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suumekoi · 4 years

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By @mang0tree BECAUSE I FORGOT TO PUT YOUR USERNAME IN THE LAST ONE

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hdsfjdsf helo i am Back 2 ramble abt my ideas :] uhh this might b a bit more scattered then last time bc i dont have as solid of an idea for the rest of the story so this might b more just talking abt concepts more then anything else sweats (i have ideas involving gameplay and all here too so i might fit that in somewhere)

SO we left off w/ divinus telling yuelia and the protag that he figured out lava lamp dragon (hdxkgfdg thats its name now i have decided everyone settled on calling it lava lamp dragon) can go poof between dimensions w/e it wants and theyre all just there like "well fuck this aint good" bc this means the drago can now go w/e it wants basically to get itself more energy, and the protag is just like "ok well i can go chase after i-" but then divinus shuts the protag down saying that they still dont know what this drago is abt or where it came from or even what it wants to Do exactly and that its too dangerous for a human like them 2 go after

after that the protag is walking back 2 castele with their arms crossed all >:[ bc Divinus Wont Let Them Chase After Lava Lamp Dragon, and yuelia notices and says "hey, it's nothing personal [player]... not even me and lili could stand up to that thing. i think he's just trying to look out for you." and thats not. Extremely relevant or anything i just had the idea for that dialogue in my head

yuelia splits up w/ the protag once they get back 2 town 2 go uh. Do Stuff and the protag just stands there for like 2 seconds before thinking 'ok im gonna find a way to travel 2 a different dimension Myself if nobody else is gonna help' so uhhh Commence Research Montague (i dont actually know how they figure out this thing yet ok just pretend they found an old book on it or somethin) and after looking around they find a source talking abt some sealed up treasure that probably has the kind of thing theyre lookin for oh boy!!!! but they dont recognize the location, and so they ask around 2 a few other ppl who end up suggesting they ask lili since she travels around a lot and might recognize it

and lili's doin mostly ok by this point, shes awake and can move around fine and all but ppl still want her 2 rest 2 regain Al her strength before goin out adventuring again or anythin (despite her protests otherwise jfgkdfg) so the protag goes up and asks lili if she knows abt the location they found, and lili thinks for a moment before responding that she recognized the description where what theyre lookin for might be and has a vague idea where she might b able 2 find it, and then looks at the protag all like "why are you so curious about this place?" so the protag ends up explaining what happened with divinus and how they think if they find the Thing in this Place that itll make them able 2 help stop lava lamp dragon, and lili goes like 'hm' and sits there for a minute before going "you know im going to come with you, right?"

dsjsdkf and even if the protag tries 2 argue w/ lili shes like Set on coming bc she wants to see what the fuck this thing is too, so lili gathers her gear and her and the protag sneak out of town 2 go explore spooky place ooo!!!!! so after making it thru the Place (i um. havent decided what it is yet maybe a sort of ruins or cave) at the end u notice that there Is somethin at the end there, so u go up and investigate and it turns out its some kind of funky lookin gauntlet and the protag just goes 'oh cool!' and puts it on immediately and um side note this gauntlet May be slightly cursed and you May not be able to take it off once u put it on but ykno still thinkin on that part

so ANYWAYS the protag puts on the gauntlet and lili goes "oh wow we actually Found something here! we just, uh.... need to find out what it does now, i guess." so the protag thinks for a moment, before deciding to see what happens if they hit something w/ the gauntlet, so they smack the wall w/ their hand and BOOM the wall cracks open 2 make way 2 a portal 2 an unknown world that the protag and lili end up getting pulled into

and um. this is the part where most of my concrete ideas for Story kinda end but my idea for this world was sorta like what reveria would look like if celestia hadnt come in 2 help everyone by creating lives so like. mostly nature and not much of civilization to see except for the occasional ragtag group of survivors but also ofc not just reveria itll also b its own world w/ its own unique stuff 2 it and all, i just thought itd b interesting 2 explore what would have happened if celestia never came 2 help reveria in the first place

so basically then its just lili and the protag exploring this new world, meeting a group of survivors that explain everything that happened in this world and all and u try 2 help them out before u head back (considering having something of a Lava Lamp Dragon Encounter here, not rlly a fight persay but you might spot it from afar and try 2 chase before it escapes)

after u make it back 2 castele Not Dead lili mentions to the protag she wants to look into that gauntlet they found more mostly bc shes never seen or heard of it before (and shes been a lot of places) and wants to be sure it doesnt have like Sinister Origins or anything

and basically after u unlock another world thru Story Progression ur essentially free 2 stop at any time and go back 2 explore that place, u can like go there 2 complete quests and theres also somewhat of a Side Story in each world where u can learn more abt the world and also help the ppl solve some other issue they got going on in their world Aside from the lava lamp dragon that might b planning on destroying everything (so for example in the first world their issue would be that uh. theres a lot of monsters everywhere)

the second world ive been thinkin could b somethin of a steampunk world with legally required scrappy mechanic and a tiny robot friend named beep bop bip (bip for short) and uh. the third world is the one ive thought out the least but i wanna go for some kind of Mythical foresty place, maybe with non human inhabitants like bird ppl or somethin

and then the 4th world (the final one u unlock) i want 2 b all spooky and ominous, bc thats the world that the final boss is going to happen in where u fight Lava Lamp Dragon for the last time

so that sorta. all i have in terms of ideas for now i think?? unless im forgetting something jdfgkdg but i definitely think i wanna go w/ the whole celestias sister being behind this thing bc that would be a very interesting thing 2 explore........ at the end i feel like celestias sister would b like trying 2 command lava lamp dragon but it has gone cazy w/ power and ends up not listening 2 celestias sister so the protag is just (pulls out sword) "guess im gonna have to save you from your own hubris" and UM another side note but i also do wanna include the guys from the first fl game too jdfgkd there is just a Lot and it is kinda complicated 2 try and fit everyone in when the story is sorta still a wip so they are There. Somehow

im thinkin abt that cursed gauntlet idea atm and idk if thats like. Generic or not but i feel like it would be interesting if the protag somehow just forcibly got themselves involved in this whole thing w/ celestias sister and Lava Lamp Dragon just by getting this gauntlet stuck on them jdfgdlgk but yea either way im donw now woo!! no more ramble

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The protagonist sounds quite lively in your story xD putting on the gauntlet just because it looks cool. I think the gauntlet should jump at the protag instead, or maybe it could be alive, like it came from the other dimension to search for a hero/chosen one and our protag happens to be there. It would be like yuelia/flutter and dogu.... But a gauntlet I guess xD

(Also it would cool if the gauntlet can control the protag too, like once you reach the final boss battle, the protag lost control and we have to play as our old protagonist, lili in this case. Or the other way round. I just love it when games makes us battle our previous protag. ❤️❤️)

But a dimension where celestia didn't come to reveria sounds interesting! ... there's so much you can make of it! The current characters in reveria would still exist in the other dimension but living their life differently!

#fantasy life #submission

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failedhero-archive · 4 years

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just in case I haven’t made this abundantly clear- I literally will write and adore anything and any character. I’ve gotten some new folks over the last week and just want to remind ya’ll that I give zero fucks.

Ship wars? Never heard of’em. Make’em poly and bip bap bop you got so much more room for activities.

Jealous of partners writing similar shit with other Dean’s/folks? What’s that? All my partners are wonderful and should certainly interact with all the other awesome folks out there! I will scream support from the side lines. - just as an addition to this my Dean will always be here to play a side character cause we just like seeing our buds happy okay. We have a wincest ship but you wanna try out samstiel/ect. instead? no fucking worries my dudes. You got a third wheel that’s gonna make fun of you the whole time

Feeling insecure about other Dean’s around? Not me! I thrive off Dean meeting alt versions of himself or even the same version. I think that’s fucking fascinating but if you ever feel weird about it? Totally fine! Let me know how I can support you!

I am here to support you and write things with you in any sort of capacity. We are a community after all! Especially with all the fucking craziness going on in the world please know that you never have to worry about shit with me. Take as long as you need to reply to things. Forget plots or starters. Whatever- I give no shits.

#I just love everyone here and think you're all 100% awesome #I love you and you don't get a say in that

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thepartyresponsible · 5 years

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this fill is for @plantgrapes, who asked for frank castle and matt murdock as “ghost hunters a la buzzfeed unsolved.”

i have seen about...sixty-five collected seconds of buzzfeed unsolved. so this fic is actually about frank, who used to be haunted, and matt, who fixes hauntings, going around pretending to be ghost hunters while actually being ghost killers.

it’s frank, so warnings for violence and ptsd.

It works because it has to. The restless dead may be rich in misery, but they are almost universally poor in material goods. Foggy edits the videos together, and Karen does the research, and Matt looks affable and earnest on camera while Frank, at his best, sometimes earns the title of long-suffering skeptic instead of surly killjoy.

Ghost hunting can be reasonably profitable, but they aren’t hunting so much as they’re mercy killing. And there’s never any cash in mercy kills. Frank spent enough time in the murder business to know there’s never any money in mercy at all.

“Oh, yikes,” Matt says, as the EMF reader beeps and bips an insistent staccato beat. “We’ve got a live one.”

Frank holds his face perfectly still. He does not react to the terrible pun.

Foggy giggles off-camera, and Frank thinks, with less longing than he used to, that he could’ve died in Kandahar.

Matt curls his hand around Frank’s elbow, shuffles closer than he needs to, and makes an interested noise in the back of his throat. “What’s it say, Frank?” he asks, nodding at the reader in Frank’s hands.

Frank doesn’t really understand the damn thing. They bought it online because all the other ghost hunters had them. It has something to do with electromagnetic fields, and, as things get spookier, it sometimes obligingly lights up its little line of LEDs like a tiny, handheld rave for ghosts.

They had to alter it for Matt, because viewers kept asking inconvenient questions about Matt’s constant awareness of the silent EMF reader. So now it beeps and bops with increasing intensity as the reading climbs higher.

Foggy claims all the noise adds drama, which is what Foggy usually says about any annoying bullshit that’s going to ruin Frank’s whole damn day.

“Frank,” Matt repeats, fingers tightening around Frank’s arm. “What does it say?”

Frank should’ve worn long sleeves. Matt always gets handsy on the creepier jobs. Frank knows that. He knew that when he picked this shirt out this morning.

He really needs to stop all this self-sabotage. He suffers enough as it is.

“It says,” Frank reports, dutifully, “that this hundred-year-old building has some real shitty wiring.”

“Ah.” Matt smiles that sweet, secretive smile he uses on reporters and fans and attractive cops who show up halfway through a job with unhelpful questions. Frank has no idea why he’s using it on him. There’s nothing Matt needs from him that he couldn’t get just by asking.

“It’s a good thing you’re here, Frank,” Matt says, as they start navigating their way down the dark hallway, toward the rooms where the ghost children are supposed to walk. “Without you to ground me, who knows where I’d end up?”

Matt found Frank in crisis, walking the streets of NYC in the middle of the night, three months after the divorce, hauling sixteen dead men in his wake. The ghosts chattered and whispered and wailed, and he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t breathe without feeling their hands wrapped jealously around his throat. He walked with deep, festering wounds in his soul that ripped open again and again, leaked blood and hope and life right out of him.

Without Matt, he’d be dead. And there’d be seventeen dead men following Russo around, and Russo wouldn’t ever know or care, because Russo welded his soul shut, made his heart impregnable and cold.

Ghosts don’t haunt places. Memories haunt places. Walls can hold echoes of fear and pain and joy and hate, but they can’t hold souls. Ghosts only ever haunt people.

But the process of ripping a ghost away from its focal point is ugly and brutal and hideous to watch. It’s a second death. It’s not something that sells well. They’d lose their sponsors over it. So they sneak around places with troubled pasts, hunting safe scares for their subscribers, and they do their real work with the cameras turned off.

A door slams shut in front of them. It’s a draft, or maybe the hospital remembers a patient with a temper.

Matt flinches hard and leans into him, laughing in the tight, anxious way he laughs when he’s pretending to be startled. Frank can feel the warmth of him, all along his right side.

He really, really should’ve worn longer sleeves.

Matt senses ghosts, the same way he senses people. It caused all sorts of problems for him when he was younger, because he couldn’t always tell the difference.

“It’s the heartbeat,” he tells Frank, once, when he’s drunk after a particularly grim night. “They can get the heat and the shape and the smell of a person right, but they mess up the heartbeat. They do it out of habit, like breathing, but they’ll forget for a while, or they’ll get a song stuck in their heads, beat to that instead. I once caught a ghost cuz his heart was beating ‘Highway to Hell.’”

Frank never asks about his ghosts. He doesn’t want to know. He killed them once, or he got them killed, and they attached to him because they could smell their blood on his hands.

He went to war, and he killed them. And then, when he could, as soon as he found someone who could do it for him, he killed them all over again.

He felt each one ripped out of him, like getting a tooth pulled from his heart instead of his skull. A long, building scream of pressure and then a sharp, bone-deep crack as they lost their hold. Every nerve in his body sent up static signals, like getting electrocuted all over, like getting plugged into something strong, and boundless, and starving.

He felt hollow afterwards, and he slept for two days straight.

“They’re not always malevolent,” Matt says, another time. “It’s a 60/40 split, maybe. The warmer ones mean well, help out sometimes. People think they have angels.”

“Angels,” Frank says. That sounds nice. Sounds like not feeling alone every Goddamn second of his life. Sounds like not calling his kids from hotel rooms and roadside diners, sending postcards when he remembers, trying like hell not to forget their faces but knowing, when he sees them, that they won’t look the same anyway.

“They’re parasites, Frank,” Matt tells him, tone so gentle that Frank wants to punch him right in the mouth. “It’s in their nature. They can’t help it. They feed from the living. All of them.”

“Everyone’s a fucking parasite,” Frank says. And he leaves, because he has to. Because if he sticks around any longer, he’s going to tell Matt that the 60/40 split is bullshit, and he knows, just like Matt knows, just like everyone knows, that there’s no good or bad, no warm or cold, no malevolent or benevolent.

There is no or. With people, living or dead, it’s always an and.

Frank earned every one of his ghosts by killing someone who was a mix of saint and sinner, just the same as Matt murders ghosts who are a blend of angel and demon.

They’re killers. For whatever cause, they’re killers. Sometimes Frank can’t get the taste of blood out of his mouth.

The video of the abandoned mental hospital goes viral overnight, because Frank is exceptionally surly, and Matt is especially charming, and Foggy catches the doors slamming on camera, and the machines designed to light up and beep manage to light up and beep in particularly theatrical ways.

They get thousands of views, then tens of thousands. It climbs higher. Karen makes a lot of enthusiastic noises at her phone.

Before they leave town, they pull the ghost of a boy who died in that hospital out of the grandniece he’s haunted her whole life, passed from mother to daughter like a family heirloom for three generations.

The woman’s still crying when they leave two hours later. Frank doesn’t blame her. She’s never lived alone, never been without him, and, even now, three years on, he still sometimes misses the souls that huddled and shook in his overcrowded ribcage.

Sometimes harvesting ghosts breaks the host. It’s like resetting a bone or amputating a limb. People are never the same afterwards. But carrying a ghost is always eventually fatal.

They steal life. They have to.

The haunted grandniece’s mother died at forty-five of a heart attack. Her grandmother ate a bullet at fifty-two. The grandniece is thirty and exhausted, but, if she recovers from the shock, her life expectancy should go up by decades.

They saved what was left of her life. It’s a good thing. Good work.

Matt’s quiet on the drive back to New York. He saves the amiable charm for fans and viewers, and Foggy, Karen, and Frank are the only ones who see him like this, blank-faced and grim, worn down by the work that they do.

“Hey,” Frank says, because Foggy and Karen are in the other car, and so it’s his job to keep Matt steady. “It was the right thing to do.”

Matt laughs, soundless and eerie. He tips his head back against the headrest. “I can hear lies, you know.”

If it’s a lie, it’s only because Frank stopped believing in the right thing the moment after his first messy headshot knocked a soul out of its body. “You did what you had to do,” he tries, instead.

“There we go,” Matt says. He smiles. It’s small, and sad, and so transparently fond that Frank can’t look at it, not even in the reflection on the windshield. “Thanks, Frank.”

“She deserves a life,” Frank says. He’s gone off-script. He doesn’t know where he’s heading. With everyone else, he just keeps his damn mouth shut, but, with Matt, he’s always saying things before he has a plan. “She didn’t—that boy deserved one, too, but he lost it. And it’s her turn. She deserves a life.”

Matt tips his head Frank’s direction. He’s not wearing his glasses, and his eyes aren’t aimed the right direction. He does this sometimes. He means to look someone in the face, and he ends up staring straight at their hearts.

He only ever does it with people who know what he can do, so Frank thinks, maybe, it’s not an accident. Maybe it’s intentional. Maybe Matt reads hearts the way everyone else reads faces. Maybe this is his way of warning people he’s listening.

“You’re right.” Matt’s voice is quiet and scratchy, the way Maria used to sound, years ago, when she’d wake up in the morning affectionate and soft instead of cold and hurt and walled-off. “Everyone deserves a life.”

Frank swallows and focuses on the road. He doesn’t want to know what his heart is doing right now. He doesn’t want to see the expression on Matt’s face as he listens.

Between episodes, Matt freelances around the city. He goes to a lot of churches. He got kicked out of seminary school for fucking men or killing ghosts or both, so he has a sort of complicated relationship with most of the priests in town, but people will grab hold of any rope they see, when they’re drowning.

“Why don’t you tell these old bastards to fuck off?” Frank asks one evening, when he and Matt are sitting on the steps outside a church, eating cold sandwiches, waiting for Father Whoever to deign to speak to them.

“People trust them, Frank,” Matt says. He has mustard smeared on his chin. It’s adorable. “If you’re haunted, you go to a priest.”

“I hate these places.” Frank glares at the stained glass, gets a gunfire flash of memory, thinks about sacred places and penitents and how everything holy burns just as fast as everything profane.

“Hm,” Matt says. He licks at his mouth, maybe hunting for the mustard. He doesn’t get it. “Is it the guilt or the shame?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Frank advises. He takes a mulish bite of his sandwich and chews until he can speak like a sane, normal person. “It’s the lies.”

“Ah.” Matt seems perfectly at ease with that comment, like it doesn’t bother him at all, even with that cross hanging around his neck.

He prays for every one of the ghosts. He prays for the hosts. Frank once caught him praying for a raccoon they almost hit with the car.

Matt’s got so much mercy in his heart that Frank doesn’t understand how the damn thing doesn’t shatter apart every single day.

“It doesn’t change anything,” Frank says, finally. Matt didn’t ask, but Frank doesn’t care. “It’s bullshit. It’s just words. They promise you shit they can’t give, and then you just—these guys make a whole fucking life out of lying to people. At least we elect politicians.”

“Not sure that’s fair, Frank.” Matt’s voice is mild. His body language is loose and calm and so trusting it’s almost sleepy. “I don’t hear any lies from some of them. If they believe in it--”

“And you weren’t good enough for them,” Frank says, which isn’t what anyone asked, and isn’t relevant, and isn’t what he meant to say.

Matt’s quiet for a moment and then a delighted smile breaks across his face. “Are you holding a grudge against all of Catholicism for my sake, Frank?”

“You have mustard on your chin,” Frank says, because he probably can’t tell him to go fuck himself twice in two minutes, not right in front of a church. “You asshole,” he says, instead, as a compromise.

Half their fans think they’re fucking. Frank pretends not to notice. Matt knows, of course, because he’s the one people overshare with the most, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it. He keeps grabbing onto Frank’s arm, and leaning in close to murmur perfectly benign shit right into his ear, and sitting slouched into him at panels and interviews, so Frank thinks maybe he plays it up, to get more views or make a point.

Frank doesn’t care. Maria sends him a screencap and a shitty, passive aggressive text about accepting himself that she apologizes for later.

“Look,” she says, because she calls him, because she’s the kind of brave that looks right at the heart of things that hurt her. “That was cruel, and uncalled for, and I’m sorry.”

“Hey, Maria,” he says, “how’re the kids?”

“Fine,” she says. “You should visit more. That’s not why I called.”

“I don’t care,” Frank tells her. “It’s all over the fucking internet. You think I don’t know? I don’t care what people say. I don’t care what you think. It’s fine.”

“That’s a lot of not caring,” Maria says, and it’s like a live wire straight to his chest, the way she says it. Sad and gentle and serious, like a goodbye kiss. “It just hurts to see you happy without me, Frank. That’s shitty, and I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.”

Things rotted and fell apart between them, and that’s always going to be Frank’s fault. Because Frank went to war and came back someone else, and it’s not Maria’s fault she didn’t love the stranger who came home. It’s not Maria’s fault she started flinching away from him.

He never, ever would have hurt her, but he scared her anyway. And some things don’t ever get better, so you cut your losses, and you run.

“I’m sorry,” Frank says, because he is. Because he probably always will be. That black well of hurt inside him doesn’t belong to anybody. He thought for a while that it was something she did to him, some pain she inflicted on him when she cut herself free, but Frank knows now that she cut herself just as deep. They were stitched together, after all.

If she hadn’t left him, he wouldn’t have found Matt. And if he hadn’t found Matt, those ghosts would’ve eaten him alive.

“Christ, Frank,” Maria says, “don’t be sorry. Just be happy. And visit sometimes. Your kids miss you.”

They do a whole episode at a graveyard in the middle of the night, and Matt’s smug the entire time, because he’s the only one who doesn’t trip over any gravestones. “You should be more respectful to the dead,” Matt tells him, as Frank’s nursing a badly stubbed toe and offering a litany of crude suggestions to Leticia B. Vaughn, 1819-1836.

“Also,” Foggy says, off-camera, “Leticia’s a minor, so maybe watch your language.”

“She’s two-fucking-hundred years old,” Frank snarls back.

“What was the age of consent in the 1800s?” Matt asks, sounding genuinely curious.

“Not high enough,” Karen says. “She died in childbirth. Sorry, Frank. She probably hates men with good reason.”

Frank cannot believe that this is his life. He used to murder people, professionally. Back then, people took him seriously. His own wife divorced him because she looked at him and saw a monster looking back.

These idiots are needling him like they’ve never been scared of him in their lives.

It hurts like something cracking open, like blood coming back to fingers nearly lost to frostbite. He throws in one last, final, “Fuck you, Letty,” and then clears his throat before anyone notices the way his hands are shaking.

“Hey,” Matt says, hooking his arm through Frank’s. “Protect me from the angry Letty’s of the world.”

Frank is so much worse than a dead 1800s woman. He breaks every nice thing he touches.

The thing about Matt, though, is that he isn’t very breakable. And his kindness is almost saintly, but he isn’t, on the whole, very nice.

He takes two malignant spirits from the overnight groundskeeper, and the man is so grateful afterwards that he cries on Matt’s shoulder and blesses him six separate times.

Those spirits, when they go, aren’t anything like grateful. But Matt never flinches, not once.

They go to Josie’s when they’re back in town. It’s a tradition they probably can’t keep for very much longer. “People keep asking for you,” Josie tells them, like they’ve brought syphilis into her bar instead of paying customers. “They say they’re from the internet.”

“They’re not from the internet,” Foggy says. “They use the internet. They find outstanding bars like this one on the internet.”

“They asked me,” Josie says, visibly outraged, “for a pineapple mojito.”

“Jesus,” Frank says, picturing the subsequent bloodshed.

“And may God have mercy on their souls,” Matt intones beside him.

They stay for a couple of hours, drink their way through at least half a bottle of uniquely terrible tequila, and play pool until their fine motor skills degrade past the point of entertainment. A small crowd comes sneaking in behind them, and Frank wonders if this is why Karen and Foggy have been so gleeful about their phones recently.

He stopped checking the view counts on their videos a month or so back. As long as they’re getting paid enough to live, he doesn’t need to know more.

Someone sends them a tray full of shots, and Foggy wades off, charming smile in place, to thank their admirers, and it’s all fine, really, until someone gets weird with Karen, and she drops him to the ground before Frank can even pass his drink to Matt.

“Whoops,” Karen says, Bambi-blinking with a look of practiced innocence. “Time to go.”

“Take your groupies with you!” Josie yells, and Frank honestly doesn’t know how she stays in business with a temperament like that unless she’s running an absolute mess of drugs through this place.

They empty out into the night. Foggy peels off to walk Karen home, and Frank ends up taking Matt all the way to his place, even though Matt’s not that drunk, and Frank’s not that sober, and it’s honestly a little hard to tell which one of them is holding up the other.

“I’m gonna go see Maria,” Frank tells him, when they get to Matt’s door, and Matt’s waiting, expectantly, like there’s something Frank forgot to tell him. “To see the kids,” he clarifies. “I can’t avoid her forever. And I miss her. You know? She was my best friend for years.”

“I know,” Matt says. He’s good with things that like. Painful things.

The dangerous thing about Matt Murdock is that he makes you feel like you can hand him every bit of pain you’ve got, like he’s some kind of Atlas. Like he’ll hold up your whole world while you find your place within it.

Frank’s never thought of pain as something you could share. It’s always been something he lived with or destroyed or evaded. It’s something he ate, piece by piece, until it poisoned him or disappeared.

Frank doesn’t know how the hell those priests could turn Matt away. He’s the holiest thing Frank’s ever found.

“I don’t love her anymore,” Frank says. But it’s a lie. “I’m not in love with her anymore.” And that’s true.

“Frank,” Matt says, slow and careful, voice curling up like there’s a question he won’t ask.

That’s the trouble with Matt. That’s what Frank’s learned. From the day they met, Matt’s been taking other people’s nightmares, swallowing pain, banishing demons. He takes bad out of the world, but he can’t ever seem to ask for anything good. Not for himself. Not ever.

“I wanted you to know that,” Frank says.

Matt’s turned his direction, head cocked, mouth slightly open, when Frank kisses him. He makes a soft, surprised noise into Frank’s mouth, and Frank’s been letting himself think about this for weeks, but he still not ready for it.

It’s not that different, really, from kissing a woman. He’s not sure why he thought it would be.

Matt’s warm and familiar and friendly, and it’s not until Frank’s got him pressed fully back against the door that he realizes things are getting a bit out of hand.

“Okay,” Frank says, stepping back, licking his lips and tasting Matt’s. “I wanted you to know that, too.”

Matt smiles at him, and there’s an echo of that very first smile Matt gave him, when Frank was stretched to the point of splitting right in half, hauling dead men behind him with every step, waking up to the taste of blood and gunpowder every damn morning.

Frank’s spent years being grateful to Matt for sensing all those ghosts, when all Frank could feel was the war. He’s just now realizing that maybe the most miraculous thing about Matt Murdock isn’t that he can see ghosts. It’s that he could see Frank beyond them.

“If you come by in the morning,” Matt says, “I’ll take you to breakfast.”

Frank’s heart is doing something stupid in his chest, beating out a rhythm he’s reasonably sure isn’t meant to sustain life. It’d be embarrassing, except Matt’s smile is wide and dopey and getting sweeter by the second.

“Yeah,” Frank says. He takes a step back. He knows, in the morning, that Matt will be waiting for him. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll be here.”

#writing #fic #fill #frank castle #matt murdock

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god--baby · 6 years

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jealousy ch 2: Alex (nsfw)

patrick hockstetter x henry bowers

part one

previously on: after Patrick almost fucks a girl at a party, he and Henry fuck around.

summary: Henry has a conversation with his pigs. then, he calls up a girl he once fucked and asks her to a bonfire. they go, they fuck, and then Henry drives everyone home.

word count: 3942

tag list: @heckstetter @tonguepopperr @bitchy-bowers @frostwolfie2936 @daddywise-issues

The next day, Henry spent the entire day at home alone. Well, as alone as he could be with Butch there half the time.

But he didn’t want to hang out with the guys. He didn’t want to see Patrick.

He hadn’t gotten lucky. He hadn’t blacked out and forgotten it.

Sometimes, when he wasn’t forcing himself not to think about it, he could still feel the weight of Patrick’s dick in his mouth. And that was not something he wanted to remember.

Butch left for a late shift after dinner, and Henry went out to the pigpen to see Bip and Bop. He brought his cigarettes and a lighter, and sat on the fence, looking down at his pets, chain smoking.

He got about three cigarettes in before he remembered the last time he’d chain smoked, just last night, after… whatever it was he did with Patrick.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know what he did — he remembered it like it was still happening. It was that he didn’t know what to call it. Did they fuck? Just plain fuck around? Did it matter? Could he convince Patrick to forget about it?

It did matter. And no, if he knew Patrick only half as well as he knew him, Patrick wouldn’t let go. He’d gotten a chance to sink his teeth in, and now he wasn’t going to let go.

Henry put his cigarette out and tucked the butt back into the pack so neither Bip nor Bop could get a hold of it. Bip snuffled at where his boot was propped up on part of the fence, and Bop laid down.

“I did something stupid, you guys,” he said to them. “Real fucking stupid.”

Bip snorted.

“Hey, shut up,” Henry said, then he felt silly. It had been a long time since he had a conversation with his pigs, but he needed them right now. “I don’t always do stupid shit, just sometimes.”

Bop turned his head to better look at Henry, and Henry imagined him looking at him with something like pity.

“I — I fucked around with Patrick. I sucked his dick,” he said, voice hushed.

Neither Bip nor Bop did anything for a long moment. Then, Bop stood up and started snuffling at Henry’s other boot. He felt like he had both their attentions, now.

“I didn’t really want to. ‘Cept maybe I did? I don’t do shit I don’t wanna do, and I did that.” He paused, swallowing hard, whispering, “I can still taste him.”

Bip let out a grunt and Bop mimicked him. Henry smiled.

“It wasn’t so bad, I guess. I wish — I wish it hadn’t happened. But it wasn’t so bad. He sure can suck a dick, I’ll tell you that. Fucking fag. Does it all the time. You know he tells me that shit?”

Bop grunted again.

“I know. I know a lot more about a lotta guys than I wanna know, ‘cause of Patrick. But that’s just Pat, I guess.”

Bip nudged his foot. Henry reached into the bag hanging off the fence beside him and drew out a handful of plain popcorn, holding it out for Bip to munch on. He smiled as they both snuffled at his hand, going at it like there was nothing they’d rather do.

“I don’t know what to do, now, though,” he said. “I don’t know what to do.”

They chewed, looking up at him.

“I don’t know, guys. Like, do I ignore him? What if he wants to do it again? Do I… do I go along with it? And does… does it make me gay to do this shit?”

They continued chewing.

Henry sighed. “You guys don’t even know what gay is. You’re just pigs. Unless… you could be gay pigs, I guess… we never did get you guys a lady friend. Just didn’t want to deal with piglets, you know. Hell, maybe you guys are gay, and I just don’t know ‘cause I don’t speak pig.”

Bip bumped Bop with his shoulder, closing his eyes for a second.

“Huh. Well, thanks for listening. I’m gonna go get drunk.”

He reached down and gave them another handful of popcorn before he hopped off the fence and walked back into the house.

He did get drunk, on a bottle of cheap whiskey he’d been hiding under his bed for a rainy day. The storm was all inside his head, but the whiskey… well, it helped. A little. Made some parts of it louder, but at least the taste of the alcohol was heavier than the memory of Patrick’s dick.

He jerked off that night, trying to think about the last real tail he got, some snarky girl from Etna, but that quickly turned into Patrick. It wasn’t his fault — the girl kinda looked like him. Shortish dark hair and eyes that take no shit without laughing in its face. And that smile — kinda scary, like she was begging the world to try something so she could fuck it up.

That’s who he should have been fucking around with. Not Patrick.

Sure, she looked like him. But she wasn’t him.

At least she was a girl.

The next morning, he dug around for her number, trying to remember her name. He found it, written in red permanent marker on a napkin, under her name.

Alex.

Alex. Nice.

He called.

“Gray residence,” said a tired-sounding lady. “Who is this?”

“Uh, my name’s Henry, ma’am. I’m calling for Alex?”

“Huh. Alex!” she shouted, pulling the phone away from her mouth.

“What?” came a voice that sounded far away.

“Some boy’s on the line for you,” said Mrs. Gray.

“Fine,” huffed who he assumed was Alex. The phone got shuffled around. Then: “Hey, Tony.”

“Who the hell,” he said, “is Tony?”

“Sorry, who’s this?”

“Henry Bowers,” he said.

“Who?”

“We met at a party. I’m from Derry. Bet you a dollar you couldn’t shotgun a beer in four seconds. You won.”

“Oh,” she said, and he could hear her smiling. “That’s your name. I had forgotten.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling too, though he was a little taken aback that she’d forgotten his name. Even though he had forgotten hers, too.

“So, what’s up?” she asked. She was chewing gum. He could hear it popping.

“There’s this bonfire tonight. Wanna go?”

“What kinda bonfire?”

“The drinking kind.”

“Sounds good.”

“Should I swing by with the guys, or?”

“No, I gotta car. No sweat, just tell me where it is and I’ll show.”

He told her, and they talked for another minute before saying goodbye.

Good. So he had a little bit of ass lined up for the night. Hopefully her pussy would take his mind off Patrick’s dick. Hopefully.

He finished his chores and took a shower, making faces in the mirror while he dried his hair off. It was always so fucking fluffy and everywhere when it was wet.

When the guys showed up, he walked out to the car, pointing from the front seat to the back so Vic would get the message and move.

“Hey, Henry,” Patrick practically sang.

Henry grunted but didn’t say anything.

“How was yesterday?” Patrick asked. “We missed you.”

Henry snorted and got in the front. “It was fine,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I called up that chick who knows how to shotgun a beer — Belch, you remember, tight little piece of ass with black hair? Anyway, I invited her out to the fire.”

Belch grinned, his eyes crinkling.

“Jesus,” said Vic. “How long’s it been since you got laid?”

Henry made the great mistake of looking over his shoulder at the back seat and got an eyeful of Patrick’s wicked smile. He looked away from him to Vic, grinning.

“A week,” he said. “Fucking long week. What about you, princess?”

Vic winked.

“What was his name again? The guy whose dick you sucked at the party?” Patrick asked.

Henry wasn’t dumb. He knew exactly who those questions were directed at, and it wasn’t Vic.

“James,” Vic said. “More of a grower than a shower.”

Belch and Henry groaned, Henry reaching back to swat at Vic’s knee.

“We don’t need to know that shit, Vicky,” Henry said.

“Yeah, yeah. Here’s a question — how come you guys can talk about dripping wet pussy but I can’t talk about the size of a guy’s dick?”

“You can talk about pussy, too, Vic,” said Patrick, chewing on one of his fingertips. “You just gotta get some first.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Vic shot back. “Besides, if I wanted pussy right now, I could get it. I’m just having so much fun with guys who are discovering dick for the first time.”

Henry felt his ears heat up.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, I’m done with this.”

And then he reached over and turned the music up to blaring.

They arrived at the bonfire half an hour later, piling out of the car and lighting up cigarettes. Everyone except Belch smoked at parties — well, kinda. He preferred weed to smokes, and right now he was wondering out loud if there would be someone willing to share.

There always was. No one said no to them.

He and Vic wandered off into the crowd, joking and pushing each other every few steps. Suddenly, Henry was very alone with Patrick, something he didn’t want to be, not even in the slightest.

“Henry,” Patrick said in that sing-song way he had. He walked around so that he was in front of Henry, and Henry pushed his back up against the Trans Am, blocked in as Patrick put his hands on either side of Henry’s shoulders.

“What do you want, Hockstetter?” Henry snapped, looking away from him.

“How ‘bout a repeat performance before that sweet little girl shows up, hm?” Patrick asked. “What, did you think I’d just forget about that?”

“I fucking know you,” Henry said. Reminding him, not that he really needed to. Patrick knew. Patrick wasn’t dumb.

“Yeah, you do,” Patrick said.

Then he reached in and dragged one of his thumbs down Henry’s bottom lip, pulling it down.

“I’m not just gonna let go of that pretty little mouth, baby,” he said.

“Too fucking bad,” Henry barked as a car pulled up next to them. He pushed Patrick away as hard as he could, making him stumble away, grinning. “I said it was a one-time thing. I meant it.”

Out of the car climbed Alex, her hair a little more neat than Henry remembered, her skirt as daringly short as last time, her boots as tall. God. He’d only seen her once before, but she was a damn sight for sore eyes.

“Henry,” she said, grinning up at him.

“Alex,” he said.

“Who’s your friend?” she asked, eyes skipping over to Patrick for just the shortest moment, nothing more than a heartbeat.

“That’s Patrick. He’s an asshole.”

“Oh, I didn’t know he was your best friend,” she said, laughing.

In spite of himself, he laughed, too.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get you a drink,” he said, putting an arm around her and guiding her away from the cars, closer to the fire and the small grouping crowds of people. He heard Patrick suck his teeth.

Half an hour later, and Alex was gloriously drunk, swaying in Henry’s arms. She was short enough that he could put his chin on top of her head, and he did, holding her.

She turned in his arms.

“Guess what?” she asked.

“Mm. What?”

“Something new,” she said.

Then she stuck her tongue out. There was a bar through it, two balls on either end.

“Well, fuck,” he said.

“Isn’t that just the prettiest thing you ever saw?” she asked.

“Sure, baby. Wonder how it’d feel on my dick.”

She grinned and played with her tongue ring, making it scrape along her bottom teeth.

“You don’t even have to wait to find out,” she said.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. C’mon.”

She took him by the hand and pulled him away from the fire, out into the darkness by the cars. She found hers and pushed him up against it, pulling him down for a hard kiss. He was surprised that the tongue ring didn’t really feel like anything while kissing. Just something a little bit extra.

He slipped a hand down to her ass and grabbed it, pushing her skirt up so he could really get at her. She was probably wearing a thong, because there was more skin than fabric under his hand.

She got to her knees, undoing his pants and pulling out his dick before he could really think about it. Then — she licked a thick stripe up the shaft, and he closed his eyes, sighing, as the ball of her tongue ring slid over him.

“You like that, babe?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. A little shot. A little breathless.

She giggled and went right back at it, taking him into her mouth, licking at the slit, swirling her tongue and that little ball around the head before taking him further into her mouth. Into her throat, making her choke just a little bit.

He swallowed, suddenly remembering Patrick. How he didn’t choke. Not even a little bit.

He shook his head, then looked down at her. Her eyes were closed. Good.

He put a hand in her hair, gently pulling her on and off him. Then, he pulled her fully off. She pouted up at him.

“What?” she asked. “Do you not like it?”

He pulled her up by her hair and she let out a little whine, scrambling to her feet.

“Love it,” he said. “But I’m gonna fuck you now, okay, baby?”

He shouldn’t have said that. He should have just called her by her name.

When he heard baby, in his head echoed Patrick’s voice.

He pulled her in for a kiss, then turned them around until her back was pressed to the car. Still kissing her, he reached up under her skirt and pulled her panties down. She stepped out of them and bent down to pick them up. Then, she tucked them into his back pocket.

“For safe keeping,” she said.

“Mm.”

He pulled a condom out of his front pocket and rolled it on as she hitched her skirt up. He swiped two fingers over her cunt, then pushed in. She sighed, eyes fluttering closed. She slipped one leg up around his waist, and he pulled the other one up to match it, letting the car hold her up, fucking into her.

In a few minutes, he was coming. He pulled out of her and took the condom off, tying it before throwing it out further into the darkness. Then, he got to his knees and started eating her out, pushing his tongue into her, licking at her clit, pushing two fingers in and curling them up, pumping hard and fast.

It didn’t take her long to come, and when she did, she sunk to her knees in front of him with a whine, pulling his fingers into her mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” she said. “Holy fuck.”

He huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, putting her forehead on his shoulder. “Gimme a minute.”

He grinned.

“Okay,” he said, putting a hand in her hair.

Finally, she took a big breath and kissed him, just a little soft thing. He kissed her back, a little more insistent, and she sighed.

She stood up, dusting dead grass off her knees, and pulled him to his feet. He tucked himself back into his pants. She started to walk away, and he caught her by the shoulder.

“Your panties,” he said.

“Keep ‘em,” she laughed. “You earned ‘em.”

He grinned.

“Okay.”

“Fuck, I gotta sober up,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I gotta — I gotta go home. Eventually.”

“Well, okay,” he said, taking her by the hand and pulling her toward the fire. “Let’s get you some water.”

An hour later, with Alex gone, he was ready to leave. He wandered around, looking for the guys. He found Vic and Belch sitting with a group of stoners, some baby-faced boy in Vic’s lap, all of them absolutely high.

“Jesus,” he said. “You guys are gone, aren’t you?”

The girl sitting next to Belch laughed, high-pitched and kinda annoying, putting her hand on Belch’s knee.

“Yeah,” Belch said slowly. “How was… what was her name?”

“Alex?”

“Hey, that’s my name,” said the boy on Vic’s lap.

Henry rolled his eyes.

“I’m gonna be honest, babe,” said Vic to the boy. “I had forgotten your name.”

“That’s okay,” the boy said, Alex said, pressing a kiss to Vic’s forehead. “You can call me whatever you want.”

“Alex was good,” Henry said, over the chuckles and giggles the whole group let out. “But I’m ready to go. Want me to drive?”

“Fuck, yeah, you better,” Belch said, standing.

The girl beside him started pouting, and he ran a hand over her hair, making her brighten up.

“Vic,” Henry barked. “C’mon.”

It was Vic’s turn to pout. But still, he pushed the boy Alex off his lap and stood.

“Where’s Hockstetter?” Henry asked.

“Looking for you,” Belch said slowly.

“Great,” Henry said.

All three of them started walking around, looking for Patrick. Patrick, who seemed to not want to be found. Finally, they gave up and walked out towards the Trans Am, lighting up cigarettes as they went. When they got there, the car was gently rocking.

“Found him,” Vic said, chuckling.

“Yay,” Henry snarked.

Just what he needed. To sit around waiting while Patrick got laid not two feet away from him.

They all heard a girl’s loud moan, and then the car stopped moving.

In a minute, both Patrick and the as yet nameless girl scrambled out of the car. The girl seemed exhausted. Patrick, of course, was grinning.

The girl was blonde. Her hair, short and scruffy. She wore a short dress that she pulled down in front, Patrick’s hand on her ass in the back. Her nose was familiar for a moment, and then it hit close to home.

Somehow, Patrick found the one girl who looked just like Henry.

Just like Henry’d fucked a girl who looked just like him.

“Get your hand off my ass and introduce me to your friends,” the girl said to Patrick.

Patrick kept his hand on her ass as he said, “guys, this is Hailey. Hailey, these are the guys.”

Not a proper introduction. She must not be sticking around.

“Now, go,” Patrick said. “They want to leave, and I’m going with them.”

She huffed, and left, giving Patrick a tight smile over her shoulder. He gave her a short wave, waiting until she looked away to roll his eyes.

“Now, that,” he said, “is a one-time thing.”

Henry knew exactly what that meant. It was for him. Because of course it was.

“What, no good?” Belch asked.

“Oh, she was fine,” Patrick said, making a dismissive hand gesture. “But not good enough to keep around.”

“Mm,” said Vic. “That’s a shame. She’s cute.”

Henry rolled his eyes.

“Let’s go. I’m driving,” he said.

“What?” Patrick asked.

“Belch and Vic got too high. I’m driving,” Henry said.

They all piled into the car, Belch and Vic sitting in the back. Much as it made Henry’s stomach tight to have Patrick up front with him, he couldn’t say anything about it.

Ten minutes into the drive home, and Belch and Vic were both asleep.

“Aw, look at that,” Patrick said, grinning. “The kids are all tuckered out.”

Henry snorted but didn’t say anything.

Then, Patrick put his hand on Henry’s knee. Henry pushed it off, and Patrick just did it again. Sighing, Henry let him. He was tired, didn’t feel like fighting every little thing.

“You know,” Patrick said, rubbing a little circle over Henry’s thigh with his thumb, “I could suck your dick right now, and they’d never know.”

“Patrick,” Henry hissed. “No.”

Patrick leaned in and nipped at Henry’s earlobe, then whispered in his ear.

“Fucking some little girl who looks just like me. Like I wouldn’t notice.”

“I didn’t fuck her ‘cause she looks like you, asshole. I fucked her ‘cause I like her. She’s cool.”

“Mm hm. Doesn’t take away the fact that she looks just like me.”

Henrys sighed and took a hand off the wheel to push Patrick away.

“What about Hailey or whatever her name was?” Henry spat. “What about her, huh? Talk about someone looking just like someone else.”

“Yeah, that was the plan. If I can’t have you, I wanted the next best thing. But she didn’t suck a dick like you, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t suck your dick, asshole. You fucked my fucking face,” Henry hissed, keeping his voice down even though he wanted to yell.

“Mm. And you did good. Much better than her.”

Henry sighed. Patrick got in his space again, licking at his neck, pressing little kisses to it. Unwanted, a shiver traveled through Henry’s body.

They got back to Derry without anything real or bad happening. Henry woke the guys up, dropped off Belch and then Vic, then headed to Patrick’s place, parking at the curb, wishing he’d had the good sense to drop Patrick off first.

Patrick unbuckled himself and then climbed into Henry’s lap. Henry sighed, looking away from him.

“Look at me,” Patrick barked. “Look at me right now.”

Henry’s eyes stayed to the side until Patrick grabbed his chin and pulled it to the front, forcing him to look at him. Henry swallowed, seeing the hungry look in Patrick’s eyes.

“What do you want?” he said, voice tired, a little too soft.

“You,” Patrick said. “Always you.”

Then he leaned in and kissed Henry. Henry willed himself to not respond, to just sit there and let it happen.

“Jesus,” said Patrick, pulling back. “You really think you don’t want this, don’t you?”

“I don’t want you, Patrick,” Henry said, shaking his head. He swallowed. “I don’t want you.”

Patrick ground down on his lap, against him, and Henry felt himself getting hard. His dick was a fucking traitor.

“Your dick says you do, baby,” Patrick said.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t know what I’m thinking. I want you to leave.”

“No, you don’t,” Patrick said.

“Yeah, I do.”

Patrick kissed him again, harder this time, one hand going down to drag fingernails over Henry’s bulge. The little vibrations of the nails over the denim went straight to his fucking stomach, making it tight.

“What do I have to do to make you leave?” Henry said when the kiss had ended.

“Just kiss me. Once. Like you fucking mean it.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it, baby.”

“I’m not your baby, Hockstetter.”

“You are. You just don’t know it, yet.”

Henry sighed and pulled Patrick into a hard kiss, holding him by the sides of his face, licking into his mouth, biting at his bottom lip. Patrick sighed into it, relaxing, hands going to pull at Henry’s hair. He pulled, hard, and unwanted, a moan came out of Henry’s throat.

“That’s it, baby, moan for me,” Patrick said, lips brushing Henry’s.

“You got your kiss,” Henry said. “Now, leave.”

“Aw, c’mon,” said Patrick. “Don’t you wanna see where this will go?”

“Not really,” Henry said, pushing Patrick off his lap. “Go.”

Patrick grinned and pulled Henry’s hair again, his thumb making little circles on the side of Henry’s neck. Then, he leaned in and pressed a short kiss to Henry’s lips, and got out of the car, walking to his door.

Without waiting to see if he made it inside, Henry drove away.

#henpat #pathen #henry bowers x patrick hockstetter #patrick hockstetter x henry bowers #mine

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