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blkkizzat · 6 months

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ღ 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞!𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 ღ

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 𝐨𝐟 𝟐 (part 1)

18+ONLY MDNI

kizzatober series: Smooth Criminals

Kinktober Prompts: Clothed Male/Naked Female, Thigh Riding, Knife Play Synopsis: The university campus is being terrorized by a copycat Ghostface killer. As a popular sorority girl with a dumb jock bf, you are a prime choice to be his next victim especially given how he can't stop thinking about you. But you're no ordinary Sorority Girl bimbo, now are you? CW: AU college fic. blood obsession/hematolagnia, bimbo reader, murder, slight DV/SA mentions (from your npc jerk ass bf), unprotected sex, masturbation, LOTS of teasing/foreplay, slight age gap (roughly 21 vs 28) and dark content. NOTE: If death/killer romanticization related shit triggers you this is probably a fic to avoid because that is happening all through this bitch. I literally wrote a murder fluff smut fic lmfao. WC: 9.9 of 15.4k Lightly black fem coded (reader is an AKA lmfao) but no descriptors.

A/N: I had no idea so many people would be this hyped for Part 2. No really, I'm shocked! But It gets real here peoples! Lots of smut and dark shit below so please read the content warnings! I don't want no crying in the mentions and DMs cause y'all should know how out of pocket I am by now and I took it there lmfao.

If you riding with me still Thank You for putting up with my OCD bullshit and for all the support, comments and reblogs on Part 1! y'all real asf & ilysm

Enjoy!

Previously:

“Whatever, let’s fucking go Y/N. We have an important party to throw later.”

Dean grabs your wrist and jerks you away with you barely being able to grab your bag.

Your stomach twists and you are at a complete loss for words but manage to flash an apologetic look at Choso while you are dragged off.

However when your eyes meet he looks right through you.

The expression on his face is stone cold and it sends a chill up your spine.

☠

Sigh.

For the first time ever in your life you are miserable at a party.

To say you had been excited leading up to today would have been an understatement. The initiation party after rush was one of the biggest events in the greek system and you had led the charge this year in planning the party.

Nevertheless, any cheerful enthusiasm you held had been trampled on by the disaster that had taken place earlier in the day with Choso.

If getting out of going wouldn’t be more trouble than it was worth you would have faked being sick. It’s not like you hadn’t already stressed yourself into a headache.

Yet here you were suffering through, completely sober. Not even being able to bring yourself to drink away your problems.

How could you even pretend to enjoy yourself when your forced smile cracked as soon as the mental image of Choso’s icy expression looped through your mind?

Your chest got a little tighter each time you remembered and it frazzled your nerves.

Just about everyone and everything annoyed you right now.

Even the party: Hunter vs Hunted, one of your favorites, was soured.

Typically the theme entailed girls dressed up as various exotic animals or woodland creatures and the boys dressed as safari game hunters or woodsmen. But this time around, no thanks to singular frat boy hivemind, they all got the bright idea to collectively cosplay as Ghostface.

Taking a new meaning on Hunter.

They couldn’t carry knives on campus of course so they all carried around metal bats which they probably stole from the baseball team.

Sure, let’s all dress up as the masked serial killer while he is still on the loose.

You rolled your eyes.

The pilfered bats were a hazard waiting to happen too. You could only be thankful that the party was at Dean’s frat and not your own sorority so him and the rest of those idiots could fuck their own shit up once they inevitably got way too hammered and started swinging them around.

You mostly just wished they hadn’t changed the plan without telling you.

Then at least you could have dressed up in line with the horror theme and wouldn’t have had to wear this sexy Bambi costume which although skimpy, the fur parts made it way too hot to be wearing in a crowded party indoors.

On edge and not being able to leave, you did the next best thing and sequestered yourself in the kitchen pantry.

It was spacious and a lot cooler than the rest of the house.

You made yourself look busy in there by restocking snacks and making sure there was an ample supply of red cups ready to go around for the keg.

When someone did notice you tucked away, you gave the best fake smile you could muster and made-up an excuse not to join in on whatever drinking game they were playing promising you would ‘catch up in a minute.’

Fortunately for you, most of your friends and sorority sisters were a bit too faded by this point to notice you missing and never joining in.

Maybe a bit longer and you could slip out unnoticed?

That was your plan at least until you felt Dean throw an arm over you from behind.

“There you are babe!”

Urgh.

The overwhelming ick and nausea you felt from him touching you rivaled your worst hangover.

You immediately shrug him off.

“Come on babe don’t be like that. Get a freshman to take over. We're gonna play rage cage.”

You threw Dean a wary look.

You try to tell him you aren’t in the mood but of course your selfish dickhead of a boyfriend ignores you.

Dean then proceeds to pull your arm and lead you out of the pantry through the kitchen.

On a different day you probably would have just given in, easier to go along with the flow than cause an issue. Today however was different and the last thing in the world you wanted to do was play fucking rage cage with a bunch of horny frat boys who were just trying to get girls drunk enough to fuck.

“Goddamnit, Dean I said no!”

Your tolerance had boiled past its limits.

You forcibly snatch your hand back, knocking some empty bottles over on the counter in the process which come crashing down to the floor shattering into pieces.

Your words and movements dripped with so much aggression you surprised yourself, Dean and the people around you who had turned to see what the commotion was.

”No? No? You’re really telling me no Y/N? After you’ve been acting like a fuckin’ bitch all day since I crashed your make out session with that freak.”

Immediately self-conscious, your eyes darted around the crowd of people that had now turned their full attention toward you.

You hated confrontation and never wanted to be that couple fighting at a party.

Ducking down quickly, you begin to pick up the shattered pieces of bottled glass on the floor.

The pounding of your headache against your temples grew feverishly and the harsh fluorescent kitchen lights started to make you feel faint, you hoped Dean would just let this go if you backed down.

“Look, we’ll talk about that later, ok? Just please don’t be an asshole Dean, I really don’t feel good right now.”

You pleaded with him, quietly trying to quell the situation.

But true to his infamous asshole nature, Dean wasn’t going to let you off so easily. He wanted to humiliate you as he felt you humiliated him in front of his friends earlier with that nobody loser.

”Now, I’m the asshole?” Dean questioned to his frat brothers smugly.

“Hey, maybe I am for having a girlfriend like Y/N, who would slut herself out for a grade in front of the entire quad!”

Dean had all but yelled that last part out. Your drunken clown of a boyfriend didn’t care if he caused a scene at your expense.

Now you had the full attention of everyone in the kitchen.

You took a shaky breath as you stood up and felt the crunch of broken glass beneath your heels.

An unfamiliar sensation of rage rises within you.

It really wasn’t in your nature to be angry even when you were upset, you mostly just cried but now you were pissed to say the least.

He has some fucking nerve.

Especially when you knew no one starting on the football team studied at all and were all automatically passed through whatever easy bullshit major they signed up for.

“Dean–”

You start yet pause for a moment, trying to keep your cool.

“–you know how hard I study.”

Twisting the proverbial knife in your back to wind you up further Dean continued.

“Yeah, Y/N That's what’s so pathetic about it. You get Bs. That pussy ain’t even good enough for an A. I would know.”

Collective gasps, snickers and whispers arose from around the kitchen. Word had spread of your fighting as more people gathered in the doorway.

Typically this is where you would have run off crying. However, you were exhausted mentally and emotionally. You had already cried for a good hour today while getting ready.

The only emotions you had readily available to tap into was the hidden well of resentment and ire you held for Dean.

“And how would you even know what good pussy is Dean? You can’t last longer than two pumps, is it not all the same for you?”

You snapped back.

Your fists had formed into a tight ball.

You are so enraged you can’t even feel the prick from the broken glass bottle still in your hand puncturing your skin.

How long has it been since you stood up for yourself?

You can’t remember the last time you even fought with anyone like this but it felt good seeing the smug look on his face fall as his friends around him jeered and laughed.

“I know how to settle this Y/N.”

Dean mused as he yanked one of your sorority sisters nearby toward you.

“How ‘bout we ask Aaliyah then, eh? She got more than 2 pumps last weekend after you left the party to go chase after Ghostface–”

Your head snaps to your AKA sister in question, Aaliyah, who looked like she saw a cursed spirit as all the color drained from her face. Her eyes shamefully hit the floor before they met your gaze.

She couldn’t even look at you which only further solidified Dean’s accusations.

So Dean himself confirmed he’d been cheating on you? Cool.

With your own Sorority sister, who you considered one of your besties since you both rushed together?

Even better.

Blood slowly trickled out of your hand to drip on the floor from how rigidly you held onto the glass but the small red puddle went unnoticed as your whole vision was already saturated with the color red when you looked at Dean who hadn’t even finished his disrespectful tirade.

“–Although on second thought, it was probably an excuse for you to go suck off that loser freak TA of yours right?”

More heckles erupted from the crowd around you and you don’t think you have ever hated someone so much in your life as you hated Dean right at this moment.

Sure you were upset with Aaliyah but your fury was purely focused on Dean.

He had some nerve to start so much shit earlier over an almost-kiss when he was fucking your good friend behind your back.

“And how fucking out of her mind was she then, huh Dean? Would she even remember? You pathetic piece of shit...”

You get directly in his face.

“...that limp dick of yours fumbles orgasms like you fumble passes. That’s why we lost the big game last week. And guess what? That's also why we’re now OVER!”

Dean’s bulky build towers over you but he might as well have been 3 feet tall to you as the razor edge of your words eviscerate him.

“So who’s the fucking loser now Dean?”

Everyone in the room was stunned into silence by the venom dripping from someone they had never even heard raise their voice before.

You don't notice anyone else's reactions though as suddenly you became hyperaware of the large fractured piece of bottled glass cutting into you.

Your eyes flickered back to Dean as your hand twitches.

For a fleeting moment you felt an inkling urge to drive the glass in your hand directly into Dean’s smug ass face.

Yet whatever dark fury burned in you was instantly snuffed out as you felt a flood of cold bitter beer splash down on you from Dean’s red solo cup.

”Why don’t you cool off for a bit dear,” Dean cooed at you, mocking you and your now ruined Bambi costume as he and the frat boys around you started to roar with laughter.

That was it.

You were done.

Dean had succeeded in humiliating you.

Any contention or further will to fight within you had dissipated the moment you were doused in beer.

The glass in your hand drops onto the ground as a dull ache radiates from your wound that continues to seep blood onto the floor.

“I hope you realize this is the last time an AKA will grace this sorry ass frat for a party. I’ll see to that. Enjoy the rest of your night fellas!”

The icy air of your words contrasted with the perfect pageant smile you gave them and it unsettled those around you especially as they all notice the blood gushing from your hand.

The crowd immediately parts as you leave. No one dares utter a word to you as you exit the party through the side kitchen door.

You can feel your phone go off as you get a flurry of group texts and missed facetimes. Most of your sisters weren’t even in the kitchen to witness the scene.

You respond to the group chat to tell them just to stay and enjoy the party and turn your phone on ‘do not disturb.’

You just wanted to be alone.

You’d deal with the fallout tomorrow.

☠

Choso wore a twisted grin hidden under his Ghostface mask.

The hunter vs hunted party meant a perfect time for him to hunt.

Leaning against a building Choso was shrouded in the dark cover of shadows far removed from campus lights.

Old habits, he mused. There was really no need for him to hide at all tonight.

He could actually walk around openly as Ghostface now without causing alarm seeing as how most of those fraternity morons were dressed up like him tonight.

This made things even easier.

Choso scanned the area for his next prey.

Someone, anyone alone would do.

Choso had been itching to spill blood since he had the enticing inclination to slash your boyfriend’s throat earlier.

Currently he wanted nothing more than to see a violent geyser of blood spurt from his next victim. Having it be a shithead frat guy would only sweeten the kill so he had stalked close to frat row for his latest victim.

There.

Seeing movement in the distance, a lone figure, Choso cautiously advances trailing in the shadows towards them until they come into focus under the street lights.

He nearly does a double take when he recognizes it's you.

Shouldn’t Miss-Perfect-Social-Butterfly be having the time of her life right now with her cretins being crowned queen of the frats or something?

Choso thought bitterly.

That is, until he got a good look at you.

You were wet and shivering as you failed to sniff back the tears pouring down your face.

Despite his desire to stay angry with you, his jaw involuntarily clenches as he had never seen you this upset before.

Something had happened.

Choso confused look turns deadly as vision travels down to see you nursing the hand you cradled to your chest. He recognizes blood running down your forearm to stain your already soiled costume.

A territorial urge swelled within him, not knowing you had inflicted your own injury.

You were his prey.

It was unforgivable for someone else to spill what was his to enjoy.

Choso immediately concluded the cause of it was Dean.

Boyfriend or not he would gladly gut that motherfucker at the drop of a dime.

He hadn’t forgotten how roughly he had dragged you off earlier.

And more importantly how you had let that asswipe drag you off. That honestly had fired his temper more than anything.

A storm of conflicting feelings, Choso yearns to see more of your blood splattered on the ground as much as he secretly covets to have you writhing underneath him.

Should he approach you?

No. Not yet.

Although, he would never have a more perfect chance than now to kill you if he was ever actually going to go through with it.

Securing his knife on the inside of his robe, Choso silently propels himself after you.

Never falling too far behind, he vigilantly watches you from a distance as both your protector and predator.

☠

A warm shower was just what you needed but you were pissed you had to wash your hair 3 times to get the smell of Milwaukee's out, which proved insanely hard to do with one functioning hand.

You could have killed Dean.

No actually though, as you remembered the dark seething compulsion you felt.

You weren’t sure what had gotten into you earlier.

Pushing those thoughts to the side though you focused on the gash in your hand, it was pretty gnarly.

You were just thankful the first aid kid in your sorority house had enough gauze and tape until you could get to the campus nurse tomorrow.

You probably needed stitches as any sudden movements had the fragile skin of your palm bleeding again.

Returning to your room in a comfy pink cotton bra and thong you throw your towel over a chair.

You start to reach for your fluffy robe when you see Choso’s black track jacket on your desk. It still had the small coffee stains on it from earlier but you opted to slip into it anyway.

Truthfully, you lied to him.

You hadn’t just been carrying it around waiting to give it back to him.

You had worn it more times this past week than you would willingly admit to anyone.

You even took it on purpose instead of your actual jacket this morning not actually thinking you would run into Choso but when you had seen him, you knew you wanted him to see you in it.

With a sigh of frustration, you dove face first into the pillows of your bed as you curled into his jacket.

It was your only comfort at the moment.

Your mind wanders and you can’t help but think of how better a boyfriend Choso would have been to you.

Dean would never let you wear his jackets, no matter how cold you were. He said you were too air-headed and would ruin or lose it.

Not that he wasn’t right, you definitely were accident prone.

But that's why it had meant so much to you when Choso, not even your boyfriend, had given you his own without a second thought.

You only hoped he didn’t hate you now.

Not that you could blame him if he did.

Even you hated you a bit for even being with a jerk like Dean in the first place no matter how convenient you thought it had been for you.

How could you even face Choso in class next week?

Despite your heart crumpling when you thought of Choso’s cold intimidating gaze being cast upon you again, you admittedly had never seen a look that intense before from anyone.

It was also impossible to forget the ravenous look in his eyes when he was so close to kissing you.

He looked as if he would devour you whole.

God, everything about him was so sexy.

His strong jaw set firm, his eyes dark pools that sucked you in even from memory, his lean muscular body.

You wish you had realized how bad you had been crushing on him sooner. Before everything got so fucked up.

You fidgeted as an ache developed between your legs.

Turning your head to the side you used your bandaged hand to gently push his jacket collar into your face.

It still smelled like him despite how many times you’ve worn it this week and despite the faint smell of old coffee from earlier.

Squirming on your bed, you tried in vain to keep your legs from sliding against each other creating more friction as your body became increasingly hotter.

A shameless whine escaped your lips as you huffed his woody masculine scent in and out.

Your legs rubbed together more eagerly.

Shit, you were so horny.

Still laid flat on your belly you lifted your hips up for access as a manicured finger pressed into your clit toying with yourself from the outside of your pink cotton thong.

Choso was so meticulous, so knowledgeable in everything he did you were sure he knew how to make you cum.

You were desperate for him as you remembered what it felt like when he caught you from falling last week.

How good would his sculpted chest feel pressed into you now?

Would he look at you with the same want that flared across his features when he had gotten a glimpse of your panties you had intentionally put on display for him?

You didn’t miss how it matched the look he gave you when he nearly kissed.

“Choso…”

You moaned out loud.

You could feel the wet spot your teasing was earning you spread over your thong as your cunt continued to drool over your fantasies of him.

Craving more you lifted your ass up higher while your fingers fumbled to slide under the flimsy fabric.

“A-ahhh s-shit Cho– F-fuck!”

You panted as you sunk two fingers into your cunt. You worked to diligently pump them in and out of you as you pressing your palm down firmly over your swollen clit.

Your face buried itself deeper in his jacket as you gasped and your warm breath pushed back against you as you imagined it was his own tickling your neck.

All your senses screamed with want to be consumed by him and you pined for the feeling of his cock stretching your wet cunt instead of your slim fingers that weren’t cut out for the job.

“F-fuck C-Choso.. Mmm, let me cum.”

You practically sobbed when you glided a third finger into your pussy, two wasn’t enough to quell the craze that had overtaken you.

Ironically and unbeknownst to you, Choso (who had hidden himself in your closet during your shower), was mere moments away from losing his own goddamn mind.

Wholly entranced, he listened to you wantonly call for him like a sweet siren song and watched utterly fixated on the way you fiercely finger fucked your pussy like it was his own cock.

All the while in his jacket sniffing the sweaty soiled material like some filthy fucking pervert.

Fuck!

When he had followed you back to the sorority house he had finally resolved to kill you, but now he was at a standstill as there was no plausible way this was actually happening in front of him.

The obscene ASMR of your cunt sloshing rang in his ears and your legs quivered obscenely with you approaching your orgasm.

Your desperate thrusts caused his oversized jacket to ride up to your hips revealing the way your ass bare ass jiggled when you drove your hips down and pushed your digits up deeper into your core that waited greedily to suck them in.

You chanted out Choso’s name with urgency straining your voice as you climaxed. The bed creaked from you now humping the mattress while riding out your high.

Shit you were fucking sexy.

Thought you'd just been toying with him for fun all this time...

Until now.

Choso’s grip on his knife tightened as adrenaline surged through his body.

He could feel the blood pumping through his dick.

He wanted to fuck you.

Badly.

Give you what you’ve both been needing all this time.

Choso fully bricked, suppressed a hiss through clenched teeth as he palmed the bulge in his pants but remained otherwise still.

He can’t imagine a positive reaction if he burst out of your closet as Ghostface nor could he just take off his mask and pop out of your closet as your TA like he was some fucking creeper.

This was pure agony.

You never failed to find some way to unravel him.

Choso was so tense, his body coiled so tightly, he couldn't control his thigh involuntarily twitching and his knee recoiled against your closet door.

He cursed himself for the millionth time at the lack of control he had around you, he had never had to restrain himself so much around anyone else.

Ecstasy was etched on your features as you looked around puzzled from where the noise came from.

However, the even louder boom of the front door slamming shocked you out of your blissful daze and stole your attention away.

You sat up quickly and wondered if your sorority sisters were back already.

You glanced at the clock.

10:32 pm.

It was still much too early for them to leave.

But who else could it be?

You groaned and reluctantly hopped off the bed, zipping up Choso’s jacket fully to hide the slick between your legs and went out to greet them so you could avoid them coming into your room and return to your solitude as quickly as possible.

You were tired, frustrated and still horny as hell.

You only wanted make yourself cum hard enough you could fall asleep and end this miserable ass day.

☠

“Girls~! You really didn’t have to leave so early~!”

You call out to your sisters.

It was a little late for a show of solidarity if that's what they thought they were doing.

You rolled your eyes.

But it was eerily quiet as you received no response.

That’s odd.

Walking down the hall you froze once the view from the top floor opens into the foyer below and you see the front door wide open.

Not a single soul in sight or to be heard.

“Girls?”

Fight or flight senses kick into gear altering you to the possible dangers below.

You might be a bit of a ditz but you studied enough forensics and had seen enough scary movies to know how this shit usually ended.

You turn back to run to your room to call someone but stopped as you noticed your phone on the entryway table by the door.

Crap.

Steeling yourself you slowly inched your way towards the staircase, stopping at times to lean over the banister for any signs of someone.

“This isn’t funny girls! You know I’ve already had a really shitty night!”

But only the hollow sound of wind whipping through the door answered you as it swayed on its hinges.

This was an older house.

Maybe you didn’t close the door all the way in the beginning?

No one in your sorority house ever locked the doors, which now you considered probably wasn’t the greatest tradition to keep up while you were at home all alone and a serial killer was on the loose.

You crept down the stairs trying to silence any creaks as best you could.

“I swear on a stack of Vogues if this is a prank you all of you whores will all be on campus clean-up community service duty for the rest of the semester!”

Still nothing but silence as you reached the bottom of the staircase.

The lights were on in the entire house. From what you could tell the den and living room areas surrounding the foyer were empty.

You sighed. Maybe it was just the wind.

You close the door and this time make sure to lock it as you clutch your phone and turn to scamper back upstairs when you feel something grab at you from behind.

“Want to die Y/N?”

You let out a screech as you whip your around to see a figure you recognize as Ghostface reach for you as you stumble backwards into the den.

Tripping over your own feet, you fall back landing on your injured hand and knocking your head against the edge of a coffee table.

A roar of laughter erupts as you groan dazed from the floor.

“You really are a clumsy ditz, babe.”

Puzzled and near concussed, you blink through blurry vision to see Dean pull off the Ghostface mask as he crouches down to your level and leans on his metal bat tauntingly.

Pain blossoms sharply in the back of your head and you can feel the puncture wound on your hand open and saturate your bandage.

“The fuck are you doing here Dean?”

You glared up at him through your one good hand that covered your face as you struggle to get your bearings back.

You couldn’t catch a fucking break tonight.

“Still being a huge bitch even though I came all the way over here to say sorry, eh?”

Dean hummed, brow raised as he chuckled.

“I thought a little fright would put you in a good mood, Y/N.”

“Nice way of apologizing Dean. Insult me, scare me half to death and give me a concussion.”

You knew this man was not sorry at all.

Someone sober enough had probably informed Dean that you did have the power to essentially kill their fraternity’s social life, cucking his entire house for the foreseeable future. They likely sent him to make things right with you ASAP.

But even with all that on the line your tool of an ex was such a huge dick he couldn’t even do the bare minimum to give you a decent apology like an actual human being (not that you would have accepted it).

“I see I was right about one thing though.”

Dean got your attention as he pointed down at the moisture running down your legs.

You immediately pull Choso’s jacket down further to cover yourself.

You couldn’t give a fuck what he thought at this point. You’d confess to fucking the entire Forensics department if got him out of your face.

“Sure Dean, think what you want okay? Just fucking GET. OUT.”

You felt dizzy from the pressure thrumming in the back of your skull.

“Yeah and if I say no whore? Then what?”

Dean slid a clammy hand over your knee which sent another wave of nausea through you, your head spinning.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to stop his hand traveling lower before you suddenly noticed Dean’s body being ripped away from you entirely.

The scene that followed occurred in a whirlwind as your head felt like it would explode trying to focus on anything.

Your eyes strain to keep up with the action only registering fractions of it through your blurred vision.

You see…blood?

Is it yours?

No. It’s flowing from Dean’s shoulder.

Another person?

…Ghostface?

Yes.

Your double vision struggled to pinpoint exactly what was happening as Dean and the masked Ghostface fought for dominance, somehow ending up back in the foyer.

Dean was barely able to keep the large hunting knife from sinking into his chest.

Was this even real?

Were you really about to witness a Ghostface crime scene in action?

Were you next?

You felt like you were witnessing it all play out through someone else’s body as your mind floated off and you felt more disconnected.

Your awareness faded in and out.

There was no doubt, you definitely had a small concussion.

“Y/N!”

Your head snaps up as you finally hear Dean shouting your name although it sounded like you were in a fishbowl.

He had somehow gotten leverage and evened the odds with the killer as they both now had a hold of the blade’s handle.

“Y/N! Pay attention you ditzy ass bimbo! Don’t just sit there looking stupid, get the fucking bat.”

You scanned the floor around you.

Sure enough, there was the scuffed metal bat shining back at you resting by your knees.

Your injured hand grazes it and you see a red trail of blood smearing across it as the cool smooth metal soothes your ruptured skin.

“Y/N, what the fuck are you daydreaming about?! Get your ass over here!”

You grip the bat’s handle, ignoring the pain to use it and the coffee table as leverage to push you up off the floor.

You sway on your feet as your blood pressure drastically drops from standing too quickly.

Your head feels light.

Your body feels light.

Surprisingly too, even the large heavy metal bat now feels light in your injured palm.

“Fucking finally, Y/N!”

Dean yelled as he saw you on your feet.

“It’s not like I’m trying to fight off a killer here or anything dumb bitch.”

Dumb bitch?

Oh yeah, he means you.

God, Dean was fucking annoying you just wished he would shut up sometimes.

You couldn’t even think straight.

What were you doing again?

Right, the bat. He told you to bring it to him.

You wanted to sit down again. You were so tired.

You couldn't rest though as Dean’s voice was ringing in your ears.

You just wanted him to shut up more than anything so you willed yourself forward.

“Give Dean the bat, Give Dean the bat.”

You lowly repeated in a mantra like state.

Your vision was spotted with black dots swirling like the pain in your head.

GiveDeanthebatGiveDeanthebatGiveDeanthebat

You gripped the handle in both hands.

You were going to give Dean the bat.

“Y/N! Goddamn bitch move your lazy fuckin–”

C-R-A-C-K!

The slick sound ricochets throughout the entryway and reverberates in your ears.

C-R-A-C-K!

You feel warm droplets of moisture spray on you.

C-R-A-C-K!

The bat and Dean’s motionless body both simultaneously hit the floor with a thud.

You closed your eyes.

You felt… relief?

Like you could breathe again as the hazy veil that had shrouded your thoughts lifted and the throbbing in your head slowly receded.

You weren’t sure how to describe what you were feeling but it was some mix between euphoria, exhilaration and… freedom?

Well, you were finally free of Dean for good now.

You couldn’t help but be amused by that thought as you wiggle your toes in the warm red liquid that pooled around them.

A child-like giggle resounds from you.

Was this post nut kill clarity?

Catching a glimpse of yourself in the hallway mirror you noticed blood and chunks of brain matter strewn all over Choso’s jacket.

You wouldn’t be able to go without washing it now.

You frowned at the thought of his scent being washed away as well as you unzipped it, checking to see if the stains seeped through the lining too.

You had made such a mess.

Quick movements out of the corner of your eyes reminded you of the fact you were not alone.

The actual Ghostface killer stood mere feet away from you, his intentions clear as he visibly heaved and extended his knife out to the side approaching you.

You sighed exhausted.

“I’m not going to be able to blame this one on you, am I?”

Ghostface shook his head, confirming what you already knew.

☠

Choso felt his own adrenaline reach a frenzied peak.

He approached you with the animalistic stature of a predator who was sizing up another.

You were a killer now, no longer simply his prey.

Proving as much as eyes showed no remorse for the life you had taken.

Yet given what he had walked in on just minutes ago and how distraught you were leaving the party, there was nothing for to mourn anyway.

The only emotion your shown was concern for the on coming threat of him as you backed up to keep from his advances.

Heh, that could just as easily be him right now bleeding out on the floor.

He mused as he side stepped Dean’s body to stalk closer towards you.

Choso smirked, he was only disappointed he wasn’t the one to kill him.

Although he couldn’t deny how beautiful you looked creating your own work of art.

A bit abstract and not as precise as his own methods.

Nevertheless, Choso continues to be amazed by how his cute and clumsy little undergrad just showed him a darkness he had only previously recognized in himself.

Choso watches you back away until your ankles hit the bottom of the staircase.

Your feet and hands were slick with blood and you couldn’t find your footing on the steps nor support yourself on the railing so you were forced to scooch up the stairs.

Yet given your injury even that proved difficult for you.

What would he do with you now?

“W-We’re even right? You saved me, I saved you.”

You tried to bargain as you saw him crawl up the staircase after you.

Ghostface cocked his head to the side considering your words as he reached you and stopped your escape with a strong gloved hand digging into the flesh of your hip.

Ghostface suspended himself over you covering your frame entirely and his metallic blade glared in the light as if it would pierce into you at the slightest whim.

Were you going to die like this?

Despite the danger you couldn’t help but be a bit turned on.

Especially as Ghostface’s touch reminded you so much of–

“Did you get off on killing your boyfriend Y/N?”

Ghosface taunted, speaking for the first time.

“...or were you already this fucking wet from fantasizing about someone else, hm?”

Your eyes widened.

Your mind raced too fast to reach a succinct conclusion. But you were disappointed to hear a voice box distortion instead of the actual person's voice beneath the mask.

Your flurry of jumbled thoughts are paused when you feel the cool caresses of the flat metal side of his blade drag across the skin of your stomach leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Your chest heaved slowly with steady intensity as your breath shuddered.

“Are you turned on now Y/N?”

You look away from Ghostface as he taunts as you. You feel more self-conscious considering who you think is under the mask.

Just how fucked up was it you were turned on from murdering your boyfriend in cold blood to save a serial killer who might have been the guy you had just been masturbating to who was also the serial killer Ghostface and very likely about to kill you now?

Very.

Very fucked up was the answer.

You would have been ashamed if you could bring yourself to care.

Choso’s jerks your face back to him as the hand with the blade parts your legs.

The lust in your eyes and your drenched cunt were all the answers he needed.

“AHH!”

You cry out as you feel the smooth metal come down to slap your clothed pussy hard and slide against your lips.

You fight the urge to close your legs. You can’t or the sharpened edges of the knife would stab your thighs.

You bite your bottom lip to the point of drawing blood.

This does not go unnoticed by Choso as he brings his gloved hand to your lips to soothe the bite.

His soft leather covered thumb hooks past your lips to guide your mouth open, exploring your mouth as you openly moan.

“Tsk, Tsk, we can't have you breaking skin and wasting more of that pretty blood that belongs to me.”

You shiver at his words dripping in possessiveness and your mouth encloses around his thumb, sucking as your tongue still squirms under its pressure.

A strained hiss comes from Choso and his eyes roam down to admire the slime trail of sticky fluid your clothed cunt dripped his blade.

Before Choso can get a peak at your pussy your hands fly down to cover yourself.

Amused, Choso gently removes his hand from your mouth to palm your inner thigh as his thumb slick from your spit rubs circles into your flesh.

His coaxing has you spreading your legs wider as he brushes up against the hands covering your cunt.

“Show me Y/N.”

He breathed out.

You pouted and shook your head.

“Is my little slut a liar then? I recall you telling me you didn’t mind if I saw your panties.”

Your suspicions confirmed you gasped in realization but Choso could no longer control himself as his hunting knife returned to your body to trail up your stomach this time the pointy edge hovering over your soft skin.

Your stomach sucks in to create distance between the blade and your skin causing your chest to push up through your arms but it's exactly what Choso had wanted.

Whoosh

With a swift slash through the air his blade slices your bra in two and its straps fall back down your shoulders laying bare your breast and hardened nipples to the cool air.

Exposed, your hands instinctively move from you core to cover your tits.

You see Choso pull back from you to sit up fully.

No longer touching you as he opted to imprint into his memory the imagery of your wet puffed pussy glistening through the soaked and now nearly transparent thong which clung to your lower lips like second skin.

He shifted his mask as the voice box moved from over this mouth.

“Y/N” he sighed.

Hearing his actual voice had you whining with need again.

Choso couldn’t keep his hands off you for long as he grasped hold of your thong and slipped his fingers between the fabric covering your cunt.

Choso rubbed the sticky moisture on the thin fabric between his thumb and forefingers while his knuckles bullied into your clit, causing your toes to curl.

“Mmm C-Choso.”

Your hands went from simply covering your tits to messaging them, pulling on your nipples, as you couldn’t hold back the sounds from the pleasure you felt from him touching you.

Shit. He wanted to ruin you.

Choso’s knife returns to your throat applying soft pressure dangerously close to breaking skin.

“So tell me what you want then, Y/N?”

Choso knew you wanted him but he wanted you to say it.

He needed you to admit it to him outright before he could really believe it.

His knuckles had stopped teasing your clit and your body trembled as you bucked your hips into his hand and pouted.

“I want you to hurry up and decide if you’re going to fuck me or kill me before my sorority sisters get back Choso!”

Choso smirked under the mask.

Becoming a killer turned you into a bit of a brat.

But he knew how to handle you.

Heh, fair enough.

Driving the knife into the staircase behind your head he pulls you up, swapping positions and seating you on his thigh.

He pulls his soiled track jacket off of you and you shiver as the cold air hits your back.

“Mm, Fuck me Choso”

You sighed longingly, arms encircling his neck.

“Mm, Should I though?”

Choso questions out loud as you melt deeper into him from his hands roaming your body.

One settles on your hip under the band of your thong and the other peels you back by your hair so Choso can see your eyes blown out fully with lust.

“Or should I make you wait like I’ve been waiting ever since you first stumbled into class in that slutty green skirt?”

You cried out and our tongue lolled out of your mouth when he yanked your panties roughly by the front, pulling the material between your pussy lips.

Your clit was cradled in the steamy fabric and you clutched the front of his robes for stability as your eyes rolled back.

“Do you know how much you made me suffer thinking about that pretty pussy of yours? How many times I fisted my cock? How much blood I spilled to forget the way you looked in those slutty outfits?”

Choso's own desire was apparent in his raspy voice.

You shake your head and tears spill as he pulls the fabric tighter over your clit.

“I-I w-wanted you too” you sniffled out.

“Then prove it.” Choso breathed out huskily.

“I want that needy cunt of yours to beg me by fucking herself real nice on my thigh like she did on your mattress earlier.”

You could have combusted as he admitted he had in fact been watching you from your closet but you couldn’t help but obey his orders.

The frantic way your heart pounded in your chest couldn’t trump the unbearable arousal between your legs.

You braced yourself on his shoulders as you began to rock your hips on him.

“That’s it baby.”

Choso encouraged you as you heard a loud rip and realized he had cut away your thong when you felt him snatch the material right off of you.

Your plump pussy lips parted when pressed onto his thigh and you felt the rough material of his heavy robes directly chafing against your clit.

Surrendering to pleasure you circled your hips to grind down on him as Choso started bouncing you on his leg.

The impact of your weight forcing your clit down while his thigh pushed up into you shaking.

“S-shiiiit D-daddy!”

You cried out arching back.

Choso could have busted in his pants completely untouched when he heard you call him daddy.

You didn’t know how much you had him wrapped around your perfectly manicured fingers.

He would kill every single one of those bastard frat fucks on campus on a whim if you asked him to.

He would do anything for you.

Choso's muscular thigh flexing underneath your cunt felt amazing but your hole was screaming to be filled as it gaped around the phantom thought of his cock penetrating you.

“N-Need more. S’not enough Daddy”

You beg, whining into the mouth opening of his mask.

Your breath enters through the material as your hot tongue presses against the cloth barrier hungrily.

His own tongue responds in kind, entangling with yours through his mask and you moan deeper into the opening.

You feel so good yet are still frustrated that you were naked while you couldn’t even see a sliver of skin from him still in his full Ghostface attire.

You move to lift up his mask when he stops you, breaking the makeshift kiss.

“Now, now Y/N.”

Choso playfully chides.

“Can you think of nothing but my dick? You’ve forgotten so quickly this is still a crime scene?”

You panted as you looked over your shoulder and spot the gruesome remains of Dean’s lifeless body and half bashed in face. Blood stained the foyer rug and pieces of tissue splattered on curtains, walls and even the fake plants.

Right.

You still had no idea what you were going to do about that situation but Dean was already dead. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Honestly you felt as if you might die as well if you couldn’t get Choso’s dick inside of you soon.

Your hips never stopped grinding down on his thigh as you returned your attention to him.

You knew if Choso couldn’t even kiss you, he couldn’t fuck you either as those same rules applied to both potential sources of DNA.

“S’fine.” You pout.

“I-I had your jacket, y-your DNA could c-come from that.”

Your injured hand came to cup the slide of his masked face and your other rubbed the outline of cock over his jeans, feeling the precum soil through them despite the thickness of the fabric.

Blood from your hand smeared onto the pristine white Ghostface mask as you pulled your foreheads to touch.

“I’ll admit Dean was right, w-we w-were sleeping together...”

Choso chuckled.

“..and get me expelled for sleeping with a student on top of a motive to connect me to your victim?”

He gave your ass harsh smack.

Your cheeks clenched and your panting grew more ragged as you chased your high against him.

“Y/N you gotta think with that sexy little head of yours not that needy little cunt if you really want me to fuck you. I know you’re smart. This should be easy for you.”

You groaned.

Thinking was virtually impossible right now.

You wanted to give up and resort to begging again but Choso calling you smart (something your recently deceased ex never did) and now rubbing your thighs encouragingly, had made you so happy you wanted to make him more proud of you.

You reluctantly stopped your hips, ignoring the fiery ache shooting through in your cunt but you wanted to cum from his cock not his thigh.

You closed your eyes and exhaled a shaky breath.

Focus Y/N, you willed yourself.

Focusing became harder to do though when Choso became impatient and had nuzzled his masked face into your chest.

His mouth latched to your nipple through the black cloth, swirling his tongue and grazing his teeth against your bud causing it to swell.

“Oh!” you smiled sweetly down at him and his abs tightened as he held you closer to him.

“We get rid of the body! Clean up and make sure there's no crime scene to be found!”

“That’s correct,” Choso praised you as if you answered a question in class correctly.

“Now, most importantly, how exactly will we get rid of the body, Y/N?”

“We…w-we..”

Your fingertips grazed your lips and you bit a nail as you pensively considered your options.

You looked like you were thinking so hard on this.

So fucking cute.

“Come on baby, tell me.”

Choso was the one begging you now while he lifted your hips just enough to pull up his robes and position you to straddle his dick straining against his jeans.

You were so close to the answer. He knew it would come to you and he wanted to be inside of you as soon as you got it.

You clasped your hands together and gave him one of your pageant winning smiles he grew to love.

“We make a kill room!”

“Smart girl” Choso said as he lifted his mask and his lips came crashing down on yours.

☠

“Shit-Shit-Shit!”

You cried as you lower yourself onto Choso’s cock.

You had begged and pleaded him for this but Choso was so much bigger and longer than you expected.

You never had a problem taking dick before but not only was Choso huge he had 3 rows of top and frenum ladder ball piercings on his long veiny cock that dragged against your gspot when you tried to force him inside you.

You still had about an inch to go and his fat cockhead was already pressing against your cervix.

“Fuck baby you really been keeping all this good pussy from me?”

Choso spread your cheeks to assist you down on his enlarged length but your walls vice gripped his cock preventing him from guiding you down further.

Choso grunted, he was going to cum fast if you didn’t ease up.

Pulling you back, he captured your lips again devouring them as he violently pushed his tongue into your mouth in a sloppy kiss, dominating you completely.

A tremor shot through your cunt as your hips jerked and your legs quivered.

“My slutty girl is so sensitive she came from just kissing?”

Choso teased knowingly pulling back to allow you air and lapping at the drool from the corners of your mouth.

It wasn’t just a kiss.

Without the hindrance of a mask Choso’s kisses felt like he was eating you alive and set your body ablaze.

Your orgasm came with enough intensity to loosen your walls allowing you to finally sink down to the base. However your legs were still vibrating and unable to support you riding him.

You fell forward into the crook of his neck.

“C-can’t D-daddy” you babbled into his neck drooling.

Choso wanted to tease you more. He wanted to goad and praise you enough so you would ride him in earnest until your perfect pretty face sobbed for him to fuck you but time was of the essence now.

You both probably had a good hour and a half left before the cops broke up the party and members of your sorority started heading back.

He needed to finish you quickly and he silently promised to take his time with you later.

Rising up, Choso positioned his arms under your thighs to keep you seated on his cock as he walked up the few steps to reach the landing in the middle of the staircase.

Placing your back carefully against the wall he glides his hands over your sweat and blood laden skin to lift your legs onto his shoulders. His grip settles onto the fat of your ass and he marvels at how his fingers sink into them.

Choso allows you time to get adjusted to the new position as he now held you in a standing mating press.

“Ready?”

You nod and Choso takes that as his greenlight to rigorously fuck you into the wall with such vigor you felt it quaking behind you.

There was no possible way you could have ever been ready for that though and your hands dive into his hair tugging at the roots under his man buns as if you intended to scalp him.

Your reactions fuel his cruel thrusts as Choso greedily drinks your guttural screams into his mouth.

They sound more heavenly than any he had heard before even from his own victims.

Slamming you down on his cock, Choso manhandled you like you weighed nothing to him.

His piercings and engorged veins continue to scrape the walls of your core with every stroke as you gush around him soaking his robes.

Choso wanted more of you.

He didn’t think he would ever get enough.

You felt so fucking good he could fuck you like this for hours and he cursed the dwindling time he had before he needed to remove himself from the warm comfort of your mushy cunt.

The hallway echoed with sounds of his hips sadistically ramming your body further into the wall as well as the sloshy vulgar noises his cock tore from your tight creamy cunt.

“S-so c-lose Cho–”

Were the only words you could croak out as your cries become lodged in your throat.

The pleasure you received being folded between Choso and the wall had you salivating like crazy. Drool was pooling in your mouth faster than it could dribble out down the sides.

You locked eyes with him.

The wild glint in them was so primordially feral you can’t believe you ever mistook the restraint he tried to maintain around you for shyness.

Frankly, there was nothing timid about him.

The cold confidence of a true killer radiated off of him and into your core as each of his thrusts felt like they were stabbing into your womb.

Your whines turned into horse croaks as you desperately gasped for air.

Like a killer he showed you no mercy as his long cock shifted your guts up and into your lungs.

Choso was quite literally murdering your cunt.

“Yeah Y/N? Is my girl gonna cum all pretty like on this dick?”

Too cockdrunk to reply, your pussy readily spoke up for you as your walls clenched and spasmed. White stars flood your vision as your body vibrates against him as you cum hard, gurgling his name.

Choso’s hips stuttered and his moans increased as he fucked you through your orgasm and chased his own.

He knew better than to cum inside you, he wasn’t wearing a condom and didn’t even know if you were on birth control.

But your cunt was like a drug to him so Choso resigned himself to cleaning you up after as he gave one last thrust, injecting you with his hot seed that scorched your insides and sent you spasming all over again.

It took a few minutes for Choso to catch his breath but he gently released your legs down to touch the floor as he pulled out of you.

You groaned immediately at the loss after being so full as you still tried to regain your own steady breaths.

Not missing a beat, Choso moved with reverence as if he was worshiping your form from the kisses he peppered down your chest and belly.

“Eyes on me baby,”

Choso ordered, glancing up at you.

You nodded your breath hitching once he reached below your belly button and he threw one of your legs over his shoulder again.

He shamelessly breathed in the scent of sex wafting off your pussy.

The musky mixture of his cum and your juices combined with sweat and blood entered his nostrils and sent his eyes rolling back into his skull.

You shuddered.

You wanted to feel his mouth on you more than anything but you knew you couldn’t both remain like this in the open hallway for much longer.

Seemingly forgetting all concerns of time, Choso’s thumbs lightly ghost over your battered pussy lips as he slowly peeled back the slippery folds.

His chest swoll with pride seeing how much of his cum you had taken inside of you.

Choso's tongue salaciously darted out to catch the drippings that seeped out of your messy little cunt.

Despite your concerns, you can’t resist bucking up towards his face as he brought your hips off the wall towards him.

“Be patient princess, let me enjoy this.”

Choso open handedly spanks your pussy, landing a direct hit on your clit which has you shaking as your squirt spritz onto his face.

His thick tongue rolls out of his mouth like a man starved licking his lips at the feast before him

“Goddamn, I already love her so much”

He cooed into your cunt while looking up at you with puppy dog eyes.

“Go out with me, yeah Y/N? I’ll treat her right. Just let me have a taste of her everyday.”

You almost came on his face again from the utter display of depravity he was showing you, not missing the fact he was so pussy drunk he was technically asking your cunt to be his girlfriend instead of you.

To be fair you were both way past the point where he needed to ask you out anyway as he was an accomplice to your homicide and soon-to-be cover up.

“Okay Choso, I’ll be your girlfriend,”

You grinned at him.

Choso thanked you by gently placing a kiss on your clit before nose-diving into your folds like a mad man between your legs.

Seeing how sensitive you are it wasn't long before he had you thrashing on his lips from the nasty way he heartily ate your cunt out.

The suckling, bubbling and squeaking sounds of him inhaling your pussy nearly had you at your peak again.

Yet you were snapped out of your pleasure when you heard the grandfather clock in the hall ring signaling it was midnight.

Fuck what if the party got broken up earlier than expected?

“W-we don’t have time for this Choso.” You plead anxiously as you pry his head out of from between your legs.

The sounds of the clock chiming and the sight of Dean’s body still laying in the entryway made you more nervous with every passing minute it remained there.

His eyes narrowed dangerously on you as he nuzzled his nose back into your cunt hooking it under your clitoral hood.

“Oh? My sweet girl gets one kill and thinks she knows better than me what we have time for?”

His expression dares you to pull him away again as he drags the flat of his tongue lazily over your clit.

“Please Choso…”

Choso relents as he feels you tense up more, he wouldn't be able to enjoy himself unless you were.

“You trust me right Y/N?”

“Yes”

You breathe out as his fingers play with your puffed pussy lips.

“Do you have the key to the basement?”

You nod.

“And you know exactly where the supply closet is, baby?”

You nod again.

“Perfect. This won't take long at all then.”

Choso assures you as his confident words calm your worries.

“So now just relax princess and let me take care of you. This isn’t my first clean up job babe…”

You weren’t sure if Choso was talking about your cunt or the dead body, but you didn’t doubt he was experienced in both.

“Give me 15 minutes to see how many times I can make you squirt on my tongue. Then we can finally make that dexter kill room you like so much, yeah?”

You nodded once more and Choso wasted no time drowning his face back into your cunt.

You sighed contently.

He was already the best boyfriend you ever had.

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2023. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ

A/N: How was that? Did I do our emo kang justice? Lmk! (y'all better lmk cause y'all busted my balls for days over this lmfaoooo)

Also ding dong Dean is DEAD thank fuck. Whew I made that man as horrible as possible so you could kill him. Tbh, I would kill a nigga just for pouring Milwakees in my hair alone, that shit smells and tastes like cat piss lol.

Also here if y'all wanna see a cute lil pixivi I made of me bimbo!reader x Ghostface!Choso.

You know the original idea for this was actually based on a fic I was writing where Choso, Yuji and Sukuna (all brothers) all transfer to your university and bimbo!reader (no bf this time) clearly likes Choso but his oblivious emo ass has no idea and keeps being a dick to you cause he thinks you are just making fun of him. LOL! I may in the future still end up writing a version for that since this ended up going in a completely different direction with Ghostface thrown into the mix.

Y'all this fic was way too fuckin long. I know theres likely errors/redundancies still so I will comb through it later and I may edit/reword somethings too but general content will stay the same. Tbh, what took so long is the last scene cause I decided I cannot write a smut fic with Choso where that man isn't acting completely deranged and unhinged over the taste of pussy. He's munch, he can't help it.

Reblog for Ghostface!Choso to be your personal munch, but likes and comments are appreciated all the same!

Next up on Kizzatober, Werewolf!Toji from Thrilling Ghouls! (PWP)

ღTaglistღ: @callm3senpaii @arxliana @jujutsualy @luxiethefairy @akaza-simp01 @fredswh0re @missphanosaur18 @moon-esque @samicamy-13 @strvqtt @wisteriaflowersss @spookyy-gracee @jujutsualy @anakalana @crying-person @missphanosaur18 @jazzmynerule @megatqistina @trobed1312 @mimiemie @insomninaz @bloodysweetcat @cyyberm00n @nikkitc0703 @briefrebelfanalmond (so sorry if I missed anyone but I'm delirious rn forgive me ily)

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thebigbadbatswife · 6 months

Text

Day 28 - Body Worship

Pairing - Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Warnings - 18+ content, if you're under 18 leave immediately! Body worship, emotional hurt/comfort.

Summary - A brutal night on patrol sends Bruce straight into your arms.

When Bruce stopped by your apartment after patrol, he was usually silent. His steps light and in his mind he had mapped out where each creaky floorboard was. Easily avoiding them as he made his way to your bedroom where he would slip into the bathroom, stripping himself of his suit so he could have a quick shower before joining you in bed. All so that he didn’t disturb your sleep and you could happily wake up in his arms in the morning.

Tonight was completely different.

Instead of entering your apartment quietly, he practically fell through the window, knocking over the small table that sat next to it. The resulting bang from the table hitting the floor jolted you from the light sleep you had fallen into on the couch, having falling asleep while watching a movie.

“What the hell?”

Other than the glow from the tv, your apartment was cast in darkness. The black of the batsuit made him blend in effortlessly and made it hard for you to make him out properly. But you were sure it was him.

“Bruce?”

You were immediately on your feet and by his side, where he was kneeling on the floor, in a matter of seconds, hitting the light switch on your way so that you could see him better. You started checking him over, looking for tears in his suit and blood from any new injuries. You silently hoped that he would be untouched tonight. When you found no blood or tears within the suit, you reached for his cowl, carefully taking it off of him. You were one of the very few people in the world able to do so. Anyone else would receive a very nasty shock.

You cupped his face and got him to look at you. There was a wild look in his eyes, something akin to what a cornered animal might have, and his breath was coming out hard and fast. Like he was on the brink of a full blown panic attack. Moving forward, you rested your forehead against his and wrapped your arms around him. Bruce’s arms circled your waist and he pulled you closer to him. You spoke to him softly, reminding him that he was somewhere safe and helping him slow down his breathing.

“What happened?” you asked.

He swallowed thickly, staying silent for a moment. When it came to things like his emotions and the things he saw on patrol, he struggled with his words. “There was a woman,” he started, swallowing thickly again, his brow creasing as he played it through his mind again. “I wasn’t fast enough. I couldn’t save her. I… I had to make sure that you… I can’t lose you.”

His words were failing him, but you understood. You held him tighter, getting him to rest some of his weight against you wich he had been refusing to do until now. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath as he inhaled your scent, trying to ground himself.

“I’m here, Bruce. I’m okay. I know you would never let anything happen to me.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp slightly. He liked it when you did that. You had discovered early on into your relationship that it soothed him a lot. You moved your hands down his chest, over the symbol on his chest as you searched for the various straps and buckles that held his suit together. His chest plate fell and hit the floor. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his jawline.

“I’m here,” you whispered again as you continued removing his suit. You kissed the scars littering his torso as you exposed more and more of his skin. All of them from various gun and knife fights he had survived while trying to clean Gotham up of crime. There were times you had caught him in your bathroom, trying to stitch them up and doing a terrible job of it, all because he hadn’t wanted to wake you.

You pushed him back so that he was leaning against up against the wall. You continued kissing the scars and bruises that littered his body. He squeezed your hips softly as your mouth wrapped around his nipple, toying with the bud with your tongue.

“Sweetheart,” he groaned, the grip on your hips tightening, but not too much because he didn’t want to hurt you.

“Shhh, let me take care of you for tonight. Please Bruce?”

You didn’t go out there with him. You didn’t see the things that he saw night in, night out. But you could see the things that it was doing to him. That look of grief in his eyes. The weight of the world on his shoulders with no one to share the burden with. You were here though. You wanted to take that weight from him. Even if it was just for a few hours. Gotham couldn’t appreciate or thank him for the things that he did for them. Not like you could.

He looked at you for a moment, you could see the gears turning in his brain, before he finally leaned in and kissed you. “Okay.”

You only had one plan for tonight and that was to worship his body like he was deity. Giving him all of your love and devotion and showing him how much that he, and everything he did for you, meant to you.

#bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #batman x fem!reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #battinson x reader

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arlana-likes-to-write · 2 months

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Lightning Bug - Chapter 28

Masterlist

Warnings: usage of a gun (training), fluff, mention of past trauma

Word Count: 3.8k

You tightened the straps on your backpack as you waited for Natasha and Wanda. There was a knot forming in your stomach. They were excited to meet you, but what if you disappointed them? What if they weren’t happy with who you are? “Hey,” Wanda placed her hands on her shoulders. “Breath. Take a few deep breaths for me.” You nodded and did that. “Good,” you turned to face her. “What’s going through your head?” You sighed, biting your lip. “What’s going through your head?” You sighed, biting your head.

“What if they don’t like me?” You whispered. It seemed ridiculous to say out loud. “I’m a little nervous.” Wanda nodded.

“I was too when I first met them,” she pushed some of your hair behind your ear. “They will love you. Just be you.”

“And take everything Alexei says with a grain of salt,” Natasha rushed over to you as the doors opened and the ramp came out. Natasha told you they had to part the jet a little further away from the house because Melina doesn’t want the jet’s engine to scare the animals. You descended the ramp and hoped the walk would calm your anxiety, but it became worse. Each step you took made your heart pound faster and faster.

The property remained you of the Barton’s homestead but more rustic. There was a main house with multiple outdoor buildings. As you got closer, you could smell and hear the pigs. “There they are!” A booming voice echoed through the quiet land. It came from a man with a thick beard wearing overalls.

“Yebat’ (fuck),” Natasha mumbled and pushed you behind her. Your body tensed up as you watched the man run over to the three of you. “Alexei, no,” Natasha warned.

“Natalia, my pride and joy,” he looked at Wanda. “Wanda, hopefully, my soon-to-be daughter-in-law,” you saw the couple in front of you tense up. “Move. I’d like to see moya vnucka (my granddaughter).” You weren’t sure what that word was.

“Not with that energy,” Wanda said. “Bring it down a little, or you’ll scare her off.” The man gasped.

“I would never! I’m her dedushka (grandpa). We are destined to be side by side like in American movies,” you peeked your head from behind the couple and saw a woman walking out of the house. Her black hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her arms were crossed against her chest. Suddenly, the man’s face was in front of yours.

“Hi,” he said. You yelped and fell to the ground, startled by his sudden appearance. “You’re so small.” He pushed past the couple and grabbed you by the arms, lifting you like you weighed nothing. “I could put you in my pocket.” The man hugged you tight. “I am your dedushka (grandpa). I can not wait to tell you all about my glory days.” The man swayed you from side to side, and your body went tense, frozen. Even Wanda and Natasha’s voice turned to white noise. You felt a pressure building that started in your chest. You had to hold it in; the charge would kill the man holding you.

“Alexei, vinz (down),” a new voice broke through the fog. “She is not a toy.” The man gently set you down, and you were shaky on your legs. The man looked apologetic, scratching the back of his head. You were sure Natasha was asking if you were okay, but your eyes stayed trained on the newest addition to the group. She grabbed hold of your chin, moving your head from side to side. “Alexei’s right. You are too small. Is Natalia not feeding you?”

“Mama,” the read head groaned. “She’s eating.”

“Not enough. Come, I’ll cook you something,” she dragged you towards the house, but you dug your feet into the ground.

“Wait,” your voice shook, and everyone’s eyes trained on you. “I need,” air couldn’t get into your lungs. “Nat,” you gasped. “Help.” Quickly, she opened her bag and pulled out a battery. She placed it in your hands and knelt in front of you. You wanted to yell at her to get back. To run because you were afraid to hurt her, but the words died on your lips. She sensed your hesitation.

“I got you, molniyenosnyy zhuk (lightning bug). Let go,” (release the energy). You slumped against Natasha, and her arms wrapped around you. “That was a big one. Take a minute, okay,” you nodded and focused on Natasha’s hand, rubbing circles on your back.

“Did I hurt anyone?” You whispered.

“No, Wanda pushed Melina and Alexei back with her powers.” Good. That was good. You stood up straighter and saw Natasha smiling at you. She pushed a few strands of your hair stuck to your forehead from sweat. You felt hot and hungry.

“Hi,” Wanda stood next to you, and you rested your head on her chest. “How are you feeling?” You huffed.

“Better,” you admitted. “Sorry, that was embarrassing.”

“I think someone else should apologize,” you turned around to see the duo walk back to you. The woman hit Alexei.

“Sorry about that. I was excited to meet you.” The man’s cheeks were flushed.

“It’s okay,” you smiled. “Hi, by the way.” you waved.

“Melina, Alexei,” Natasha placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “This is Y/n, our daughter,” your stomach flipped at that. You loved having someone be proud enough of you to call you their daughter.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Melina smiled. “We’ve heard great things about you,” her eyes pointed at you. “I still think you are too small.”

“Mama!”

“They are so cute!” You stood on the wooden pen for the pigs and watched Alexei chase after the piglets. They wanted nothing to do with him. Natasha laughed.

“Come on, Red Guardian! Didn’t you fight Captain America and win? Catching a pig for your vnucka (granddaughter),” you giggled and watched the man’s face twist with determination. You learned vnucka, which is translated to granddaughter, and the Russian words for grandma and grandpa are dedushka and babushka. Alexei was adamant about you calling him Dedushka. Melina shoved three bowls of chowder before she thought you were ready to explore.

“I got one!” A pig was pushed into your arms, and Natasha had to catch you before you fell off the fence.

“Alexei! What have I told you about manhandling my pigs?” You heard Melina call out and missed the murderous glare Natasha sent Alexei, too distracted by the little pig in your arms. It took a while for the creature to settle in your arms, but soon it pushed against your chest for warmth.

“It’s so tiny,” you whispered, so afraid to disturb the little creature in your arms. A weird feeling bloomed in your chest. It was strange how much faith the animal had in you. The pig trusted you to hold it close and protect it. Such blind faith. It was a little ridiculous, but it reminded you of yourself. You put faith in your parents and the man from HYDRA who promised you a better life. Now you were doing it with the Avengers. Was it wise to do it again? The third time is the charm, right? “What’s got you thinking so hard?” Natasha asked, running her hand over your head. You glanced up. She was smiling. Her eyes sparkled with love; sometimes, you forgot how much she cared about you. You smiled.

“Just, uh, thinking about life,” she chuckled, kissing your forehead. You basked in the warmth she provided.

“Never change, dorogoy (sweetheart),” you looked at her confused. “After everything you’ve been through, your heart is still good.” You frowned, unsure if that was true. You protected the pig with one hand as you climbed over the pen and placed the animal on the ground. It looked confused, turned to face, and ran to bury itself between your legs. You chuckled, pushing the creature towards its family. However, the piglet ran back to you.

“What’s going on, little one?” You asked, scratching its chin. “Why don’t you want to join your friends?”

“It’s the runt,” Melina said. You glanced over at her. “The others pick on it.” You frowned and sat down. The piglet climbed onto your lap and looked up at you.

“I was a runt, too,” you spoke softly. Your hand never stopped petting it. “I think we grow up to be the strongest of the group because we have to fight every single day just to survive,” you sighed. “And that can be scary, but I promise little one, everything will turn out just fine.” You felt a little crazy speaking to an animal, but the little pig seemed to understand. It glanced at the other pigs and back to you before joining them. You smiled and stood up. Wanda and Natasha were watching you with a smile. Yeah, everything was turning out just fine.

It was a long day. With the emotional trip to Sokovia and the surprise display of power, Wanda and Y/n were taking a nap before dinner. Alexei was outside finishing the chores he promised Melina that would be done, but due to the excitement, they slipped his mind. So Natasha was left to help prepare dinner with Melina. Sometimes, Natasha had to pinch herself to remind herself this was real. That the woman chose to be here, decided to be her mother, and that the Red Room wasn’t orchestrating this. It’s not another mission. This was real. It took a while for her to trust Melina and Alexei again. Yelena was the critical factor to help mend the relationship. She knew it was Yelena’s desperate attempt to have a real family. “It looks good on you,” Melina said, standing over the sauce for the beef stroganoff. Natasha hummed in question, focusing on chopping up the spices. “Motherhood. You fall into the role naturally.”

“You sound surprised,” she glanced over her shoulder, but Melina’s back was to her.

“Not surprised at all. You are a khameleon (chameleon). You adapt. It was like that in Ohio, the Red Room, and now with the Avengers,” Natasha wasn’t sure if what Melina said was a compliment. She turned to face the older Black Widow, and Melina looked at her. “Why do you look offended?”

“I’m not sure if I should take what you said as a compliment.”

“No?” She tilted her head. “You were always sensitive to that.” Melina walked over to the cutting board she was using and took it back to the pot. “I was trying to say it’s hard for us to be mothers, people like you and me.”

“Why is it hard?” She saw Melina’s stutter as she added the freshly chopped herbs into the pot.

“Because that choice was taken away from us,” Subconsciously, Natasha placed her hand where her scar was. The serum healed all of it, but she would never forget where it was. She dropped her hand when Melina turned back around to hand her the cutting board. “But you are doing good. Does that happen often with her powers?” Natasha shook her head.

“Not since she started training with Maria,” Natasha began cleaning the dishes she no longer needed. The farmhouse needed to be equipped with a dishwasher; she preferred to do it by hand. It kept her busy.

“Is she training to be an Avenger?”

“No, I mean she could join the team if she wants, but we are focusing on helping her control her powers,” Or help her fight this new threat that was possibly coming. She would have a long chat with Vision when she got back.

“Are you and Wanda going to have more children?” Natasha felt her cheeks warm up. “I would like to have more grandchildren to spoil.”

“Mama! We just adopted her. Give us some time.” Melina chuckled and wiped her hands on a dish towel. The gentle hand of Melina on her shoulder caused Natasha’s body to go rigid, but she turned around to face her. The woman places both hands on her cheeks.

“Throughout our entire life, every choice was made for us,” her voice was so soft Natasha had to remind herself who was speaking to her. “But you chose to be that little girl’s mama, and being a mother is the greatest gift. Cherish it.” It was hard for Natasha to look past the betrayal towards Alexei and Melina. Melina was the only mother she knew since the Red Room took her biological one away. Melina was part of the system that kept hundreds of girls trapped even when she was trapped herself.

The sudden moment was interpreted by the crack of a gun going off; the duo separated immediately. “There is a pistol in the umbrella holder by the back door,” Melina said suddenly. She nodded and raced to where Melina told her. It wasn’t surprising to her that weapons were scattered around the house. Once her hand came into contact with the metal, she remembered to take a few calming breaths. The list of enemies was long and still growing. No matter who was here, no one was taking her family from her.

She kicked the back door open and expected to see the backyard filled with enemies racing towards the house or Alexei fighting them off. No. Instead, she saw Alexei and Y/n at the gun range for Widows that stayed on the farm. There was a pistol in the teen’s hand, and the gun going off two more times caused goosebumps to form on her arm.

“Alexei, what the fuck are you doing?”

You spun around to see two very angry Black Widows armed with a pistol and a rifle. Safety placed the gun down like Alexei and Maria showed you, and you ran over to Natasha. “Nat, come look!” It was enough time for her to hand the pistol to Melina before you dragged her over to the makeshift gun range. “Look how well I did!” You were proud of your grouping: two head shots and two in the shot. You looked back at Natasha and your smile. “You look upset.”

“Of course I’m upset. Melina and I thought we were being attacked,” you cringed and glanced at Melina and Alexei. The older woman was radially speaking in Russian and heard the word ‘idiot’ a few times. Suddenly, the back door of the house busted open. Wanda’s eyes were glowing red, and her magic danced on her fingers. It died down when she saw her family and no threat.

“Oh, I’m in so much trouble.” Natasha grabbed your arm and dragged you back over.

“Explain, both of you,” Melina said when Wanda jogged over. You and Alexei shared a look.

“I woke up and heard you and Natasha talking in the kitchen,” you said slowly. “I went outside to explore, and Alexei, I mean dedushka,” you saw his smile from the corner of your eye. “Saw me walking around the training area. He said you made it for the Widows that sometimes stay here,” you knew it had to do with some rehabilitation program Yelena set up, but the details were fuzzy. It took a lot of work to follow any story Alexei told. “I asked him if he could teach me how to shoot a gun.” The two Black Widows said something in Russian that was not part of your daily language lesson, but Alexei cringed. Natasha stared down the man.

“And you thought it was a good idea.”

“Her mama, babushka, and tetya (aunt) are all Black Widows. She should know her way around a gun,” it was a fair agreement to make. “She gave me very good-” he snapped his fingers. “What’s the word? When the eyes get small and sad?”

“Puppy dog eyes,” Wanda said with a smirk. Alexei pointed at the witch. “She tends to use them to get something she wants,” you opened your mouth to argue, but the witch gave you a pointed look. You thought it was best to keep your mouth shut. “I was unaware you had any form of gun training.” She said to Alexei, who gasped in offense.

“I will have you know the Red Guardian is well-versed in many weapons. Guns, knives, rocket launcher,” your eyes widened, and you looked at him, excitement bubbling in your chest. “No!” He shot you down. “Do you see how much trouble we are in?” You slowly looked back at the trio.

“On a scale of 1 -10, how much trouble am I in?” You asked, staring at the ground, unable to look at the three women. Natasha sighed.

“You will be doing dishes for the rest of our trip,” you nodded. That was fair. Gently, Natasha lifted your head, and you stared into her green eyes. “No more weapon training without telling us.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, but the redhead kissed your forehead and hugged you. She smelt of garlic and onions.

“Scared the hell out of me, kid,” you nodded again. It wasn’t your intention, and you weren’t thinking when you asked Alexei. You felt tears form at the corner of your eyes, and she needed the hug far too soon for your liking. “Let’s see this grouping again.”

“What?” You questioned. Natasha pushed away a tear that escaped down your cheek.

“I’d like to see you shoot again. Make sure Alexei taught you correctly,” the man gasped, and it made you laugh. Before you picked up the gun, you apologized to Melina and hugged Wanda. With the short time you held a gun in your hand and shot it, it wasn’t your preferred weapon. However, with so many Black Widows in your life, you were going to keep that information to yourself.

Once the dishes were cleaned from dinner, it was another early night, but you could not sleep. Your sleep schedule was messed up with the time difference and the nap you took. So you got out of bed and walked out of the guest room. Melina had a bookshelf next to the dining room that you’ve been dying to look through. Many of the books in her collection were not in English, but you could tell they were science books. Your eyes found a photo album. Curiosity, you grabbed the album and flipped through it. Every photo was of two young girls: one blonde and one brunette. The images captured moments from Christmas, Easter, and Thanksgiving. “It’s not a good idea to snoop in a Black Widow’s home,” you jumped at Melina’s voice, almost dropping the album.

“It’s also not a good idea to sneak up on someone.” The Black Widow chuckled, and you put the album away, but Melina grabbed it and walked over to the dining room table. Wordlessly, you followed her and sat down.

“Do you know how I became Natalie’s and Yelena’s mama?”

“Kind of. Yelena said a mission brought all of you together.” Melina nodded; the photo album was stopped on Christmas. “I didn’t ask specifics.”

“The Red Room needed agents to act as an American family to steal some classified information,” she traced the faces of each little girl. “When the mission was over, we gave them back.”

“Why are you telling me this?” You questioned. Melina closed the album and placed her hands on top of it. She was staring intently at you, and you felt small under her gaze.

“I wasn’t the mother my girls needed,” you frowned and took her hand. You flipped it over so you could trace the lines on her palm. Her facial expressions softened at the gesture.

“Are you the mother they deserve now?”

“I do not know,” she admitted. “But I’m trying to be. Not all of us get the chance to get two,” you understood that. You were lucky that you overslept that day, which landed you in the cafe simultaneously. If you were there at your regular time, you could still be living on the streets or bouncing between shelters. What a crazy what-if. “Never take it for granted.”

“I won’t,” you promised. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay them.” Melina smiled softly.

“Love them as much as they love you,” the Black Widow said. “That will be more than enough.”

You were up early to help Melina work outside with the pigs and her small garden. It was hard work, but Melina filled it with stories of their time in Ohio. Even Wanda brought out breakfast and helped out. You told her that the dishes would get done after you helped Melina. You sat back on your knees and stretched your neck. Picking weeds out of the dirt was not your idea of a fun time, but it beat cleaning the pig pen or doing the dishes. The sun felt different out here compared to Iowa and New York. You liked it, and it made you think about what Natasha asked you about - living somewhere like this. Away from the hustle and bustle of the big city. A place where you could get your dog and have them run around the backyard. It was a good idea, maybe one day. “Mama, are you overworking my niece already?” Your head wiped towards the voice. Yelena and Kate were talking in the garden. You jumped to your feet and ran over to them. The couple caught you as you threw yourself at them.

“I didn’t know you were coming to visit!” You smiled.

“That’s because it was a surprise, bud.” Kate laughed.

“Did you think I would subject you to a full day of Alexei’s torment without me?” You giggled. “I heard you got into a little trouble.” You awkwardly shrugged. “Proud of you.”

“Yelena, do not corrupt my granddaughter,” the older Black Widow came over to greet the newcomers. “Kate, how are you? Is Yelena treating you well?” The archer blushed.

“Yes, Melina. I’m doing great.” The blonde’s mouth hung open slightly.

“Come, I’ll make you something.” Melina put her arm around Kate and led her to the house. “Yelena, close your mouth. You’ll eat a fly.” You used your pointer finger to close her mouth, and she slapped your hand away.

“Unbelievable,” Yelena said once her girlfriend and mother were out of earshot. “She likes the people we bring home more than her daughters.” You smiled and lopped your arms through hers. “How do you like Russia?” She asked as you both walked towards the house.

“I like it!” You said. It was the truth. “Just different than Iowa and the city.” Yelena hummed in agreement.

“It took me a while to learn that the differences we see make for a wonderful world.”

taglist: @aestruvx, @toouncreativeforausername, @modedddd, @julilamoment, @mythixmagic, @yourmamacom, @vicmc624, @cherlenovix, @liliesandrosies, @whitewidowsbite, @clintsbigtoe, @blackbirdv98 @arualdcg@yoyo-w @natbelovasblog, @johnnyhulu, @blackwidow-3, @theenglishswiftie, @faith-olsen

#lightning bug #wandanat x reader #wandanat x you #wandanat x daughter!reader #wandanat x y/n #wandanat #bishlova #melina vostokoff #alexei shostakov

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alternia-for-real-justice · 24 days

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found an ask game on a defunct blog. trimmed it somewhat, de-qqquirked it, and made it a bit more appropriate. enjoy. - mod meenah

Grumblr Ask Game

1. What's set as your palmhusk's lockscreen? Hivescreen? Why?

2. Cheese vs. chocolate?

3. Do you have any nicknames given to you that are especially close to your pusher? Any reason why?

4. Barkbeasts vs. purrbeasts?

5. Are you an evening troll or a day hootbeast?

6. If you could have any psionics, which would you pick? (This includes animal and ghost communion and chucklevoodoos)

7. What are 3 movies you could watch for the rest of your life and not get bored of?

8. Show us a picture of your frondwriting?

9. What's your favourite obscure fact that you know?

10. Favourite animal and why?

11. Three events/people that you think have shaped your life?

12. Tell a funny story about your wrigglerhood?

13. What is your ideal gift to get from a hatefriend or quadrant? (Pick any quadrant - or all four)

14. What's something you've always wanted to do but been unable to, for whatever reason?

15. What do you think of when you hear the word "hive"?

16. Three things that make you happy?

17. How many goregle/flamingslybeast tabs do you have open right now?

18. Three things about a quadrant? (Red or black)

19. Three things about an enemy? (Not romantic)

20. Do you collect anything?

21. What's something that never fails to cheer you up?

22. Favourite hobby and how/why you got into it?

23. Biggest pet peeve?

24. Share a secret?

25. Favourite song/artist?

26. What is your go-to, favourite meal to make?

27. Describe yourself in three words?

28. If you could only bring one item to an isolated alien planet, what would you bring?

29. What colour is your hair?

30. Have you ever dyed your hair? If not, what colour would you dye it?

31. Coffee or tea?

32. What's your dream job? (Not limited by caste)

33. Quadrant status?

34. What is the ideal time and length for a nap?

35. If you got a tattoo, what would it be?

36. What do you think says the most about a person?

37. Do you think you fit into stereotypes for your caste?

38. What is your favourite scent?

39. If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?

40. What is your favourite thing about Grumblr?

#mod meenah #ask game #grumblr

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devildomwriter · 1 year

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Obey Me Simeon Birthday Special 100 Fun Facts

1. Simeon and Lucifer used to take naps together in the Celestial Realm

2. Simeon was once a seraph, for unknown reasons he was demoted to an archangel before the events of the game

3. Simeon’s favorite color is celestial blue

4. Simeon’s favorite animal is a sloth

5. Simeon owns a café in the human world called the angel’s halo

6. Simeon was close enough to Lucifer to be considered one of his brothers

7. Simeon is good at juggling, managing four clubs his first attempt

8. When Simeon is drunk he forgets words and easily cries

9. Simeon describes his job as middle management and cries to Lucifer about it when he gets drunk

10. Simeon makes the best pancakes

11. Simeon has a difficult time trying to act scary

12. Simeon claims he has a hard time getting mad but he’s seen getting mad many times especially as a play director

13. Simeon is the author of TSL

14. Simeon based the TSL characters off the seven brothers

15. Simeon thought it was cute when Levi shyly followed him around too nervous to ask for an autograph

16. Simeon and Diavolo do not get along because Simeon is so good at hiding his true feelings

17. Satan is curious to see what Simeon would be like angry, meanwhile Diavolo is scared to see it

18. Simeon loves making bento boxes for Luke

19. Simeon enjoys escape rooms

20. Simeon’s favorite Devildom food is Black Tapir

21. When a flame salamander became attached to Simeon he considered taking him back to the celestial realm

22. Simeon’s BLT sandwiches are popular among flame salamanders and Beelzebub

23. Simeon enjoys calling Lucifer, Lucy

24. Simeon’s motto is “Learning is a lifetime.”

25. Simeon keeps a daily diary

26. Simeon has been keeping a scrapbook of his and Luke’s time in the Devildom from day one. He claims to be very proud of Luke as he smiles more in each picture.

27. When asked what he’d do if the Devildom disappeared tomorrow, he said he’d take Luke back to the Celestial realm

28. Simeon’s a dog person, specifically chihuahuas

29. Simeon enjoys teasing Luke but prevents anyone else from doing it

30. Simeon and Lucifer used to have movie nights together frequently

31. Simeon is said to be the active one when it comes to love

32. Simeon wishes to “be bound” by his lover

33. Simeon cherishes relationship anniversaries and special dates of remembrance

34. For a relationship with obstacles Simeon states “I wouldn’t want to encounter that if I could avoid it, but I don’t think I’d give up for sure.”

35. Simeon is able to openly express his feelings but will still become jealous

36. It’s implied Lucifer avoids hanging out with Simeon because Simeon is one of the only people who can see through his prideful demeanor

37. Simeon gets along well with Cerberus

38. Simeon sees Luke as his grandson

39. Simeon saved Lucifer and MC’s lives by sneaking into a guarded celestial palace and stealing Michael’s ring of light to give to MC

40. Simeon is very bad with technology but as the game continues he slowly gets better

41. Simeon is so used to using his DDD camera that he’s forgotten how to use a regular camera

42. Simeon once got forced into a self checkout line and in a panic having no idea what to do, he called Lucifer to come save him

43. Simeon helps teach Luke how to do a handstand by holding him from his ankles

44. Simeon couldn’t figure out why he was bad at jump roping until Luke suggested he take off his cape

45. Teaching Simeon how to use his DDD is considered an exercise in futility

46. Simeon is the second-shortest side characters

47. Simeon enjoys cooking

48. Simeon says he can’t wink and is trying to practice

49. As an archangel Simeon is seen as a warrior by other angels

50. Simeon is a skilled musician

51. Simeon thinks horror movies are pretty fun

52. Simeon prefers sweet food over spicy food but likes both

53. Simeon’s human world outfit was chosen by Luke, he decided to go with it after seeing Luke’s cute smiling face

54. Simeon states that just because he’s an angel it doesn’t mean he’s all forgiving

55. As of season four, Simeon is a human after his angelic powers were taken as punishment for stealing from Michael

56. Simeon sees Michael as more of a friend than a supervisor

57. Simeon checks up on Luke to make sure whether or bit he’s actually gone to bed

58. When asmo had shocking pink hair Simeon states it hurt his eyes

59. Simeon believes the whip is an exciting expression of love

60. Simeon enjoys architectures digest

61. Simeon says the secret ingredient for his pancakes is love

62. Simeon was almost attacked by a giant jovial gingerbread man, all he did was smile at it and it shriveled into a fried cookie

63. Simeon taught Luke how to make pie

64. Solomon believes openly sassing the son of the demon king is a very Simeon thing to do

65. Simeon attempted to make solomon cry for his own amusement

66. Simeon once told MC he’d be okay with becoming a demon if it meant he could be with them

67. When Simeon was under a spell that showed him what he wanted to see, he was convinced that Lucifer and his brothers falling from the Devildom was all a long bad dream

68. Simeon says he wouldn’t mind if anyone caught him kissing MC and that they could even make it a point to kiss in front of them

69. Simeon didn’t believe in the exchange program until season four after seeing all the blood sweat and tears diavolo put into it

70. Simeon vents to Lucifer when he’s tired of Michael’s errands

71. Simeon once gave bangles to the brothers enchanted with a spell that would make them angelic. He didn’t place the spell but knew about it.

72. Simeon became an author after leviathan suggested it though at first he claims to be satisfied just reading them

73. Simeon would make up elaborate stories to tell the Cupids

74. Before season three Simeon never stayed in the human realm for a long period of time, though he says he has visited multiple times

75. Simeon enjoys cube puzzles

76. When a rumor about The Angel’s Halo spreads, Simeon requests Mammon and MC’s help to dispel the rumor that if you share a drink together you’ll be together forever. Mammon is unable to pretend to break up and starts crying so Simeon calls him useless

77. Simeon feels anxious seeing others work and not helping out

78. As a seraph Simeon was known to be the least intense

79. Simeon is very serious about his job even becoming very angry when the brothers disrupt him

80. Simeon adores rare books, during the first Christmas event when every swapped gifts he was excited to get the book Satan was hoping to get himself

81. Simeon once got detention in RAD

82. When Mammon created the Miss Em’ dolls, Simeon opted for the goth plushie

83. Raphael claims Simeon is much better at his job (the angelic one) after coming to the Devildom

84. Simeon is one of the only people who can calm down all the brothers

85. At the end of season four Simeon accepted that he’d become human and was okay wearing his celestial realm clothes again thanks to MC’s help and acceptance

86. At the end of season four Simeon decided to stay in the Devildom until Raphael’s year long exchange was over

87. After demotion to human, Simeon was confronted and asked if taking the ring of light is why it happened but he responds “something like that” hinting it could be for more than one reason

88. Simeon tells Mephistopheles he “smiles a lot by nature” when Mephistopheles accuses him of finding him caring for Luke as something funny

89. Simeon once escaped and left Luke to endure Solomon’s cooking by himself

90. Simeon will bribe Lucifer to hang out with him

91. On more than one occasion Simeon has snuck into events celebrating him (Christopher Peugeot)

92. Simeon gets a little embarrassed when he sees his books on store and library shelves

93. Simeon sends Michael sweets from the Devildom is exchange for sweets from the celestial realm

94. Luke claims Simeon is too fond of flouting the rules when it suits him

95. When there was a mess at the café Simeon scared the brothers into helping him clean up

96. As a director, Simeon was called a dictator by the brothers for how strict he was

97. Simeon says he prefers the hustle and bustle of the Devildom over the serene quiet of the celestial realm

98. Simeon is the first person to recognize and point out Levi’s degradation kink and tries to stop him multiple times

99. Despite Simeon always looking serious and seeming hard to read, he claims he’s not thinking about anything deep in particular, and that no one believes him when he explains

100. Simeon thinks it’s fun to cause a stir on occasion

#obey me shall we date #obey me simeon #obey me Simeon birthday #obey me birthday #obey me angels #obey me fun facts #obey me fun fact #obey me information

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flyingwargle · 1 month

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there are two ends of the table, and adriah is caught in between both.

one end is where he usually frequents, with his english-speaking teammates. they share a common tongue, an understanding of how it feels to live overseas and play for a foreign league. but when they start talking about their spouses and kids, that's when the commonalities stop, because at 28, adriah has only had one relationship that ended because his partner didn’t want to go long-distant.

so, he turns to the other end, where the younger, rowdier players congregate, except there's one problem: they speak japanese, and his own comprehension is similar to watching anime without subs - enough to understand the context, but not enough to respond intelligently.

and then there's inunaki, who sits across from him, alternating between gushing about his fiancée with meian and barnes, and egging hinata and bokuto to drink more. oh, to be bilingual enough to have such finesse over language. if adriah knew he'd play in japan, he would've studied japanese instead of french.

he looks at his phone, then at his glass, beer foam left along the rim. bar nights with the team can either be the most fun all week or the most isolating thing in the world. tonight, it’s the latter.

he stands. inunaki watches him. “bathroom?”

“just need some air.”

“okay.” laughter catches the libero’s attention, and he switches to japanese when he addresses miya. it’s frightening how he can easily code switch. adriah stuffs his hands in his pockets and slinks out of the izakaya.

the sky is dark, stars dimmed. he finds a bench not too far away and sits, phone out. it’s around 4 am back home. all the messages that he last sent to his friends and family were from him. he probably won’t hear back from them until the next morning. his sigh is long, throwing his head back to stare at the clouds.

when he’d gotten word that the black jackals accepted him, his family was overjoyed. they’d known how hard he’d trained to break into overseas teams, and to get accepted into a division 1 team after the first tryout is impressive. management helped him secure an apartment, prepared his papers, welcomed him to osaka. for the first few months, he got by using japanese that he picked up here and there, relied on the team’s bilingual staff, got close to the other players that spoke english. for the others, they managed to find some middle ground using gestures and simple words from both languages. it was fine.

and it still mostly is. some days, it’s easy. some days, it’s hard.

the izakaya door slides open and sounds of drunken salarymen and rowdy customers drift outside. he hears another voice that shouts over them. “adriah!”

he straightens as his newest teammate bounces over. he was immediately jealous of hinata when he first joined, already familiar with bokuto, miya, and sakusa, and he was fluent enough to converse everyone else, even mistakenly speaking in portuguese from time to time. he’s a whirlwind with an unpredictable path.

“hey.” adriah gives him a small smile. “did you need some air, too?”

hinata nods. “can i sit with you?” his accent is heavy, though not as bad as bokuto, who apparently struggles enough with japanese. miya usually acts as his translator, although his kansai accent makes it difficult to understand him at times.

adriah nods, and his teammate sits. for a while, they just stare into the darkness, listen to the train rattle in the distance, watch the lights wink in and out of existence. hinata speaks. “i know how it feels to be left out.”

he stares at him. hinata keeps his eyes forward, arms leaned on his knees. “i didn’t know any portuguese when i went to brazil. i wasn’t good at english either, and i didn’t speak japanese often. some days, it got so confusing that i’d speak japanese instead of english, or portuguese instead of japanese.” his chuckle is soft. “but i was still able to talk with the others, even if i didn’t understand everything.”

hinata straightens, catches his eye, gives him a smile. “if you want to join the conversation, just jump in. the others won’t mind. none of us are very good at english, so we speak japanese, but don’t let it stop you.”

“i think you’re doing fine,” adriah blurts out. “your accent, i mean. it’s good.”

“your japanese is good, too! we can help you learn.” hinata jumps to his feet. “wanna head back in?”

adriah blinks at him. even in the night, he’s still as radiant as the sun. “okay.”

back inside the izakaya they go. many of their teammates’ glasses are refilled, including adriah’s. they sit down, and hinata turns to the others, speaking in english. “bokuto-san! tell us the story again. adriah wants to hear.”

“huh?” the owl-haired wing spiker looks at adriah, surprise in his golden eyes. hinata gives him an encouraging nod. “okay! tsum-tsum, you help translate!”

“ugh, bokkun, what happened to yer daily practice?” miya grumbles, his kansai accent sharpening his vowels.

sakusa rolls his eyes, glancing at adriah. “it’s not an interesting story. just some dumb thing he mistakenly saw on his run.” out of everyone, he knows the most english. apparently, it’s because he spends a lot of time online reading about overseas cleaning products to import.

“i’d like to hear it, anyway,” adriah says, smiling.

and so, bokuto tells the story again, speaking in english, backtracking in japanese, correcting himself when he’s provided a proper translation. adriah helps fill in the blanks, offers alternate vocabulary options, repeats some of the japanese words for himself. it’s a process, but he stitches together the narrative in both languages, and by the end of it, he’s laughing with hinata, while bokuto yells that it isn’t funny.

adriah might not have the finesse to move seamlessly from one end to the next, but he’s confident that no matter which side he ends up at, he’ll be accepted with open arms.

#flyingwargle original #haikyuu!!#drabble #haikyuu drabble #adriah thomas #hinata shoyo #bokuto koutarou #miya atsumu #sakusa kiyoomi #inunaki shion #msby black jackal #dude had like one line in the manga #and i just ran with it

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mikelogan · 8 months

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🎃 TJ MIKELOGAN'S HALLOWEEN 2023 EVENT 🎃

RULES:

Use the tag #USERTJ to share your creations (and so I can reblog them)

Include "TJ MIKELOGAN'S HALLOWEEN 2023 EVENT" + that day's prompt in your caption

Reblog this post

THINGS TO KNOW:

This event is open to anyone who wants to participate -- gifmakers, editors, etc. -- and you do not have to be following me if you don't want to! Create gifsets, graphics, moodboards, whatever you enjoy!

You can do as many or as few prompts as you want! This is supposed to be fun, so no need to put unnecessary pressure on yourself.

Interpret the prompts however you see fit; stick to them as loosely or as rigidly as you want!

Make sure to check out the #USERTJ tag as well so you can see what everyone else is coming up with and share what they've created! Even if you're not participating in the event yourself, we love reblogs!

If you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask!

PROMPTS:

DAY 1: A movie you watch every spooky season DAY 2: A Halloween comedy DAY 3: Based on real events DAY 4: Your favorite horror movie DAY 5: A Halloween TV show episode or special DAY 6: Favorite animated villain(s) DAY 7: Vampires DAY 8: A horror franchise or series DAY 9: Favorite movie monster DAY 10: Favorite horror director(s) DAY 11: A non-scary Halloween movie or show DAY 12: Found footage DAY 13: Ghosts DAY 14: A classic horror film DAY 15: Your favorite horror TV show DAY 16: Favorite gore/slasher film DAY 17: A spooky musical DAY 18: Black cats DAY 19: An animated Halloween movie or show DAY 20: Fictional serial killers DAY 21: A recent horror film (from 2010 or later)DAY 22: Favorite thriller(s) DAY 23: Haunted houses DAY 24: Favorite live action villain(s)DAY 25: A movie or show that isn't horror, but still scared you DAY 26: Witches DAY 27: LGBT+ in horror DAY 28: Favorite final girl DAY 29: Mike Flanagan films and shows DAY 30: Take a piece of media that isn't horror and make it horror DAY 31: Wildcard -- your choice

Below the cut, I'm tagging those who reblogged my original poll regarding this event and were either interested in participating or signal boosting, as well as some moots who've expressed interest in all things Halloween and horror.

@connie-rubirosa @laurabenanti @heroeddiemunson @ianmckellen @gatortillmans @evermoredlx @fabines @katieskrsgard @jakeperalta @finalgirlsidney @ghouls-ghoul @azrphales @sculien @katesharmasheart @natscatorrcio @magicaplin @logangarfield @tutontawan @ghosttfaces @iichliwps @nessa007 @antlerqueer @emmaswns @captain-hen @bloodcrimsonrain (so sorry if i missed anyone!)

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lamaery · 5 months

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100 Portraits Training | Part 3 and 4 These are mostly from my ref folders for Adolin and Renarin :D Part three

15 - 16) Australian actor Remy Hii

17) Filipino-American actor Vincent Rodriguez III

18) German tennis player Alexander Zverev

19) Filipino-Canadian actor Manny Jacinto

20-21) Chinese weightlifter Lü Xiaojun

22) Burmese-Amercian mixed martial artist Aung La Nsang

Next to actors I looked for sportspersons to use as references, because they have enough of a public image that I could reference them with name (which felt better than just using random people from the internet). Actors are often shown often being very attractive (I should take more refs directly from movies...) and it was nice to also try more day-to-day faces. Everyone is beautiful in their own way, of course, but I wanted to look for pictures which didn't having the person they showed looking beautiful as their main objective.

Part four

23 - 24) Burmese mixed martial artist Aung La Nsang

25) Indonesian badminton player Tontowi Ahmad

26) South Korean sabre fencer Oh Sang-uk

27)Philipine pole vaulter Ernest John Obiena

28) Filipino-Canadian actor Manny Jacinto once more

As for links in this one hmm... This page by the Consortium of Asian American Theaters and Artists has shot overview of some terms which are important to be aware of for representation (albeit from a theater perspective, but it's still useful) This piece by Khoo Wei Shawn is a brief look into how racial representation has changed in the cartoons using the Ducktales series as an example. His footnotes could be useful for anyone wanting to get deeper into the topic, too. And lastly another take on racism in animation by Ruth Dubb. This one looks at the depiction of black people in early American cartoons and the stereotypes that came with those. Most sources I could find were from an American view. Or least from people living within a Western and American context. In part that's probably due to the language barrier (I have some in German, but there we go again... difficult to share that with most people here). Different countries have their own history of people being racialised and how that intersects with other issues and themes. So if you know of or have interesting takes from non-American sources and perspectives on the topics, please share. :)

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Part 1 – Start of the project Part 2 – Kaladin Part 5 – Dalinar Part 6 & 7 – Shallan and Jasnah Part 8 & 9 - various people and skin tones Part 10 – a little bit for The Lopen Part 11 & 12 - Wit and Navani Part 13 - ofmd und Dev Patel :)

#procreate #art practice #portraits #portrait study #adolin kholin #renarin kholin #references #art challenge #sketch #digital drawing

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blerdsunited · 1 year

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Day 16: Forecast from Supercrooks. #BlackHistoryMonth

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anotherhumaninthisworld · 5 months

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hi there!! i was wondering you knew anything about the relationship between robespierre and marat? ive been seeing some information that robespierre wasnt fond (or at least less fond??) of marat than marat was of robespierre, but havent found any other information about it unfortunately. thanks :)!

In total, Marat mentions Robespierre around 90 times in his journals from his debut in September 1789 up until his death in July four years later. The first time he does so (which also happens to be the first connection I’ve been able to find between the two) is already in the second number of l’Ami du Peuple(released September 13 1789) where he writes about a certain ”Robertpierre.” Then one day later, in number 4, he instead mentions a ”Robers-Pierre.” In both these instances, Marat does however appear to just give the exact same summary as three other journals, and there’s value put into it whatsoever.

It would appear Marat never got a hold on how to spell Robespierre’s name properly, as he throughout the rest of his career as a journalist inconsistently shifts between calling him ”Robespierre,” ”Roberspierre” and, in some rare instances, ”Robertspierre.” The next time he mentions him is in number 81 (December 29 1789). The following three times Robespierre is brought up in l’Ami du Peuple are the very first instances of Marat showing his own thoughts on him instead of just giving a neutral summary of things he’s said at the National Assembly:

M. de Robespierre and especially Mr. Charles de Lameth energetically fought against the inconsiderate proposal to give praise to officers, whose conduct has harmed the liberty and security of citizens. l’Ami du Peuple, number 101 (January 18 1790)

M. de Robespierre supports the motion of Mr. de la Salcette, with more or less solid arguments. l’Ami du Peuple, number 104 (January 21 1790)

…to remove from the fatherland its most zealous defenders, [the Municipal Research Committee] pushed its audacity to the point of directing its pursuits against Barnavre, Péthion [sic] de Villeneuve, the Lameths, d'Aiguillon, Roberspierre [sic]..., cherished names of the free France, to which it had added those of La Fayette and Mirabeau. l’Ami du Peuple, number 108 (May 20 1790)

This praising of Robespierre is something Marat would consistently keep up throughout the rest of his journalistic career. Only throughout the rest of 1790, we find him calling him ”the wise Robespierre” (number 156 (July 7), ”the loyal Robespierre” (number 210 (September 3), an orator with ”great principles” and ”excellent views […] [that] we have no doubt he will develop in a way that will cause a sensation.” (number 265 (October 29) and ”[a man] who’s heart always appears to be animated with the purest of civism” (number 320 (December 24), listing him among deputies he considers ”patriotic” (number 156 (July 7), number 188 (August 11), number 210 (September 3), number 277 (November 11), number 288 (November 22), number 292 (November 28) and at one point even playing him on a higher level than so, calling him ”the only deputy who is educated in great principles, and perhaps the only true patriot who sits in the Assembly” (number 263, October 27).

February 2 1791 is the first instance where Robespierre in his turn is recorded to have mentioned Marat’s name. He does so defending the journalist at the Jacobins after an arrest warrant has been issued against him for an article recently published in his paper. Desmoulins’ Révolutions de France et de Brabant, the journal giving the most detailed description of the defence, summarizes it in the following way:

At the same session at the Jacobins, Robespierre, the only member of the National Assembly to whom the severe Marat would not have given the black ball, also took up his defense. He made us aware of the absurdity of the crime that the president of research attributed to the Friend of the People, of getting along with the English. Marat had never ceased to deplore the trade treaty of 1786 with the English, and to vociferate against Pitt, and against the intelligence of the cabinet of S. James, with the Austrian committee of the Tuileries. In favor of Marat was also this thing which militates so strongly for all patriotic writers: if the Friend of the People is extreme and angry, at least it is in the direction of the revolution. On what front did the research committee sign this order against him, under the ridiculous pretext of intelligence with the English, while it at the same time leaves Durosoi, as extreme, as bloodthirsty as Marat, in peace, and so many other friends of the king, the nobility and the clergy, who did not even hide their understanding with the Austrians, with all our enemies, and every day invite them with loud cries to come and slaughter the patriots. There is no reply to this reasoning; so Voidel, who saw his condemnation in everyone's eyes, recognized his sin, and promised to withdraw the order and remove the sentence.

In a speech regarding liberty on the press held on May 11 1791, Robespierre also says that ”if it is true that the courage of writers devoted to the cause of justice and humanity is the terror of the intrigue and ambition of men in authority; the laws against the press must become in the hands of the latter a terrible weapon against liberty,” which according to the by publisher inserted footnote is an allusion to the situation of the journalists Desmoulins and, especially, Marat.

Marat in his turn continued his praising of Robespierre throughout the same year. Besides grouping him together with other men considered patriotic (number 342 (January 16), number 371 (February 14), number 382 (February 25), number 392 (March 7), number 455 (May 11), number 519 (July 15), number 526 (August 1), number 562 (September 30) and calling him things such as ”the loyal Robespierre ”(number 367 (February 8), number 478, number 443 (April 29), number 458 (May 14), (June 3), number 488 (June 13), number 520 (July 16), number 521 (July 17) ”the just Robespierre” (number 409 (March 24) and ”the virtuous Robespierre” number 438 (April 21) he also goes further in placing Robespierre on a higher level than his fellow representatives, frequently going so far as to call him ”the only pure member of the Assembly” (number 414 (March 29), number 462 (May 18), number 472 (28 maj), number 475, May 31, number 504 (June 28), number 510 (July 4), number 511 (July 5). He also starts to frequently refer to Robespierre as ”the Incorruptible”number 458 (May 14), (number 462 (May 18), number 504 (June 28), number 514 (July 8), number 513 (July 13), number 545(September 4), number 551 (September 10) In his Robespierre biography (2014), Hervé Leuwers writesthat, if it was Fréron who coined the nickname, Marat nevertheless did a lot to popularize it. Finally, his number 515 (July 9) Marat dedicates entirely to the ”superb speech” held by Robespierre regarding the flight to Varennes two weeks earlier. His admiration did not go unnoticed by other journalists besides Desmoulins, such as those behind Les Sabbats jacobites, who on April 10 1791 called Robespierre ”the hero of Marat” and those behind Journal générale de France who called him ”the god of Marat, Garat, Carra, Corsas and Marte” on June 13 the same year.

Once Robespierre on September 30 ceases to be a member of the National Assembly, the apperences of his name in l’Ami du peuple do however rapidly decrease, only appearing two more times (number 603 (November 19), number 618, December 6) until Marat temporarily puts it down on December 15.

The first actual meeting between Marat and Robespierre didn’t take place until January 1792, as revealed by the latter ten months later. By then, the two almost lived neighbors since about a month back, Marat having gone to live with the Evrard sisters on 243 rue Saint-Honoré in Decenber, not far from the Duplay house on number 366 on the same street.

One of the most terrible reproaches that people have aimed against me, I do not hide it, is the name of Marat. I will therefore begin by telling you frankly what my contacts with him have looked like. I could even make my profession of faith on his behalf, but without saying more good or more bad than I think, because I do not know how to translate my thoughts to appeal to general opinion. In January 1792, Marat came to see me. Until then, I had not had any kind of either direct or indirect relationship with him. The conversation turned to public affairs, about which he spoke to me with despair. I told him everything that the patriots, even the most ardent ones, thought of him; namely that he himself had put up an obstacle to the good that could be produced by the useful truths developed in his writings, by persisting in eternally returning to extraordinary and violent proposals (such as that of making five to six hundred guilty heads fall), which revolted the friends of liberty as much as the supporters of the aristocracy. He defended his opinion; I persisted in mine, and I must admit that he found my political views so narrow that some time later, when he had resumed his journal, which had been abandoned by him for some time, reporting on the conversation of which I have just described speaking, he wrote in full that he had left me, perfectly convinced that I had neither the views nor the audacity of a statesman; and if Marat's criticisms could be titles of favor, I could still place before your eyes some of his sheets, published six weeks before the last revolution, in which he accused me of feuillantism, because I, in a periodical work, did not say out loud that the constitution had to be overthrown. After this first and only visit from Marat, I found him again at the National Assembly.

In number 648 (May 18) of l’Ami du Peuple, Marat gives his own version of this meeting:

I therefore declare that not only does Roberspierre [sic] not have my pen at his disposal, although it has often served to do him justice; but I protest that I have never had any note from him, that I have never had any direct or indirect relationship with him, that I have never even met him but once; also in this instance, our interview served to give rise to ideas and to manifest feelings diametrically opposed to those that Guadet and his clique attribute to me. The first word that Robespierre addressed to me was the reproach of having myself partly destroyed the prodigious influence that my paper had on the revolution by dipping my pen in the blood of the enemies of liberty, by speaking of rope, of daggers, no doubt against my heart, because he liked to convince himself that these were just empty words dictated by circumstances. Learn, I replied to him immediately, that the influence that my paper had on the revolution was not due, as you believe, to these close discussions in which the vices of the fatal decrees prepared by the Constituent Assembly are methodically developed, but to the terrible scandal that it spread among the public, when I unceremoniously tore the veil which covered the eternal plots hatched against public liberty by the enemies of the fatherland, people conspiring with the monarch, the legislators and the main custodians of authority; but to the audacity with which I trampled underfoot every detracting prejudice; but to the outpouring of my soul, to the impulses of my heart; to my violent protests against oppression, to my impetuous outings against the oppressors; to my painful accents; to my cries of indignation, fury and despair against the scoundrels who abused the trust and power of the people to deceive them, rob them, load them with chains and precipitate them into the abyss. Learn that there has never been a decree attacking liberty and that never an official has allowed himself an attack against the weak and the oppressed, without me having hastened to raise the people against these unworthy prevaricators. The cries of alarm and fury that you take for empty words were the naive expression with which my heart was agitated; learn that if I had been able to count on the people of the capital after the horrible decree against the garrison of Nancy, I would have decimated the barbaric deputies who had issued it. Learn that after the investigation of the Châtelet on the events of October 5 and 6, I would have had the unfair judges of this infamous tribunal perished at the stake. Learn that after the massacre on the Champ-de-Mars, had I found two thousand men animated by the feelings which tore me apart, I would have gone at their head to stab the general in the middle of his battalions of brigands, to burn the despot in his palace and impale our atrocious representatives on their seats as I declared to them at the time. Robespierre listened to me with fear, he turned pale, and remained silent for some time. This interview confirmed for me the opinion that I had always had [sic] of him: that he combined with the knowledge of a wise senator the integrity of a truly good man and the zeal of a true patriot, but that he also lacked the views and audacity of a true statesman.

In 1793, Jacques Roux also claimed to have gone home to Marat the year before and there have received ”a letter for Robespierre and for Chabot, the goal of which was to interest the Jacobin club to propagate an edition of your works.” I can however find no letter from Marat to Robespierre in the latter’s correspondence, nor even a letter to or from Robespierre that so much as mentions Marat (and the same thing goes for Marat’s correspondence). So did Robespierre actually receive this letter, we might assume he didn’t think all that much about it.

Despite Robespierre’s frosty attitude, Marat continued to hold admiration for him when he started up his journal again on April 12 1792, dedicating almost all of number 648 (May 3) and number 660 (May 29) with defending him against girondin attacks, a struggle which he describes as existing ”between the traitor Brissot and the Incorruptible Robespierre” (number 643 April 28 1792).

On September 9, Robespierre held a speech which he ended by recommending voting for Marat and Legendre for the National Convention (he did however deny that be had singled out Marat ”any more particularly than the courageous writers who had fought or suffered for the cause of the revolution” two months later). On September 21 1792, the day after the opening of said Convention, the last number of l’Ami du peuple appears, and a few days later Marat starts a new journal — Journal de la République française (it changed name to Le Publiciste de la République française in March 1793) that would run up until his death in July the following year. In total, Robespierre’s name gets mentioned around 35 times in this journal. As far as I can see, Marat does however appear to have cooled down a bit with his praising, mostly mentioning Robespierre in the context of reciting something he’s said or at tops mentioning him alongside other ”patriotic” deputies. In number 239, released the day before his death, Marat inserts a letter to Robespierre from a certain Labenette, ”orator of the people.”

The fact that Robespierre and Marat didn’t have any contacts with one another was not something that was believed by all contemporaries. Already in 1791, the journal Le Défenseur du Peuple had describedthe former as ”the friend of Marat, who he pretends to doesn’t know.” These allegations got a lot more serious in the fall of 1792, with the two plus Danton being accused of wanting to form a triumvirate, or having arranged the September Massacres together. On September 25 Marat openly denied that any of these allegations aligned with reality, that he had discussed the idea if a dictatorship or triumvirate with Danton and Robespierre, but that both had rejected it:

Certain members of the Paris deputation are accused of aspiring to dictatorship, to triumvirate, to tribunate; This absurd indictment can only find supporters because I am part of this deputation: well! monsieurs, I owe it to justice to declare that my colleagues, notably Danton and Robespierre, constantly rejected any idea of dictatorship, triumvirate and tribunate, when I put it forward; I even had to break several lances with them on this subject.

The very same day, Robespierre made allusions to Marat when regretfully declaring ”it was then that the thoughtless phrases of an exaggerated patriot or the signs of confidence he gave to men whose incorruptibility he had experienced for three years were attributed to us as crimes.”

On October 19 appeared the first number of Lettres de Maximilien Robespierre, membre de la Convention nationale de France, à ses commettants. In number 6, when discussing Marat getting interupted when laying out some own theories on the battalions of Mauconseil to the point that the Jacobins have to move with the agenda due to the tumult, Robespierre writes: ”Whatever the deviations of Marat's imagination, good citizens nonetheless groaned to see personal sentiments make the interests of immocence and oppressed patriotism forgotten, and hateful passions banished from the sanctuary of the laws. dignity, calm and love of humanity.” In number 9 he also writes that ”in his wanderings, Marat often encountered the truth.”

Robespierre also mentioned Marat when the Lettres in January 1793 got renewed for a second edition, starting already in number 1, where he for long defended himself against the girondin Gensonné linking him and Marat together:

What obstinacy to want me to be someone other than myself? It doesn't even matter to you that everyone believes that I named Marat: having been unable to succeed, you have decided to repeat my name so often with his, that I was at least taken for an accessory of this great character, so celebrated in your pages; as if I had not had an existence of my own, several years before you had decided to strip me of it; as if my constituents and my fellow citizens had not been able to judge me by my own actions; while Marat wrote underground, and Brissot still obscurely intrigued, with the henchmen of the old police, his colleagues, and crawled in the antechambers of the men in power. In the past, I still remember, Brissot and a few others had entered into I don't know what conspiracy to make my name almost synonymous with that of Jérôme Pétion; they took so much trouble to put them together. I don't know if it was for love of me or of Pétion: but they seemed to have plotted to send me to immortality, in company with the great Jérôme. I have been ungrateful; and, to punish me, they said: since you don't want to be Pétion, you will be Marat. Well, I declare to you, monsieurs, that I want to be neither. I have the right, I think, to be consulted on this, and you will perhaps not dispose of my being in spite of myself.

It's not that I want to deny Marat the justice that is due to him. In his papers, which are not always models of style or wisdom, he nevertheless stated useful truths, and waged open war against all powerful conspirators, although he may have been wrong about a few individuals. I know that he did not spare you yourselves: but this merit has not erased in my eyes, these extravagant sentences which he sometimes mixed with the healthiest ideas, as if to give to you and to your likes, the pretext of slandering liberty. It was said a long time ago that, in this respect, Marat was the father of the moderates and the feuillans; we could say for the same reason that he is also your boss; and we would be tempted to believe that he only punishes you because he loves you. I bet you love him too, although you pretend to shout very loudly at the slightest correction he gives you. Indeed, what would you be without him? What would become of all your newspapers and all your harangues if he had not written these two or three absurd and bloodthirsty sentences, which you constantly strive to repeat and comment on? You would have perhaps been reduced to becoming patriots, if he had not provided you with the pretext of disguising patriotism as maratism, in order to give to incivism, feuillantism, royalism and rascality, I don't know what air of wisdom and moderation.

It is so convenient for the enemies of liberty to simply appear to be the adversaries of Marat, and to confuse the cause of liberty with the person of an individual, in order to be excused from respecting it. Such was the policy of the first aristocrats, and of the heroes of the intrigue, whose disgraces you will share, after having imitated their exploits. Like them, you want to persuade all of Europe that the Republicans of France, that the partisans of the principles of equality, are only one faction, and that this faction is Marat himself. Thus, thanks to the gift of metamorphoses with which you are eminently endowed, Paris, the Jacobins, the members of the Convention, who do not bend to the views of the intriguers, and Marat are precisely the same thing. All the energetic friends of liberty are, at most, only satellites drawn into the whirlwind of this new star. With this magical name, you claim to overthrow the entire work of our revolution. It is to carry out this great work that you write, that you print, that you speak, that you plot tirelessly: but the revolution will triumph over the name of Marat, as well as over your intrigues; we will do justice to you and to him, by disproving his deviations and by disconcerting your plots. A journalist's sentences have never made a guilty head roll; but the plots of ambition that you seem to forget have caused torrents of human blood to flow. The crimes of tyranny cost humanity more disasters than the most heroic periods of the most atrocious writer. Only you, gentlemen, can give importance to an exaggerated man, much less through your declamations than through your conduct. It would not even be noticed under a wise government. It is only oppression that forces the people to pay less attention to faults that they themselves do not believe, than to the courage of those who unmask their enemies.

He defends himself against the charge of him and Marat being the leaders of a coalition, ”when these deputies, too independent to form a coalition, even with a view to the public good, see every day the coalition of factions.” again in number 3. In number 9, the second to last number, he rhetorically asks whether ”giving ridiculous importance to some inconsistent and bizarre journalist, to charge him with all the iniquities of Israel, and to identify with him all the defenders of freedom?” really is such a good way to ensure tranquility.

Between December 1792 up until the death of Marat, we find him and Robespierre taking part in the same debates at both the Convention and the Jacobin club, sometimes agreeing (December 26, February 21) and sometimes disagreeing (December 16, March 3, June 18) with each another.

On January 4 Robespierre complains that a speech made by Barère regarding the fate of Louis XVI ”contains the most violent diatribes against the patriots” for having stated ”If anything could have made me change my mind [on an appeal to the people], it would be to see the same opinion shared by a man whom I cannot bring myself to name (Marat), but who is known for his bloodthirsty opinions...” A month later, February 11, Marat and Robespierre together calmed down a group of petitioners, disgruntled over not having received a hearing at the Convention. When a representative on February 26 asked ”that Marat be temporarily expelled from the Assembly and be locked up so that it could be examined whether he was crazy” and another one ordered the referral of the denunciation to the ordinary courts, ”Robespierre approaches the president, and there he announces that if the decree passes, Paris will be burning today.”

On 12 April Robespierre spoke against the arrest order issued against Marat the very same day — ”One has requested a decree of accusation be drawn up against the warmest patriots […] Marat spoke with force, precision, and at the same time with moderation. He painted the crimes of our enemies with colors capable of making any man who has any sense of modesty blush.…”

When the indictment against Marat was presented on April 13, Robespierre took to the floor a total of three times to speak against it:

To the question that agitates us, we will not disagree that the man in question excites very strong passions; you are asked if you will decree a representative of the people immediately, or if you will postpone until Wednesday; there is no respect there for the principles, and for what we owe to the character of representative of the people: what, you would send a slanderous report, when nothing is proven, and is it not barbaric to put a representative under accusation without examination; this report is the fruit of passions and liberticidal conspiracies. […]

Yes, it will be proven that this man, whom I have always seen as patriotic, was only attacked to prove that all the Republicans in this Assembly are exaggerated and must suffer the same fate.

…As I see in this whole affair only the developed spirit of the Feuillants, the moderates and all the cowardly assassins of liberty, only a vile intrigue hatched to dishonor patriotism, the departments infested for a long time with the liberticidal writings of royalists, I reject with contempt the proposed decree of accusation.

Marat was acquitted on April 24, and four days later, a motion proposed by him with an amendment from Robespierre was passed at the Jacobin Club.

One day after the murder of Marat, July 14 1793, Robespierre spoke against the idea of granting him a state funeral, arguing that there were much more urgent things that needed to be taken care of before that could happen:

Robespierre: I have little to say to the Society. I would not even have asked to speak had the right to do so not somehow devolved to me at this moment; if I did not foresee that the honors of the dagger are also reserved for me, that priority has only been determined by chance, and that my fall is fast approaching. When a man, deeply sensitive and imbued with a love of the public good, sees his enemies raise their heads with impunity, and already share the spoils of the State, and his friends, on the contrary, frightened by oppression, flee a murderous soil and abandon it to fate, he becomes insensitive to everything, and no longer sees in the tomb anything other than a safe and precious asylum reserved by Providence for virtue. I believed that a session which followed the murder of one of the most zealous defenders of the fatherland, would be entirely occupied with the means of avenging him by serving said fatherland better than before. We haven't talked about it, and what are you occupying yourselves with in this precious time, for the use of which we are accountable? We are dealing with outrageous hyperboles, ridiculous and meaningless figures, which do not provide a remedy to the thing at hand and prevent it from being found. For example, you are seriously asked to discuss the fortune of Marat. Well! What does the fortune of one of its founders matter to the Republic? Is it a memoir that we are going to occupy ourselves with, when it is still a question of fighting for it? One is speaking of the honors of the Pantheon. And what are these honors? Who are those who lie there? With the exception of Le Peletier, I can’t see a single virtuous man there. Is it next to Mirabeau we will place Marat? Next to this intriguing man whose means were always criminal; this man who only earned his reputation through profound villainy? Here we have are the honors requested for the Friend of the People.

Bentabole: Yes, and he will obtain them in spite of those who are jealous of him.

Robespierre: Let us occupy ourselves with the measures which can still save our fatherland; let's make the effect of Pitt's guineas null. Let's bring the Cobourg and the Brunswick back to their territories. It is not today that we must show the people the spectacle of a funeral ceremony, but when finally victorious, the strengthened Republic will allow us to take care of its defenders; all of France will then ask for it and you will undoubtedly grant Marat the honors that his virtue deserves, that his memory demands. Do you know what impression the spectacle of funeral ceremonies attaches to the human heart! They make the people believe that the friends of liberty are thereby compensating themselves for the loss they have caused, and that from then on they are no longer required to avenge it; satisfied with having honored the virtuous man, this desire to avenge him dies in their hearts, and indifference succeeds enthusiasm and his memory runs the risk of oblivion. Let us not stop seeing what can still save us. The assassins of Marat and Peletier must come and atone on the Place de la Révolution for the atrocious crime of which they are guilty. It is necessary that the perpetrators of tyranny, the unfaithful representatives of the people, those who display the banner of revolt, who are convinced that they are sharpening the daggers on their heads every day, of having murdered the fatherland and a few of its members; it is necessary, I say, that the blood of these monsters responds to us and avenges us for that of our brothers which flowed for liberty, and which they shed with such barbarity. We must share the most painful burdens of the State; one must instruct all the people and gently lead them back to their duties; the other must render them exact justice: one must make food flow everywhere; the other deals exclusively with agriculture and the means of multiplying its relations; another must make wise laws; someone else must raise a revolutionary army, exercise and harden it, and know how to guide it in battle. Each of us must, forgetting ourselves at least for a while, embrace the Republic and devote ourselves unreservedly to its interests. The municipality must rule out, for the moment, a funeral celebration, which at first seemed dear to our hearts, but whose effects, as I have demonstrated, can become disastrous.

The following day, July 15, Robespierre asked that Marat’s printing presses be obtained by the Jacobins, a request a different member had already made the day before. A week later, July 22, the club tasked Robespierre, Desmoulins, Dufourny and Le Peletier’s brother with writing an adress to the French people about the murder. Said adress was printed and read aloud at the club four days later, obviously deploring of the event and praising Marat.

On August 5, Robespierre denounced Jacques Roux and Jean Théophile Victor Leclerc as ”two men paid by the enemies of the people, two men that Marat denounced [that] have succedeed, or think they have succeeded this patriot writer.” Three days later, August 8, Simonne Evrard, ”the widow Marat” presented herself before the Convention and held a long speech defending her dead fiancé’s memory, that in her view had gotten hijacked by ”scroundel writers” and in particular the two men already denounced by Robespierre. After her speech was finished, Robespierre again took to the floor to demand that the speech be printed and ”that the Committee of General Security be required to examine the conduct of the two mercenary writers denounced to it; the memory of Marat must be defended by the Convention and by all patriots.” Indeed, Roux and Leclerc would soon thereafter find themselves imprisoned, the former in September 1793, the latter in April 1794. How much of this was Robespierre being genueinly concerned for Marat’s memory and how much it was him using said memory to rid himself of a political rival I will leave unsaid…

On November 23, when Robespierre gives clarifications regarding the CPS changing the general in charge of the taking of Toulon, he says that it was on the recommendation of Marat that the new general had been promoted to rank of brigade leader. ”Marat could have been wrong, but his recommendation was a very favorable presumption in favor of an individual; he has always justified it since.” On 10 January 1794 he exclaims that ”my dictatorship is that of Le Peletier, of Marat. Or I don’t mean that, I don't want to say that I resemble them: I'm neither Marat nor Pelletier; I am not yet a martyr of the Revolution; I have the same dictatorship as them, that is to say the daggers of tyrants.” In an undelivered speech written shortly thereafter he again describes Marat and Le Pelerier as martyrs and Leclerc and Roux as”mercenary writers, daring to usurp the name of Marat, to desecrate it.”

Finally, on 9 thermidor, we find the following two claims made against Robespierre that involves Marat. (1, 2) I will leave them as they are as it’s very hard to know if they’re legit or not:

Dubois-Crancé: I must pay tribute to the sagacity of Marat: at the time of the judgment of the tyrant Capet, he said to me, speaking of Robespierre: ”You see that rascal? That man is more dangerous for liberty than all the allied despots.”

Collot d’Herbois: I am going to cite a fact which will prove that Robespierre, who for some time spoke only of Marat, always hated this constant friend of the people. At Marat's funeral, Robespierre spoke for a long time on the platform that had been set up in front of the Luxembourg, and the name of Marat did not come out of his mouth once; Can the people believe that a person loves Marat when he angrily declares that he doesn’t want to be assimilated to him? No, although these hypocrites talked incessantly about Marat and Challier, they loved neither of the two.

Alphonse Esquiros, who tracked down Marat’s younger sister Albertine for an interview in the 1830s or 1840s, reported that it was ”with bitterness” she spoke of Robespierre. ”There was nothing in common, she added, between him and Marat. Had my brother lived, the heads of Danton and Camille Desmoulins would not have fallen.”

Robespierre’s little sister Charlotte (who Albertine despised) did in her turn write the following regarding the relationship in her memoirs (1834). This anecdote is however suspeciously similar to the meeting Marat and Robespierre describe as having happened in January 1792, in which Charlotte impossibly could have taken part, still not having gone to Paris by then:

I have often heard my brother’s name attached to that of Marat, as if the way of thinking, the sympathies, the acts of those two men were the same, as if they had acted in concert. It is thus that the portraits and busts of Voltaire and Rousseau are placed side by side, as if those two great writers had been the best friends in the world when they were alive, while in truth they found each other insufferable. I do not claim to discount Marat’s merit, nor make an attempt on the purity of his devotion and of his intentions. Some have dared to say that he was in the pay of foreigners; but have they not said that of my brother? The field of the absurd is immense and limitless. Have they not said of Maximilien Robespierre that he had asked the young daughter of Louis XVI in marriage? After such an accusation nothing should be surprising anymore; more burlesque and impossible assertions must be expected; it is the nec plus ultra of inanity. To return to Marat, I will dare to affirm that he was not an agent of foreigners, as it has pleased some to say; Marat had felt the infamies of the Ancien Régime and the poverty of the people strongly; his fiery imagination and his irascible temperament had made him an ardent, and too often even imprudent, revolutionary; but his intentions, I repeat, were good. My brother disapproved of his exaggerations and his rages, and believed, as he said many times to me, that the course adopted by Marat was more detrimental than useful to the revolution. One day Marat came to see my brother. This visit surprised us, for, usually, Marat and Robespierre had no rapport. They spoke first of affairs in general, then of the turn the revolution was taking; finally, Marat opened the chapter on revolutionary rigors, and complained of the mildness and the excessive indulgence of the government. “You are the man whom I esteem perhaps the most in the world,” Marat said to my brother, “but I would esteem you more if you were less moderate in regard to the aristocrats.” “I will reproach you with the contrary,” my brother replied; “you are compromising the revolution, you make it hated in ceaselessly calling for heads. The scaffold is a terrible means, and always a grievous one; it must be used soberly and only in the grave cases where the fatherland is leaning toward its ruin.” “I pity you,” said Marat then, “you are not at my level.” “I would be quite grieved to be at your level,” replied Robespierre. “You misunderstand me,” returned Marat, “we will never be able to work together.” “That’s possible,” said Robespierre, “and things will only go the better for it.” ”I regret that we could not come to an understanding,” added Marat, “for you are the purest man in the Convention.”

#robespierre #marat #jean paul marat #maximilen robespierre #frev #frev friendships #ask #unrelated but the relationship between marat’s little sister and fiancée really was the polar opposite to robespierre’s counter parts…

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