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westanthewaterman · 1 year

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Lurking in the Shadows - Murdock x GN!Reader 1/?

Rating: NSFW

Word count: 2700+

Contents: dubcon, predator/pray, chasing, brief mentions of knife and blood, oral (m receiving), boot kink, semi-public sex, degradation, namecalling (whore), petnames (puppy, toy, little prey), no pronouns or body parts used for reader

AN: So like I can explain I swear I uh...yeah no I have no idea where this came from

MASTERLIST - AO3 - PART TWO (COMING SOON)

You can admit that walking home by yourself was a bad idea - not only because it’s past midnight and pitch black out, but also because it’s fucking cold. You weren’t even supposed to work tonight, but your coworker had called you last minute saying her car had a dead battery and if she missed another shift without getting a cover she was going to get fired.

You had wanted to spend your day off catching up on some reading but she’s the only coworker you actually like and if she gets fired then your days at work are going to get even worse than they already are so you sighed and agreed, getting yourself to look as presentable as possible with what little time you had.

Just a few more months, you think as you continue to walk, wrapping your arms around yourself, a few more months and you can quit this stupid job and move away from this ugly city, settle down somewhere more quiet, and maybe find a job you’ll actually like for a change. You doubt that last part, given your bad history with employment, but you’re desperately hoping a change of scenery will help turn things around.

You’re not sure how long it takes for you to notice. With how dark it is, you almost don’t catch the flash of something red from the corner of your eye. You stiffen up, sucking in a breath and squaring your shoulders.

Maybe it was just a sign or a piece of trash blowing in the wind. Except it’s not windy right now. Fuck.

Picking up your pace just slightly, you decide to chance a glance over your shoulder and yeah there’s definitely someone following you. You think it’s a man, a big man.

You pull your phone out and your stomach lurches when you see nothing but a black screen staring back at you. Right, that was why you had to walk back home in the first place. You’d left your phone charger at home in your rush to get to work so you couldn’t call for a taxi.

This is fine. It’s almost one in the morning and you’re walking the streets of a big city completely alone and unarmed. And there’s a man following you. Yep, definitely fine.

Your eyes dart around, searching for any store fronts that look like they could still be open or even just another person crazy enough to walk the streets this late. Your pursuer seems to have realized that no one else is around, because when you peek over your shoulder again he’s following you out in the open. You can barely see him through the darkness, but you see a shred of light glint off of something in his hand and oh god that’s a knife. He’s got a knife.

Heart skipping a beat, you lurch forward into a run and, sure enough, you can hear the man’s footsteps grow louder and faster. You’re full on panicking now, air punching in and out of your lungs as you run like your life depends on it. Which you think it might, you’re still holding out hope that this is all a big misunderstanding and you’re going to make it home safe and sound.

In a split second decision, you turn the next corner you come across and dip into an alley on the other side of the street before the man turns the corner. You tuck yourself up against the wall, sucking in a deep breath and biting your lip as you wait.

And wait.

You’re not sure how long you stand there, eyes glued, unblinking, to the entrance of the alleyway and lungs aching for anything more than a shallow breath. The night is quiet, save for your heart pounding in your ears and your soft exhales. No footsteps. No sign of the man.

You crouch down and pick up a rock before inching closer to the entrance of the alleyway, peering your head around the corner and scanning the darkness for that flash of red.

But there’s nothing.

No footsteps, no breathing, no giant man storming towards you.

Did you really lose him?

Before you get even a moment to celebrate, there’s a gloved hand over your mouth and the sting of cold metal at your neck. You’re pulled backwards into the alleyway and up against a warm, very solid body.

The man behind you lets out a dark chuckle and you attribute your heart skipping a beat to the way he presses the knife just slightly into your skin.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good chase,” he says softly, lips brushing your ear, “I’d almost forgotten how fun it is.”

You reach up and claw at the hand over your mouth, lowering it enough to bite down on the side of his palm. The man behind you grunts and lets go of your face, giving you a moment to think you’ve won before he gets a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back.

You cry out into the night air and tears sting at the corners of your eyes as the blade of his knife digs into your skin, drawing just a hint of blood.

“What are you going to do to me?”

He practically purrs, nosing along the column of your throat. “That is the question, isn’t it? So many ideas, so little time.”

Struggling hopelessly against his grip on your hair, you cry out. “Help! Someone!”

The man leers behind you. “Is that it? Your life's on the line and that’s the best you can do? Try again and I want you to give it your all this time, like you really mean it.”

“Help!” You scream, your voice ripping against the inside of your throat, tears flowing freely down your cheeks. “Someone help me!”

“Ah, that was better, but do you hear that?”

He pauses and you listen to the noises around you. The night is still quiet, a light breeze has picked up and chilled the air but there’s no other noise besides your labored breaths. Your shoulders droop and you squeeze your eyes shut, letting out a soft, broken sob.

“That’s right,” the stranger practically sings in your ear, “no is around to hear you. No one is coming to your rescue, so I suggest you behave. I’d hate to give up the fun so early, but I won’t hesitate to slit this delicious neck of yours.”

Hot breath fans against your skin followed by a broad tongue licking a stripe up the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Are-Are you going to kill me?”

“Hmm, honestly I haven’t decided yet.”

“What do you want from me?”

Your assailant shoves you forward with a hand on the back of your neck, pushing you up against the brick wall. With his knife no longer at your throat, you have a moment to relax before he’s pressing himself up against you, his chest at your back just as firm and unyielding as the wall in front of you and oh. There’s something big and hard pressing against your ass. You gasp, unconsciously pushing your hips back against him, and the man chuckles darkly.

“What I want is for you to get down on your knees and open that pretty mouth so I can fuck your face. And if you do a good enough job, I might think about letting you go. How does that sound, little prey?”

“I-what?”

He rocks forward, groaning in your ear . “Go on, you don’t want to see me when I get inpatient.”

The man takes a step back and you turn around, taking him in for the first time. He’s huge, easily a foot taller than you and nearly twice as broad. Long, dark hair pulled back into a messy knot at the back of his head, a pair of black sunglasses hiding his eyes and a wide grin bearing sharp canines bordering on inhuman. Your eyes are drawn lower, however, to where his cock is straining against the confines of his dark jeans.

“I’m waiting.”

Your head snaps up and you’re met with deep, brown eyes watching you with a predator’s gaze over the rim of his glasses. Taking a deep breath, you drop to your knees in front of him, looking up at him with what you hope is a neutral expression, not wanting to let on how hot this situation is getting you despite the circumstances.

Turning your attention to the task at hand, you undo his belt with shaky hands. However, when you reach for his zipper, he grabs your wrists in his gloved hand.

“With your teeth.”

A shudder racks your body and you fight back a whimper, leaning forward and taking the zipper between your teeth. You can feel the heat of him against your cheek as you get the zipper down, taking your time, trying to delay the inevitable.

“So obedient.” He teases, taking his cock out and giving it a few languid strokes. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

His words are the last thing on your mind as a glint of metal catches your eye. Four silver barbells decorate the underside of his, frankly, enormous cock. Your mouth waters at the sight of a bead of precum dripping from his slit and you can’t help but wonder what the metal of his piercings will feel like against your tongue.

He snickers. “First time blowing someone with piercings? No need to be intimidated, little thing, they make everything better. I’d be more than happy to show you once we’re done here.”

You scowl up at him, trying to put as much venom in your voice as you can. “Just get this fucking over with, you freak.”

“Oh, so the little puppy can bark, huh? I like that, makes it so much more fun to break you.”

Your response dies in your throat as he shoves the first few inches of his cock into your mouth. The musky taste of his cock mixed with the tang of his precum makes you moan despite yourself, and he moans as well, getting a hand in your hair and forcing more of himself into your mouth.

“Fuck, your mouth feels like heaven. Go on, take it all, swallow it down, I know you can.”

Tears sting at your eyes as he slides in fully, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat and slipping further down. You do your best to relax your throat, taking deep breaths through your nose and grabbing onto his meaty thighs to steady yourself.

“That’s it, taking me like a fucking champ. You’ve done this before, haven’t you? Sweet, little whore.”

His hips pull back slowly and you revel in the feeling of his piercings dragging against your tongue. He pulls out until only the tip is in your mouth and you take the opportunity to lave your tongue over it, sucking and hollowing your cheeks before he’s thrusting back in. This time he doesn’t stay still, starting a steady pace sliding in and out of your mouth. One particularly harsh thrust catches you off guard and you choke, throat spasming around his cock and tears rolling down your cheeks.

He sighs happily, grabbing your head with both hands and holding you down against him, your nose pressed against his pubic bone. You gag around him but he doesn’t let you up, instead grinding against your face and relishing in the way you gasp for breath around his cock.

“Fucking take it,” he sneers, digging his nails into your scalp. “This is what you were fucking made for, choking on my cock like a greedy, little pet. This is making you hot, isn’t it? I bet if I reached down between your legs I’d feel how excited you are, wouldn’t I?”

You shake your head furiously but you both know you’re lying. You’re aching, thrusting your hips helplessly.

“Go on, puppy.” He moves his foot forward, pressing his leather boot between your legs. “Grind on my boot, show me how horny you are, being face fucked, at the mercy of a complete stranger.”

Shame burns inside you but it only makes you hotter, makes the ache between your legs stronger. You grind down against the toe of his boot, angling your hips just right to send pleasure shooting up your spine. You moan around his cock, the vibrations making him moan in turn.

The stranger picks up his pace, fucking your face in earnest, grunting and growling with every thrust. You can tell he’s getting close by the way his thighs are tensing between your hands and you’re not far behind, adrenaline pushing you rapidly towards climax. You peer up at him with wide, watery eyes, increasing your thrusts against his boot.

“Oh, isn’t that sweet? You want permission - fuck - to cum? Do you think you’ve earned it? Do you think you’ve been good? Maybe I should cum down your throat and leave you here for someone else to find and fuck, maybe you’d like that. You clearly don’t have problems fucking a stranger, and one that threatened to kill you no less.”

You whine, squeezing your eyes shut in a half-hearted effort to hold back the tears caused by his words. Shame is burning inside you, white hot and so, so fucking good. The man above you wipes away a few of your tears, bringing his fingers to his mouth to lick them off with a long groan.

“I’m so close now, just a little more. I want you to cum, little toy. Now.”

The hard tug he gives to your hair is all it takes to send you careening over the edge, spasming and rutting your hips helplessly as you cum, making a mess of your jeans. He moans obscenely and cums with a shout. You expect him to press fully into your mouth, but instead he pulls out and strokes his cock furiously, painting your face with splatters of hot cum.

You groan in protest, wiping your eyes and scowling up at him. “You could’ve warned me.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” He smirks, tucking himself back into his pants and squatting down in front of you.

The man swipes two fingers through the mess on your face and presses them against your lips. You drop your eyes to the ground but take them into your mouth, licking the cum off his leather clad fingers.

“This was quite the treat, I must say, more fun than I’ve had in a long time. I’d love to keep you.”

His words have fear shooting like ice through your veins and you shoot up, backing away from him slowly.

“You said you’d let me go if I did what you wanted.”

“You’re right, I did. ” He stalks forward, crowding you up against the brick wall, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “But I’ve given you no reason to trust me.”

You shove him with as much strength as you can but he doesn’t even move an inch. “I’d rather you fucking kill me.”

“Mm, there’s that bark I like so much, but we both know you don’t have the bite to back it up, do you?”

“Fuck you.”

“Next time.”

“Next time?”

“I’ll keep my word, I’m going to let you go, but we’ll see each other again; I’ve taken a liking to you, little prey. But-” You blink and the knife is back at your throat. “If you tell anyone about me, if you go to the police, I will find you and I will make you wish I’d killed you tonight. Do you understand?”

You nod with wide eyes, pressing yourself back against the wall as much as you can.

“Good.” He steps away, slipping the knife back into its holster at his thigh and smiling mischievously at you.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Call me Murdock.”

You roll your eyes. “Murdock? Seriously? You come up with that yourself?”

“Such a smart mouth for someone who was choking on my cock not even ten minutes ago.” The man gives you a Cheshire smile. “Now I think it’s time you hurry home. It is late after all and you don’t know what kind of shifty characters could be lurking in the shadows waiting to strike.”

#murderplier x reader #murdock killinheim x reader #murderplier x reader smut #murdock killinheim x reader smut #nsft #gn!reader #smooth criminal #west writes #tw dubcon #tw knife #tw blood

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the-ellia-west · 16 days

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You can rant all your incoherent ideas to me. So, whatcha thinking of? Stories? Characters? WIPS? Let’s hear ‘em! ✨

AHAHAHAHHAHAHH

YOU ASKED FOR THIS @goldencomet69

YOU'VE FALLEN FOR MY TRAP! (Thank you by the way, this made my day and was very kind! Love youu!!!)

Anyyyyywaaaaayyyyyyyyy

I'm going to talk about ALL THE STUFF I WANNA TALK ABOUT!!!! >:]

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

First - J&R to get it out of the way (My side WIP if y'all don't know)

So, I've decided I'm gonna kill off Morena because I want to ABSOLUTELY FUCKING WRECK JAK AGAIN

I got inspired from videos analyzing clips from some shows I watch, where the characters I love more than anything react to the death of their teammates and I never noticed it while watching and it's really fascinating.

But anyway, I'm stealing the idea. (I'm probably gonna have to watch that clip again)

So here's my plan:

Morena is a mother figure and secondary leader of the crew, and alongside Jak is the only other character who is of high class and uses formal speech when neutral around others.

They're also very similar in general, Top tier Sass, have lost family, Morena's always drinking Tea, Jak is always drinking alchohol. Morena always wears dresses, Jak always wears suits. They both enjoy civil conversation over small topics where there's no snide comments or dropping shade.

These two are the only pair who'd almost always polite to one another. They are on good terms.

Morena makes Jak tea in the mornings, and he cooks her breakfast in return.

These two enjoy each other's company as teammates and coworkers, trying to help and support each other in small ways even though they rarely ever get into deep personal conversation, mostly talking about work, herbs, flowers, other people, weather, drinks, ect.

Then Morena dies. I'm not sure how it's gonna happen yet, but It will. I'm gonna kill her off, just as Jak is starting to have slight hope for the future and getting better in his efforts to change.

But watching her die destroys EVERYTHING about his progress and sends him crashing right back to the start, with a few more shitty events cracking the base of the mountain and pushing him even further down.

This is Jak at his absolute lowest.

This is Jak after Eveny died, after he came home from the Cannibalism incident.

This is Jak where any hope he had for the future is dead.

Because Morena's death not only reminded Jak that death is an ever-present threat to those he loves, it also reminded him that he can be hurt, and it brought back every single memory of corpses and loss he has ever experienced.

After that, Eynalis takes him aside and tortures him.

A fire gets set on accident and threatens Pherun

Rose tries to cheer Jak up, and other works for a little while, but things go downhill again

Light bloody horror sequence which heavily involves Jak

Silas gets kidnapped and Jak is at the front lines to get him back, but volunteers to be the distraction of a fight that will obviously be lost by anyone, and fights a 1v8 against well-trained soldiers.

Then Magic activates again and he hurts Rose

Then I gave him a disease, (you'll pick up what it is when I show you)

Argument

Jak gets tortured again

They go on a mission where Jak almost loses Pherun and ends up killing someone to protect him

And he reaches his lowest a few days after that

There's a couple moments after Jak getting tortured the second time where Finn tries to get Rose and Jak to forgive one another.

They desperately want to, but both are too proud to admit how they truly feels, and the one time Rose tries, Jak is too out of it to pay attention and she gives up.

But when Jak reaches his lowest, Rose hasn't seen him all the previous day and goes to find him, that's when she sees what happened.

But spoilersssss!!! So y'all will have to wait!

If you haven't seen, you can check this WIP out over on @jakkon-and-rose-topic

Now some TCOT things :]

After Marril gets a bit of a break is gonna be the absolute sweetest and most mundane moment ever.

Because of his curse he hasn't been able to get any more sleep than about 4 hours every night. But when he gets a break, he wakes up late, for once in his life, not tired, and you know that kind of morning where you wake up with creases on your face and it feels like you just hit the restart button on life.

That's what happens after he gets rid of the curse, and putting the pieces together, he gets so hopeful he almost literally rips the fabric of the shirt he's wearing to see if it's gone.

And then after this point, another character comes in and he just hugs her, and starts crying because it's finally over.

Anyyyywayyyyyy I hoped you liked my rambling

@njnetails

#Ellia's Ramblings #West Writes

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mattiswrite · 3 months

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decorating galleries

synopsis:

galleries of people that have passed away. they show the persons belongings, collections, clothings off. they make recreations of their rooms. the most jarring type of gallery, are of those that have gone in fires, an empty space with a pile of ash in the center to commemorate what once was. and now there are Fire Gallery Protection Programs, which Investigators work for, and arsonists who purposefully start fires to remove all traces of people from the earth. what happens when a serial arsonist slowly starts converting people into his belief? that these fires are cleansing?

—————————————————————————————————————

Mark - Investigator

I'll never forget the most jarring one of them all.

the one that made him into the very thing that we were meant to catch.

I could feel it deep in my ears. in the small cities and crevices of my cranium, the everlasting buzz of the ethereal music, a sound meant to be lived through and experienced. the feeling like i am restarting, or floating. forgetting where i am as i lay there, as i think back to it, i see how simple my days were then. going to my classes, spending afternoons in the campus library, and taking the shuttle home at eleven at night. It was a monotonous routine, but it was my routine. and in a life where nothing was to be expected, having everything laid out and known for a change was nice. It was these days that I miss, as I sit here in this small cell. it was not like i was in prison or anything, i have simply ended up here, locked in this small space, all for myself. I assume if you are watching this, then you have made it into my space, and that I am dead. So I guess you can continue sitting there and watching, if you are curious as to how I made it here, locked in this small cell of my very own creation.

This was the video playing at the back left corner of the gallery. It was a video of a man named Paul Damascus. there was not much of an accent to him, so it was unclear where he came from really; there was no information on this man, even though he supposedly went to college. All you could see in the video was a small room, which, if the International Residential Building Code requires bedrooms to be a minimum of 70 square feet, then that is exactly the size of this room. in this 7 foot by 10 foot room, there he sat. in the room, only what looked to be a queen sized mattress of the standard 5 feet by 6 feet, possibly 10 inches thick, on top of a varnished wooden floating frame. This man had money, from somewhere. Through a simple layout and design, he had to have money if he was able to live in secrecy in a small room and not be found guilty of his crimes.

This small cell of a space was recreated with false walls in the center of the exhibit. even replicating the one small circulatory window in the foremost wall. Guests could go and see how he lived, occupy the space of Paul Damascus, or what his space looked and felt like.

I thought I could move on from the interesting gallery exhibit. paintings from the long gone Paul Damascus expanding across the walls, the low and settled voice echoing through the space, telling his story. the same large IMB Plex Mono font pacing you through the gallery. They tell you what items are, when they were made and used, how close they were in proximity to the body at the time of death. When someone knows that it is their time to go, they keep their more important items closer to them. In cases like these, when a death is unexpected, items are more true to reality, as they are kept where they are used.

titles and estimated years of when the paintings were done based on the backlog of videotape information. I’m not doing this to be remembered, I’m doing this to be forgotten. he says, echoing through the speakers of the space. How ironic. taking up all of this space, taking up all of this time, to say he wishes to be forgotten. whatever has attached itself to me, can feel that my time is coming, and i hope to take it with. watch behind me, watch behind you, do not enter if you wish to survive. this man was just talking, making himself seem more interesting, as they all do. what is so typical from these people. They have enough money to make one large false narrative, to make themselves be remembered long after they're gone. It is a trick of the mind that they play. to watch idiots follow after inane clues that tell them nothing and lead them nowhere. to think this arsonist believes himself to be better than others, to be someone that was worth haunting. someone who went through all that effort to harm people, take away their histories, their memory, their personalities from this earth.

I was not lost in our fires.

Paul Damascus whispered harshly as I walked out. I left the gallery wondering if he was spitting his words at my old partner, or the world in general. I was not looking at the screen, but I could feel him spit as he repeated the phrase in our fires. I could feel how tense he was, how much anger he had. and I left. That anger was for him to sit with and deal with. He took that anger out on others, and that is where he went wrong. He was misguided.

galleries of people that have passed away. They show the person's belongings, collections, clothings off. they sell what relatives won’t take, if there are relatives. They make recreations of their rooms. They show people what it is like to be them. On special occasions, often for important or historical figures, their belongings are preserved in the museum storage to be brought out on specific anniversaries, such as their death, birthday, or other important life contexts. The most jarring type of gallery are those that have gone in fires, an empty space with a pile of ash in the center to commemorate what once was.

We grew up hearing about how great the creator of the galleries was, how these galleries saved the memories of all those people that were lost to climate change. It started in Australia, Hawaii, and then the Amazon Rainforest in Brazil; it did not feel like a real threat to most until the state of Alaska was consumed. The people whose bodies were lucky enough to be found and properly separated from their surroundings, were buried en masse. With their belongings forever lost, their bodies charred beyond recognition, the state was mourned by the world. It is said that the fires started overnight, and ravaged for months.

Countries came together, their international fire management agreements attempted to provide technical support and operational assistance, but there was nothing to do. The temperatures were too much. They attempted various methods to recool the Alaskan Climate. However, the people that could not be saved, their items were packed and traveled on display in museums across America. As the climate across the world got worse due to climate change, there were more fires, floods, hurricanes, and other natural disasters. People decided to make galleries of items that belong to people long gone from these events. They were called memorial galleries, to remember those that were lost, belongings and all. It became the new way to remember people, to honor them. Their belongings, photographs, clothes, memories, and even their rooms, all preserved in a safe space. A place for people to see the memories of their loved ones. A place to walk through, and see into the life of the ones lost. People began buying what they wanted to be remembered as having. These galleries are the base of what allows people to be remembered today. No more throwing out or donating old belongings, instead they can be displayed for everyone to see, families can come take them when the showings are done or keep them preserved in the gallery storage. This way the gallery displays can be brought back out on the anniversary of their deathThe special occasion of one year anniversary of someone's death is often requested. Nowadays, it is more tragic when a gallery is empty, when all someone has left are the skewed memories and hearsay from relatives. When they cannot be remembered how they wanted to be.

arsonists are the worst kinds of culprits when it comes to someone entering into a dead man gallery. They kill people and only leave traces of ash for their victims. thus rendering their lives completely forgotten. there is nothing for people to go back to, nothing for people to hold onto and remember. nothing to hold near and dear of someone they tragically lost. The most important part about these galleries is giving the people a place to hold onto their loved ones, and arsonists take that away. they rip memories from people without care.

These galleries make impacts on some people, and some galleries are empty spaces, inviting someone to come in, begging for someone to admit that the person that was meant for this space, that the person lost really was a person, that they had an impact. that they meant something to someone on this earth.

It was right after the fires. when galleries were filled with ashes, charred fragments of love, the stench of loss, and the silence of eyed communication. events like the fires were galleries that no one could forget. I work as an investigator, part of the Fire Gallery Protection Program, FiGaPP. Me and the boys would joke that it sounded like a thigh gap, but that was many lives ago. We spent our days analyzing these cases day after day, sifting through rooms of smoke and once filled places. Without a family, I was free to take my time pouring over them, delving into them; finding the strings that pulled the cases together. To find the person responsible was never as easy as figuring out and understanding their motives. to leave families with nothing left of their loved ones. To rip apart a soul from this world like they had no place.

There are certain people that cannot be forgiven for what they have done. There is no bringing these people to justice, we simply must live through what they have inflicted, and hope that once they are gone, they are gone for good.

The killings that were done from 1996 to 2002, it was that same Paul Damascus, a single caucasian male, twenty to thirty years at the time of the crimes. His first kill was on March 10, 1996. He walked into a restaurant just short of closing time, sat at the bar and took a drink before seemingly walking into the bathroom as the staff started putting chairs up and closing down. going into the room just across from the bathrooms, he walks into the manager's office. There, he apparently threw his drink onto the manager, before lighting him on fire. He walks clean out. His second kill, this time on August 28, 1998, he took his time with. He put gas into his car, a witness that drove by noted it was a silver 2-door Pontiac Grand Am, but the one we found was stripped clean and ditched 3 miles up from the scene. The car was put into the requested gallery. Damascus put gas into the tank, and entered to grab a can of soda, as shown on the surveillance system. shooting the store clerk three times. He was a young boy, a teenager, nineteen. The first two shots landed in the right arm, as the final shot went through the skull and was picked up off the floor by the investigator. The bullets recovered, a semi automatic 9 millimeter firearm. However, Damascus was able to leave the scene and drive off. He decided to lay low for a while, until his return in 2002, which was grand enough to get him caught. between these killings however, Damascus was supposedly a simple office worker, apparently a great guy to work with. I remember his co-workers adamantly attesting for his personality, that was until they saw the footage. their once cheerful and helpful co-worker, Paul Damascus, once a clean-shaven and well manicured guy with a second and a smile for everyone. the footage of the man before them, a simple man taking his time walking through aisles and aisles meticulously, whispering to himself.

one one one one one one one one

two two two two two two two two

three three three three three three three three

four four four four four four four four

five five five five five five five five

six six six six six six six six

seven seven seven seven seven seven seven seven

eight eight eight eight eight eight eight eight

2003. pacing. pacing. pacing. pouring what seemed to be an endless stream of liquid around the grounds of his home.

We never could have guessed, just what he had done.

In all of its entirety, Paul Damascus has started something.

Something we were not ready for.

Something my old partner fell for.

Something I cannot risk falling for.

the start of the chase for Paul Damascus

—————————————————————————————————————

Jonathan - Investigator

Standing out from the awning meant to cover him from the very rain that he now took the time to purposefully stand in. The soft patterns, sporadic yet patterned as they fall around and occasionally onto him, he looks blankly at the tar beneath him. This large parking lot, meant for the all people that should be working with him, instead lies dormant as the years pass by. To think he was the head of a team meant to catch criminals, but no one to help him catch them. Lamenting over this skillful yet small team, a well worn 1985 Ford F150 Truck swings its way through; sure Mark likes the classics, but it could be a bit quieter. He’s put in the work to keep it running and looking good, but it would be nice if he put the work in for it sounding good too. As Mark pulls into the lot, the overwhelming feeling of loneliness is partially dissuaded, which was consistent with Mark’s arrival. Sure Mark was quite distant and emotionally strict, but he made it work.

“Got something good for you today boss, heard it from a friend up the road. He’ll be over real soon but I wanted to be the one to tell you.” Mark rushes out to tell Jonathan, almost getting his jacket stuck in the door from his pace.

“What’s it today?” walking towards Mark.

“I know you often lament that we’re ‘Practically an empty department, forever laying in wait as the days pass.’ But this murder might just be the start of something real big. There wasn't much we could do about the woman that has passed, but she might just be the one to bring some livelihood into our little research team.”

“Sure Mark. Sitting alone and staring at the files, there’s not much you could do to pass the time. Now about this lady you were talking about.” I sighed but tried to get back to the focus instead of everyone checking on me. I get that they are all worried about the time I put into work, but the job at hand is more important than myself at times. Everyone should understand that.

“Yessir. The little lady was found rolled up in a carpet with her apartment burned down. everything was just off of normal, with how she was left and her being so young. But she had her heart and uterus all taken out. We would not have known if it wasn’t for that autopsy from the coroner. Investigators said they swiped the place top to bottom and there was no trace of the person that did it. No blood, no stains, no marks, no nothin. Not on the lady and none in or around that apartment. Not even a footprint, it was like he wasn’t even there.”

I stood there, halfway facing Mark, as he told me this story. I asked for clarity, “He took her heart and her uterus out, but there were no traces of blood, no gloves or tools left behind? She was just left in her apartment after all of that?”

Mark takes a deep breath, before looking up at the sky to answer. “No sir. She was left behind the apartment, in the dumpster, the apartment unit she lived in was burned down. The folks down at the station don’t know anything about this crime. They should be coming to us right about now to check with us on the database. See if there’s some match, some person they ought to be looking for. But we should wait until they get here, since we gotta get everything done properly. Keep things simple and orderly.”

“Well, we’ll see what we have.”

Before I could turn to fully look at Mark, a little squad car can be seen pulling down the road, which looks to be standard issue with two cops inside. Assumed that they will have what is necessary for the debriefing of this case, then they’ll be on their way. This is only one case, but it is certain that there will be more, if there has not been some already.

Looking over the files, it was clear to see that the killer was thorough in their work, leaving a difficult procedure as clean as he did took time, or skill. The person must be in the medical field, or once was.

There are no clues if the apartment burned because of something she left behind, or if the arsonist planned to burn the building down. Intentional or not, this fire ruined any trace of this girl's life, meaning that we will have to put her face and identifying features on the news if we want any chance of speaking to her relatives. Hopefully they can point us to an ex-boyfriend or jealous husband. However, in most cases, ex-lovers often keep the deceased’s items intact to keep them and cherish them later. An especially sick way of keeping the deceased in their memory the way they always thought of them. If it’s not an ex-lover, then this job might be more complicated than most.

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writergeekrhw · 10 months

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I made another thing.

With apologies to Neil Gaiman.

#tv writing #wga strong #wgawest #wga west #wga strike #support the wga #i stand with the wga #sag aftra #good omens #neil gaiman

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ectochrome · 13 days

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pinklicour showed me the light on twt and i had to do my patriotic duty as a citizen of the vashwood nation

#trigun #trigun fanart #trigun maximum #nicholas d. wolfwood #vash the stampede #vashwood #gayass men in the gayass scifi west will always have an iron tight grip on my ballsack write that down #dante doodles

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lesbianjudasiscariot · 1 year

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bonesashesglass · 3 months

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Palestine mention in Les Misérables, by Victor Hugo, 1887

Israel will never be able to erase Palestine. It’s woven into our history, our stories. They say you can’t kill a revolution, you can’t erase the truth of its existence either.

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pummelingbat · 5 months

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Persecution Complex, or: "Just You, Me, And The Weight Of Your Dead Girlfriend Between Us"

#reanimator #reanimator 1985 #herbert west #dan cain #danbert #bride of reanimator #my art #this is the only comic piece from my zine im gonna post here i think. im trying to show SOME self restraint.#but im too geeked abt how this one turned out... want to share The Vision #i may get scared and delete. im shy abt my comic writing. but.#have an early installation in the Gay Herbert West Character Study ive been drawing all year.#shoutout to tumblr auto cropping longer posts now. so i at least dont feel inconsiderate formatting this vertically lol.

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overly-dramatic-artist · 1 month

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☀️ 🌙 Wild West Bounty Hunters Sun and Moon 🌙 ☀️

Aptly given the monikers of “Angel Eyes” and “The Dark Rider,” Sun and Moon have taken on the lucrative and thrilling career of bounty hunting. After years of torment and degradation, they escape their creator together and become a deadly team working for the highest bidder across the West.

Sun is the charmer. He’s easy to talk to, so much so that he can manipulate you into paying more than you anticipated. He likes to keep his hands, or gloves, clean, but is not above using brute force to get what he wants.

Moon likes the “dead or alive” cases, as he prefers dealing with targets that wont talk back or put up a fight. He’s an incredible marksman, being previously ‘employed’ as security by his creator, but will occasionally indulge in Sunny’s desire to play around with their prey by striking fear with a shot that is mere centimeters from hitting.

And what are you to do when a poster demanding you be brought to justice catches the attention of Angel Eyes and The Dark Rider?

#istg i will write this if this gets like one note lmao #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #dca #dca fandom #dca x reader #sun x reader #moon x reader #sun and moon #Wild West au #mandys drawings

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ew-selfish-art · 8 months

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Dpxdc Au: As Danny gets more comfortable as a “long term roomie” in Wayne Manor, he starts to have freinds over. Aka psychopomp AU

Danny decided to take Batman’s deal upon the JL shut down of the GIW and Fenton Labs. He’d been working with the various heroes for a minute while they pursued the illegal government branch and his mad scientist parents- when it was clear he wasn’t going to have a home to return to, the Bat said he had a civilian contact that could help him and Jazz.

Jazz was honestly so relieved that they wouldn’t have to start from zero in her college town- how could Danny possibly say no when it took so much stress off of his sisters plate? Begrudgingly, he gets back to the Big Bad Bat and gets the contact info for one Bruce Wayne. Adoption is refused but, Jazz and Danny are invited to stay for how ever long they need to get their feet under them.

Danny keeps a lot of distance between himself and the other kids in the house, only coming to the meals that Jazz also attends. She’s pretty busy with classes during the day but it’s becoming clear that she’s also spending “quality time” with one of the older guys that stops by for dinner. Jazz advocates that he start to integrate himself or find a local community and after months of being a shit about it- Danny agrees to make new friends. He never said they would be alive tho.

Thus, Danny becomes Gothams local psychopomp. He just starts inviting the Shades of the unavenged for tea time in the west wing gardens. Alfred is always happy to supply tea and snacks, Danny doesn’t understand how the man doesn’t have more questions but is going to push his luck by asking. Wayne Manor is high key becoming the most haunted spot in the city and it’s starting to show.

Tim is the first to notice the changes in the Manor- he’s always been the smartest detective- and joins Danny at one of his tea times. What he hears Danny and the vague shape of a man talk about… is an old cold case. Holy shit, he’s got a break through.

Jason is the next to show up, but not because of the flickering lights or cold air, because he’s just maybe the teensiest bit interested in Jazz. Danny initially ignores him but seeing as the shades are all quivering in fear, Danny sighs and ultimately tries to figure out this dudes “whole undead deal”. Jason just wants to know what her favorite meal is but Danny will only exchange information for information. Jason gives him an abridged version of his death and rebirth- He walks away knowing Jazz’s preferred take out orders, favorite brand of tea and the cafe she likes to study at.

It’s going well honestly- Danny is having quality time with the ghosts in the city, the city is repaying him in good karma and Jazz is too occupied with the zombie to get on his case about not making human friends.

Then one of the batkids gets overshadowed and it results in… reveals? Drama? Friendship? Actual brotherly bonding?

#dcxdp #dpxdc #danny phantom #dc x dp #dp x dc #dc crossover #dp crossover #anger management ship #Danny is adopted AU #Danny is a psychopomp #write in the other sibling interactions lmao #duke is hella not sure what this guys deal is but he straight up refuses to go to the west wing during ‘tea time’

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sarahreadstoomanycomics · 1 year

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Nightwing 103 variant cover by Travis Moore

#dick grayson #nightwing #koriand'r #raven #beast boy #Wally West #Donna Troy #victor stone #Teen Titans #the one good thing to come out of TT writing titans #these travis moore covers

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westanthewaterman · 2 years

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Kinktober - 8/31

Pairing: Illinois x GN!Reader

Kink(s): Begging

Contents: begging, daddy kink, use of kitten for reader, object insertion, sex toy (kinda), clothed Illi/naked reader

AN: This is extremely targeted, you know who you are :3 Also I bet no one thought I'd ever write this one, but here we are.

Kinktober Masterlist

“That’s it, kitten, spread your legs for me. Let Daddy see how worked up he’s gotten you.”

A wave of heat washes over you and you whine, hands shooting up to cover your face. Illinois chuckles from his place between your legs and reaches out to push your thighs open.

He lets out a deep moan, eyes glued to your obvious arousal.

“So ready, kitten. Is this all for me?”

You nod, still hiding your face.

“There’s no need to be shy, gorgeous. You know Daddy loves to see how flustered you get.”

Illinois slides his hands soothingly up and down your thighs, his calloused hands warming your skin. Peeking through your fingers, you’re met with that cocky smile that made you fall for the adventurer in the first place.

“You gonna let me see your face, darlin’?”

With a heavy, exaggerated sigh, you drop your hands and look down at him with a pout.

“There’s my cute kitty.”

Your pout doesn’t last for long with how infectious his smile is and he chuckles at the way you smile, squeezing your thighs gently.

“Hi,” you speak softly, reaching down to intertwine your fingers with his.

“Hey there, good lookin’. Fancy seein’ you here.”

Your attempt to roll your eyes is foiled by a strong hand cupping the back of your neck and pulling you up. Illinois presses his lips to yours, tangling his hand into your hair and slotting himself fully between your legs. In this position, you can feel his cock, hard and straining against the fabric of his jeans.

The hand not in your hair slips down between your legs, calloused fingers sliding over you. You cry out, hands shooting up to grab the front of Illinois’s shirt (reminding you that he hasn’t shed a single piece of clothing besides his shoes while you are completely bare beneath him).

“Such a good kitty, body always so eager for me. I don’t even need to get you ready, do I? I could just slide right in.”

You nod frantically, bucking up against his hand. “Always ready for you.”

“I know you are, darlin’. But I wanna take my time makin’ sure you’re nice an’ open for me.”

A whine leaves your lips and you flop back down onto the sleeping bag with a sigh, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

Illinois snickers, returning to kneeling between your legs, his rich, honey eyes glued to the way his fingers rub and trace over you.

“You want my fingers, baby?”

His voice is deep and rough, and it sends little jolts of pleasure shooting up your spine. Squeezing your eyes shut, you whimper and spread your legs open wider.

He takes your chin in his hand, stroking a thumb over your bottom lip. “Ah, ah, kitten, if you want something, you gotta ask for it. You need to use your words.”

“Please?” You look up at him with your best puppy eyes, taking the tip of his thumb into your mouth for good measure.

Illinois groans with a lazy smile. “You’ve got me wrapped around your little finger, don’t ya darlin’? I’d do anything when you look at me like that.”

A single thick finger slips inside you and you let out a long moan, throwing your head back against the pillow.

“Daddy,” you whimper.

“That’s it, kitten. So good for Daddy, letting him know how good he makes you feel.”

Illinois fucks his finger in and out of you slowly, every once in a while curling it to hit that spot inside you that pulls a small cry from your lungs.

“I need more.” You groan.

“Yeah?” He speeds up his pace. “You want more? Beg for it.”

“Please, please, Daddy. I need you to fill me up, please, I need it so bad.”

The finger inside of you slips out and you let out a long whine, bucking your hips up into the air. Illinois smiles, stroking your cheek gently.

“Easy, darlin’. Daddy’s gonna give you what you want.”

He reaches down and you think he’s going to unbuckle his belt, but to your surprise, and disappointment, his hand moves further to the side and he grabs the handle of his whip holstered to his waist.

“W-What-”

He shushes you softly, pulling the whip free and running a hand along the smooth leather of the thong (yes, that’s what the long part of the whip is called, leave me alone). A devilish smirk crosses his face and dark eyes look you over with intent.

“Illi?”

Ignoring you, Illinois takes the thick handle into his hand, turning it in his hand so he’s holding the top of it instead of the bottom. He directs it down between your legs, and you shriek at the feeling of the cold leather against your heated skin.

“Don’t worry, kitten, it’ll warm up in just a second.”

“Y-You’re gonna…”

“I’ve been sayin’ I was gonna do this forever, darlin’, but I don’t think you believed me.”

“Well, I mean-”

Your response is cut off by a moan as he rubs the handle over your arousal in slow strokes.

The adventurer laughs, moving the handle down to prod at your entrance and pressing it just barely inside before pulling it out again.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it darlin’?”

“I want your cock.” You whine.

“That’s not what you said. You said you wanted to be filled, Daddy is gonna give you what you asked for.”

He pushes the handle in again, this time leaving it inside you. You clench around it, gasping at the way the textured leather rubs against your walls.

“F-Fuck.”

“You gonna be a good kitty and take what Daddy’s giving you?” His free hand moves down to rub over you.

You nod frantically, bucking up against his hand with a soft moan.

“What did I say about using your words, baby?”

“Pl-Please, I’ll be good, I promise. Wanna be full.”

“Good, so well behaved for me. I’ll make you a deal, kitten. If you let Daddy have his fun, he’ll give you his cock. How does that sound?”

“I like the sound of that.”

“There’s just one caveat.”

“W-What?”

Illinois pulls the whip handle out of you and thrusts it quickly back in, starting a fast pace fucking you open. He leans down to press his lips against your ear.

“If you cum, then you don’t get Daddy’s cock. Understand?”

#illinois x reader #illinois x reader smut #nsft #kinktober 2022 #kinktober #gn!reader #indiana jones knockoff #west writes #drabbles

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