miindtricks. // multimuse.

the punisher, the watcher, the commander, the prince & the smuggler. multimuse, ind./sel. PERMANENT STARTER CALLS: FRANK CASTLE | daredevil RUPERT E. GILES | btvs SHEPARD | mass effect SEBASTIAN VAEL | da DAVOS SEAWORTH | asoiaf

[crimeblogger]

if you have to look along the shaft of an arrow from the wrong end, if a man has you entirely at his mercy, then hope like hell that man is an evil man. because the evil like power, power over people, and they want to see you in fear. they want you to know you’re going to die. so they’ll TALK. they’ll GLOAT. they’ll watch you SQUIRM. they’ll put off the moment of murder like another man will put off a good cigar.

so hope like HELL your captor is an evil man. a GOOD MAN will kill you with hardly a word.

[miindtricks]

ooc. taking the evening off, lovelies. i’ve a bunch of wonderful drafts, but it’s been a long day etc., so i’m thinking a lazy evening will do me some good. kisses ! !

[unwinthehart]

I haven’t seen him. No-one’s seen him. He’s locked himself away in his flat. God knows what he’s up to.

[miindtricks]

ooc. i love my soldier children a lot you guys, a lot ! !

[miindtricks]

( PAVUS ) :

 ❝ ——- I’m not entirely certain if that’s meant to be a critique of my hygiene or my morals. What seems clear enough, however, is that there’s something of a problem with your definition of hero. Rather too simplistic; perhaps a bit, shall we say, derivative? These black and white worldviews are so terribly uninteresting. ❞

“ Didn’t hear a no in all the bullshit you just told me. ”

He didn’t entirely disagree with some of the points Pavus had made. But there it was again, that silver tongue, talking circles around him, talking circles around the question and the answer, the only one he’d been interested in. He’d already made up his mind, though. Whether Pavus was going to say it out loud, didn’t matter.

“ Point is, I don’t care what you call yourself. Long as you get the job done. You with me on this, or not? ” 

Plenty of other mages he could approach, but Pavus wasn’t only the best ; Frank could appreciate the man’s style.

[miindtricks]

( HAWKE ) :

[text: hamish & eggs] you did say that, yeah, and i know how you get with nothing to do [text: hamish & eggs] anders knows exactly what’s good for him, that’s clear [text: hamish & eggs] and i know exactly how to handle him 😉

( ... )

( ... )

( ... )

[ text ; m.h. ] are you just trying to rile me up? [ text ; m.h. ] christ, you are, aren’t you. [ text ; m.h. ] i’ll remember that for tonight.

[miindtricks]

( ??? )

“Rather good job you’re in a pub then, isn’t it?”

John glanced sideways at the man sitting beside him at the bar in mild surprise. He hadn’t been speaking to anyone in particular. The barkeeper, maybe. Had he? Had he realised he’d said it out loud, at all? Christ, it was one thing to talk to Sherlock in his own head. Different sort of problem entirely if he started to talk to him out loud. Steady on, Watson.

“ You don’t sound like you had the best day, either, ” he said, voice dripping with irony but his eyes kind, if a little cautious. Never knew what sort you might run into here.

[miindtricks]

( ??? )

“Maybe I’m just looking for a little… punishment?” Berúthiel drawled out long and slow, looking him up and down. Her eyebrow raised once. “And you look like just the sort of man to deal it out.”

She turned around and caught the bartender’s eye again, tapping her glass. He refilled it and backed off quick, no doubt sensing the undercurrents rising up between the two patrons at his bar. She figured he was going for a piece; or maybe he was old-school and kept a barman’s friend up under the bar. Louisville Slugger, splintered but still solid.

Just in case.

“You’ve got quite a courteous mouth on you for such a magnificent brute of a man, don’t you?” she asked rhetorically, taking her refilled glass and sliding onto the stool beside the man she’d come to find. “I find the contrast appealing but…” A sip of her drink, and she licked her lips clean, dainty as any cat, and fixed him with a black-eyed stare. “Don’t call me ma’am again.”

Berúthiel’d had quite enough of that in her life already. She didn’t want empty courtesy. All it conjured were faceless, nameless servants in echoing halls. All it conjured was waiting to hear her husband’s tread on the thick carpet, waiting to see if tonight would be one of the nights he’d come to her room after dark. Her lips twitched toward something almost like a smile, if smiles looked quite so predatory. Never again. Never fucking again. She’d gotten away from that – from him. And there was no goddamned way she was going to let herself be dragged back and pressed back into service as someone else’s broodmare.

“Yes, punishment… or maybe I was looking for was something else that starts with a P,” she added, thoughtfully, tapping a long-nailed finger against her lips and darting a quick glance toward his lap. “Yes, I think it was, at that.”

Another raise of her eyebrow.  “Protection.”

Not interested. The words nearly left his mouth when she glanced at his crotch. Fuck’s sake. He wasn’t looking for any of that, not yet, maybe never again. Maria and the kids had been dead for a while now, but he’d only just finished things, hadn’t he? Had only just finished finding and killing everyone responsible for their deaths. That part was finished, it was done, but he needed time. Time to mourn them, like a normal husband and father might do. If he could. If this goddamn city would let him. Didn’t seem like it was going to.

He was about to shut this down, enough already, he had work to do, real work, work only he could do, Red wasn’t about to do the things he did, when another word dropped between them.

He couldn’t help it ; he laughed, soft and dark, taking another sip from his drink.

“ Protection, huh? You don’t watch the news a lot, do you? ”

The idea was so ridiculous it was bordering on hilarious, but the wry, gritty kind. For weeks now the scumbags of the Earth had needed protecting from him. And now this lady wanted, what? Clearly she knew who he was, wasn’t exactly being subtle about that part. She knew who he was and had somehow managed to track him down. Two strikes. Careful, now. Careful.

“ You want me to be your guard dog, is that it? Why not just get yourself some hired muscle? ”

He turned to her more fully, eyes quickly looking her up and down, taking in as much as he needed to confirm a few things, before he locked gazes with her, unblinking.

“ You certainly look like you can afford it. ” And like you can handle yourself. “ So. Why me? Who’s gunning for you that you think you need someone like me? ”

[miindtricks]

OPEN STARTER | JOHN .

               “ God, I need a drink. I had the most manic day. ”

[miindtricks]

( ??? ) :

@miindtricks didn’t ask for this but she’s gettin’ it anyway

Berúthiel bellied up to the bar between two of the stools, leaning her elbows on the scarred and stained wood. The bartender glanced over and she raised a finger and pointed at a bottle on the wall behind him; he nodded and fetched it down, pouring till she nodded her chin curtly when the level was to her liking.

Turning to lean her back against the brass rail around the bar and look out across the room, she sipped at the bourbon and savored the sharp honeyed burn on the back of her throat. The bar was small but crowded, little knots of people sitting around the handful tables or standing in packs at the pool tables, the single dart-board. In the front window, a neon sign buzzed and flickered fitfully, shedding a surreal pinkish glow over everything; smoke rose in lazy coils from cigarettes poorly snubbed out in overflowing ashtrays and hung in a blue fug around the ancient tin-tile ceiling. It smelled like beer and piss and worse things; she knew that smell would cling to her hair until she showered it out in the morning. The floor was sticky. The jukebox was playing BTO, Boys are Back in Town.

It was pretty damn perfect.

She watched one of the games of pool going on for a while, just sipping her drink and not seeming to pay attention to much else. In reality she was aware of just how many pairs of eyes were on her, and hid her half-smile behind her smudged glass as she drank. She figured she could understand it; she’d dressed planning to receive just the sort of attention she was getting, after all. Asking for it, they’d say if anyone came for her. Maybe so. Maybe she just liked the thrill. She could handle herself, if shit got out of hand. Always had before.

Or near enough.

Finally, she cast a sidelong glance at the craggy-faced man sitting two barstools down from where she leaned. He was handsome, in an odd sort of way. Or maybe handsome wasn’t the word; not with a nose that looked like it had spent more time broken than otherwise and a jaw you could crack walnuts on. But there was something compelling there anyway, something viscerally appealing.

“You’re not an easy man to track down,” she said casually.

No such thing as a moment of goddamn peace, it seemed. Not that he’d had the luxury of such a thing, not for a long time now. This was the closest he was going to get, wasn’t he? Dirtbags in the dirt, Schoonover put down, Schoonover’s shed cleared out, his guns now in Frank’s possession. Schoonover. His own former CO. Goddamn son of a bitch. That betrayal was going to sting for a while to come.

“ Another, ” he said, holding up his glass. Two down. One more. Then he’d be out of this joint, head back into the city, look for some scumbags to put down. Ah, shit, but he was one of the good guys now, wasn’t he? Whatever way he tried to spin it, that’s what it came down to. Somebody had to go out there, get the job done. No half measures. Put them in the ground, put them down, make sure they stay down. One shot, one kill. One night at a time.

She didn’t belong here. Any idiot with a pair of eyes could see that. Not that they’d stop to think about that. She was dressed to the nines, too, and yeah, alright, she was good-looking, but he wasn’t looking for any of that. Not like most of the clientele in here. Better know what you’re getting yourself into, lady.

She glanced at him then, just as he got his third glass of the evening, and he briefly smiled into it, all teeth, no mirth. Yeah, she knew what she was doing, alright. Not a moment’s peace. Shit.

“ Ma’am. ”

He put down his glass and looked at her, slow as could be. No rush. If she was going to try anything, he’d be ready. Sucked for everyone else in the bar. Not his problem. Might be hers. Might not be.

“ That right? Maybe you wanna tell me why you were looking for me in the first place. ”

[miindtricks]

( HAWKE ) :

[text: hamish & eggs] know you are. which fact *I* take advantage of quite regularly [text: hamish & eggs] my team knows their stuff, but i know you do, too [text: hamish & eggs] & you know i love spending more time with you when we can swing it [text: hamish & eggs] but are you offering help because you need to get some action? or because you’re afraid anders will try to?

[ text ; m.h. ] i did say i was bored out of my mind. [ text ; m.h. ] just want to help, love. [ text ; m.h. ] getting to spend more time with you is a nice bonus. [ text ; m.h. ] and i’ll leave handling anders to you. [ text ; m.h. ] reckon he knows what’s good for him by now.

[fcoppola]

You can’t run a global network of interconnected cells from a cave.

[miindtricks]

( SHERLOCK ) :

John’s smile in return lit up Sherlock’s very soul, if he were to believe in such a thing. It reached deep inside his core, soothing so many years of tension and loneliness immediately and effortlessly. John was always good at that, though. He could pull Sherlock from his lowest and darkest times, bringing him back to Earth and back to here and now.

This was certainly not a dark time, however. This was as perfect as it was insane and ridiculous. John had been aggressively ‘not gay’ not that long ago, and Sherlock had been too lost within himself and keeping the dark moods at bay to even give most people the time of day. It was completely against reason that they should fall in love, but then, it somehow made all the sense in the world.

They completed each other effortlessly, the both of them filling the empty spaces in one another’s lives and hearts perfectly. Sherlock gave John excitement, gave him a purpose in someone who needed him as badly as Sherlock needed John. Left to his own devices, Sherlock could self-destruct with the best of them, but John made sure it never came to that. John gave Sherlock something he had never experienced before in unconditional understanding and love. John always knew what to say and do, pulling Sherlock back from the precipice of a manic episode with a few choice words and liberal displays of affection. They were a beautiful organism together, living in perfect symbiosis with one another.

This was a perfect example of their give and take, giving one another what they wanted and taking what they needed in turn. Being on top of John like this, getting to watch his expressions as he rode him was something Sherlock was sorely addicted to. He rolled his hips faster, panting and squeezing John’s shoulder at the perfect feeling of it all. He was so grateful that John understood the signal that they had found that perfect angle, crying out when John made that lovely sound and moved his hips to hit that sweet spot over and over.

It was a miracle that he had lasted this long, to be honest. John knew the perfect formula to undo him, Sherlock never able to last very long when John was stroking him, hitting his prostate and speaking such lovely words. He was panting hard, grinding his hips in a desperate rhythm as he sought out his swiftly coming release.

“John, yes, John, I will, I am-” he panted out, the last word interrupted by his tossing his head back with a howl of pleasure as he spilled over John’s hand.

Sherlock Holmes losing control wasn’t usually a beautiful sight to behold. It was devastation and chaos and a recklessness bordering on suicidal. Anything, anything at all, to stop being bored. That's how you get your kicks, isn't it? You risk your life to prove you're clever. Why would I do that? Because you're an idiot. Sherlock out of control was dangerous, feral, a danger to himself and the people around him. John had seen it happen a handful of times, had gotten at seeing the signs leading up to it, tried his hardest to gently but firmly steer Sherlock onto another, less destructive path. It didn’t always work, but oh, he tried.

It had of course been fun, for a time, exhilarating, the thrill of the chase, the blood thumping through their veins as they wreaked havoc upon London’s underworld. They couldn’t continue like that, not forever, not all the time. Sometimes, yes. When Sherlock was about to jump out of his own skin if he didn’t have a case right here right now. When even John’s skin started to itch, his fingers flexing. When Sherlock started to leave John’s gun on the coffee table, on the kitchen counter, in the bloody sink for him to find in the morning when he was about to have a wash--- Addicts, the pair of them, both sustaining and feeding each other’s vices. John wouldn’t have it any other way. Being with Sherlock made him feel alive, truly alive. That had been the case since day one.

Sherlock was losing control now. And it was heartbreakingly, soul-shatteringly beautiful to behold. It happened suddenly, violently, taking them both by surprise, and John gasped as he watched Sherlock come undone, the evidence of his release spilling over his hand.

“ Oh, Sherlock… ”

He stroked him through his orgasm, until he knew there’d be a sweet edge of pain to the pleasure. Finally  he stopped, withdrawing his hand. There was electricity in his veins and white noise in his head. His skin felt like it was on fire, and he hungered, God, how he hungered. Control had been foregone a while ago. All that mattered now was chasing his own pleasure, his own release, marking Sherlock as his, claiming him once more. He moved forward, wrapping his arms around the other man and reversing their positions so Sherlock lay back on the bed.

“ Jesus, look at you, ” John panted, pushing back inside Sherlock and leaning forward to capture his lips in a frenzied kiss as his hips started to move again. “ Lovely, so lovely, and all mine, God, Sherlock, I’m close--- ”

A handful of thrusts, and John cried out, burying his face in the shadows of Sherlock’s neck as he pushed deep, deep inside of him one final time before collapsing on top of the other man. Time and space lost all meaning for a few moments, John breathing harshly against Sherlock’s neck as he slowly gained his bearings again.

“ Well, then, ” he finally said, his voice a touch hoarse, lazily mouthing Sherlock’s neck for a moment. “ Reckon you made it up to me. You alright? I lost control for a bit there. Sorry. ”

[miindtricks]

@spiritmark bc ahahaha help ???!!?

“ I know your hands ain’t clean either, Pavus. You got that silver tongue working for you, convincing people you’re a goddamn hero or some shit. But you’re just like me. You do what’s necessary. You get in there and you get your hands dirty and you do what you have to so the people you love can sleep safely at night. Shit, maybe you even like it sometimes. Tell me I’m wrong. ”

[miindtricks]

( SHERLOCK ) :

Sherlock had sorely needed this, his mind itching for something to drown everything out for a while. They had just finished a case not too long ago and the adrenaline was still going strong, making him beg John to get him out, take him somewhere to get rid of all the excess energy. John had been resistant, but Sherlock knew exactly how to convince him, telling him if they spent just an hour dancing together that Sherlock promised he would do anything John wanted afterward. With his energy level still peaked, he was ready for whatever John could want, hoping John’s request involved their bed somehow. Or the sofa, or the kitchen counter, or even something that took place against the door as soon as they shut it. Sherlock didn’t care, he’d do anything for this extraordinary man, even if he just wanted a bath together or a cuddle session.

Sherlock would do whatever John asked because this was exactly what he’d needed. He thrived in the noise and chaos, his eyes closed as he let the music flow through his body. The bass was reverberating inside his very chest, making it impossible to get wrapped up in his thoughts which was exactly what he was searching for.

He felt John’s fingers pressing into his hips, his eyes fluttering open to watch him, the heat in his gaze shaking him to the core more than the music ever could. His arms were slung around John’s neck, grateful for that fact because John’s voice made him a twinge weak in the knees. He laughed softly and leaned his head against his, nipping at his ear playfully. “Of course it’s not going to happen,” he assured him, one of his hands reaching up to stroke his nape. “I am yours, John Watson. All yours,” he said against his ear, kissing his jaw as they moved together, alone together in a crowd that might as well not even exist in their minds.

Everyone had been watching Sherlock, and rightfully so. His head was thrown back, dark curls damp and sticking to his forehead, his face ecstatic, his body moving in a response to the beat as fraught and complicated as the man himself. It was passionate and it was uncompromising and it was amazing, brilliant, fantastic. It was all of these things. He was all of these things. And he was John’s. 

The reality of that would never get old, never seem absolutely absurd. Surely there’d been some sort of universal mistake? But those were Sherlock’s arms around his neck, that was Sherlock’s hand touching the nape of his neck, Sherlock’s lips and teeth on his earlobe, his voice in his ear, yours, all yours.

You’re bloody well right, you are, he thought. He let his hands drift downward, slipping them into Sherlock’s back pockets and palming the firm globes of his arse before he pulled him closer, closer. Bit possessive, yeah, but could anyone really blame him?

He let everything go for a while, losing himself to the music, to Sherlock’s lips tracing his jaw, to the press and grind of their bodies moving together. It was so easy to forget about everything outside of their shared breaths and the pulse of the music. He could understand the appeal it had to a mind like Sherlock’s, who was probably overstimulated to the point of blissful silence. Nothing but this moment, and the next, and the next. And he was sharing it with John, chose to share this with him, another piece of the puzzle. John would take it and guard it with all the rest of them, fiercely, ferociously, devotedly. Mine. All mine.

[miindtricks]

( HAWKE ) :

[text: hamish & eggs] you know me. can’t resist a challenge… [text: hamish & eggs] i’ll do some research, see what i can come up with. sure i’ll need some hands-on review though. if you’re up for it. ;) [text: hamish & eggs] yeah, cornwall. get myself a pasty while i’m there maybe. but we can handle it i’m sure! you’re busy & your patients need you. don’t waste all your leave on me, love 

[ text ; m.h. ] a fact i heartlessly take advantage of whenever i can. [ text ; m.h. ] definitely up for it. i’m all yours, love. you know that. [ text ; m.h. ] sure? i don’t mind. could give you some insights the others might miss. [ text ; m.h. ] i have done this before, you know. let me help. i want to.

[miindtricks]

OPEN STARTER | JOHN .

               “ God, I need a drink. I had the most manic day. ”