Authorities say Domingo Spinney, of Milford, used a bogus profile on the dating website PlentyOfFish to arrange meetings with the women at restaurants last December–but the person the women were expecting never showed up.
Instead, they say Spinney hit on them at the bar when they thought they were being stood up. They say he used a different name and asked for their phone numbers, and was rejected each time.
Police say he stalked the women who turned him down, slashing tires and throwing a brick through a window of a woman’s home.
A Massachusetts handyman pleaded innocent Friday to charges he used a packaged pipe bomb to murder a waitress who refused to date him.
Steven S. Caruso, 44, showed no emotion when he was arraigned in Malden District Court for first-degree murder in the Jan. 20 death of Sandra Berfield, 32, of Everett, Mass.
Berfield died when she opened a package authorities allege Caruso left on her front porch. Authorities said the device was triggered by a battery that activated a switch when the package was opened.
“My sister was stalked relentlessly for over two years,” Darisse said. “Unfortunately, she didn’t qualify for a 209A (protective restraining order) because she had no prior relationship. This left her without the protection she needed and deserved, which left police unable to stop her stalker.”
Certain states require that a credible threat be made before any action can be taken, Darisse explained.
“How do you prove a credible threat? It’s a matter of interpretation,” she said. “When you receive dead roses in the mail, like my sister did, how do you interpret that any other way?”
A teenager is in the hospital and the 41-year-old man who attacked her with a car before stabbing her is behind bars at a North Carolina jail, the Archdale Police Department reported on Facebook.
Jilted, the “obsessed” Greensboro man followed the teen and her family from church to a Taco Belland tried to run them over but missed and crashed into utility poles, WGHP reported. Upshur then got out of the car and stabbed the teenager in the back, according to the TV station.
It was supposed to be a family gathering on the northeast side of Fresno, Calif. When reporters arrived at the putty-colored ranch house on Monday, coolers were still sitting in the front yard, and a pink-and-blue banner was tacked to the window. “Happy Birthday!” it said in looping letters.
But according to the Fresno Police Department, the weekend celebration turned tragic when a 23-year-old man couldn’t take no for an answer and opened fire after a young woman rejected his advances. One of the bullets hit her 10-month-old daughter in the head, and the child has been hospitalized ever since.
“We are hoping and praying that baby Fayth is able to survive this injury as well as make a full recovery,” Fresno Police Chief Jerry Dyer said at a Sunday news conference hours after the shooting.
As it turned out, Echartea was already wanted in another shooting “over a female,” Dyer said. On the night of May 27, he allegedly fired numerous shots into the house where his ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend was living. One of the bullets penetrated the wall and nearly struck a 1-year-old who was inside, coming within approximately one foot of the baby.
Court records show that at the time of the shooting, Echartea was out on bond while awaiting sentencing in a domestic violence case.
The Florida woman killed by a man who had allegedly stalked her since her Hooters waitressing days had tried to get an order of protection against him, but a judge refused the request.
Alissa Blanton, 23, of Cocoa, Fla., was shot and killed Monday in the parking lot near her new job at an AT&T call center in Orange County, Fla. Police said her killer, 61-year-old Roger Troy, fatally shot himself immediately afterward.
About a week before she died, Blanton asked a judge for an order of protection against Troy, whom she said had been stalking her for two years. Despite the evidence she presented – her petition contained more than 70 pages of harassing e-mails Troy sent to her – Brevard County Circuit Court Judge Dean Moxley said he didn’t have enough information to rule on the petition.
Today marks the 22 anniversary of the NATO bombing of Yugoslavia.
The NATO bombing of Yugoslavia began on March 24th and ended on June 10th, 1999.Andlasted 78 days.
And yet no one is talking about this? No one cares? Of how there were between 1,200and2,500peoplekilled,evenchildren! And 6,000 people were injured.
The result of the aggression was: 25,000 destroyed homes,470 destroyed kilometers of roads,595 destroyed kilometers of railway and38 destroyed bridges.
And:14 damaged airports,nearly 40 damaged hospitals andclinics,almost a 100 damaged schools andkindergartens, and 176 damaged cultural monuments.
23 Years today.
I know a lot is happening in Ukraine, but I’ve read somewhere, that since the WW2 there wasn’t any war in Europe? Just a reminder of this, today is after all 23rd anniversary of Nato bombing Serbia.
Today marks the 22 anniversary of the NATO bombing of Yugoslavia.
The NATO bombing of Yugoslavia began on March 24th and ended on June 10th, 1999.Andlasted 78 days.
And yet no one is talking about this? No one cares? Of how there were between 1,200and2,500peoplekilled,evenchildren! And 6,000 people were injured.
The result of the aggression was: 25,000 destroyed homes,470 destroyed kilometers of roads,595 destroyed kilometers of railway and38 destroyed bridges.
And:14 damaged airports,nearly 40 damaged hospitals andclinics,almost a 100 damaged schools andkindergartens, and 176 damaged cultural monuments.
Today marks the 22 anniversary of the NATO bombing of Yugoslavia.
The NATO bombing of Yugoslavia began on March 24th and ended on June 10th, 1999.Andlasted 78 days.
And yet no one is talking about this? No one cares? Of how there were between 1,200and2,500peoplekilled,evenchildren! And 6,000 people were injured.
The result of the aggression was: 25,000 destroyed homes,470 destroyed kilometers of roads,595 destroyed kilometers of railway and38 destroyed bridges.
And:14 damaged airports,nearly 40 damaged hospitals andclinics,almost a 100 damaged schools andkindergartens, and 176 damaged cultural monuments.
49 Episodes - Available on youtube with eng subs, link in episode #
Whumpee - Shen Fang played by Zhang Yi Shan.
Shen Fang is a communist spy, he and his older brother work with the government. An explosion leaves a piece of shrapnel in his head that causes the majority of the whump in the show, usually with extreme head pain that can lead to collapsing.
Episode 17:(18:00) Starts to look dazed, someone mentions he looks pale. (23:00) Headache, has to work through the pain. Fighting it for as long as possible. Sweating, struggling to walk down stairs, collapses. (29:00) Wakes up in the hospital.
Episode 22:(20:00) Taken hostage, discovered he’s a spy. Hit over the head really hard, bleeding. Gun against head. It’s concerning because of the shrapnel in his brain. Knocked down and helped up, refuses help. Almost collapses again, helped to car, asleep in the backseat. (31:00) Leaning on his wife for comfort which is out of character for him. (35:00) Walks into surprise party with his gun ready, not knowing it’s a surprise party.
Episode 27:(16:00) Collapses with sudden extreme head pain. He falls down and passes out from the pain. (18:00) Forces himself to continue working without recovering. (26:00) Saved by someone in an explosion.
Episode 28: (6:00) Stunned after seeing his friend die. (14:00) Drinking at a club. (18:00) Drunk, almost falls down. (21:00) Fell asleep while talking to his brother. (27:00) Vomiting because he drank too much.
Episode 37:(6:00) Gets into a fight, hit with extreme head pain, punched, found on the ground writhing in pain. (10:00) Taken to hospital, brain surgery, recovering.
wasn’t sure if i was going to upload this one but uhhh fuck it
Feitan x reader x Chrollo (or at least the beginnings of it)
Warnings: torture, mentions of torture, implied violence, mentions of death, threats of violence, possessive behavior
It wasn’t terribly unusual to hear more than one pair of footsteps coming down the stairs. However, it was strange to hear them coming at such a calm, steady pace.
Usually it was Feitan dragging down another unfortunate victim of his to be tortured, and that would be accompanied by their panicked yells for help as they attempted to escape their captor’s grip. That never worked, as Feitan was much, much stronger than he looked. Something that you knew very well from experience.
The sounds of Feitan bringing down his soon-to-be torture subjects signaled you to prepare yourself in your spot next to the wall, your wrists in cuffs and your hands pulled up by chains that lifted you so high you needed to balance on your toes. If you didn’t do that, you’d be forced to hang by your arms, something that was incredibly painful to do for long periods of time as it would eventually feel like your arms were going to pop out of their sockets. But it was impossible to get any sleep while trying to focus on keeping your weight on your toes, so the only times you could get any rest was when you couldn’t keep going and you were granted a bit of a reprieve as your body attempted to catch up on much needed sleep that would only last for a few minutes before the pain in your arms would force you back awake. The only real break you got was when Feitan would unchain you and allow you to go to the bathroom, making you walk up the stairs on your own so your muscles wouldn’t atrophy.
Dottoscara brainrot au I need to let out or I’ll explode!
What if- why if they met at a gala of the Fatui Association and immediately bonded over absolutely HATING veing there, just to later on hook up and leave the scene.
The catch here is they actually both approached the other purposefully as their designed victim of the night because they’re both serial killers and AND they ended up trying to off the other mid fuck but stopped because “uhm excuse me? Where you just trying to? Kill me? That’s /my/ job”
Queue a long whole second spent in silence staring at each other before fucking harder and that’s how they began their flourishing collaboration!
Scara hooks up with victims and brings them to Dottore for some fun fun fun illegal experiments~
Working at Evil-Mart is usually… well, it’s retail. It’s physically exhausting, you have to deal with a lot of idiots without being overtly rude, and your feet hurt. Even though the hours and pay are very good, the benefits are great, and our bosses treat us well compared to most retail employees, it’s still not what I’d call a funjob.
But it’s not what I’d call dull, either. Especially not on days like today.
I was promoted to supervisor after the Food Poisoning Incident, so I have a little more authority and a little less obligation to be pleasant and I got issued a weighted cosh because sometimes Evil-Mart customers get… feisty. I’d never had to use it, though, because those who hadn’t seen what I did to Majority Rules, either in person or on one of the cell-phone videos that circulated afterwards, had at least heard about it. They didn’t give me any trouble.
I was halfway through my shift, and the worst things that’d happened had been running out of croissants and a machine oil spill in Aisle Seven, when our greeter pressed the alarm button, which sent an alert to my handset. As front-end supervisor, that meant me, so I went over. Sam, who is unusual in the henching community for having actually aged out rather than ‘being retired’ jerked his chin in the direction of a tall, swaggering figure. “He just came in,” he whispered.
I did a full double-take before I took it in. Superdyne. Fucking Superdyne.
We’d all heard about his dramatic heel-turn a couple of months ago. The whole world had heard about it. Superdyne, who’d skated closer and closer to the line for years, had decided to cross it in a blaze of bloodshed. He was a villain now, he said. There’d been a whole speech about how ingratitude had driven him to it blah blah blah.
I work at Evil-Mart. I’m from a hench family. If someone becomes a supervillain because they hate Mondays or want to turn us all into dinosaurs or whatever, I don’t judge. I will sell depth-charges and laser guns to anyone who can prove they’re over eighteen without hesitation. But even we get kind of grossed out by the ‘I am forced to turn evil because I haven’t been given enough love’ thing. People who are actually so fucked up by emotional abuse or neglect or some superhero killing their family, we’re fine with them. But they don’t say that’s why they do it, and most of them need a lot of therapy to even realize it. People who actually say that’s why are entitled dickwads.
And now the dickwad had walked into Evil-Mart like he was entitled. Like he thought he was one of us.
“Lockdown protocols,” I told Sam quietly. “On my authorisation.” That takes a minute or two, though, so I went over to talk to Superdyne. “Sir, I have to ask how you even knew where to find this place.”
He smirked at me. “I have my ways,” he said smugly. He’d either bribed or beaten someone, that was my guess. “So this is where the villains shop? We all thought you went to Wal-Mart.” He laughed, like he thought it was clever.
“Yes, so you all say,” I said dryly. I didn’t feel like pretending he was the first person to make the bad joke. “My next question, sir, is what made you think it was a good idea to come in here.”
He spread his hands. “I’m one of you now!” he said happily. “I’m a bad guy! So now I guess I shop where the bad guys shop!” He looked around, frowning a little. “Although I was expecting more weapons and explosives. A… more villainous atmosphere. I didn’t know Evil-Mart had fresh produce.”
“I don’t advise buying herbs here unless you’re a magical practitioner. Some of them have… unusual effects.” A lot of our produce is normal stuff, but some of it not only isn’t legal, it doesn’t exist anywhere else.
“Oh. Well, that makes sense. But the bright lights and the bakery?”
“We have excellent gluten-free breads. In many ways, Superdyne, this is just another store. We have sales, we mark down the breads in the afternoon, we even have a PA system.” I pulled out my handset, and thumbed the button that tied it to the PA. “Attention, shoppers,” I said in my most soothing Customer Service voice, which made him grin. “Evil-Mart wishes to inform you – “ The countdown on my handset reached zero, and I turned to look at the entrance as a huge blast door thudded down. That was the last part of the sequence – staff outside the area were already in lockdown and security were on their way. I smiled, and continued almost without a pause. “- That we are in lockdown at this time, due to the presence of Superdyne in the store. Please remain calm, and be advised that security are on their way to deal with the problem. If you have a personal grudge that you wish to address with Superdyne at this time, he is standing near Register Six with a stupid expression on his face.”
He was staring at me, stunned. “But… but…” he stammered, and damned if he didn’t look puzzled. “But I’m one of you now!”
“No,” I said flatly. “You were always evil, that’s true, but you’ll never be one of us. And for the record, I’m one of the people with a personal grudge. All those henchmen you’ve killed and maimed had families, asshole… and they all shop here.”
He swung at me, then, but I spent years in hench training. Even someone super-strong can be dodged, and once I slammed my cosh into his groin a few times his punches got a lot more aimless. Around then, Tiger Ty came over the register, claws out and snarling, and I figured I should stand out of the way.
About ten minutes later, I turned on the PA again. “Clean-up to Register Six,” I called, in the same special voice. “Category 7, class three. Shoppers, please be advised that lockdown is now lifted but Register Six will be closed until clean-up is completed.”
Hunter, who’d been working Register Six, came out from underneath it. He looked a little green. Well, he was still in his teens, this was probably his first fatal mobbing. “What’s Category 7?” he asked in a shaky voice. “I haven’t heard that before.”
“Biohazard.”
“Oh. Class three?”
“Send three people. He was a juicy one.” I stepped away from a spreading puddle of blood. “Run and get a couple of caution signs we can put around this mess.” I eyed it measuringly. “And one of those fifteen-gallon plastic tubs with a lid, I’ll damage it out.”
He eyed the mess. “Are you sure that’s big enough?”
“Yeah, the average human is only about seventeen gallons by volume, and I’m not going to put all the blood and mush in there, just the big pieces.”
He gulped. “Ah. Yes, ma’am.”
I called after him when he ran off. “One of the black tubs, not a clear one!” Which honestly should only be common sense, but you can’t count on a flustered teenager to have common sense.
We frown on killing customers at Evil-Mart, up to a point… but when a particularly murderous super-hero walks into our store, well, that’s something else. I’d have to fill out a ton of paperwork, though.
I had to chase off one of Doctor Malign’s minons and two members of the Genetic Reign before the clean-up crew arrived, both of whom urgently wanted samples. In the end I scraped a few pieces of liver and unidentified organ into two of the bags we use for possibly-contaminated money just to make them go away. (They’re good customers, and it was just going to go in the trash anyway.)
By the time the clean-up was done, all the big pieces were boxed up, and I’d finished the paperwork, my shift had been over for twenty minutes, and I’d been asked to come up to the boss’s office.
“Listen, I have no issues with how you handled the situation, I want you to know that.” Mr Trent leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingertips together. “It was quick, it was efficient, and… given your personal history with Superdyne, not to mention mine and that of half of our customer base… richly deserved.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. It came out too meek, and I cleared my throat and straightened up. It’s hard not to be intimidated by Mr Trent, when you’re in the same room with him. It’s not his fault, and he does his best, but even under the strictest control his fear-inducing powers tend to unsettle anyone who gets too close. We all know he’s not doing it on purpose and we try not to show our reactions. “Do you have any orders regarding the remains?”
“Doctor Order wants them.” He rubbed his chin. “Get someone from the pharmacy to prepare samples for him, please, including brain tissue. He’s our primary supplier, and we can’t offend him. As for the rest… as you know, I’m retired, and I don’t usually participate in the Endless War.” One of his hands dropped to his left thigh. His prosthetic leg is some of Doctor Order’s best work, but the injury that led to his retirement had been brutal even by our standards. “But this is different. Superdyne came here. To our place of safety. We need to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”
I nodded. “Do you want the remains dumped somewhere public? Some kind of dramatic display?”
“No. Something more direct.” He rubbed his chin again, then tapped the intercom on his desk. “Iris, please send up Miss Fedorova from Marketing and Mr Levy from the warehouse.”
“Yes, sir,” Iris responded, and he clicked off the intercom again.
“The three of you worked together very well, during the food poisoning incident,” he explained. “And I believe they can assist us in a satisfactory conclusion.” He hesitated, then smiled ruefully. “Perhaps you should wait outside until they get here. I can tell I’m unsettling you.”
“Sir, I know you’re not – “
“Not doing it on purpose.” He sighed. “I do appreciate how hard you all work to make me feel… accepted, I really do. But I’m very annoyed right now, which makes control more difficult for me, so I think we’d both be more relaxed if you waited outside while I do my meditation exercises.”
I waited outside. When the three of us went into his office again, the miasma of low-level fear was definitely a bit lighter, and he smiled. “All right. Now, this conversation is going to be very confidential, and I will remind you all of the agreements you signed when you were employed.” We all chorused agreement, and he nodded. “Good. Now, this is very much a secret, even among Evil-Mart staff, but we do have a few online clients who are… ah… on the other side of the fence.”
Ms Fedorova blinked. “What?”
Knuckles sighed. “We ship to a few heroes,” he explained. “The ones who are… less homo than sapiens, if you get my drift.”
I didn’t, and from her expression Ms Fedorova didn’t either. Mr Trent spread his hands, drawing our eyes to his fingers. Which as a rule nobody looks at, because there’s fourteen of them, with four joints in each finger, and we know he’s self-conscious about it. “The less… purely human ones,” he said quietly. “One of the reasons I created Evil-Mart was to give those who can’t pass for human, like me, a place to be… people. To have dignity. So that the obligate carnivores weren’t reduced to living on pet-food or scavenging for scraps, so that those with complex metabolisms could get the supplements they need so that people who are still people, for all their outward differences, could shop in safety. There are a great many more monsters, demigods, abominations of science and other non-standard persons among our set than among the heroes, and I wanted to meet their needs, as well as selling weapons and Lair-away-from-home sets and so on.”
“And there are a few heroes who order from us for that reason,” Knuckles added. “The ones who can’t get medications to suit their metabolism, or need to eat things that you can’t get easily anywhere else.”
I nodded, because that much I understood. We have some very esoteric ‘dietary supplies’ that start with fresh, healthy, well-treated and disease-free prey animals frozen whole (from mouse up to calf and goat kept in stock, larger sizes by pre-order, halal and kosher certified where possible) and end with human blood (rejected blood bank stock mostly, we have an arrangement), and human flesh and organs (sourced from hospitals, morgues and crematoriums, guaranteed no murder, at least not by us). “Well, I suppose that makes sense. I’m surprised we ship to them, though.”
“Oh, they don’t know we know. It’s all assumed names and secret bank accounts.” Knuckles grinned. “But Mr Trent has all our online customers identified before we ship. And for the ones who don’t have any other options, well… we let it slide.”
“I can see why you don’t want that to get out.” Ms Fedorova tapped her chin. “What does this have to do with disposing of the body? I was planning to set up a really ghoulish display in a public place somewhere, I already have some sketches.” Marketing for Evil-Mart is… well, it includes more than designing our sale flyers.
“No. We’re going to deliver them to a hero… one of the ones who owes us… and make it very clear that just because someone decides to admit he’s a villain, that doesn’t make him one of us and it doesn’t entitle him to union services,” Mr Trent said flatly. “I want to make it crystal clear to all of them that a heel turn does not mean their sins are forgiven, or that we will accept them as anything other than a very brief amusement.”
Late that night – we were all on overtime, but it couldn’t be done in daylight – we wheeled a cart down the run-down hallway of a shoddy apartment building. “This is a terrible address for a hero,” Ms Fedorova muttered. “Are we sure he lives here?”
“I deliver here a couple of times a month.” Knuckles was pushing the cart. “I’m sure.”
“Okay.” Ms Fedorova cleared her throat, coughed once or twice, and suddenly her voice was deeper and her very faint Russian accent was as thick as pea soup. “This is intimidation tactic,” she said, grinning toothily. “Do not act surprised.”
I knocked on the door, but let Knuckles do the talking. “Delivery, Mr West,” he called, using the fake name the guy had been giving.
It worked… the door was unlocked and opened almost immediately. “I scheduled the order for next – “ the mark said, and then we were pushing inside, slamming the door behind us.
“Do not be alarmed, Mr… Dinoid, is it?” Ms Fedorova said, folding her arms. “Evil-Mart is knowing all along your real identity. But you are needing to eat, and we are not turning down regular business, so we make no trouble.”
Knuckles rolled his eyes behind her back at how much she was hamming it up, but I waved a hand. Let her have her fun. So Knuckles started unloading the boxes onto the table while she talked. “First, your Budget Bunny Box. Your favourite, da?” The next box, smaller, plunked down. “Two fresh chickens, halal certified, healthy and having lived good life, gift for good customer.” Knuckles dumped the plastic tub on the floor. “And mortal remains of Superdyne, with note.”
Dinoid was staring at us, but that made him shift into a combat stance, his long claws spread. “The… Superdyne’s dead? And in there?”
“Well. Most of him. The big pieces.” Ms Fedorova shrugged an impressively Russian shrug. I hadn’t even known that was a thing, but when she did it, it was obvious. “You must understand, when a mob tears a man apart, it is hard to find every little piece.”
“I’m pretty sure Doctor Malign and the Genetic Reign took off with doggy bags,” I said, as if I hadn’t handed them over myself. “And Doctor Order probably has some of him too, by now. So looking out for clones would be a good idea, I don’t know if that’s in the note.”
Insofar as that reptilian face could show readable expressions, he looked shocked. “Why on earth would… why? He changed sides? And why did you bring him to me?”
“We know your address, we know you don’t want to turn us in because we’re the only ones who can supply your meals, and our boss wanted us to make this very clear.” I indicated the note. Since Ms Fedorova was hamming up her Sexy Russian Supervillain act, and Knuckles was very obvious Muscle, I figured it was on me to be the Reasonable One. “He might have stopped being a hero, but that didn’t make him one of us. That didn’t make him acceptable to us. Our boss wants it made very clear that your failures shouldn’t expect to be accepted by us… or even spared by us.”
He shifted slowly, the tip of his tail twitching. “I… see. I understand why you would reject Superdyne. He was notorious for killing and maiming people on… your side. But I know other defectors have been accepted. Philomel, for example.”
“Philomel was child of villains. She is young, she is rebellious, she sides with heroes for a while.” Ms Fedorova shrugged. “Is understandable, da? The young do foolish things. She comes home, all is forgiven.”
He nodded slowly. “Tenebrous?”
“That story I don’t know.” Ms Fedorova glanced at me.
I nodded. “Tenebrous was just a kid. He was twelve when Varide recruited him. Nineteen when he broke with the guy. Varide put a kid into combat, left him with massive PTSD, then ditched him when he had a breakdown and went too far. Mx Frantique at least made sure he had a safe place to stay and some therapy.”
“It’s happened a few times.” Knuckles rested his elbows on the cart’s handles, his inhumanly big, strong hands dangling. “But there’s a process. A system. If someone’s sponsored by a villain in good standing, like Frantique sponsoring Tenbrous, they can be accepted. Nobody gets to just choose to join. Especially not a smug, entitled prick like Superdyne.”
Ms Fedorova suddenly leaned forward, scowling. “And why are you called Dinoid? You are not dinosaur. You are clearly monitor lizard. Golden monitor, I think.” She reached out and prodded his arm. “And not healthy, either. Look at colouration! You do not keep environment humid enough. Are having trouble with shedding, da?”
Now we were all staring at her. “You’re a lizard expert now?” Knuckles asked.
She shrugged. “What? Is hobby. Mamma’s little Varanus Acanthurus are pride and joy. Sadly, cannot keep larger monitors in city. Is unkind.”
Dinoid ran a hand over his head slowly. “Not many people realize,” he said slowly. “That’s why I order from you guys. I used to get frozen… food… from a pet supplier, but then I got contacted by someone who told me there was another option.”
“Is good thing. Those pet suppliers, they are rogues. They do not keep animals healthy, can get diseases or mites from those things.” Ms Fedorova sniffed. “I would never buy from them. My babies would get sick.”
He actually chuckled, then, seeming to relax a bit. “You’re not wrong. After… this happened… I got really sick a couple of times before I figured out what to eat, and where to get it. And even the reputable suppliers don’t always have the healthiest stock.” He opened his mouth wide, making a gagging noise. “You have no idea how bad that ‘reptile food’ is. Eating whole animals may be a little disgusting, but it’s nothing to some of that stuff.”
“I believe it,” I said emphatically. “There’s a reason Evil-Mart has such an extensive pet-food line. The horror stories we hear from some of our customers… well, you’d believe it, I bet, but most humans just look confused.”
Knuckles nodded, and spread his hands. “People who can’t pass for regular humans… or even for people, the way most normies see it… are a lot more common on our side of the fence than yours. That’s why we delivered to you. We figured you really needed it.”
“Does he order from the pharmacy?” Ms Fedorova was around behind him now, examining his back. “He is having calcium deficiency, am betting. He needs nutritional supplement.”
“I take a nutritional supplement,” he said defensively.
“The one for normal-sized lizards is not enough for man-sized monitor/human hybrid,” she said firmly. “Check pharmacy section next time. We are having excellent selection of supplements for hybrids, and chart to tell you how much to take for body-mass.”
He looked back and forth between the three of us. “You people are… not what I would have expected from an evil supermarket.”
“We may be… morally challenged,” I said, shrugging, “but we’re not heartless.” I looked around his tiny, shabby apartment. “Unlike some of your lot. I thought you were on a team. Why are you living here?”
He ducked his head. “I couldn’t live at the base,” he said, his tail drooping. “My… I made people uncomfortable. And the stipend isn’t much.”
“Isn’t much? With the merchandising deals they have?” Ms Fedorova sounded shocked, and the accent had dropped back a lot. “I know for a fact that if the accountants ever got hold of their books they’d owe more in back taxes than… well, than Evil-Mart would if our illegal product arm ever got discovered. And we pay our taxes on the legitimate stuff scrupulously.”
Dinoid blinked rapidly, though I couldn’t tell whether he was more surprised by her suddenly dropping her act or the idea that Evil-Mart pays taxes. “You do?”
“Of course. Not under that name, of course, there’s a shell company.” She sniffed. “All villains do. Al Capone, you know. We’re not getting caught that way again.”
Knuckles and I both nodded when he looked at us, and he shook his head. “Huh. Makes sense, I guess.”
“It does.” I looked around again. The place really was crappy. “I know it’s a personal question, Mr… West, but under the circumstances I’d like to know… how much is that stipend?”
He looked down at the floor for a while, then cleared his throat. “Uh. $1100 a month.”
We all stared at him. Ms Fedorova’s mouth fell open. Knuckles looked shocked, and I was horrified. “$1100 a month?!” I asked, my voice coming out louder than I’d intended. “For risking your life on a superhero team?! I have teenaged cashiers working part-time who make more than that!”
He looked almost as startled as we did. “For working a cash register?!”
“Evil-Mart pays pretty good.” Knuckles shrugged. “But that stipend is disgusting.”
“You are being exploited,” Ms Fedorova said, sounding really aghast. “That is terrible. Why, baseline henchman pay is twice that, and there are danger bonuses and…” Her voice dropped suddenly. “You don’t have a union, do you?”
“Aunion? Of course we don’t have a…” He trailed off. “You mean you do?”
“Of course we do. An extremely well-armed one.” Ms Fedorova folded her arms. “Henchmen And Allied Industries has represented us for generations. The last time a supervillain executed a union henchman for failure, he was boiled in oil… literally. On camera. Oh, of course some of the less reputable villains just pick up small-time trash from the streets, untrained rabble from the gangs and so on, so they can treat them as disposable, but we union members are skilled workers, with rights and protections. I bet you don’t even get overtime.”
“Of course not. Crime happens when it happens, and we have to…” He trailed off. “You guys get overtime?”
“We’re getting double time and a half for this conversation. And an extra day off.”
His eyes widened again. “Really? Wow, that’s… even when I was working a regular job, before this, I didn’t get pay like that.” He looked down at his hands and bared his teeth in what looked like an unhappy expression. “And now I can’t work anything but this kind of job. People don’t like having a scary dinosaur in their restaurant.”
There was a long pause.
“You can cook?” Ms Fedorova asked carefully.
“Yeah. I worked in my parents’ restaurant before… this.” He gestured at himself. “They were killed when we were attacked, and I was… changed.”
We all looked at each other. “After you’ve returned Superdyne’s remains to whoever you consider appropriate,” I said, grabbing a notepad and scribbling down my number, “I’d like you to give me a call. Evil-Mart is always hiring in the bakery and deli, and I mean always. Most bad guys aren’t great cooks. We don’t know why, it just seems to be one of those things.”
“You want me to join the bad guys?”
“I want you to work in a bakery. Villains and henchmen need to eat, and so do their families. Nobody’s going to ask you to rip superheroes in half, just maybe make a sandwich that won’t give anyone food poisoning.”
“That’s a regular concern?”
“Six months ago the three of us ran Evil-Mart’s physical store completely unassisted for most of a day because the only people who weren’t down with food poisoning were the ones who’d had the vegetarian and kosher meals.” I shuddered at the recollection. “Trust me. Someone who can cater staff functions without a major disaster would never have to live in an apartment like this working for us.”
“And we get full benefits, including dental.” Knuckles was shaking his head. “I bet you don’t even get hospital.”
“What hospital would take me? I always figured I’d go to the zoo and talk to the vet if – “
Ms Fedorova actually put her arms around him. “You,” she told him firmly, “are going to resign your terrible exploitative job, and then I will personally sponsor you to the union immediately. I have a spare room. You will like it. Humidity and temperature can be set just how you like, and Mamma Yelena will take you to real doctor expert in health of hybrids.”
“Those exist?” he asked, sounding a bit overwhelmed.
“Yeah, the Genetic Reign has like three of them,” I said sympathetically. “Listen, you can take some time to think it over, but you don’t have to put up with this kind of exploitation just because you don’t look human. Nearly a third of Evil-Mart’s staff can’t pass, and they’re treated just like everyone else.”
Superdyne’s dramatic demise got a lot of news coverage. Apparently it came as a real shock to the ‘good guys’ that there were some monsters even the superest villains wouldn’t embrace.
Dinoid no longer exists. Ismail Jameel works at Evil-Mart, and has expanded our fresh food lines a lot already. He’s a nice guy, and after Ms Fedorova told everyone how disgustingly he’d been exploited by those so-called ‘heroes’, he was welcomed with open arms. Literally, in at least one case – he’s dating someone from the warehouse, I’ve heard, though I don’t know who. He says we should rename the store, because we suck at being evil.
But evil is a really relative term. It can mean the blackest depravity, or a moment of viciousness, or even just ‘people on the other side’. Evil-Mart is called that because everyone, at least everyone on our side, is welcome. Plus, we all think it’s funny that the least-evil megacorporation is called ‘Evil-Mart’. What can we say? Bad guys have a sense of humour too.
In an alternate ending of Network Effect, Three avenges the death of its sibling units.
[ID: two digital drawings. The first one shows an action shot of Three grabbing Murderbot by the neck and shoving its weapon into Murderbot’s face. In the second drawing, Three carries Murderbot’s body back to ART. /end ID]
Professional cool guy Ron Wimberly asked me to draw something as a backup comic for an upcoming issue of Prophet from Image Comics and this is what came out
And what a pleasure it was to colour!
From a while ago, but I’m still really proud of this comic!
Genre: Smut & Angst Notes: And so it ends Warnings:18+, dubcon, alcohol consumption, smoking, gun stand off, major character death, mentioned violence against the reader, domestic abuse, graphic description of murder, vaginal sex, creampie, collaring. Words:3.2k
Shuuji Hanma has never been a man to feel fear in his life. When others find themselves feeling alert and on edge, Hanma can do nought but laugh. But since leaving your place… The home that you share with your fiancé, his boss, he believes this may be the closest to panic he’s ever felt. In fact, he’d go as far as to admit he’s a little scared. Kisaki is a crazy fuck, like him. And also not to dissimilarly to Hanma, he’s calculated. He imagines that Kisaki has already gone out of his way to contact his subordinates and alert them of Hanma’s treachery. Hanma is brave, in the sense that he can stay in his penthouse like he didn’treveal he’d been fucking his precious fiancé behind his back. He supposes you were right about one thing.
Shuuji Hanma is a dead man walking.
He’s been sipping his favourite whiskey since the minute he got home. But he isn’t stupid, he needs his wits about him, after all. He’s been nursing the same drink for a longwhile. He needs to consider himself. His next course of action. What has happened. What willhappen. You entering his life after so long was an unexpected cog in his well oiled machine of existence. It had been so long since he’d thought about his favourite slut. His toy. He still can’t believe that he managed to forget you at all.
How could he forget someone he spent so long going out of his way to torment? Someone he forcedto give her virginity to him. He was clumsy then, he’s sure you’ll agree. He had a little experience, more than most, so he knew what he was doing with you. But now, he is matured, he is a man. Despite the fact he sees women as devices to give himpleasure, he knows exactly how to please. And although it’s been so long since he played with your body, it is simply unforgettable. It is his.He’ll touch you just right and make you come undone with so little effort you’ll have barely taken a breath.
Is that why you run to him?
Is that why you’re back in his life?
Because you’re his,aren’t you? You won’t forget something so important like that. You’re always going to be his girl. Hanma’s Toy. It’s engraved in your flesh for that exact reason. But even without that permanent, black, ink. How could you forget someone you gave your virginity too? How could you forget all of the things he did and made you do? You couldn’t. You can’t. Even at such a young age, you wonder if he knew what he was doing. If he wanted to scar you so vehemently that you’d never be able to erase him from the recesses of your mind.
You’re his.
No one else’s.
His.
“Open the door, Hanma.”
It’s familiar. Why wouldn’t he recognise the voice of a man he’s been thick as thieves with for over a decade? With a cigar latched between his lips and his gun in his hands, he stands perfectly adjacent to the front door of his penthouse and points the weapon at the entrance. He has no doubt in his mind that Kisaki has brought an army with him to snuff him out and put an end to the memorable and insufferable Shuuji Hanma.
“It’s open, Tetta.” he responds. The use of his forename enrages Kisaki, a clear snub of his superiority and a lack of respect from Hanma.
He opens the door slowly… slowly… slowly… until they’re face to face with each other. And it’s unbelievable, but somehow, they manage to laugh. Kisaki is pointing his gun at Hanma, and Hanma’s is pointing right back. And for some reason, it’s so fuckingamusing.How did things get like this? At one point or another, Kisaki would have trusted Hanma more than anyone else in the world. Even you. Fuck. You.
“Don’t tell me you came alone.” Hanma queries, refusing to let his guard down but still managing to take a tactical puff of his cigar.
“I did, believe it or not. I’m a reasonable man. Some might say, smart,”
“First I’m hearing about that.” Hanma jokes, earning a snicker from his former friend.
“I figure there’s history. And a simple explanation mightjust clear this all up. So, I haven’t told a damn soul about this. Pour me a drink.” Kisaki speaks and demands as he tilts his head and his gun in the direction of the tumbler of whiskey standing alone at Hanma’s lonely dining table.
“For real?”
“We’ll drink, and I’ll listen to what you have to say. And thenI’ll blow your fucking head off for touching my little wifey.” he talks, calmly. The final sentence sounds like a joke, but his eyes are telling another story. He’s serious, deadly so.
Hanma clears his throat, refusing to lower his gun as he walks closer to the bottle of whiskey. He grabs an extra tumbler, pouring the bronze liquid into the glass while keeping his eyes and gun focused on his boss. Kisaki enters the penthouse, using his foot to close the door behind him.
It’s almost comical, really, how neither of the men refuse to put away their weapons. Even while sitting so close to each other. Their legs spread, a show of dominance, like men do, as they sit and find the most comfortable positions in their seats. It’s almost like a silent contest to display who needs more leg room, which of them has the biggest cock and balls.
It’s Hanma.
Their gun holding arms turn to jelly as they enjoy their drinks. Resting the cool metal killing devices on their legs as they casually sip and slurp as if they’re indulging in last orders at a bar with close friends. A memory they’ve shared more times than they can count. Butthisis nothing like that complacent, relaxing vibe. This is tense.
“She’s missing, now. Have you, uh, seen her?” Kisaki queries.
“No. Why would I have? Doesn’t she have friends?” Hanma responds, calmly. Kisaki studies his eyes. Enough years in this line of work, and you can spot a liar with genuine ease. So, he stares and stares.
“Iknowshe’s here, Hanma.”
Hanma takes another swig of his drink, clearing off the last remaining drops before pouring another for himself. But he shakes his head, adamant he has no idea what he’s referring to.
“You wanted to talk about her, you said. So, what went down after I left?” Hanma asks, a question he’s been dying to know after he fled. He has never felt guilt before. He thinks he might be a sociopath, most days. Or else he wouldn’t have put youthrough everything he did in the past. And yet, for the first time maybeever, he felt bad for leaving you with him tonight. He turned your world upside down and threw you to the wolves. It was too much like the old him. A him he isn’t ashamed of, but he likes to think he is at least a littlebetter than. So, he had to ask. What happened?
“Well. I was mad, you get that, right? It’s understandable, I mean—”
“Did you damage mytoy, Kisaki?”
“Notyours,mine.But, yeah, so fucking what? I beat her black and blue. What sane man wouldn’t?” Kisaki questions. Hanma slams his glass down on the table, earning an explosive laugh from his boss. “Come the fuckon. I loved her, y’know? Spent a fortune on her. Gave her everything.Only for her to cheat with… you. Thought she was my princess, my forever.”
“No one will love her like I can. I’ve loved her since the day I set eyes on her as a kid. So, I’ll tell youone more time. Mytoy.Myprincess.Myforever. I’ll find her and fuck her into the shape of my cock because she is mine.And my name is on her forever, to prove it.” Hanma monologues, it’s relaxed and pointed. Kisaki retains each and every word. An indescribable rage sears through him and he realises he’ll never have what you have with Hanma. History.But that fucking mark.It can be removed. It can be changed. He’s signed his name into your skin tonight in the form of blooming blue and purple blooms. It’s just a shame they aren’t permanent.
“You have to die, that’s a given. Yeah?” Kisaki chuckles, and even Hanma smiles.
“If you think you can kill me. If you thinkI will let that happen. Sure.”
“It’s a matter of pride, man. I loved… loveher. And she ismine, no matter what you say or think. But what she did, I’ll never forgive. I’ll spend the rest of my life making her pay for it.”
“You won’t see her again for the rest of your life, Tetta. Only one of us is getting out of this penthouse alive and I intend on making sure it’s me.”
“She humiliated me. With you.I’m all for happy endings but not at the cost of my own. I can’t lose her to you, man, I can’t.” he tells him, a tone of finality filling his words. Hanma shakes his head, again. In his eyes, he has no choice.
“Do you know I took her purity from her? Even if I die, she’ll never forget me for the simple fact I took her virginity. You don’t forget your first. And, you’ll never be able to love her like I can. Like I do.You’ll have to kill me to stop me from claiming my toy back, but like I said, I have no intention of letting that happen.”
You wonder if it’s the sociopath in him. He’s thankful that Kisaki was looking at his drink when Hanma’s eyes widened, ever so slightly. His heart rate quickened, the organ was pounding as he tried to keep a neutral, poker face. He managed to steady the tremoring of his fingers as he tried to pretend nothing was happening behind Tetta Kisaki. Crossing one leg over the other as he smiled and drank his whiskey in such a nonchalant manner. It roused Kisaki’s suspicion to see Hanma become his usual, cocky self.
Bang.
That cocky, trademark smirk wiped off of Hanma’s face in an instant. Instead, he donned an unimpressed, almost boredthin lipped expression as the blood of your ex-fiancé spattered across his face. He smacked his lips together, attempting to discover whether he could taste copper on his tongue as he paid no mind to your former partners body slump out of his chair and collide with the ground.
You were a coward for killing him like that. His back to you and no way to defend himself. You got him right in the back of his head, and you could only assume there was an exit wound somewhere close to between his eyes as it pissed blood and puddled around his body and seeped into his expensive Louis Vuitton suit.
“S-Shuuji…” you whimpered.
“Shush.” he demanded, getting up from his seat and tutting you into a stunned silence. You murdered someone. Fuck.You, a regular fucking person, killed Tetta Kisaki. Hanma grabbed your shoulders, firmly, kissing your forehead and forcing you to look him in the eye as he spoke to you. “You did the right thing, baby.” he assures you.
“I…killedsomeo-no.Killing is… it’s neverthe right thing!” you feel like you are screaming but in reality your voice has almost died in your throat as you try and articulate your conflicting feelings. He would have probably killed youfirst. You thought he was going to, tonight. Hanma did some terrible things to you but he neverbeat you. You’ve never felt so sore, so pained. And yet so lucky to be alive. And Hanma, fuck, you can’t believe this is reallyHanma. His touches are so tender and delicate. So sweet.He knows you’re hurting. He could see it in the bruises when you first stumbled into his home, yes, but he could predominantly see it in your eyes.
“Bastard deserved it and then some for doing this to you.” he states, you try to shake your head but you can’t. He stills your skull with two large palms, once again forcing you to look into his drowsy, golden eyes. “I’m a real piece of shit, but even I wouldn’t lay a hand on a woman. How could he hurt someone as precious as you?”
“I’m a murderer, Shuuji I can’t, I—”
“He didn’t tell anyone he was coming here. No one will know about this internal struggle. You know what that means? I’ll be taking over Kisaki’s role in the company. You’re mine, again, and everything is gonna be fine.”
“I don’t know…” you sigh, obvious concern in your voice. But again, he tuts, a feeble attempt of dismissing the worry from your body.
“Come.” he demands. “Into the shower, wanna wash this prick off us before I make arrangements to move him.”
“S-Shuuji, please. Please be—”
“I know, baby, I know.”
It is the most glamorous shower you’ve ever seen and will ever hope to see. The shower head is attached to the ceiling and you both fit inside with plenty of space surrounding you still. There’s even a small bench, made out of the same marble material as the walls you are standing inside of. Of course the door is glass, fogged completely with steam from the boiling shower as well as your rising body heats.
He sits, peacefully, allowing you to stand alone under the shower as you cleanse your naked, shaken body. You can’t help but giggle when you see his cock standing to full attention as he ogles you lathering your body in shower gel and allowing the water to cascade down your body.
You’d never of expected him to sit so patiently like this while he has you as his.You are officiallyhis property and he isn’t doing anything about it.
Or so you thought.
The nice guy act soon wore thin, and you found yourself shoved against the glass door. You struggled, slightly, your bruises aching the further he forced himself into you and against the glass.
“H-Hurts, Shuuji, it, ah—!”
“Can’twaitanymore.” he informs you as he guides his cock head to your sodden cunt. “Need to make you mine again.” he tells you.
And with that, you realise this isn’t going to be about you. He knows how to fuck you. How to make you cum. And yet, he won’t. His priority is himself. Filling you to the brim with his cum and marking your insides officiallyas his.
“Always had such a tight little pussy, haven’t you? All mine. All fucking mine.” he practically growls in your ear as he begins to slam up into you.
“P-Please, Hanma. Slower! Slow…” you beg, pathetically silent it’s almost drowned out by the pelting drops of water cascading against the ground. A simple ‘tsk’leaves his lips as he kisses your cheek and reaches around to fondle your clit.
“Wish I could kill him twice for making you so sore.” he hums as he allows his fingers to dance lightly across your battered skin. But it doesn’t stop him from pummelling against your body, if anything, he’s fucking into your sweet spot harder. He’s moaning, grunting, gaspingalmost, as he approaches his doom. He’s quick. He could easily lie and say it’s for your benefit, which it is. But it’s for him. The sooner your insides are painted white, the better. “Oh – fuck – ‘m cummin’, Christ‘m cummin’ baby.”
And you feel it, Godyou feel it because he shoots his load directly into your womb, you think. They’re silent thoughts, but he’s already thinking about you carrying his child. He always pictured three or four with you. Three boys that give the two of you hell and one girl he worships with everything he has. Not now, he hopes. With your mental state so fragile and everything so new.
His cum dribbles down your legs. But the minute you step under the shower, it’s being carried down the plughole by the current.
Definitely not now.
He abandons you, a towel wrapped around his waist as he heads towards his bedroom. You find a towel for your body as well as your hair, doing your best to chase after him without slipping and falling in the process. He’s rummaging around in his drawers desperately searching for something. He looks back at you, briefly, as you enter, and then back again with more focus as he takes in what he’s seeing.
“Towel off sweetheart. No hiding your body from me, wanna see every inch.” he instructs. You do as you’re told, unwrapping the white, fluffy towel from your body and exposing your skin to the freezing, air-conditioned room.
“What are you doing?” you wonder, sitting on the edge on his bed eagerly as you wait from him to come over to you.
Finally, he finds what it is he’s looking for. “Stand up.” he tells you, hiding whatever it is behind his back. Once again, you comply, watching him come closer to you and sit himself down. “Sit on me.” he demands. You straddle him. He kisses each and every inch of your body within his reach. He smooths his hand over the sickening blue blotches delivered to your skin by Tetta. You gasp, erotically, as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth as sucks sweetly.
“Shuuji…” you moan, losing yourself to his touch. “What’s behind your back?”
“Somethin’ very special, it’s old but looks like new.” he smiles into your body. “I got you it years ago, didn’t get the chance to give you it.”
“I wanna see.”
He reaches behind his back. And it’s odd, the look in his eye is almost hesitant. Like he doesn’t wantto give it to you. He isn’t sure of himself. Is he worried that you won’t like it? But, your pleading gaze wins him over.
“I… I want to hate it, but I don’t. I, I love it.” you giggle. It’s a collar. A beautifulpink collar with your name engraved on the silver bone. “Oh God, I really love it.”
“There’s a leash too.” Hanma laughs. He raises it to put it around your neck, and you find yourself letting him with not a single complaint. Maybe you’re in a state of unknowing because of what you did to Kisaki. Nothing matters and nothing feels real. But for whatever reason. You are obsessedwith this new accessory. And it’s sick, because it feels romantic. In days gone by, you were known as nothing to him other than Hanma’s toy. But this… has your fucking name on it.
“Fuck. Hanma… ‘m really yours, aren’t I? Always been yours.”
18+, dubcon, alcohol consumption, smoking, gun stand off, major character death, mentioned violence against the reader, domestic abuse, graphic description of murder, vaginal sex, creampie, collaring.
[Image ID: A series of tweets from the account @ jigsaw_quotes (saw quotes). The tweets are as follows:
Tweet 1: “Hello Samantha. There is no way out of this trap. Die.” (posted via Twitter for iPhone, 6:32, 17 Jan 21)
Tweet 2: “Congratulations Judy, you passed my tests. You truly do appreciate life. There’s one last room. Don’t worry there aren’t any more traps, just an optional survey. As a puzzle designer I’m always trying to improve my traps, and your honest feedback would be greatly appreciated. [blushing emoji]” (posted via Twitter for Android, 0:41, 01 Feb 21)
Tweet 3: “Hello Jennifer. If this isn’t Jennifer please disregard and move on to the next cassette tape.” (posted via Twitter for iPhone, 3:34, 31 Jan 21)
Tweet 4: “OH MY GOD did you just cut that guy’s chest open? I said the key was inside his stomach, you just had to make him throw up using the smelly socks, where did you get that knife??? is he ok? is he dead?? I’m gonna call 911 idk what to do oh my god oh no this isn’t happening” (posted via Twitter for Android, 17:26, 26 Jan 21)
Tweet 5: “Before you is a bomb. I, uh. I actually didn’t notice that when I was putting you in there earlier. You might want to take care of that before we start.” (posted via Twitter for iPhone, 0:16, 24 Jan 21)
Tweet 6: “Congratulations Peter, you solved that test in under 5 minutes and unlocked the Secret Treat Room. There’s no traps in here, just a bowl of Reece’s Pieces. Go ahead and relax in here for as long as you like.” (posted via Twitter for Android, 17:21, 23 Jan 21)
Tweet 7: “Hello Jeff Bezos,” (posted via Twitter Web App, 23:13, 02 Feb 21)
they will deny baby formula to the children they will force you to birth for the purpose of having them be gunned down by a domestic terrorist a few years later. all before charging $10k for an ambulance ride if one of the bullets happens to graze your own arm
![[Header ID: The Closed Caption Logo]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/480f64bed3a09f811d55419d4e6e3ca4/f8009d776459f8c2-e7/s30x30u_c1/c780a4a6734147ed999c7516548c2bad50e826dc.png){kind=small}
