Now there's a darkness deep in me.

ℒ | - Specalised assassin. You can call me fantastic Mr. Black. So cool, now there's nothing left but an empty soul. Every thing is so bitter cold. previously flirtatiousfucker / sassinassassin.

[fangsforhire]

✦ about. ✧ navigation. ✦ memes. ✧ carrd. ✦ ask.  RULES

✯ IC =/= OOC. Don’t godmode. ✯ ✯ Selective & semi-active due to life.✯ ✯ Will happily write with crosscanon & OCs. ✯ ✯ Do not assume to know muse & call him Lucien. ✯ ✯ Please cut your posts & tag all standard triggers. ✯ ✯ I use small text/icons. You use whatever you want. ✯ ✯ No underage, no smut with minors. (mun is 21+). ✯ ✯ Time taken to reply may vary. Do not pressure. ✯ ✯ If I reply with a para; do not give me a line. ✯ ✯ If drama is started; you will be blocked. ✯ ✯ PM me if you have any questions. ✯

[fangsforhire]

I love this place. I just went from crying cause I've had to help my fiance dress, due to him being so bad, to crying with laughter cause of fucking muses.... and this is why I stay on tumblr <3

[fangsforhire]

@mischieflawed you're topping me too.

[fangsforhire]

(neck) - sender grabs the back of reciever's neck (to pull him closer) //from q

‘Watch your grip, darling.’

The sudden pressure of Q’s palm clamping down near the base of his skull sent a harsh spike of tension straight down his spine. His shoulders locked to stone beneath his jacket, his muscles coiling tight as the fingers dug in inches away from the one physical blind spot he guarded with brutal force. He forced his primal instincts into the dirt, swallowing the raw urge to snap the man’s wrist, and let the physical momentum drag his heavy frame forward without a fight. ( Letting a fragile mortal chase him down had always been a massive risk, but he had surrendered the ground and allowed the man to close the distance. ) His boots scraped against the floorboards as he planted his weight in Q’s airspace, keeping the reason for his stiff posture buried behind his teeth while the cold, dead stillness of his veins rested beneath the warm human touch with a hum.

‘Kay, I let you catch me this time. Now don’t push your luck.’

[lmmunitys]

there's nothing like the freedom of 'matching someone's weirdness.' finding that person where you don't have to filter your thoughts, tone down your excitement, or hide your odd sense of humor because they are right there matching your exact energy.

[poxsonmenace]

The world had mourned James Moriarty for three years. And that, perhaps, had been the most entertaining part. The rooftop had been a performance worthy of an encore, the perfect ending to the story everyone thought they knew. Sherlock Holmes had watched him fall, watched the impossible become reality, and the world had accepted the conclusion with the same eagerness it accepted every neatly wrapped TRAGEDY. Jim had made sure of it.

For three years, he had been gone. He had taken a break. A well-earned one. The criminal consulting business could wait. The world could spin without him for a while. Let them believe they had won. Let them believe the great James Moriarty had finally met his end.

It had been almost peaceful. Almost. Because the greatest trick he had ever pulled was not convincing the world he was dead. It was convincing the people who knew him best. No one knew. Not his favourite sniper, the one person who had always been able to see through his theatrics better than most. Not the people who had once relied on him, feared him, followed him. Not even Lucien. And that was the one that had mattered. Lucien, a man Jim loved in the only way James Moriarty knew how to love: fiercely, DANGEROUSLY, and with a devotion he would rather have burned the world down than admit aloud. The thought of Lucien believing him dead had been the one flaw in an otherwise perfect plan. But he stayed away regardless, ensured his whereabouts were untraceable.

Jim had been sat out on his balcony with wine in hand when a commotion from the kitchen immediately caught his attention. A crash. A muttered curse. The intrusion unmistakable if not a bit muffled. A simple burglary gone wrong. It had to be. Forever armed, he drew his weapon and strolled back inside, LEISURELY sipping at his wine as he did so. Completely and utterly unbothered despite the impending danger that loomed around the corner. The moment he stepped into the doorway, he took aim at the body in his kitchen, only for shock to overcome his nonchalance as he peered over the metal sight. There, sat on the floor amidst the aftermath of whatever disaster had occurred, was Lucien, looking FRIGHTFULLY worse for wear, blood-soaked digits fumbling over a first-aid kit.

❝….How the hell did you find me..❞ he muttered under his breath, lowering his weapon.

[fangsforhire]

‘Fuck.’

The rigid plastic of the first aid kit gave way with a sharp crack, the lid popping back to expose the sterile supplies inside the exact moment the familiar voice hit his ears. His jaw locked tight, grinding bone on bone while he tipped his head back against the baseboard, his dilated pupils scanning the room until they hit the man standing in the doorway holding a wine glass. The immaculate counters, the layout of the flat, the unmistakable scent of the criminal bastard; the reality of his location hit him like a sledgehammer.( Raven had bypassed his conscious mind during the panic on the streets, dragging him to the one place he had sworn never to approach. ) Three years Jim had played dead, spinning grand theatrical lies for the rest of the world, and Lucien had swallowed the hook right along with them.

His blood-slick fingers dug into the open box, pulling out a thick wad of gauze and pressing it hard against the ruined flesh of his side. Ribs screamed a brutal protest, joints popping as he braced his heavy weight against the edge of the counter and forced his battered frame off the linoleum. He ignored the white pain shooting up his spine, leaving a dark smear of crimson across the spotless cabinets as he found his footing. ( He had mourned the man for months, hollowing himself out with grief before he picked up the trail, the betrayal burning like battery acid the exact second he realised the beautiful bastard was still breathing. ) His gatekeeper knew his stubborn pride would have let him bleed out in some nameless alleyway rather than cross the threshold of the man who had left him out of the loop.

He held the cotton tight against his ribs, his free hand curling into a fist as his gaze darted to the glass of fermented grapes before locking back onto Jim’s dark eyes. He refused to give the man the satisfaction of a stunned reunion, his posture rigid despite the heavy toll of the demon hardware pulling him down.( He had kept tabs on the criminal for a long time, making certain his own presence remained hidden in the dark, watching the man enjoy a quiet retirement while he dealt with the fallout of the lie. ) A sudden spasm seized his left shoulder, the trauma of the night misfiring his nerves, but he forced the tremor down and tipped his chin up.

‘You think I never figured it out? Cute. I mourned you for months before I caught on. I just had too much pride to come knocking after you let me believe you were a corpse. Don’t worry, drink your fucking wine. I’ll be leaving soon, dickhead.’

[fangsforhire]

🔥🔥🔥

On Dark Themes:

‘The modern trend of equating a writer’s exploration of violent, deeply toxic fictional themes with their actual real-world morality is absurdly childish. Fiction is exactly where the fuckin' monsters are supposed to be let off the leash. Playing safely within the confines of absolute moral purity makes for incredibly stagnant storytelling.’

On Forgiveness:

‘Forgiveness is a scam designed to keep victims quiet and make the guilty feel comfortable. Holding a grudge is a far superior survival mechanism, and revenge is incredibly good for the soul.’

On Romance and Shipping:

‘The absolute insistence that every single dynamic must eventually devolve into a romantic pairing is unimaginative and incredibly ;yawn; boring. Some of the most compelling and violent connections are entirely platonic, fiercely antagonistic, or born of pure, utilitarian convenience.’

[fangsforhire]

🔥 pineapple pizza

‘The amount of pure, unadulterated outrage your species generates over a piece of fruit sitting on melted fucking cheese is a spectacular testament to your own profoundly misplaced priorities. You are all perfectly content to consume the most deeply questionable, chemically processed garbage known to the universe on a daily basis, yet you suddenly decide to draw a dramatic moral line in the sand over a pineapple, seriously? Need I say more.’

[fangsforhire]

Your writing is really quite good? NGL if you wrote a canon muse you would be popular.

[ Thanks for complimenting my writing, but the rest of your message is giving major last-decade energy. It's 2026, people really shouldn't be out here making writers justify having original characters. Literally every canon character was an OC first. If everyone shat on OCs, media would be dead in the water. I promise you, my writing partners love Lucien and couldn't care less. Your message honestly just rubbed me the wrong way, but hey once I have the mental energy to finish my book, Lucien will be canon anyway. ]

[selcouthwitch]

Send me ‘💍’ for our muses to wake up married after a night of heavy drinking

[rpmememaker]

Send “✆” for a MORNING text. Send “✉” for a text that WASN’T SENT. Send “☎” for a RUSHED text. Send “⁇” for a DRUNK text. Send “✿” for a SUGGESTIVE text. Send “ø” for a LATE NIGHT text. Send “✘” for a HATEFUL text. Send “#” for a RANDOM text. Send “@” for a SCARED text. Send “&” for a LOVING text. Send “%” for a CURIOUS text. Send “ツ” for an EXCITED text. Send “$” for an ACCIDENTAL text. Send “♀” for a HEARTBREAKING text.

[fangsforhire]

@moranormoron bared their pretty throat : "Lets play war, I'll lay down, and you blow the hell outta me."

‘That is, without a doubt, the absolute cheapest line you have ever dragged into this house.’

Lucien paused in the doorway, staring at his husband with a mixture of profound disbelief and heavy, exasperated amusement.( The sheer audacity of the mortal, throwing around terribly cheap pickup lines like they were high poetry, made the violent entities behind his ribs purr with sudden, possessive approval. ) He did not even attempt to hide the slow, dark smirk that spread across his lips as he set his glass of scotch down on the nearest table. Loosening his silk tie with deliberate, unhurried precision, he stepped further into the bedroom. He had lived for billions of years, witnessed the violent birth and death of entire galaxies, and yet he found himself entirely at the mercy of this ridiculous man.

‘If we are playing war, darling, you had better prepare for total devastation. Get on the bed. Let us see exactly how much artillery you can actually handle before you are begging for a truce.’

[meme-cafe]

Send me a “ 🔥 “ for an unpopular opinion.

Bonus points if you include a topic. ( IE. shipping, roleplaying, ect. )

[fangsforhire]

Who is that one person you can talk to about just anything?

‘I do not possess the fragile mortal urge to overshare. The violent entities pacing behind my ribs already provide a constant, deafening commentary on absolutely everything I do. There are entire councils held within my own skull on a daily basis, debating everything from what suit I should wear to which star system we should incinerate next. Therefore, the desire to sit down and unburden my feelings to another person is practically non-existent. Most people cannot stomach the reality of what I am anyway. If I were to tell a regular human exactly what goes on in my head, they would either burst into tears or attempt to have me institutionalised.

However, if I am in a rare mood to entirely drop the filter and speak without having to disguise the monster, I prefer the company of those who are just as beautifully twisted as I am. I look for the ones who have seen the absolute worst the universe has to offer and decided to simply light a cigarette and laugh at it. I can sit in a room with a seasoned assassin or a brilliant, completely unhinged criminal and talk about the violent mechanics of existence, and they will not bat an eyelid. They do not ask for apologies, and they certainly do not expect me to dilute the truth just to protect their delicate sensibilities. They tend to applaud the chaos rather than flinch at it. So, I suppose the answer is not one specific person, but rather a very specific, wonderfully broken breed of survivor.’

[fangsforhire]

“slurred words”

‘Y’know the ab-sho-lutely best thing about you, Jimmy? S’not the suits. Even though you always look... ridiculously sharp.’

The floorboards were pitching like the deck of a sinking ship. Lucien blinked hard, trying to keep the crisp outline of the criminal in focus. Forcing his celestial metabolism to shut down just to feel human liquor had seemed like a brilliant plan three bottles ago. Now, his grace was just a heavy, warm lump sinking to the bottom of his stomach.( The sheer amount of damage Moriarty caused on a daily basis was fascinating, a violent puzzle that actually held his attention. ) He swayed on his feet, lifting a loose hand to point a wobbly finger directly at Jim’s chest.

‘You are a proper, terrifying bastard. Th’s a compliment, by the way. Everyone else in this bloody city is just... they are sh-tupid. So boring. But you? You see all the angles. You pull the little strings and make ’em all dance right off a cliff.’

He took a heavy, uncoordinated step forward, his feet dragging clumsily against the rug. He caught the edge of the desk to stop himself from tipping over entirely, leaning his dead weight against the polished wood.( The usual violent noise inside his skull was completely drowned out by the scotch, leaving him staring at the mortal with a sloppy, unguarded grin. ) He tapped a clumsy finger against his own temple, completely stripped of his usual deadly restraint.

‘Been around a long time. Billion years. Seen whole planets get smashed to bits. But your mind? Your completely twisted, gorgeous, terrifying brain? Absolute masterpiece. Sh-uperb. Everyone else is just playing a boring game of checkers, and you are... you are setting the whole bloody board on fire. Best thing I have seen in centuries. Abshtounding.’

[fangsforhire]

@eladead bared their pretty throat : ❛  ah ,  ah -  don’t  touch .  ❜

‘Are you fucking shitting me?’

The sound ripped out of him raw, high and broken, before it dropped into something lower, a growl scraped over gravel, vibrating in his chest. His hand hung frozen inches from his cock, fingers still curled like they’d been torn mid-grip, palm quivering, empty, useless.( He was hard enough it hurt: flushed dark, thick, the head slick and shiny, a heavy bead of precome already sliding down the shaft in a slow wet line. His hips jerked once, involuntary, chasing air, and a sharp whine punched out of his throat before he could kill it. ) Heat crawled up his chest and his thighs trembled with the effort of not finishing the motion. Another aborted thrust, smaller this time, the muscles in his stomach jumping every time his cock twitched untouched.

The damp shine at the tip stretched, broke, another drop welling immediately, thicker, sliding farther. He bared his fangs, breath coming fast and ragged through his nose, shoulders tight, every line of him pulled taut around the denied touch.( A low broken sound rolled out of him, half snarl, half whine as his fingers flexed once in the empty air, close enough he could feel his own heat ghosting the skin, and still he didn’t close the distance. ) Precome dripped onto his own thigh. His cock jerked again, shameless, leaking, and the growl that followed was pure frustration, rough and animalistic, dragged up from somewhere deep, eyes shifting in shade.

‘Fuck you. Fine.’

[iansomerhalderitaly]