the wrong house, or a slight traffic delay, or anything else that the gods above thought you deserved on that day.

Turning with sudden fury, you snatched the calling card off the ground, pocketed it without a thought and stormed away. The police could deal with the kids and wife, wherever they may be – on your way down the stairs again, hearing the distant wail of sirens, you wondered if they had heard the murder. Assuming they didn’t, you also wondered if the killer was doing that on purpose. To spare their reactions or to make them terrified of their ignorance, you didn’t know. Maybe you’d ask him when he was behind bars.

You had many things to ask him, actually. Why he started killing in the first place, why he chose his victims, why he was suddenly so generous in his leaving clues. They all begged to be answered, but you had no way to do that yet. When you were able, though, the guy wasn’t going to catch a wink for a week straight. By then, he’d be ready for the chair, probably begging for it, too, with the interrogation you’d planned.

The call of the police didn’t meet your ears, nor the sound of a family talking inside. Cries, consolations, cops, in general – you didn’t care for it. The person was already dead, why bother weeping about it when there were things you could fix. You could find the murderer in the time it took to hold a funeral, and every minute wasted would make it harder. Did that make you a monster? You didn’t think so, though sessions of therapy did give you the impression sometimes, you just liked taking action.

And action you did take when you arrived back at your office. The first being to mutter, “Shit,” at the corpse crumped like wastepaper in front of your door. Blond hair, scar along his neck – it was James. You knew someone would take him out eventually, with a gun or on a date, there were equal chances. Hell, a couple days more and you might’ve found yourself flipping a coin.

But that possibility was no more; his blood leaked from the symmetrical wound on the front of his neck to the back. The skin folded in on itself, creating a flap that sputtered and wept with crimson. You barely noticed it on the dark wood floor, but his body wasn’t something you could easily dismiss. Although, and you sidestepped the cadaver to get a better look, the bloody shoe marring your desk did pique more interest.

First, call the head of your department, then, gloves. It was the right thing to do, James was young enough to still have a lot of his family, so they’d probably want to know as soon as possible. Surprisingly, the fat cat who was brought in – one of those pricks who stole your achievements – reacted more than you had, even though they hadn’t held a conversation since he was hired. A shocked gasp, some mumblings about how horrid he looked, and then he stopped. Your own eyes met his dark blues, but the color didn’t bother you. The accusatory spark did.

You had half the mind to shove him out, deal with James’ body on your own, but you had more important things to get to. You knew who had done this, and, like you said before, actions spoke louder than words. Finding his killer was your topmost priority, leading you to hole up in a vacant office with decent reception while the department declared your original one a crime scene.

One, two, three, four.

You took a deep breath in.

Five, six, seven, eight.

You let it out.

Nine, ten, eleven—

“Hello?”

His voice was…

Normal.

It was completely normal, like a man answering a routine call from a doctor’s office, like a man who hadn’t separated skin from skin dozens of times without remorse, like a man who was not a murderer. The voice had a depth and frequency achieved by most in the early mornings and a tone befitting something primordial, the void come to life. You would get lost in it if he had continued speaking, but, lucky for you and the case, he had stopped after just that one word, not that it didn’t have an effect on you. A raised heartbeat, eyes widened by a nanometer. It didn’t fit a hardened killer. Briefly, confusion flooded over you.

But anger was seconds behind. That bull-like fury as you thought you had been tricked. Serotonin wasn’t stupid. You were, though, because you had foolishly believed he had given you a real number. The guy wasn’t connected at all to the murderer you had been chasing, probably letting him escape the city or state or country entirely. You had fucked everything up because of trusting some criminal stranger, and people had died. All those victims, Deffler, Burrows, James.

The phone was about to split in half with the pressure you put on it.

“I apologize, sir,” you spoke, gathering as much calm as possible, “I don’t think you’re the person I am trying to reach.”

He didn’t reply, and you took the silence as a go ahead to hang up. “Have a good night.” Your finger sprang to the button, a huff escaping you unwilfully. Another dead end and it didn’t give you any kind of satisfaction.

“I didn’t think you’d give up so easily.”

A fraction of a second later and it all would have been lost. How good for you, then, that you were able to draw your thumb back and hold the phone to your ear again.

“You didn’t give me a fake number.”

“Why would I do that?”

His voice had changed. You noticed after getting your bearings that the normality had been exchanged for almost a drawl. Brooding and dramatic. Dark. It fit him better than the every-day-Joe had, and you may have even admitted that it left you stunned. That depth was still there, deeper than the Mariana Trench and just as pressuring, but there was no light, just specks of change that you couldn’t see. You weren’t sure which voice was the act.

“Because I’m the detective set to track you down and put you in jail,” you answered, leaning back into the chair that wasn’t as good as yours, “and not many people are open to being locked up.”

“Then don’t lock me up.”

“I won’t let you fry, either.” He hummed, and you felt the reverberation shake your hand. “And why is that? You don’t know who I am.”

“Exactly, I don’t.” You rose from your chair and pulled apart the blinds. The sun was going down, which spread a haze of golden browns over the cityscape, like freshly baked cookies. “You’ve killed dozens of people, enough to fill a gallery, not many killers can manage that, or even want to.”

“And you want to know why.” It wasn’t a question.

A crack split your face in two, a barely noticeable smile. “Rough childhood? Father left and mother drank, you picked up the pieces?”

He laughed. Funny, you preferred it to the ones you’d hear daily from the conference room.

“Close, but you’re still off. Do you mind if I ask some questions?”

Now, you paused. You had nothing to hide, and you didn’t mind a murderer knowing some of the details of your life. So, limply, you shrugged.

“Good.”

Ah. He could see you.

“And yes, I can see you.”

The crack turned to a fissure.

Imaging you would be there for a while, you twisted the chair around and sat back into it. Putting your feet back up on the windowsill made the stiffness of the seat against your back better.

He started, “Is anyone else aware that we are talking?”

“No. They’re preoccupied with the body you left in my office.”

“How did you feel when—”

“Uh-uh,” you cut him off with a tut, “my turn.”

The break told you he yielded to your question, though, you didn’t know what to make it. There were too many queries brimming already, demanding to be asked now and not a moment later. After a few seconds of thought and shamelessly scanning the windows across from you for any sign of the guy, you settled.

“What should I call you?”

“You aren’t a fan of the Serotonin Serial Killer?”

By his tone, he wasn’t either, but he had set himself up for that one. You had to deal with the poorly constructed consequences.

“Too much of a mouthful,” you admitted, “and, “if these chats are to become habit, I don’t want to be running away every time your number shows up.”

A huff bellowed down the phone. Your eyes flickered wearily across the city line again. None of the windows showed movement, not even a glimmer of a candle – though, you wouldn’t put it past him to sit in a pitch-black room for the sake of it.

His answer came moments later, when, after you released a slight breath, he whispered his best kept secret.

“Murdock.”

This was the first time you’ve ever heard such a name; it was unique and packed a punch, rightfully so. You thought it necessary that a man like Murdock deserved to be the first one you know. Not that you knew why just yet, but there was a stirring in your gut that you’d be getting familiar with the name soon enough.

You didn’t voice this, however, instead replying, “Nice name. Didn’t give you much of a choice, though, did it?”

Another chuckle. They were starting to dig into your spine like an infestation, straightening out your back and making you both aware and relaxed at once. “I’m not against it, sweetheart,” he responded.

“That’s not my name.”

“Never said it was.”

A moment of silence was shared between you, as you continued to scan the skyline. You weren’t exactly looking for Murdock now, more admiring the look of the smoggy city. The murderer had been on your mind for quite some while now, and it had been taking a toll on your perception of the world – mostly, that you no longer saw it as the place you grew up in, just a bunch of crime scenes waiting to be uncovered. Talking to him made you reminisce on the days that wasn’t so.

“Your turn,” you stated bluntly.

So, Murdock went back to his original question, the one he had tried to ask before you interrupted him. “How did you feel when you saw your friend?”

You sat still, nothing jumping to mind. It might’ve been denial, or maybe you were never really that close with James in the first place, but there had been no sadness when you came face to face with his bleeding body. Only anger. Mild inconvenience. Some part of you hoped it was just the years of working as a detective that desensitized you to murder, but there was something else that told you it was your personality, that you didn’t have that natural predisposition to empathy.

“Pissed off,” you answered after a minute, “I liked the guy, and you went and slit his throat.”

“Not without reason,” came his response, and it didn’t sound as jokey as his other lines had been.

“Nothing ever is – but you didn’t have to kill him.”

Murdock appeared to consider this, before audibly shifting wherever he was. There was a creak around him, indicating that he was inside, but that was a given. No sane person would be caught dead flaunting their murders in public. There was just the question of whether he was indeed sane.

“Anything else?” he asked.

Again, you were stopped short of an answer. There were plenty of emotions you could rule out, and you had definitely felt something, but placing that was harder than finding a dead body in a pile of mannequins. The only thing you could think of was what you answered with. “Determined.”

“To do what?” His interest was piqued, if the change in tone was anything to go by, like a child being read a fantasy book. It was a weird comparison that nearly startled you as you made it.

Unbeknownst to you, while you stared out at the city, Murdock was swaddled in shadows. Every caress of the darkness sent shivers down his spine, and the moonlight carved around his structure. Sitting on the top of a desk – he had always enjoyed the privacy of studies – the blinds struck through beams, as to separate a bright jawline from shaded eyes. A pair of polished sunglasses were caught in one hand, with the phone in another. He had debated using a burner phone, but where was the fun in that, and he enjoyed being able to listen intently with his personal devices into your words.

“Catch you.”

The visible, lower half of his face was stretched into a morbid grin at your response. He had expected nothing less from his favorite detective, but you had a habit of surprising him. He had never been gladder to get you on his case because he’d rather risk getting caught than make his work boring. You were practically the opposite of that, and the anticipation of your future encounters sent a shock of excitement through him. A few more volts and he might have just ‘fried’, as you put it.

“Why all the clues?” Your question reminded him that you were still having a conversation, leading him to perk up again where he sat.

“I got bored—” It was simple, but it was the truth, “—Everything started to repeat: the murder, the police, the motives. You were entertaining, though, I have to give you that.”

“So, what were your motives?” The silence you received was answer enough; you were jumping the gun, and the smirk you could practically feel on Murdock’s face spoke volumes. You rolled your eyes and muttered, “Right, go on.”

“Why don’t you like your directors?”

A laugh forced itself out of you. Not amused, no, it was pitiful and sardonic. “Buddy, you don’t wanna go there.”

“It’s my question, dear.”

Whatever retort about how, again, that was not your name, was interrupted by your own heart. For once, you were acting on whim and not calculated efficiency. There was hardly anyone in the department you could talk to, you family lacked anyone sane enough to understand, and your friends? Half were out of state, and one might have still been lying dead in your office.

So, who better to vent your frustrations to than a notorious serial killer? And vent you did, from unsolved cases lugged onto you constantly, to the ones you did solve being credited to them. Patrick de Gaille left break rooms a smoking mess, all but once sided with the man in domestic abuse situations, and apparently had a kindergarten level education because he could just not understand the concept of personal belongings. David Lochlin was even worse; sexist, racist, homophobic and a world full of other intolerances would sneer at the mere sight of him. The ‘rumors’ of sexual harassment in the workplace turned out to just be stories, all of which were brushed under the carpet and burned, alongside allegations of manipulation and bribery.

All in all, it was a disgrace to be working underneath those two – to your reputation and morality – but what else could you do? Getting Murdock behind bars would help, but there was a 99.9% chance it would be stolen from you at the last second. That, and your skill set, which had been perfected after so many years in the field, was suited to no other legal professions. It was a lose-lose situation, this the very statement you finished your rant with.

Murdock promptly responded, “Noted.”

It gave you pause, just for a second, and then you realized that you had spilled your guts to a guy with no reservations about killing people. You tried not to give him time to process the information, as you quickly jumped to prompt, “Your motives.”

“I think you could figure that one out.” The teasing was heavy in his voice, not least of all because he was right. Technically, you could figure it out with enough cases and overtime, but you might as well have taken advantage of the interview with a serial killer.

“Answer the question, Murdock,” you sighed back.

“I must confess, I love hearing you say my name.”

Mudock was now coming to realise that, maybe, he didn’t just like seeing you get angry. It was a treat for sure, but it was more likely that seeing a redness as stark and dangerous as a wild-fire dart across your face was the thing doing it for him. He had half a mind to run over to your office and kiss you right then and there. Obviously, he held back and stayed sitting on the desk, but it was a thought he shamelessly entertained longer than practical.

Your blunt tone brought him back to the present, “The question.”

Notably, your blush hadn’t yet died down when he looked back to you.

“The thrill of it,” he answered.

“Elaborate.”

“Haven’t you felt it?” A prickling of sadistic excitement crackled down the phone. “When you go into a new case, catch the guy red-handed and twist the cuffs a little too tight?” Breathlessness overtook him, like he was reliving the moment. “I know I have, and it’s exhilarating.” It was as if he could sense your defense building back up, but that meant it had fallen down at some point. He felt giddy at the concept of getting you on his side, though he still needed to be careful. He added on, “And don’t worry, I only target people who deserve it.”

You leaned forward in the chair, bending your stomach over outstretched legs. “What constitutes as ‘deserving’ it?”

You’d lost your formal tone, a role swap Murdock was keen to explore, so he explained, “If they’ve done anything bad. Bribery, adultery, murder, letting a known killer into someone’s room without alerting them, for instance.” Normally, he wouldn’t go for such a simple crime, but James had been a special occasion.

You were thinking the same. “Even if they’ve been coerced?”

“Coercion is just disguised acceptance, love.”

Even though you disagreed, it was woefully easy to understand where he was coming from. Hell, this was the same for most officers in your department, and you were sure they thought similarly of you. However, the idea did stir one question in you.

“How’d you get by this rule, then?” A slight hum was your prompt to go further. “You’re killing people, why is your throat still intact.”

Murdock expected this, and it wasn’t as thought he had been lying about the motive. He was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a liar. “An executioner, who works for the king, kills tens of people a day. If that executioner stops, tens of murderers get away a day. The choice is clear.”

You hadn’t pegged Murdock as the utilitarian type, but it fit him. A guy like that couldn’t be doing this because he was bored, or for the aesthetic – though you wouldn’t say he didn’t look good doing it.

The corridor was starting to flourish to life, staff members thinking it safe to come out now that the crime scene had been decorated with tape and markers. You wondered if they kept James in there, before shrugging it off in order to continue the conversation. That didn’t feel great, morally, but business was business, and you had a killer to catch.

“You get two,” you reminded, as you rose from your seat to lock the door. “I asked out of turn.”

His question was immediate, “Why are you so keen to stick to the law?”

And your response was simple, “It’s my job.”

“It’s your directors’ jobs, too.”

Flopped back into the chair, you thought about it some more. The first point was true, but it was like a reflex. Nothing deep or extreme, and nothing that revealed more than you had to. Here, in this moment, you were undergoing a transaction, information for information, and you had no qualms about sharing details with Murdock.

“Because too many detectives are like them,” you began, “I haven’t always been on the left side of the court, so to speak. I got done in for a crime I didn’t commit because of an oversight by the police, and if someone like me had been there, I would’ve been able to spend the next year in sunny Beverly Hills, not shoved in some cell like cattle.”

You remembered the day well. It was nothing you liked to dwell on, and the exact events meant little to you. The only thing that you kept close to the chest were the emotions, the pure, unadulterated rage that coursed through your veins as the judge slammed down the hammer. One of the jury rose, announced your guilt with the confidence of a god, and then left. It didn’t matter to them, didn’t matter to the police, but it mattered to you. Perhaps if you had been allowed to live a normal life, you wouldn’t be chasing down criminals for bread and beer. Perhaps you could have had a family, friends, a proper life. Perhaps the most interesting conversation you’ve had in a year wouldn’t had been with the serial killer you were chasing.

“Who was the cop,” that very man asked, sounding lackadaisical but brimming with eagerness.

“Detective Benjamin Hammond. Kicked off the force when I joined and had to become a mailman to get by. Pretty sure he’s had it out for me since then.”

Murdock laughed, “Oh, what could he do against you?”

“Steal nine out of fifteen of my packages.”

Another chuckle fell from his lips, and you caught yourself feeling slightly proud of that. Your grin spread wider, and your shoulders dropped in relaxation. It was confusing to be in the situation that you were, some might even say crazy, but you weren’t against it. You tried to rationalize by telling yourself you were helping the case, but the joking tone and shared experiences hinted at something else.

“Hey,” Murdock whispered, coming out of the carefree mood, “I know it’s not my turn, but I’ve gotta go, so d’ya mind me asking one more question?”

Ignoring the speck of disappointment that appeared in your stomach, you nodded. “Shoot.”

When Murdock said that he was no liar, rest assured he stuck to it. “I’m going to murder Patrick de Gaille and David Lochlin in three days in the theatre on fifth. Their bodies will be in the third room to the right.” He took it as a good sign when you didn’t react, not even a tightening in your fist or a quirk of your mouth – so, he finished the proposal with, “Do you fancy a date?”

A quick succession of thoughts ran through your mind, a stampede of ‘what ifs’, ‘what abouts’ and the like. The idea of warning the two was tossed out as soon as it came, followed quickly by trying to convince Murdock otherwise. Both would be useless, as none would actually listen to you, but that only left one thing to do.

“Sure.”

That single word was like a firework in Murdock’s heart.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he practically sang, a near-unnoticeable coating of disbelief, “I’ll see you at nine, sharp.”

And just like that, the line went dead. You saved his number under his own name, reasoning that only you knew it as of now, and exited back into the hallway, ready and willing to help with the dead body lying still in your office.

You were only interrupted, as you took a step through the doorway, by your phone ringing once more. A guilty, expectant feeling popped up, too, when your reaction was to tease Murdock for calling you back – but you were surprised. Instead of your new acquaintance, it was the routing centre. Considering that you were a detective, it shouldn’t have been too shocked to see a crime reported and directed to you. You pressed the accept button when you got ahold of your bearings.

“Code 1.8.7 at 16 Brick Kiln Street.” Those were the only words you heard that mattered, also because they were the only ones you fully recognised. A code 1.8.7 was murder, a thing you’d become friends with in the last few years, and 16 Brick Kiln Street, well, it was an apartment building. Windows cleaned every week and a door that needed its hinges replaced. Nothing special, a part of the fact it was direct neighbors with your police station.

At least you knew not to use that office again.

The theatre was dismally quiet three days later. You hadn’t called in the murders yet, so it appeared as just any closed building along the road. You knew better, and someone else did, too. Murdock was in there, somewhere, maybe watching you, probably not. A gun stayed strapped to your side, just in case, as you stepped carefully around the entrance hall. Dust flitted about through windows, and the fence separating the stands from the main stage was easily jumped. You were almost surprised they didn’t have nighttime security, but who would want to break into a theatre anyway?

The second that you crossed the threshold, there they were. You couldn’t focus on the ornate decorations along the rug, or the backdrop from the rendition of Macbeth they had yet to put away because, in all their glory, there de Gaille and Lochlin hanged. Rabbits left to bleed out after a hunt, and where else could their wolf be than standing in front of them, hands behind his back and sunglasses covering his eyes. The suit looked good on him, the uneven splotches not so much. The steady drip echoed around the hall, colliding off the wooden pillars and refurbished seats. The room almost seemed made for him; nothing went without a red or black coating, and shadows crept around corners.

“Murdock,” you greeted, hand coming to rest on your weapon. You weren’t planning to discharge it, but intimidation was a tactic you liked to employ.

He didn’t respond. Instead, an ever-present smirk grew wider, and his boots clicked against the wooden flooring like hooves. Slowly, he moved closer, majestic, and primal at the same time. Tap, tap, tap. Eventually, he was so close that you could see your own reflection in the darkness of his glasses. Your face was forcefully blank, and he was still smiling.

“How?” was your next question.

“I slit their throats and stringed them up to the rafters. David was first, and then Patrick heard, and I killed him, too.”

“Why?”

“They undermined you, took advantage of others, committed a number of crimes that we just don’t have the time to get into right now.”

“When?”

“We said nine, sharp, didn’t we?”

Murdock was now barely a few inches away from you, and this being your first time seeing him, only one thought came to mind. Every little detail about his voice corresponded with his physical features. The near-gravel texture spoke of his stubble, and the playful lilt mimicked the smirk, plus a jawline only available to such a deep volume. He looked exactly how you had imagined he would, more that your blurry photo on a corkboard could do justice. That, and he was undeniably hot.

Sighing, you unhooked a pair of handcuffs from your belt – you were still a detective, after all, and you were here on work hours. “Alright, then,” you muttered, half as a warning to him and preparing yourself. The last four months climaxed here, and it was worrying to assume it would be over just like that.

And foolish.

“Did you think I’d make it that easy, love?”

Before you could blink, Murdock was poised back on the stage, a brick-red speck on his shoulder. A glance over his shoulder, and then he was sashaying towards the left wing. It was only when he brushed a hand against the curtain dangling at the side that he spoke.

“Chase me.”

And so, you did. Murdock disappeared into the skeleton of the theatre, your boots echoing down the corridors after him. Always a few steps behind, you’d see the end of his blazer curve around a corner or hear the click of a door when you were seconds away from grasping the handle. Some distant laughter teased you, at once making you think he was everywhere and right beside your ear. You shuddered, in what you hoped was the cold of the underbelly.

Your own soles clattered along the hallways, skidding to a stop as you noticed a slam in the stairwell you had just passed. A two-story building, and, upon running up the first set, the door to the storage floor was bolted shut. Another slam. The roof.

Your first thought was that he had blocked himself off, but you’ve seen enough action movies to know that it wasn’t so straight forward – you also wouldn’t put it past him to jump and somehow survive. So, ignoring your rapid heartbeat and ragged breathing, you climbed up the flight to the small door. It creaked as you pushed through, and you were sure it cracked when it banged closed behind you again.

If Murdock had a way off the roof, he had yet to use it. He stood, back to you, and was almost camouflaged by the night sky. Stars flickered and shimmered, but they warped around him, as if artificially avoiding the malicious aura he put out.

“You didn’t go far,” you stated, hand hovering over the handcuffs once more.

He didn’t respond to that, and, instead, spoke with a glance over his shoulder, “For a detective, you sure do wind quickly.”

“So, this is a kindness, is it?”

Your bluntness amused him, that much was obvious when a laugh struck out from his throat. “Would it be so bad?”

Risking a step closer, you bit back a smile as he stayed planted to the concrete. The little exercise wasn’t going to damage your ability to wrap metal around someone’s wrists. However, the confident smirk on Murdock’s face gave you pause. You wagered skeptically, “I’m assuming you won’t go this easily.”

Another, shorter laugh drained into the frigid wind. It was colder now, than it had been when you’d first arrived at the theatre, and you hoped it was the reason why the hair on your arms pricked up and blood flooded to your face. “No, my dear,” he answered, “but I couldn’t pass up this opportunity.”

The quirk of an eyebrow was the only prompt he needed. “Your police friends, do they know where you are right now?” This time, he was the one grinning; you were still, not even shivering in the air or flinching at how close he was beginning to come. Maybe it was instinct to freeze, or maybe it was the realization that no one was coming to help you, or, as he wished, maybe it was simply your reaction to him that stunned you.

Murdock halted inches away from you. “And I know you won’t turn me in, so what’s wrong with staying here for a bit longer?” A finger shifted underneath your chin, lifted it up slightly and then left as quickly as it had arrived. His smile remained. “The company’s nice.”

You would be lying if you said that your heart continued at a normal pace, but you couldn’t let it bother you. Murdock was so close that you could practically feel his breath on your mouth, you just needed to move your hand slightly and he’d be in cuffs.

But you found yourself unable to move, looking out through your eyes as if a ghost and the body you once inhabited the immoveable dead. That might as well have been so, given the way your heart thudded against your chest and easily missed the most crucial of beats.

Murdock moved closer, one hand coming to rest against your waist and the other tapping against the nape of your neck. There was no use denying the sparks that shot down your spine, and pretending it was just because of the cold was a fool’s venture.

“Come on, snake, let’s rattle.”

And so was passing off the feeling of Murdock’s lips against your own as anything other than euphoric. The adrenaline spiking your veins doubled, and the sounds of the city dropped to a dull bustle. He used his hand to push you closer, manipulate your head in a way that made you willfully move into him. Your chests collided, your belt stirred, and pressure danced up and down your side. Some distant part of you yelled that this was wrong, so, so wrong – but a closer, intimate part, so convincing that Murdock could have been the one to say it, whispered that it was okay. For now, you could enjoy the spins of your stomach, the weight of his lips against yours, the near groan he let out when you bit against his skin.

The kiss lasted no more than twenty seconds, and yet, it felt like a century on that rooftop. You wished that it would last longer, but, when you were forced apart by the overwhelming need to breath, you were starkly denied both that and to look upon Murdock anymore that night. The space he had occupied was gone, exchanged for a vacuum that swirled with the suns and light. Delivered out of your haze, you also noted the missing pull of your gun. Your hand rushed to check, and there was no mistaking that it was gone, though, in place of it, was a card snagged in the holster.

The Serotonin Serial Killer’s calling card.

It was on that spot that you vowed you would never let him get away again, and it was from the street below that Murdock wished you a very good night, lips pressed to the barrel of your gun.

You were gorgeous when you were angry.

#murdock #markiplier egos #markiplier #iswm #markiplier egos x reader #x reader #reader insert #Murdock x reader #fanfiction #in space with markiplier

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morphodae · 4 months

Note

omg i finally remembered my password!!! lollll

i came to see you write for bb? omg that was my childhood,,,

since i read ur other posts/thoughts on bb, may i ask for headcanons on how you think alois would feel knowing he is actually the son of the earl (*retch*)? or just you know ur overall thoughts on it lolll thank youuu!

Hi Cece! I hope you've been well! And yeah I write for Black Butler now lol. I've been hyperfixating on that show and manga alongside Honkai Star Rail, soooo yknow how it is lol.

You absolutely can request this! I'm about to rub my hands together like a lil gremlin and put this all into words because I have a LOT ok--

a/n (1): i assume you want a x reader for this? let me know if that was alright! :) i dont think alois would be able to get through this revelation without a confidant/companion tbfh

a/n (2): just for people to know that black butler is a fandom (that I write for) where I will only write for older!ciel and older!alois. I will likely write those two between the ages of 18 and early twenties

Older!Alois Trancy - discovering the 'truth'

Again, and I mentioned this for those who aren't familiar with my post and a crack theory I saw circling around; the idea is that Alois is actually THE Alois mentioned in season 2. You know, the son of Earl Trancy and his late wife who offed herself due to the "kidnapping" of her son? So, imagine Claude suggested this fabricated story, thinking it too unbelievable to possibly be the truth, only for the young, naive 14-year-old Alois to think it perfect to trick his "uncle" with. In this case........ it wasn't a fabricated story by Alois when Arnold Trancy came over. "Jim Macken" is his name, the name given to him by the couple who adopted him as a baby.

Anyways...

In no way do I see him taking this news well. That's the understatement of the century, but you know what I mean.

Even if Claude didn't yeet him into the afterlife and nom nom on his soul at the end of S2, I can still sort of see the rivalry between him and Ciel throughout the years. Either way, I digress: let's say Alois - for one reason or another - is able to celebrate a few more birthdays past his canon age of 14. So, now he's a young adult and is suddenly staring the cold, cruel truth right in its face.

How, exactly, the truth of him being the biological son of the late Earl Trancy being discovered is something that could have happened in many ways. The most likely way I see this happening is that Claude got pretty tired of Alois' "boring" soul and decided to stir the pot. It isn't out of the realm of possibility to see Claude unearth some secrets of the Trancy estate in order to... alter Alois mental state so that it may affect the "flavor" of his soul.

Now, in Alois' extreme grief and PTSD coming back full force upon such a horrific revelation, his soul is now more appealing to Claude (yippie -_-).

No servant in that household is prepared or equipped for the incredibly detached and (even more) unstable young man they serve under. Most days I can see Alois staring blankly, mind going at super speeds. Hardly anyone can get through to him. But, as I said, the flavor of his soul is now more appealing to Claude. That little shit knows what he did stirring the pot and is waiting patiently for his mental state to "burn even hotter."

I can only see Alois working through this if he had a companion. In this case, the reader. They are a human, they have emotions, they can understand him. It's really all they can do to help him through such heavy news. And even if Alois is older now and has mentally and emotionally matured ever-so-slightly (i am a firm believer he has bpd but that's another can of worms), he is still in the process of growing as a person. So, having an actual person in his life whom he trusts and cares for deeply, and boy does he care deeply (scorpio energy fr), he will not ever forget it nor will he ever let them go. They are his rock, his safe place, his only anchor to the world. If he can't trust anyone, then he can trust them. In fact, it may just be the catalyst towards a future marriage proposal.

#alois x reader #black butler alois #alois trancy #kuroshitsuji alois #black butler x reader #x reader #black butler headcanons #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji x reader

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sketchfanda · 5 months

Text

A Little Moxxie Love:Martha's Downfalls

Oh she could feel she was close, she just knew she had to be. Finally after days and weeks, she would be close to having herself some sweet, sweet revenge. First those damn imps and then the bitch who'd set them loose on her, they were all going to pay. But of all the imps of course, it was the runt she was looking the most. And oh fortune had to be smiling bright for her as she'd found him on his way back to whatever hole in the ground that little red possum called home as she stalked him with lethal intent.

Yes sir, we find ourselves currently in the midst of witnessing a certain notorious sinner following after Moxxie with less than pleasant intentions. That being the Southern Belle seeming woman that had been known in life as Martha, a seemingly lovely wife and mother of two...who had in fact been a total adulterous bitch, not to mention a homicidal cannibalistic Satanist. Who even despite winding up in hell, naturally for the fact she was such a heinous sinner, hadn't lost her sense of petty spitefulness. So much so that she didn't given one single fuck about her husband or kids or wherever they may've been in hell, for all she knew Satan was using their skulls as bowling balls.

No sir, Martha was all about revenge on her mind and she was going to be starting with Moxxie, NOT because he was solely responsible for ending her life on Earth mind you. Though that was partly it, for her it was mainly because of how he'd managed it, the demonic looking sinner gritting her sharp teeth as she recalled with clarity her final moments in life. Shuddering as she felt her pussy ache and and drool with a flow of nectar. The phantom sensations of how that loathsome little runt ABSOLUTELY ruined her for other men....

~FLASHBACK~ It was sudden enough, one moment she and her family were enjoying dinner, the next a bullet had just made its way through their walls missing its mark. Seems someone had gotten a figurative pair and put out a hit on her which meant lord satan was getting some tribute this evening!! So it was hunting season as this twisted psycho cannibal brood of hers went divide and conquer and what a surprise, their quarry wasn’t human? Ah well meat was meat all the same as she tracked down one of the pesky little varmints while the kids and Ralphie went for the others, dusk giving away deeper into the twilight of the evening. The psycho bitch false hero grinning with twisted delight as she trekked through the woods, calling out with menace at her hidden target.

Moxxie was the unlucky target of her twisted and cruel intentions as he planted himself back against a tree, hiding as the mad woman walked on by taunting like she was the psycho in that Warriors movie. The little imp was already feeling bad enough having fucked uo what should’ve been an easy one and done killshot all because he just had to have a conscience!! Loona had been right, even the most perfect and innocent looking family might’ve been secret evil crazy shitsacks and he figured it was hazy enough thinking they were just offing some cheating ho. Now he’d gone and gotten himself as well his wife and boss into deep shit and he just knew if they got through this, Blitzo woild never let him live it down.

But of course our resident imp didn’t have time to further reflect on his current train of thought when he felt the butt of Martha’s double barrel shotgun deck him on the side of his head. Rubbing the spot as he winced, shaking off any dizziness as he suddenly look peg to see Martha looming over him pointing her weapon point blank right at him. The psychotic southern Belle housewife grinning like a shark at having successfully found him while the imp panicked as not only did he know this meant he was soon to be one very dead man. But fucking hell was seriously getting a hard-on now?!!

Martha:*giggling like the twisted mad woman se was, it was all too clear how this woman had ruined a marriage and caused a school teacher to try and kill her ass. Cocking the hammer of her shotgun as she licked her lips with sadistic delight.*”That’s one down, soon as we got your lil’ friends, me and mine are gonna have us some fun sending you back to hell little devil. Got to say far as demons go, you really isn’t too bad looking, kind of cute even….”*the evil bitch taunted as indeed at the moment her kids had snatched up Blitzo who’d learn first hand that Martha and her brood happened, let’s be frank, to be goddamn cannibals. Ralphie however would be long gone from this world as he learned and experienced first hand, that Millie May-Knolastname was a lethal imo when cornered.*

Moxxie:”Oooh crumbs….”*That was about all our not a possum could muster up to say, not just simply the fact he was still dizzy from getting hit by the butt of a shotgun mind you. No sir, it’s more the fsct that why yes he was actually having a boner right now, of all times!! Christ a fear boner in the presence of this crazy bitch? What a way to go, as he heard the click of the shotgun being loaded and primed to fire, ready to let him see what afterlife awaited imps.*

just as Martha was about to squeeze the trigger and blow Moxxie to infernal kingdom come, the psycho bitch (yeah I know I keep calling her that but hey when the shoe fits, it works) couldn’t help but notice the telltale bulge in his pants. The clear and present indication of a length and girth that put any prior conquests and especially her husband to shame was making her feel like a waterfall would flow between her legs and soak her jeans. The fact it was a fear boner only served to stroke her twisted ego as well as further fuel the demented first for lust she now had as she licked her lips sexually. The crazy milf homewrecker getting herself an idea as she spoke while keeping her shotgun twined on the imp point blank.

Martha:”Tell you what little fellah, I’m feeling a little generous since you’re kind of cute and all. So I’m willing to get you go…if you can please me and get me off…”*The crazy ass cannibal home wrecker declared her twisted intentions, making her more as Moxxie looked all confused as fuck. Until he found Martha laying her shotgun aside within her reach but out of his as she reached down to grab and pull off his pants, boxers and all in one fell swoop. Followed by the crazy bitch ripping open her polka dot blouse and the crotch of her jeans, exposing a pussy gushing with lust that could put a succubus to shame. Strands of nectar raining and pouring down on his fear boner as it stood erect like a flagpole before suddenly finding the lunatic ho drop right down on is imphood in one fell swoop.*

Moxxie:*a mix of shock, panic and arousal as he found Martha pinning him down, her pussy grasping his length and girth with insane horny lust as she began to bounce and ride on him mercilessly.*”Nggyyyaaa!! Mother of the whore of Babylon!! What fresh hell is this?!” *Our poor trapped little possum decried as he tried in vain to push the crazy bitch off of him, hands in her hips as the sensation of copulation was greatly offset by the psycho bitch’s expression. Face a mask of horrifying maniacal glee, her insane cackling echoing throughout the woods as she bounce her denim clad PAWG Texan booty down on his poor little pelvis. It was like this crazy bitch wanted to kill him all the same either way, only in this case it was death by goddamn snusnu!! Now you think you want to envy Moxxie right now, let me remind you this woman was a Satanist cannibal killer, but who am I kidding, you sick fucks...*

But Moxxie while horrified certainly knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t go down so easily, not especially when he was used to such rough pelvis shattering intensity. Especially as he reminded himself that the sooner he subdued this sick mad woman, the better he could see about helping Millie and Blitzo out of the shit he got them into as he firmly grasped those denim clad hips and mustered all the strength he could within his quite gifted legs. The next thing Martha knew she felt Moxxie start to thrust and pump back against her rodeo motions and to say it was a shock to her system was an understatement. As inches of raw imp length and girth was soon starting to strike her her womb with the force and intensity of a jackhammer.

Martha was to put it generously what you’d call a promiscuous woman, which was a polite way of saying she was a slut whore. But of all the men she’s bedded and milked, her husband included, Moxxie was putting them all to shame not only in having size but knowing how to damn well use it. Her control and domination slipping as every impact of the alpha male imp cock against her womb hit her brain with a jolt of mind numbing pleasure. Before she knew it, she’d gone from topping the imp stud in cow girl to being laid on her back as she was put in missionary to spread able and finally a mating press.

She couldn’t believe that this damn little runt from the pits of Satan’s kingdom had gotten one over on her like this!! Yet here she was taking it doggy style at the moment as she felt brain drown in a rushing flood of ecstasy and sexual bliss as he ruined her for other men. His pelvis plowing her ass with enough to intensity to make those cheeks clap like thunder and jiggle like jello until he groaned as he finally came. The rush of hot white imp baby batter spraying into her womb as she felt herself go limp as a rag doll, face down on the ground with her ass up in the air.

Martha:”O-okay…I’ll admit that was…better than expected You spawn of Sa-….”*The twisted psycho bitch blinked as as she heard the hammer cocking click of her shotgun, managing to lift her upper body up enough to turn around and find the twin barrels point blank aimed right at her. Moxxie impressively looking determined despite being bottomless with his juice soaked, still hard cock exposed and from the look in his eyes, this time he wasn’t hesitstijng to make the shot.*”……..oh fuck my life….”*Fitting last words as Moxxie pulled and squeezed on the trigger, blowing a hole through her skull took one of her eyes out with it along with a chunk of her brain. Life flashing before her remaining eye as she left the mortal coil, thinking one thing.*

''Damn what a way to go.....'' ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now here she was in Hell itself and she took to it a little too well and naturally but what do you expect given in life she'd been a homewrecking cannibal Satanist homicidal maniac? The sinner of course hadn't wasted time in getting the lay and law, or what passed for it, of the land. And now Revenge that was within her reach, a double barrled hunting shotgun in hand as she found Moxxie, bag of groceries in his hand fishing for his keys as he stood on the stoop to the apartment building he and Millie called their love nest. Sneaking right up behind them as she pressed the barrel of her shotgun against the back of his cute, snowhaired twin horned little head, the click of the hammer cocking making his ears twitch.

Martha:"Long time no see you little rat....don't try reachin' for whatever you got on you, I see any twitching and boom go your kneecaps." *The psycho bitch taunted, grinning her shark teeth like grin as Moxxie got the hint,slowly placing his bag on the floor, arms raised as he turned around to face her. Recognition in his eyes as he could tell it was her. Oh sure coming to Hell naturally demonised her as a Sinner but there was no mistaking he knew who she was. Pressing the twin barrels closer to near point blank.*

Moxxie:"Guess I shouldn't be surprised, you and yours weren't exactly on the guest list for the pearly gates. So I suppose this is where you try to kill me?" *It wasn't so much a question but more like he was phrasing a matter of fact as one. The sweet little possum feeling a sense of deja vu as the twisted sinner bitch laughed in a sinister manner. Those distracting tits of hers jiggling as her shotgun lowered down, aim now primed at his crotch. To say alarm bells were going off was an understatement.*

Martha:"Ooooh nonononoooooo you damn little varmint...that'd be too easy. I ain't sending you to...whatever afterlife there is for the likes of you yet!! Not until I make you pay for what you did to me...and I don't mean blowing a hole in my skull!! Oooh no...i want revenge for you giving me the best screw of my life!! You've any idea how hard it is to find a decent dick in hell to ride? You ruined me you little shit!! *Oh yes, it was undignified enough to have this imp fuck her then kill her after, especially given how he turned the tables on her. But what's worse was that after that amazing lay....nothing else could get her off anymore!! She'd tried any and every toy she could get in Lust City, her own hands, sweet Anti-christ she tried any and every dick chick or demon dude packing she could find and none of them even came close to Moxxie!! Not in terms of his length and girth or his prowess!!*

Moxxie:"....Wait, what? So how and why's is this for your revenge?" *Moxxie had a feeeling he already knew the answer. Somehow he should be expecting it but sometimes, he had to wodner, there was no way his luck would work like that, right? Oooh terrific, there was his fear boner again. Loona would be having such a laugh right now...if she wasn't too busy thirsting for his dick.*

Martha:"It's easy you damn horsedicked possum!! First you and me and are gonna go into your place and this time, THIS TIME!! I'm gonna break your pelvis and milk those golfballs you call your nuts dry!! Then when your bitch comes home to find your fucked to death corpse? Bang!! Then your boss and well...you get the idea..."*Yes it was perfect, better yet if Millie came home while she was still in the middle of banging Moxxie's brains out, she could cuckold the little imp tramp!! After which she'd kill them, eat their bodies then find and do the same to their boss, whoever else worked with them. And then the cow who'd hired them!! After which hell would be her playground, who needed to play hero anymore when you could be Queen of Hell?!*

Moxxie:"Ooh crumbs...."*Now really could you blame him for being able to say anything else? Kind of hard to be more articulate when you had a psycho bitch with homicidal cannibalistic tendencies aiming a shotgun point blank at your cock and balls. Especially when her grand payback plan consisted of fucking you to death, followed by killing your wife and doing Fuck only knows to the bodies. If demons could pray or did pray to someone, he really hoped they'd throw him a bone here.*

Martha of course felt the time to expositive gloating was passed, as she reached into Moxxie's coat and got his keys. Time to begin her revenge as she licked her chops at the bulge in his pants, indicating his fear boner. After all the demons she'd sucked and fucked off here and there, she felt this time she had the edge. Yessir with her sex-perience, this time she would dominate the imp!!

Well that was supposed to be the idea, that's how she felt and knew it was supposed to go, she'd suck him off to a point he'd feel like his soul was being sucked out. Followed by riding him with such intensity that she'd ground and pound his pelvis into dust and squeeze out of every bit of milk from his balls!! Make him scream and beg for mercy as she'd kill him with pleasure before she decided to put him out of his misery. Yes just like that....except that's not what happened of course.

Martha:"OOooooh fuuuuck fuck fuck !! Muh pussy!! My poor pussy!! Oooh Daddy harder!! I'm sorry daddy please wreck me!! Break me Daddy Moxxie with your big ol' dick!!"*Instead once again Martha had found the tables turned on her once more, though not half as turned on as she was right now!! As she was pressed up against a window, naked as the day she was born and her facial expression one not of a psychotic deviant but yet another wayward lady captured by Moxxie's erotic charm. The Imp stud taking her from behind as he thrust and pumped his cock away like the genetic jackhammer it was, his blurring pelvis making her fat sinner booty jiggle and clap. A growing puddle on the floor growing as their clothes laid about discarded along with her now disabled shotgun.*

Moxxie:"Ooooh sweet temptation..."*The imp tried to tell himself he shouldn't be enjoying this but damnit the second time around with Martha compared to the first was feeling too damn good!! More so with how utterly submissive she was being, it was rather too much like the first time with Looona. Given how the hellhound had pretty much become 5050 between a tsundere and kuudere around him these days, it was curious to see how Martha would be afterwards. Especially after he was finally done fucking to her exhaustion and needed to explain this to Millie.*

The sinner and imp continued to go at it as Martha once again was reminded how and why Moxxie had managed to ruin other men for her. Who needed them when her new Imp daddy was all she needed, as a simultaneous orgasm rocked them...not the first or last as the pair lost track of time. So much so to not yet realise the time, or that Millie had long since returned. The wrath shortstack imp peeping from behind the crack of the door as she watched with voyeuristic delight waiting for the right moment to join in.

But of course that's not to say she was just playing with herself, as she was also using her phone to send pictures and videos to Loona as well as a few others of hers and Moxxie's booty calls. Especially Mrs.Mayberry who was sure to enjoy the sights and sounds of the bitch who ruined her life and marriage being reduced to such a state. It would no doubt give some ideas as to what they'd with Martha afterwards of course. But now for the time being was naughty time.

Once MArtha had especially gotten a nice round of Moxxie dick orally and anally at least once of course, then Millie made her move. The added one two knockout combination of a threesome with her and her man was enough to pretty much break the sadistic Southern Belle, after which Mayberry would later receive a surprise from the imp couple in the form of a giant gift wrapped box with a bound and gagged Martha inside. To say she appreciated the gift was an understatement, so much so that our fave imp would get a surprise of his own. A rather sexy little group pic featuring his wife posing in some leather and latex with the former teacher and homewrecker as well as Verosika...attached with a message of where to find them so he could enjoy his present.

Hey when you had a imp like him? You wanted to show him a lot of love. And when said imp has a wife like he does? She damn well will make sure he gets to drown in it. And how sweet it is!!

#sketchfan #sketchfanda #sketchfan85 #helluva boss #Martha Helluva boss #mrs mayberry #moxxie #moxxie smut #Millie #helluva millie #helluva moxxie #helluva Martha

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