#(pre-death)

[sreabhadh]

So. I slipped and fell. And now I have a nearly 2k word long Vortex fic to release into the wild. And yes, I do mean Vortex, not TexAid- this predates Vortex's death. (Don't worry, I'm getting there, I have plans). (There as in Vortex's death. I hope it turns out as juicy as I want it to and is as juicy to others as it is to me.

Mandatory Vortex trigger warning. I would say standard TexAid warning but First Aid isn't in this one.

Blood, gore, death, violence, language, Shockwave. I am scared enough of Shockwave to consider him his own trigger warning lol.

Hope you guys like it!

**********************************************************

Vortex’s vision was filling up with red. Figuratively. They were going to pay. Vortex had figured it all out, and they were going to pay. Vortex checked the time, grinding his teeth with a furious snarl. It’s not enough. Not enough for the bastards that did this. Not enough to make them bleed until their pristine white lab coats are the brightest shade of red. Not enough to make them drown in their own precious fluids, with as many holes and cuts on their bodies as Vortex’s little brother had bandages on his body. A stab of the knife for every stab of the needle, a twist of the knife for every bruise, a slice for every inch of cloth wrapped around him. They brought Swindle to the edge of death then made him dance. Vortex was going to make them beg for such a merciful treatment, and then he would make sure they never came back.

His fingers ran over each of his weapons in each of their hidden pockets and sheaths, memorizing them physically, where each one was and how many he had of each. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to have any of them. Vortex had gotten quite skilled at hiding them though, and his stockpiles had grown substantially over the years. They were going to be quite useful tonight. Tonight there was a meeting of the higher ups, to discuss the recent influx of monsters on the Western plains. Vortex hadn’t received an invitation, but he was writing his own. He’d have to write it after he was already inside, which wasn’t how invitations worked, but he needed blood to write this invitation, and he wasn’t going to use his, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to use Swindler’s. It was fine. He’d just write the invitation so it would be inviting them to hell, instead of inviting himself to the party. They had gotten lax. They’d trained their attack dog, set him loose on monsters, promoted him, given him treats and trinkets, forgetting more and more every day to worry about how his teeth would feel piercing their flesh. Vortex could act like a good boy, walk right in on their party, and unleash hell. And boy was it going to be a hell of a party.

Vortex’s vision filled with red. Literally. It was such a beautiful color. Made a real splash on the decor. Literally. The screaming had already started, though Vortex had only just begun. His first target, the one most responsible for what had been done to Swindle and the others, lay on the table choking on his own velvet-colored fluids as they eagerly ate up the horde of white sheets and notes of paper lining the table edges. Vortex’s remaining party poppers, the other inhabitants of the room had scattered, clambering over one another to get to the door. Which wasn’t working, silly thing. Them and their fancy automatic doors made of fancy metal to keep them safe. Never did work correctly when there were psychopathic murders on the loose and killing everyone in the room. How inconvenient. For them. Vortex grinned like a mad man, hopping up on the table with the glee of a 5 year old on their birthday. Like a normal 5 year old that is- Vortex couldn’t remember any birthday parties at that or any other age. He sniggered, then lost himself in a howl of truly demonic laughter. It wasn’t his birthday, but it was never too late to make up for lost time.

“WELCOME TO MY PARTY YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKING PIECES OF SHIT!” Vortex crowed from his new table for standing on and giving ominous speeches of vengeance (now in deep cherry red, no tablecloth required to provide a pop of color).

One person was still sitting at the table, probably in shock. Vortex ignored them. He could kill them after their panic set in enough to make them scream in terror. Failing that he could just make them scream in agony.

Many in the room turned from their fleeing positions to regard him with horror. Others ignored him, banging and slamming on the door, calling for help. Ha. Idiots.

“I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY WHAT I’VE PREPARED, THOUGH NONE OF YOU CAN STAY FOR VERY LONG-”

Vortex gave the line a moment to sink in their panic-filled heads before continuing.

“AS YOU’LL ALL BE RECEIVING A PERSONAL ONE-WAY INVITATION TO A VERY SPECIAL PLACE!”

“YOU MAY HAVE HEARD OF IT! IT’S MUCH BETTER THAN HERE REALLY, YOU’RE GOING TO LOVE IT!”

“Bloody hell!” someone exclaimed. Vortex shot them in the head. The air exploded with a new chorus of shrieks and screams as vibrant as the colors that had exploded from the skull he shot. The monster-slaying caliber weapon might have been a bit overkill and then some on a human head. Some of the shrapnel embedded itself in other people’s bodies and skulls. It was perfect. The screams were delicious.

“EXACTLY! HELL! CONGRATS YOU FIGURED IT OUT! YOU ALL GET A ONE WAY TICKET TO HELL, FREE OF CHARGE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO EVERYONE, IT’S THE LAST THING YOU’LL CELEBRATE!”

That last line hadn’t come out quite how Vortex wanted, but the lab coats and neck ties were still quaking in terror, so it was doing its job regardless.

Vortex lifted the now-dead corpse on the table by the collar of its tie. This is what they would all get for hurting his family. For hurting Swindle. He wanted to yell that part more ferociously than he had anything else, but he couldn’t. He had been conditioned into not showing any weakness and not giving the enemy anything to work with. He wasn’t going to give them that. They could die not knowing exactly what they had died for, but Vortex would know. That’s what mattered.

Vortex stabbed the corpse a few dozen times for good measure. He’d been distracted enough not to notice when exactly the man had expired, but he wasn’t breathing, and never would, which Vortex took as a good thing. Disappointing that he had gone so quickly, the bastard deserved worse than that, but at least he was gone. He’d never hurt Swindle or anyone else ever again. Now for the others. Cowering and cringing before him like, well, he didn’t have anything pathetic enough to compare them to. These were the people responsible for so many deaths and so much suffering and they couldn’t handle a little blood? A single combatant? There were more than enough of them to have at least tried fighting him, but no one seemed inclined.

Or not. Vortex whipped around at the sound of a scraping chair, ready to defend himself and fell his attacking victim. To put them down like they fucking deserved. The person with the chair wasn’t attacking though. They merely had a hand on the back of it, and their face was turned away from Vortex. The hell was that about? It was the person who had stayed sitting earlier, the one in shock. What were they doing? Were they still in shock? They didn’t look like they were in shock, though Vortex couldn’t tell without being able to see their face.

Alarm bells rang in Vortex’s mind, and he instantly shifted from gleeful murder spree mode to careful predator mode. He couldn’t be sure what this person thought they had up their sleeve or what they were doing, but it wasn’t going to get in the way of his vengeance. Or his fun.

Languidly, they brought a hand up to their face, then cast it aside like a used cigarette. The mask they discarded crashed noisily against the wall and down to the floor, electronic pieces sparking and fizzing as they continued to display the holographic image of a normal person’s face. Vortex felt his heart begin to race. There was only one person on base ever rumored or seen to wear a mask. He hadn’t realized there was a holographic aspect to the mask. He’d never heard of that, but he did know of one person who supposedly wore a mask.

The figure turned, and Vortex felt a wave of terror roll over him. One eye. No face. One eye, glowing with quiet confidence and casual malice. How many people had seen Shockwave’s face and lived to tell the tale? It’s him. Vortex’s knees buckled, almost sending him spilling off the table like a fumbled glass of milk. A number of the other occupants in the room passed out.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit FUCK. It was him. He was real. He was real and staring Vortex right in the face. Unblinking with his singular nonhuman eye. It- he, Shockwave- tilted his head. A question. A challenge. That much Vortex could read in the monster’s cold humanoid figure. Vortex no longer felt like a careful predator or a gleeful 5 year old.

He felt very small, and very tiny. As insignificant and meaningless as a dented piece of equipment that had finally stopped serving its purpose. A crippled rat strung up and helpless to the slaughter. Vortex snarled, though his heart wasn’t in it. He lifted his monster-slaying gun by instinct with the battle-hardened limbs and muscles trained to work long after Vortex’s mind had taken a leave of absence. He fired. And fired again, then again, and again, releasing a halestorm of fire. Surely that would work. Surely it had to. Surely. He’d never make fun of anyone for using an overpowered gun instead of a good knife ever again. Sometimes guns were overpowered for a reason.

Sometimes being overpowered wasn’t enough. The gun overheated, safety fail clicking on, rendering it useless. The gun slipped from Vortex’s fingers, then clattered hollowly to the table. Vortex wanted to run. Wanted to hide. Find the darkest, quietest, most remote corner of existence and curl up inside it and whimper like a kicked pup. Fear. Vortex had not felt that emotion, truly felt it, been consumed by it in a very long time. He had banished it, cut it out with his bare hands and removed it forever. No longer. Vortex was afraid. More so than he had ever been in his entire life. More than every terrifying moment and memory of his life combined. He had enough to fill a stadium with, but they wilted in comparison to this. This thing. The monster. Shockwave.

Shockwave stood, unmoved, unconcerned. He, it had not a scrap of clothing left, but Shockwave had no need for human decency. Shockwave was not human. His metallic “skin” fuzzed a moment, then was replaced with the holographic image of clothing. It was a bit blurry, but it didn’t matter. The wall, the ceiling and floor, that entire section of the room had been destroyed. Shockwave stood in the midst, completely unharmed. Completely unphased.

Vortex still wanted to run. Wanted to whimper and hide. But he was dead now anyway, so he gave his best snarl, which came out as a half-choked hiss, and lunged, aiming for that singular sinister eye with his good knife hand.

Shockwave caught him by the throat, and Vortex felt the hologram fizz uncomfortably against the skin beneath the vice grip of Shockwave’s cold metal fingers. Vortex’s body moved reflexively, mind working desperately, but his attempts were as fruitless as before. He could kick, punch, jab and twist as finely as the best trained wolf, which he was, but in Shockwave’s grasp he was but a mewling pup.

Shockwave slammed Vortex into the wall, and Vortex heard himself cry out. It was a far away sound, and his vision swam, the concussion from the blow already threatening to shut his brain down. Shockwave slammed him into the wall again, and Vortex groaned, unbeknownst to himself. His body rag-dolled limply in Shockwave’s grasp. Vortex was out like the light of a birthday candle on a lone velvet cupcake.

[starscelly]

tyler dancing (kinda) and enjoying the tunes

dal@buf 3.9.23

[moved-melodiesfcrged]

@tornmemory / rosalie gets a starter.

"Hi, Rosie ----" The greeting was half breathless as Melody bustled her way into the shop, beelining in for a quick and tight half hug. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry I'm late, the kids -- we were doing paper mache and I just --you would not believe the mess that was left behind but -- I do hope there's still time for us to grab lunch? If not, I'm, I swear I will make it up to you, I feel terrible --"

[bamsara]

goofies

[coreofgold]

wait right here. don't move. ( shen qiao @ hua cheng ) ( pre their deaths : (( )

Old Meme || @masqce (Pre-deaths)

Hua Cheng raised a brow but stood in their spot. "I'll be right here. . .curious on what you have in the other room." Kind of reminds him a bit of gege.

[angeart]

so i've been watching some random episodes of grian's hc 6 and so far this has happened:

villager grian decided to change profession and suddenly be a fisherman. which would mean nothing, but with grian's s10, i feel like that's now a Significant Foreshadowing /silly

grian has made his first little game. it involved a deathmatch of exploding other people to death via rocket-loaded crossbows and- get this- three lives

grian and scar didn't win, but they died so close to each other time-wise that grian wasn't sure who died first, and sort of merged their placement (grian died first in case you're wondering)

he said they should do something like that with more people and in a bigger area. mmhm

at a different occasion, grian threw scar off a high place and,

and when he then said through his giggles "oh i'm so- i'm sorry scar" i kid you not i had war flashbacks

when scar came back, he held a poppy

and he gave it to grian

i feel Very Normal about all of this.

[birdean]

What a wild little guy, I hope he doesn’t end up in a horrible life-or death poll

[kittykatninja321]

Fanon has people thinking that being replaced by Tim is the main thing that Jason is mad at Bruce about when that’s like #5 on the list and honestly I think he released all of his replacement related angst after he beat Tim’s ass, like he’s not even thinking about that anymore. Let’s all remember that Jason was ready to blow up the Batmobile before he even knew about Tim’s existence

[badghostwriter]

Dick stared at the ceiling fan. It spun, slowly but surely turning, ever ignorant of the world around it. It spun, regardless of the ribbon tied on the third blade, regardless of the breeze blowing in the window, regardless of the winter chill almost making his breath visible. The ceiling fan spun and the world spun and Dick couldn’t comprehend it.

The front door opened. Footsteps pattered into the hallway, past the kitchen and into the living room where he was laying on the floor and staring at the ceiling fan. The footsteps stopped for just a minute, before walking over to the window and sliding it shut. The lock clicked into place and a hand reached up to turn off the fan. Dick waited until it ceased any and all motion before tearing his eyes away from it.

“Have you eaten?” Tim asked.

Dick pried his mouth open, ignoring the awful taste that spoke of dehydration, “I…”

Tim waited a minute before accepting that was all he would get in response. He nodded, turned around and walked out of view. Dick watched him go with a pit in his stomach. A fourteen year old shouldn’t have to do the things him and Bruce made Tim do. Tim was too good. Too young. Too innocent. Except he wasn’t innocent because Bruce was breaking him and Dick was letting him and they were poisonous vines, weaving their way into Tim’s life, sucking the life out of him. Just like they did with Barbara. Just like they did with Jason. God, Jason. His baby brother, who was scared and suffering and died, all without Dick knowing.

“Dick,” Tim nudged him with a foot. Dick blinked, registering the water bottle and microwaved food in Tim’s hands. When had he had time to do that? Dick blinked again and he was sitting on the couch, food on his lap and opened water bottle in his hand.

Tim handed him the lid and a fork. “Drink and eat.”

Dick mechanically took a bite. Then another. Then a sip of water. He turned to look at Tim. His eyes were clouded and bruised, with his lip sporting a bloody cut that made Dick want to cry.

“Bruce?” Dick asked, voice raspy.

“Locked in the cave.”

Dick hummed, leaning over to bump his shoulder against Tim’s. He pressed his lips into the side of Tim’s head in the mockery of a kiss, trying not to remember doing the same thing to another little brother.

“Thank you. I’m sorry.”

Tim ducked a little to slide into place perfectly cuddled up against Dick’s side. “‘S okay. It’s always hard on the anniversary.”

Dick’s eyes watered. “It’s not okay, baby bird. You shouldn’t be…” looking after two grown men just because they can’t get their crap together.

“I’m sorry,” Dick said again.

Tim pressed closer. “Okay.”

Dick closed his eyes and thought absolutely nothing was okay.

[wh40kartwork]

Primarchs

by Mauro Belfiore

[screwpinecaprice]

I already really like these two, but after The Return of The Pumpkin Rabbit, I have been smitten. (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*♡

[foolsocracy]

this image reminds me of Arthur n Garth😭

stop thats the sweetest thing ever

[mrstellmeafuckingsecret]

guys walburga is older than tom i can imagine the rise of voldemort and walburga's like ? wha? who? ohhh that weird kid? he had like no friends lmao ,,, fucking half breed ,,, he tried to stick w us and we shoved him in a closet & charmed him quiet for like 3 hours when he was like 12 . @ alphard didnt u have the hots for him . what ? join him ? WORK FOR HIM ? 💀💀 that's funny . but maybe i can go have tea w him and remind him how he had a crush on druella . idk why . i was hotter

[extantodyssey]

tell me how to feel about you now

oh, let me know, do i suffocate or let go?

-

my first time ever making a comic like this! very far from perfect but i’m satisfied

this came about as part of me thinking a lot (too much) about the psychic 7 and their relationships with one another and what those look like/how they develop after the events of the second game

[coreofgold]

❛ didn’t you listen to what i just said? ❜ Justin & calcifer (before his rip 😔)

Old Memes || @wvsteria

"I did yes." Justin said. "And I received it, thought about. . .and then filed it away"