#cw mentioned gore

[3lectricinsomnia]

what were one and two’s first killing experiences like? who was it and how did they feel?

I talked a little bit about that here, but I re-thought some things so I’ll talk about it again.

One and Two started training at the same time, so Draxum would’ve started to get them used to killing as early as possible.

Draxum would bring in a helpless animal for the twins to slaughter. One went first and Two watched.

One's first kill was very hard for him. He was very conflicted but he went through with it because he had to. It made him feel really guilty afterwards and somewhere deep down he knew it was wrong but the more Draxum got him used to it the more One became numb to that feeling and once he started training in the Nexus, he realized he had no reason to feel bad because people loved it. He got praise and attention and, most of all, approval from Draxum.

Two’s experience was a bit different. When it was Two’s turn to make the kill, he didnt go through with it because the blood made him nauseous. Draxum would've tried getting Two to go through with it and gave him multiple chances but Two still refused so eventually Draxum stopped that part of Two's training while One continued with it.

This made Two feel inadequate so he started to oversee One's kills and took it upon himself to practice a kill alone, without supervision so Draxum would give him the same attention. Two would tear apart or dissect animals to force himself to get used to the gore even though it made him sick but he does it again and again and again so that he can be good too. This is another reason why Draxum is so afraid of Two and doesn’t trust him because what Two thinks is initiative, Draxum sees as impulsiveness or recklessness or untrustworthiness

[lotussart]

Drew this for a bestie 😊

[zuckerxfleisch]

[stellewriites]

very much inspired by a post i’ll link at the bottom to avoid spoilers

i love putting john price in situations

simon had known price for over a decade, had served under him as his lieutenant for a good portion of it, so he was pretty confident in answering yes when asked if he thought he knew the captain well.

he could acknowledge he wasn’t as close as say laswell may have been, but he knew that price’s wife was not common knowledge around the base either.

he’d pieced it together over the years on missions; catching the odd comment shared over coms; the glint of a ring around his neck; the odd teased mention of her when they sat in the rec room after barely scraping through a tough spot, when price needed the company as well as the silence ghost offered before returning to the real world.

it was how simon knew the sergeants were staying when price let slip about her one day. because he doesn’t let anything slip, wouldn’t, especially about her.

“got anyone at home waiting for you, sir?” gaz asked as he sighed impatiently over the coms, hour three of silently waiting and watching had finally gotten to him.

“i do,” price said simply, not offering any further information. ghost could imagine the amusement tugging at his daft facial hair as price refused to continue without prompting and simon smiled under his mask when he heard johnny scoff next to him before chiming in.

“c’mon sir, give us a wee bit more’n that,” he weedled. “when’d ya meet? is she nice?”

john hummed, the sound low and crackly over the radio in their ears. “met when i moved.”

“oh, a real meet-cute type thing, eh?” gaz teased.

john ignored him. “wouldn’t say she’s nice, soap. she’s more than that. ‘nice’ is your aunt’s new wallpaper; you have permission to shoot me point blank if i start calling her nice.”

“what is she then?” ghost piped up. this was the chattiest john had ever been on the subject and he was going to take advantage.

john went silent for long enough that the three men thought that was it, the end to their sharing session and knowing more about their captain outside of work. simon chewed the inside of his cheek.

“she’s devoted,” john whispered finally before his voice firmed. “heads up, team, movement 2 o’clock. anyone got eyes on the target?”

—

it was months later when she was brought up again, the team thinking. nothing of it until price’s phone pinged in his pocket enough times to pique johnny’s interest as they prepped to leave.

“that the wife, sir?” he asked.

john huffed, didn’t bother checking his phone as he turned and shook his head. “she’s clingy, but she doesn’t bother me when i’m at work.”

“how’d you know?” gaz asked. “could be an emergency.”

“‘n’ how’d you get her to agree tae tha’?” soap followed up quickly, having had issues with his own flings petering out when he was distant and slow to reply.

“been with her long enough now it’s routine,” john said simply. he checked his weapons before heading for the exit. “helo in 5, be air ready.”

—

the mission had gone to shit, and they were stuck hidden in a building that looked like it was 10 seconds away from collapsing under a brisk wind when ghost finally felt his patience snap.

it was no one’s fault, but being stuck in another country with no back up and a target on their backs for an extra three weeks wasn’t ideal and johnny’s insistence on playing cards at every opportunity to keep his idle hands and mind busy combined with gaz’s tinny whistling had made for the perfect scenario to grate on simon’s patience quicker than anything else ever had.

“tell us about her. ya wife,” simon asked, his gaze slipping across to john, watching him pick at his nails. his cuticles were red and raw from four days of agitated fidgeting since they’d ran out of cigars and cigarettes. every so often simon caught him pat his empty pocket before he’d remember and huff heavily through his nose like a bull.

john closed his eyes at the mention of his wife and sighed. he started his description without protest or hesitance. “shes soft spoken. christ, you’d hardly know she was there half the time, she’s so quiet. but she’s firm. stands her ground no matter what,” he chuckled. “don’t think i’ve ever won an argument against her.”

kyle laughed and ghost closed his own eyes, trying to picture what he thought the captain’s wife might look like. pretty certainly, but was she tall, plump, did she have an endearing gap between her front teeth, did she keep her hair short or long?

“she’s a bit of a homebody,” john admitted bashfully, unaware of simon’s drifting thoughts. “but i can’t say i mind it.”

“not wanting to leave the bedroom much when yer back?” johnny joked, hissing when ghost punched his thigh.

john just smiled placidly, eyes still closed. his eyebrows pulled down as he gushed, “god she’s gorgeous in red. wears it every time i come home.”

“lucky bastard,” gaz huffed.

“yeah.” john nodded and finally opened his eyes. “yeah, lucky.”

“you’ll be back with her soon, cap,” gaz reassured him when he saw price swallow thickly.

“thanks, gaz. now who’s taking first watch tonight? soap?”

—

john was quiet on the plane ride home, not unusually so, but ghost noticed the difference all the same.

he was pensive perhaps, worried what his wife would say when he finally got home a month later than scheduled, uncontactable the entire time. ghost could understand to a certain degree that john would have more important things on his mind than what his three subordinates were going to do as soon as they stepped foot on home soil, so he didn’t push when john ignored the few threads of conversation thrown his way by their younger sergeants. instead he nodded when john said a quick goodbye as they all parted ways in the airport.

simon could only assume john was the same all the way home in the cab that dropped him outside of his little three bed house.

he didn’t see however how john hesitated at the door to his home that evening. how he gripped the front door keys tightly in his fist, shook as he stared down at his feet instead of letting his eyes drift and catch on the windows, and felt as though he could crack a tooth from how hard he was clenching his teeth.

he finally opened the door when he thought the neighbours might begin to get worried and stepped inside, flicking on the lights as he went.

it wasn’t until he got to the kitchen that he found her.

stood bare foot, silent, eyes wide and pleading, blood seeping - always seeping. would it ever stop? would the blood ever end? - through her white pyjama top, his top that she’d borrowed for the night, and trickling down her bare legs.

her mouth opened and she visibly struggled for breath, but no sound escaped even as her tongue wagged on the floor of her mouth, lapping at the backs of her teeth as all words escaped her.

he swallowed back bile.

“hello, sweetheart,” he choked out. “sorry i’m late.”

the blood pooled at her feet, the panties she wore were seeped a dark purple from the viscus liquid dying the dark blue material and the shirt stuck to her front. john had remembered loving seeing her like this in a morning, had always thought she looked best in as little clothing as possible.

“i know you hate it when work keeps me busy, but it was unexpected. we were caught—“ a high screech, not dissimilar to that of a whistle that only a dog could hear, pierced through his ears and cut his words short. he curled in and covered his ears, but he knew it would do no good, he should’ve known better than to talk about work around her.

not after what had happened last time he got back late after overtime.

tears prickle at his eyes and the sound abruptly stopped. he’d never questioned why it seemed to be only him that could hear her protests, why his neighbours never mentioned a shrill cry every so often from his home. he had always said she was made for him and that had apparently translated literally into the afterlife.

he looked up at her again - it was best not to ignore her he found. it only made her angry.

“it won’t happen again,” he promised wetly. “i did my best to get back as soon as i could, i promise, sweetheart—“ he choked on his words, biting back a sob. she watched unblinkingly, silent except for the wet squelch of her feet on the laminate.

they both knew he wasn’t apologising for being late this time. he got like this sometimes, when her agonised face and mangled body was too much to bear after a long mission and the guilt bore down like a physical presence.

he couldn’t help but think if he’d gotten home even just an hour earlier he might’ve been able to save her, to have kept her company instead of leaving her on the floor alone and cold, maybe he could have caught the bastards that had hurt her while he was still travelling back from deployment after agreeing to hang back and finish his paperwork there and then instead of emailing it across.

he reached a shaking hand forward and blew out a ragged breath when his hand met nothing but frigid air. but when he brought his hand up to his face he could smell the copper tang of his dead wife’s blood on his skin. the stench unwashable, cloying, but if he concentrated hard enough it ever so faintly smelt like the vanilla perfume she used to wear.

“was telling the lads about you, love,” he forced an empty chuckle as he walked around her to the kettle and went through their usual routine. “think they might’ve fallen a little in love, not that i could blame them.”

he ran a hand over his face and gave himself a moment to let the tears fall as his palm hid his eyes. her silence was the worst part of it all, but he could see the glaring red of her in his peripheral when he dropped his hand to the counter.

it wasn’t pretending his wife was still alive if she was right there at his shoulder, was it?

“looks like i’ll need to grab you some more pg tips, sweetheart,” he said and poured the boiling water into two cups, sparing a glance over his shoulder at his wife. “we’re almost out.”

post link

[loudclan-clangen]

Loudclan - Moon 29: Part 1

Summer rolls across the valley territories with a vengeance. The sparse mountain territory of Loudclan offers little reprieve from the ever present sun that beats down on the cats. While most patrols rush back to camp to take shelter in the caves during the midday hours, young warriors itch for a chance to prove themselves, and evidence of trespassers provides just that for Fiercestripe's patrol.

A fight breaks out between the patrol and the farm cats. Though the clan-cats are highly trained fighters, save for Fiercestripe they are untested in battle, and are outnumbered more than 2:1. There will certainly be losses.

[clangen: *takes everyone's favorite characters, throws them in a blender, and sets it to liquefy* me: *twirls my little metaphorical evil mustache* ahh, yes, just as I planned... For real though, I am so glad to finally get this moon (half of it at least) out to you guys! It is definitely the biggest and most time and skill intensive moon so far and I had a ton of fun drawing it! Unfortunately, that means that the second part is going to take a similarly long while to finish, but I hope that the quality of them makes up for the wait! I hope you guys all enjoy! If you're a little lost as to who the farm cats are check out this pmv and this family tree]

Edit: It's been pointed out to me that Rosehiptree's age is wrong here. That's my bad, this was a HUGE project and while I did my best to not make any mistakes it slipped past me. She's 14 moons old, the same as Dogwoodmoth, but it would be more trouble than it's worth to change it, given the size of the moon not allowing me to upload images on mobile, so lets all just do me a favor and pretend it says 14 instead of 13. Thanks!

First Moon

Next Moon

[humanjeff]

think my favourite part of Harrow the Ninth is that there's a bit where she gets hit in the face so hard she loses a bunch of teeth, then uses the fragments of her own shattered teeth to explode a man's eyeballs - and it never gets mentioned by anyone discussing the book because in a few pages there's a soup scene that is Very Much Worse.

[doodle-with-alizard]

Dead man just wants some toast :(

I love this scene so much oml

[5ftboy]

"We're all over this fucking bear."

[free-my-boy-grumbot]

“ohhh i’m so tired of love songs i wish people would write more original stuff” literally listen to lemon demon. some of his song topics include

Ronald Reagan fights his evil shadow self

Guy is trapped inside an evil arcade machine that kills people

You can do what you want to your body! dye your hair! get that tattoo! pull your teeth out! stick screws in your eyes! rip your arms off!

disgraced scientist is disgraced

I forgor 💀

Guy died and a bunch of cool haunted shit happened and it was really spooky

Please date me i’m a really nice ghost i mean normal man

I’m eating a corpse and it’s soo tasty and homoerotic come join me

ohohoho i am a Creature

well you probably know what two trucks is about

[toxifoxx]

*chanting* fat springtrap!! fat springtrap!!

as you wish! (^_−)☆

[the-kr8tor]

What's Your Favourite Scary Movie?

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 11.3k

Summary: A camping trip with your so-called friends takes a turn from harmless taunting to gore filled stabbing.

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), slasher AU, Horror elements, CW bullying, CW food mentions, TW death, TW blood and gore, CW violence. Set in the 80s, CW animal death, drug mention.

Navigation

Octobie 🎸

Music blares in your ears through your headphones as the car passes by numerous pine trees along the road. You flick your eyes over to the rearview mirror when you felt eyes on your face. Sure enough, Flash's smiling eyes stare at you through the mirror. And when you hear muffled giggling, you already know where the delighted laughter is coming from.

As you glance at the passenger seat, Miranda's amused grin greets you. Her blond hair bounces as she tries to play innocent. Even with your music murmuring their words, you know that they're talking about you. So you slyly press pause on your walkman, with their chortling they barely heard the click of the button.

“God, purple isn't doing her any favours. I can't believe we're sharing the same car as the freak.” Andy, a jock like Flash, sneers right behind you as he sits at the far end with the luggage because of his size. “That's the color right, babe?”

His girlfriend, Quinn snorts in her seat next to you. “She’s wearing navy blue, babe. And yes that sweater looks fucking ugly, it's so 1975. I think I saw my grandma wear that once.” She twists in her seat to face her boyfriend, elbow hitting your cheek, but you pretend that it didn't happen for your sanity. She doesn't even mention it. “Are you sure you didn't hit your head during the game?”

Andy puts his arms on your headrest, and again, you get hit by elbows. You're starting to hate your club advisor for putting you in the same car as the people who never even wanted to be part of the forestry club in the first place. They joined because your club was unfortunate enough to have less members and therefore was the target of the popular clique because they were ‘too busy’ to pick a required club lest they don't graduate at the end of the year. Oh how you wish you were in the same van as Thena even though she smells like swiss cheese. But alas, you drew the short end of the stick.

“Or maybe he fell on his head when he was a baby.” Emma says nonchalantly with a book in her hands. She's kind of alright to you, only because she doesn't speak or even look at you.

Miranda giggles in the passenger seat while her boyfriend Flash laughs with her.

“I'm color blind, bitch!” Andy yells, making you wince.

“Yeah, he's color blind!” His girlfriend Quinn agrees. You feel like your head is being split open by her shrill voice. You long for swift death in this car.

“That's your comeback, bruv?” Flash eggs Andy on, you worry that his attention isn't fully on the road.

“W-what? You got a better one, fucker?”

“W-w-what?!” Flash says mockingly. A round of laughter echoes around the small wagon, and you swear you heard Andy growl at the guy. You kind of feel bad for the big guy, if he wasn't such an asshole to you.

More than annoyed, you press play on your walkman as they continue to bicker. Punk music filters through your ears and for a moment you feel alright. But this time Miranda hears the click, your former childhood friend turns to look at you with a condescending smirk.

“Welcome back to the real word, Paste.”

You hate that nickname so much, you wanted to throw the walkman at her face. But you take the high ground and just ignore her like you always do. That damned nickname. She thinks she's so clever for thinking of it when you two were just nine when she caught you scooping out a dollop of paste for a birthday card you were making. She thought that you were about to eat it, hence the nickname, Paste. The birthday card was for her, too bad the trashcan ended up receiving it.

“I told you not to call me that—”

“Bitch, look out!” Andy's gruff voice is grating in your ears, his yell trumps out your music as Andy swerves the steering wheel.

“Shit!” Miranda clutches at her seat belt as you see a deer standing right in the middle of the road.

“Fuck!” Emma, holds on to the front seat just as the car goes sideways, tires skidding on the asphalt, blackened smoke coming out of the rubber.

“Mother fucker!” You brace yourself as the chorus of the music in your ears crescendos, and a tree trunk gets dangerously close to the front of the car. “No—!”

You fall into darkness.

—

You hear an animalistic groan the second you're conscious. Eyes fluttering open, you're met with Emma's flashlight flashing on your face.

“She's awake!” She yells as she roams her eyes over your form from outside the car.

“How long was I out?” You touch your throbbing forehead. It aches but thankfully you don't find blood.

“Just a few minutes, sleeping beauty.” This is the longest time she has had a conversation with you. Her blue hair glistens in the afternoon sun as she opens the door for you. “You hurt anywhere?”

You shake your head. “I'm good…I think.”

She sighs, “good, up and at ‘em.”

You take it one tiny step at a time, once your hiking boots hit the grass, you assess the damage of the car. The hood is busted from the tree curved around the metal. The engine is smoking and the lights are smashed to pieces. There's also a huge scratch on the side of it. Mrs. Williams is gonna kill the whole lot of you when she sees her car.

“Oi, Paste!” You roll your eyes at Flash's call.

“I told you not to call me that—!” The second you turn around and set your eyes on the barely alive deer in the middle of the road, you swallow thickly at the poor animal.

“Gnarly, right?” Flash grins, but when he glances at the deer his smile fades. “What are we going to do with it?”

“Should we bury it?” Quinn says whilst hidden behind her boyfriend.

“It’s still alive.” Your eyes never leave the gasping animal. Crossing the small distance, still wobbly in your feet, you tilt your head at its large wound. Even doctor Dolittle can't fix this.

“What do you suggest we do then, Paste?” Miranda side eyes you. “We can't call for help. There's no payphone in sight!” She stomps her foot like a child. “Gah! I should've joined the homemakers club instead of forestry!”

Emma nudges you, “I think I know what Y/N here is thinking.”

“You do?” You furrow your brows.

“You speak freak now, Emma?” Quinn sneers.

You ignore her. “We should end its misery.”

“Fuckin' hell, mate!” Flash gestures wildly at the deer. “It's still alive, maybe if we wait for Mrs. Williams and the others—”

“They might have already passed this place because you and princess here kept needing bathroom breaks.” You blurt out. Miranda and Flash scoff with a shake of their bottle blond heads.

“Woah!” Emma clasps your shoulder. And you flinch away from her touch.

“Paste here has some fire in her!” Quinn joins in, queasiness gone. Queasy Quinn, you should call her that.

With a clenched jaw, you bend down to retrieve your butterfly knife from your boot. Flipping it open, you roam your eyes at the bewildered group.

“Damn.” Andy whistles lowly. His girlfriend punches his bicep.

“Who's gonna do it?” You ask, the deer continues to wheeze out. Its blood now slowly inching its way over to your feet.

“Not me!” They simultaneously say with their index finger pointing at their noses.

You're camping with a bunch of children it seems. With a sigh, you kneel down next to the deer. Looking into its deep brown eyes, it's a sea that threatens to pull you under its sympathy. Your hand settles atop its blood coated fur, matted under your touch, warm and still oozing with fading life. It huffs at you, bleating like it's pleading to be spared, or be taken out of its misery. Whatever it was, you swiftly stab it in its carotid artery right on its neck, as if you've done it a million times before.

The group's disgusted yells and groans fade in your senses as its crimson flows from the wound down to your knife and hand. It's still warm, you feel like you're death itself. The poor deer stops twisting and kicking, finally falling limp in your hands.

Your blood rushes in your ears, pulse thumping like the beat of drums. Something inside you awakens from its dormant state you've forced it inside your ribcage. It flutters right out of its crystalline cocoon, beginning to fly out, trying to escape the confines of your serrated flesh. Breath running warm, you take out your knife from its body.

“Freak,” Miranda taunts under her breath, you can feel that a part of her is afraid. Does she not realize you're the one holding the bloodied knife?

“You looked like you enjoyed that one, Paste.” Her boyfriend agrees, you send them a tensed glare. They both look away from you. You can feel the fear behind their distant eyes.

“Your sweater is wasted.” Quinn raises a brow with an amused glint in her eyes. “Good, it was ugly anyway.”

You stare at your blood soaked sleeve. “I'll go get cleaned up.”

“You better, you smell like a dead rat.” Andy scoffs, arm slung over his girlfriend's shoulders.

“Go, we'll manage here.” Emma says without looking in your direction, eyes trained on the now dead deer, disgusted by its guts flowing out of its many wounds.

You walk back towards the car where your bag is. Once you reach it, you fall on your knees behind the car to avoid any more teasing from your so-called club mates. Weirdly enough, you don't feel shaken by it, nor disgusted like the rest of them. It's a weird feeling. You haven't felt this way in a long time. But this feeling, this enlightened feeling brings you a familiar comfort, bringing you back to your summer camp days.

After collecting your thoughts, you change into a turquoise windbreaker, blood all wiped clean by a wet handkerchief. Once you hide the knife back inside your boot, you return to the rest of the group with your backpack slung over your shoulder. The tin water bottle and skillet clangs against each other, signaling your return.

“Took you long enough,” Quinn says in her high pitched voice that is glass breakingly worthy. “We came up with a plan.” You didn't even know that they're all capable of thinking. “So we thought that we could wait here for the rest of the club to rescue us—”

“Bad idea.” You cut her off. Their eyes are all on you, and you almost shrunk down from their stares. “I–I think we should hike towards the campsite. We have a better chance of meeting up with them that way. We can't wait out here in the cold, especially since we don't know if they've already passed here.”

“Makes sense.” Emma agrees, still avoiding your eyes. Was that fear?

“But that's so far though!” Miranda kicks at a pebble like a petulant child.

You clench your jaw. “Then wait here, I'll hike up to the campsite.” Fixing your hold on your pack, you start walking away. “Don't blame me when you're all freezing to death.”

“Wait for me!” Emma calls after you, running towards the car to get her own pack.

“Not you too, Emma!”

“I'd rather stay with the survivalist than the cheerleaders!”

“Damnit,” Flash curses under his breath while the rest of them look at him, waiting for a plan. “I hate to say it, but she has a point. We have no idea how to even light a fire. But Paste here can.”

You walk quicker when you hear them following you. If you could sprint away, you would've. But alas, you need to conserve every bit of energy you have to trudge through the last miles towards the designated campsite.

Emma walks side by side with you, well, a few steps apart from you. She's silent for the most part except for her lingering gaze on the side of your face. The rest are already arguing behind you after five minutes of walking. Of course they're arguing about the single granola bar that Miranda packed for herself.

You deafen them out in your ears, wishing that the birds would sing louder in the trees to tamp out their voices. You'd put on your headphones but it broke in half during the crash. The air smells fresh in the forest, with the wind brushing along your cheeks like a gentle kiss. You smile gently at the peace, mind cleared of anything but the road in front of you.

Once the asphalt road transitions to a dirt road, it's now a real hike as your group sees the sign that reads, ‘jumping spider campgrounds.’

“Spider?” Quinn shrieks behind you and the peace is broken. “Please don't tell me this camp grounds is full of spiders!”

You realize that she's talking to you. “It's just the name.”

“You sure, Paste?” Flash questions you in a teasing tone. “They named it that for a reason.”

“Augh!” Quinn scampers behind her boyfriend.

You clench your hand on the strap of your backpack. “I've been here a few times and I've only seen two spiders.”

“Two is too much!” Quinn screams. At least no wild animal would come near the group with her voice ringing out through the entire forest. Unless there are wolves running about, then you'd hide behind Andy too. You're sure the wolves would like to eat him first.

With a headache blooming on the top of your head, you finally make it to the campsite after two and a half hours of walking. It's a small clearing in the middle of the woods with a few picnic tables set up and a dilapidated looking restroom sitting in the corner. Instead of Thena waving at you enthusiastically, there's no one in the campsite. A chill runs down your spine. You suppose it's the cold.

“Fuck.” You utter as you find out that the entire place sits empty without your other club mates and advisor.

Miranda and the rest push past you, shoving you to the side to look for a soul in the campsite.

“No! What the fuck!” Andy screams as he looks under a picnic table.

Emma stands in the middle of the clearing, hands gripping her blue hair. “Maybe they're running late?”

“Two hours late even though they were definitely right in front of us?” For once, Miranda says something right.

“Or maybe we're in the wrong campsite!” Quinn comes out of the bathroom with her hands shaking.

“Or they're out hiking already!” Flash crumples down to his feet, looking disheveled.

Then, all their eyes meet yours simultaneously. Their eyes shimmer under the sun, a slight blue hue falling on each of their faces.

You blink, lips slightly agape. “What?”

“What do you mean what?” Miranda walks over to you, pointing stiffly at your chest. “Where are they, hm?”

“How should I know? I was with you all the entire time. I can't communicate with them telepathically!” You immediately defend yourself.

“What the fuck should we do now?” Emma huffs, hands braced on the picnic table. Again, they all stare at you, as if you hold all the answers.

You don't know what to do either. “We should wait for them. They could just be running late. Or maybe they took a wrong turn—”

“God! I should've just joined table tennis!” Miranda exhales out, words carrying out into the woods.

“Listen.” You try to get their attention again. Which surprisingly enough, they give to you. “We should make camp and build a fire. The cold could kill us out here—”

“The cold?!” Miranda screams again, this time in your face. “You're worried about the bloody cold? We could get eaten by bears! Or fucking spiders!”

“If you could just listen for a second—!”

“I'm gonna look for a payphone.” Flash grabs Miranda, leading her further into the campsite.

“There are no payphones out here—!”

“I need to fucking piss.” Andy interrupt you.

“Don't fucking leave me out here!” His girlfriend follows closely behind.

You huff with a groan, frustrated at the situation. One moment they're listening to you, the next they're walking out into the woods.

“I'll set up the tents.” Emma says from the side. “I don't want to freeze to death.” She takes out her folded tent inside her pack. Clearing her throat, she looks at you. “Do you want me to set up yours?”

“Would you?” You ask with trepidation, what if she fills your tent with dirt and rocks?

“Yeah, sure. My dad used to take me out camping. I hated it but at least I learned some basic survival skills.”

“Like pitching up a tent?”

She chuckles nervously. “Exactly!” Coughing, she walks over to you to take your tent. “No tricks, I don't want you to freeze too.”

With slight apprehension, you give her your tent. Bag still slung over your shoulder, as much as you trust her right now, you don't trust her to give her your entire supply for surviving out here.

“I'll find some firewood and build a fire.” You say, rubbing your arms up and down for warmth.

“‘kay, watch out for jumping spiders. Or just regular spiders.” She jokes, managing to make you smile.

“I have bug spray with me, I'm sure I'll be fine.” Walking away, you head towards the left side of the forest where it's more familiar to you. Getting lost is the last thing you'll need here, especially when you're partnered up with people who wouldn't notice that you're gone.

Your feet aches and your neck throbs, despite it, you keep your head down to collect more firewood. You gather it in your arms, mindful that it doesn't poke a hole in your windbreaker.

You see a perfect branch near a pine tree, it's straight with a few bumps on the wood. It looks like something a kid would take to play as a knight. So of course you would take it.

Arm too full of branches, you bend at the waist to grab one from the forest floor. You don't anticipate all the firewood in your arms to spill over and fall on the mossy ground. It all tumbles down like a domino while you struggle to grab them even with your pack being so heavy on your back. And you're left with a single branch in your hand, sighing and silently cursing.

Left with no choice, you kneel down to collect it all again. You hear leaves crunch behind you, yet you continue to gather all the fallen firewood.

“Need help?” A voice suddenly follows the crunching sound. You don't yell or scream from the surprise appearance of the unknown voice.

You look over your shoulder, windbreaker making a swoosh sound as you move. Your eyes lock with his hazel eyes, he stands there, all six feet and five inches of him, (approximately in your mind) under the green canopy and greener moss underneath his steel toed boots, he looks right at home in the forest. But at the same time, he seems out of place with all his leather clad self, numerous patches stitched and buttons dotted along his jacket. His piercings shine as the light passes above, showing you his chiseled features. He looks like he crawled out of a catalogue, or from a punk album.

The sight of him makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up, but you can't seem to find it in yourself to walk away or look away from him. It's like you're staring at a shark's fin moving underneath the waves, parting the waters in a glorious display of a deadly dance. You know what's underneath, and you know what it entails if you stayed, but you still stand there, gazing upon his mysterious eyes that hold you in place.

He gives you a familiar feeling akin to a cold breeze brushing along your flushed skin, or perhaps a gentle wave pooling around your ankles at the beach. There's warmth and familiar coldness in his eyes, one that you're sure you've seen in yourself.

“H–hi?” You ask, smile a bit wobbly from how awestruck you are. Something passes by his eyes, something akin to fascination.

“Hello,” the stranger grins, eyes crinkling at the corners, hands still tucked inside his pockets. “Are you lost? D’you need help?”

“Not really.” You chuckle nervously. He walks towards you, footsteps barely making any sound. “Are you camping here alone? Have you seen anyone else here?”

He shakes his head, crouching down to pick up all the fallen branches. “Yes, and no one, just you, love.”

You hold a single branch to your chest, “oh, you don't need to help me.”

“I want to, I can't just stand there and let you pick all these up.” He chuckles deeply, you now notice his dimples whenever he smiles. “You ‘ere with your mates? I heard you lot from where I was.”

“Kind of.” You softly smile, finding his own contagious. Something about him makes you feel at ease, more like yourself. “Do you know a payphone nearby? We need it desperately.”

He hands you the branches in your arms, calloused palms brushing along your own. “I think there's one a few miles west ‘ere.”

Your face brightens, and his gaze softens. “That's great, can you take me there? I need to call our advisor. I'm…worried about them, and Flash the moron totaled the car.”

The handsome stranger stands up, and he lends you a helping hand which you take almost immediately. His hand feels cold yet inviting. “So you're with your classmates then? How many are you stuck ‘ere?”

“Yep— kind of, they're my club mates. There's six of us including me.”

He inhales, the corner of his lip curls into a smile. “Alright, I'll help you.”

You sigh in relief. “I'm Y/N by the way.”

He tests your name sweetly on his tongue. Reaching for your hand, he shakes it gently even with you carrying the firewood. You almost fumbled with it when you grasped his hand. “Hobie. Call me Hobie, love.”

“It's nice to meet you, Hobie.” You haven't smiled this much during the whole trip.

“C’mon, I'll show you where the phone is.”

You nod enthusiastically despite the goosebumps running up your arms. “Okay.”

Hobie smiles, a smile akin to a lion's grin. “I'll take those off you, then.” He takes your armful of branches on his own, all the while having his eyes on you. “I can't live with myself if I let you carry this all alone.”

“Oh,” you suddenly feel warm, a good kind of warm. “Can I at least take half of it?”

He chuckles while fixing his hold on the wood. “You can take one.” At first you thought he was joking, but with his raised brow and curl of his lips, you thought otherwise.

You fight a grin. “Just one?” With a nod from your acquaintance, you take a single branch from the pile in his arms. “You sure you can carry it all?”

In a display of strength, he flips the branches over to one arm, carrying it all with no problem. “See? You already took a load off of it.” You tamp down a giggle. He starts to walk away from you, when he notices that you're not following him, he looks over his shoulder casually. “You comin'?”

Looking behind you, your second thoughts about leaving them behind are squashed down by their ugly words uttered to you through the years. “Sorry, I'm coming.” You catch up with him, side by side, you follow him with a small smile.

Leaves crunch under your boots whilst you fling the branch in your hand bashfully, letting the wood brush over the tall grass. The silence permeates through the hike with him carrying the load, and guiding you while you just walk close by him. You've never been the one to be guided, it's always you who has to guide the others, keep a watchful eye so they don't get poison ivy, and you, who has to lug around the supplies. All the while you listen to them expressing their ungratefulness. You stare at his profile, smile tugging at your lips immediately when he gazes back at you wordlessly. It's nice to be taken care of once in a while.

For the first time in a long time, you start a conversation. A friendly one that you know won't end in you getting called a nasty word.

“So why camp alone?” You tentatively start, nails picking at the branch in your hand. “This part of the forest isn't exactly beginner friendly.”

“Who says ‘m a beginner?” He nudges you gently, making you look up from your feet. “My mates and I used to come ‘ere and just stay for an entire week forgettin’ our lives until we got the scent of city smoke out of our noses.” Chuckling, Hobie looks at you through glimmering eyes. “Now it's jus’ me and my motorbike.”

“What happened to them— i–if you're comfortable telling me.”

“A freak accident. There was a forest fire, I barely made it out. But they didn't.” He sighs, you open your mouth for an apology but he beats you to it. “It was a long time ago, no need to say your condolences.”

“Still, I'm sorry. It must've been hard.” You reach out to him, but you decide not to last minute lest you make your new friend uncomfortable.

Hobie leans against your palm before you fully move away, his smile gets brighter when you decide to cup his elbow gently. “Thank you, love. I come ‘ere to look at the shitty condo they built atop it and imagine that it's burnin.’ Ain't that fucked up of me, hm?”

You chuckle, already regretting the sound right after. “I— no, that's actually…uh.”

“Funny?” He completes your sentence while chortling at your flustered self.

You blink, fully laughing with him. “I was gonna say that but I didn't want to offend you!”

“Consider me not offended, love. You've got a sense of humour amidst the fucked up shit in the world, I fancy that in a bird.” The heat on your cheek is impossible to ignore, you have a feeling he knows about it too. “The funny thing is that it's not even done yet, it just stands there on their graves like some fucked up grave stone.” He sniffs, thumb rubbing along the corner of his eye. “My turn to ask a question, what kind of club are you and your mates are in?”

“Forestry. And they're not exactly my mates.” You spat out the last word with malice. You both pass by a towering pine tree and a start to a dirt trail.

“Alright— hold on…” he pauses mid step, with a careful hand atop your shoulder, he reaches for your cheek, “you have red on you, can I?”

You don't usually let anyone touch you, especially someone who's practically a stranger. But the familiar feeling grows with every moment you're with him. As if you've known him for a long time, a long lost childhood friend that you've finally found amidst the throng of worthless faces. So you let him with a nod, let him wipe away the deer's dried up blood caking your cheek. The pad of his thumb is calloused and rough, yet his touch is as gentle as a raindrop falling on your skin. You welcome the feeling wholeheartedly.

“There, all clean.” He doesn't ask why you have blood on you, “it was hidin’ your pretty face.”

“It was just a drop, and I highly doubt that.” You say bashfully.

“That you're pretty or that it hides your face?” His hand rests upon your shoulder, thumb ghosting above your heated cheek. “You’re stunnin’, I wasn't going to let that small thing mark you.”

Your heart lurches in your chest. There it is again, the familiar yet cold feeling washing over you. It's a beautiful contradiction. You're not perturbed by it in the slightest. “Thank you.” you could only manage to say those two words.

Hobie leans away, hand pulling reluctantly away from you. From the way his tender gaze falls on you, you think he feels it too. It's not love, not yet anyway. It's attraction. The kind that's magnetic, the kind that you know he'll fit right in with your missing pieces, the kind that he'd let himself fall into place right next to the spaces that he can and will gladly fill out. His soul glows behind his calm demeanor, as if the two last endangered beings have finally met their match. Feathers plucked from the same bird.

But it's an unspeakable match, one that could end in teeth marks left upon each other’s skin, leaving darkened blood boiling to the surface, caking each other’s maw with his and your own blood. So you two let it simmer, let it boil until one of you cracks under the pressure like trapped frogs in a boiling pot. So for now, you act as if you don't feel it in case you're wrong. Something you wouldn't want to be wrong with.

You bite the inside of your cheek while you continue to follow him. Each of your footsteps match the beating of your heart, and you swear that he can feel it too.

Walking out of the thicket and into a clearing, you two have made it out to a smaller campsite where a single eerie lamp post and payphone stands in the middle. Its paint is chipping from the elements, only leaving a few scraps of red and stickers vandalizing the payphone. There's a steep ledge behind the payphone, showing the top of the green canopies below, and the fading light from the sunset above.

“I'll wait for you ‘ere.” He says next to you, already walking towards a black and red motorbike parked at the edge of the clearing.

“This yours?” You ask with a smile, eyes roaming all over its shiny metal.

He pats the seat before leaning on it. “My treasure, I call her ‘Ripley’”

“From the Alien movie?” You walk closer to him, payphone forgotten.

“You know it?”

“Do I know it?” You say with a laugh, “‘Mother! I've turned the cooling unit back on. Mother!’” You copy the same tone from the movie.

“‘The ship will automatically destruct in T minus five minutes.’” Hobie replies in a mechanical robotic tone.

“‘You... Bitch!’” You and Hobie quote simultaneously, earning a hearty laugh from the both of you.

You've found yourself holding onto his arm, smiling and giggling with him. “Y’know, they've got a screening of it down at the local drive-in.” You tentatively say, eyes turned down at the pile of branches in his arms.

Hobie puffs out his chest, chin turned upwards with a smirk. “You askin' me out, lovie?”

You exhale, moving away with disappointment and a wobbly frown. “N–no, sorry, I didn't know what I was thinking.” Before you could fully walk away, he grabs your sleeve, tugging you gently back to him.

“C’mon now, love, don't walk away now.” He encourages you with a lopsided grin, eyes smiling genuinely as he gazes at you softly. “Ask me properly.” He bracelets his hand around your wrist, holding onto you gently while he runs his thumb over your quickening pulse.

“I—” you swallow thickly, and he ducks down to look into your shy eyes. With his sweet smile, you gather your courage. “Do you want to go watch Alien with me at the drive-in?” You inhale, his grin gets bigger with every word you utter. “We can have p–popcorn, or if you don't like popcorn, we can have chips and—and then maybe soda but if you don't like soda we can—”

He pulls you in, trapped right in the middle of his legs, not closing in around you, making you more comfortable in his tentative embrace. “I like popcorn. And I'll take you on a motorcycle ride right after, like how they do in the movies.”

Your skin is aflame. “Okay,” you nod enthusiastically, “a ride right after— I mean!” You fluster, “a bike ride— with me and and you— of course with me and you, it's stupid if—” you ramble on, tripping over your own words. He waits patiently without teasing you. Instead, he smiles, and nods along. “I— yeah, that sounds good.”

He tilts his head, hand brushing a fallen leaf off your shoulder. “Yeah? It's a date then.”

You sigh longingly. You still can't wrap your mind around at how you manage to pull it off. “Okay, I'll—” you reach inside your jacket, pulling out a small notepad and pen, moving quickly to scribble your name and number, afraid that he'll change his mind. “Here's my number.” You rip the page and then hand it to him.

He shrugs, smirking at you. “My hands are kind of full, love.” Technically it is, but he literally just brushed a leaf off of you a moment ago. “Put it in my front pocket for me?” Looking down at his jacket pocket, he smiles sheepishly.

“You and I both know that you can handle it on your own.” You tamp down a giggle, teeth biting down at your lip while you watch him make a face. “Fine, I'll only do it because you're being cute.” Gently, you place it inside his jacket pocket. Your fingers brush something metallic and sharp, but you ignore it. “There.”

“Finally flirtin’ back, huh?”

“Shut up and hand me a quarter, Hobie.” His guffaw echoes around the clearing as he reaches at his jean pocket to rustle for some spare change. “Sorry, too much?” You wince, thinking that it might've turned him off.

He shakes his head with amusement. “You're cheeky once you've gotten comfortable.” He hands you the coin.

“Well, people usually don't stay too long to find out.”

“Their loss, my win.”

You smile, palms clammy and legs turning into mush from his flirting. Staring at the coin in your hand, you find it having two heads on each side. “I don't think the payphone will take this.” It reminds you of the same lucky coin that your club advisor always carries around.

“Right, sorry, that's my lucky coin.” He grabs it back nonchalantly, then he rummages through his pocket for another one. Checking it once, he gives the quarter to you. “Use it wisely.”

“A lot of people seem to have their own lucky coin.” You twirl the regular quarter in between your fingers.

“You don't have one?” He creases his brows, you shake your head in reply. “‘ere you go then.” Taking the coin from his pocket again, he puts it in the middle of your palm. “For luck.”

“I can't take this, it's yours.” You try to give it back but he pushes your hand away.

“Nah, you can borrow it. Bring it back to me on our date, yeah?”

You chuckle softly, eyes gazing into his own, finding your bashful reflection in his hazel eyes. “Okay.” With a shy nod, you turn towards the payphone to dial your school's number.

—

Hobie waits for you in the sideline while he basks in the sunlight. His eyes are closed while his head is turned up into the heavens, arms cradling the sticks, letting the rays bathe him through the dappled shadows of the canopy above. He looks like an oil painting.

He cracks one eye opening, sensing your presence. “What’d they say?” Straightening up, he tilts his head.

“Uh…” You've forgotten what the school administrator told you for a second. “T–they said that the rest of the club had already called ahead to tell them that they've arrived at the last pit stop. But we were just there and when I asked the cashier at the gas station, she said that she didn't see a van stop by.” You rub at your tired eyes. “I don't know where they are.”

Hobie leaves the side of his bike to cross the small distance towards you. His eyes are full of concern, lips turned into a frown. “‘m sure they're fine, love.” He juggles the wood in one arm to grasp at your tensed hand, giving you enough space to turn away but you don't.

“I’m not worried about them, Hobie. I know they're okay. But…” you squeeze his hand, “I don't want to be left alone with those fuckers.”

He scrunches his nose. “What fuckers?”

“I— forget it, I'll just tough it out until the others get here.”

“Nah, I'll keep you company.” He pulls you gently by your hand, “c’mon, I'll beat ‘em off with a stick if I have to. I have a lot of ‘em.” He shakes the bundle of wood in his arms.

You chuckle, “you don't even know what they've done.”

“I know enough from how you talk ‘bout ‘em.” He shrugs, warm fingers squeezing you back. “They sound like a piece of work.”

“You have no idea.” With a reluctant step, you move towards the trail once again. Hand in hand with Hobie, the two of you head to the campsite where surely they've forgotten about you and your firewood. Or with your luck, the spiders got to them.

“What did they do to you?” He cuts the silence in half. “Do they hurt you?” His tone softens with a tinge of fury within it.

“Not usually.” You reply back, eyes turned away from him. He encourages you with a gentle tug, lips softly smiling at you. Inhaling, you let it all out with hope that it doesn't turn him off with your woes. “The guys just tease me about… everything else. But the girls— they once locked me in the janitor's closet for an entire day. The janitor found me hours after classes ended.” You can hear his sharp inhale next to you. “One time they…uh— threw glue and flour at me during picture day. I had to go home after that and I didn't get my picture taken for the yearbook. It's just blank, fitting, right?”

Hobie shakes his head, eyes swirling with something you can't describe. “No, it's not. They're wankers.”

“I— yeah, they are.” You feel a weight lifted off your shoulders. No one has listened to you like that in years. Before it was Miranda, before she decided that you're not worth being friends with. “I know what you're thinking, I should fight back. I tried, it only made everything worse. They only do it because they think I don't belong in their fancy school. That I'm only there because of my merit, not because of my parents' money or lack of it.” Looking up at Hobie, you see him staring back with a clenched jaw. “I'm sorry, that was….pathetic.” You grip the branch tighter until you can feel the splinters digging into your palm. “We don't get to choose the room we're stuck in. But we can choose the people we let in. Graduation's coming, and I get to kick them out soon.” You smile at him and he smiles back with soft empathetic eyes.

“Maybe sooner than you'd think. And It isn't pathetic, they're the pathetic ones.” You both reach the place where you met him as you question inside your mind what he meant by his first sentence. He stops walking, hand carefully pulling you to a stop. “I have a confession to make. ‘m not ‘ere to grieve.”

You furrow your brows, stopping mid step. “What?”

“I know them, the rich fuckers that torments you.”

“So you know me too?” You let go of his hand, heart cracking.

“No, not you, just ‘em.” He glances behind you where you can hear Quinn's laughter. “Just— I'll tell you after, yeah? For now, I want to tell you that everythin' I told you was real. I do want that date, love. I only ever want to see you.”

“For real?” You reach for him, palm placed on his chest. Hobie drops the sticks unceremoniously, the sound of wood clattering down on the soil.

He then holds your hand in place, fingers curling around it. “Real. I need you to know me fully. Let me in the room y'know.” With a sigh of relief, you lean closer as he mirrors your movements, lips pursing, breath fanning over your lips.

“Paste!” Miranda suddenly yells from behind you. Whirling around, your smile falters. “Shit, there you are! Who the fuck are you talking to, you freak?”

“I—” you turn back around to face Hobie but he's nowhere to be found. Your breath gets stuck in your throat. “He was right there.”

She clicks her tongue at you, “stop tripping and get back to camp! The sun's setting.”

She doesn't help you with the firewood as she leaves you alone in the middle of the forest. You look around in hopes of finding Hobie, but you don't see nor hear him anywhere. Sighing, hope dashed, and chest aching with longing, you walk slowly back to camp.

—

After three hours of setting up camp with barely any help from the others, the tents are fully pitched behind you, and you finally get to sit down and rest near the campfire you built with the same wood that Hobie was carrying. For someone whom you just met, he seems to occupy your mind ever since he left. He told you he'd stay for you, but why would he leave the moment Miranda appeared?

The fire engulfs your frozen heart, you watch as the embers crackle, eyes unblinking at the bonfire. Your hands cradle a can of peaches, you haven't taken a bite of it ever since you opened it, your mind keeps wandering back to Hobie, wondering if he was even real.

“Oi, paste!” Andy calls for you, when you don't acknowledge him, he throws a tin can at you that lands right on your thigh. “Jesus, she's out of it.”

“Did you find some mushrooms out there, pasty?” Quinn's mocking tone makes you glance at them without moving your head. You can see her flinch slightly from your glare.

“Man, if you actually did find some mushrooms, can I have a bite?” Emma asks, back leaning on a log while she nurses a flask of vodka. You can smell it from where you're sitting.

“I didn't find any.” You mutter, eyes flickering down at the fire, vision swirling at the dancing flames.

“Too bad, remember when we found some last time?” Flash chuckles, arm snaked over Miranda's shoulders, who stare at him dumbstruck.

“What the fuck, Flash?!” She slaps his bicep in a resounding smack. “I told you that we can't talk about it!”

“Relax, M, it's been two whole years! Besides, our parents made sure that it stays buried. Literally.” That piqued your interest. Subtly, you listen in. Flash guffaws, fist bumping Andy on his way to snatch the flask away from Emma. He takes a generous sip while Andy cheers him on. “Fuck, that's good.”

“Those mushrooms fucked us up real fucking bad, Flash. It wasn't some bad trip.” Miranda chastises, she turns towards Emma and the others, sneering at each of them. “Did you all not remember what happened?”

“Of course we do, Miranda.” Quinn scoffs, flinging Andy's arm away from her middle. “I can still hear the screams!”

You blink, being practically invisible has its perks. Your hands grip the can, ears straining to hear more of the hushed conversation.

“Screams?” Andy shakes his big head, “try the smell, their burning skins were stuck in my nose for weeks.”

Miranda rubs her face, “you lot have no ounce of empathy do you?”

“Please,” Emma adds, glaring at each of them before stopping by Miranda. “You were the one who insisted we stayed at the campsite instead of our usual place. Now there's a patch of burnt forest where your father's— mind you, my father's, Quinn's mother, Andy's parents and Flash's grandfather, contributed to hide the crime where the condo now stands.”

Your eyes widens, hand slithering its way inside your pocket only to find the two headed coin. So it's real, Hobie is real. So it wasn't a freak accident, and this is what He meant by knowing them.

They killed his friends.

Miranda seethes in place, hands clenched into fists. “I'm not the one who decided to light up in the middle of summer where the dry leaves were! And now we're stuck here, forced to take forestry because a judge said so!”

“Oh fuck you, Miranda.” Quinn stands up, stomping her bedazzled boot on the ground. “If it weren't for my mum then we'd all be in fucking jail! Getting stuck with the freak was the lesser demon!”

“It's ‘lesser evil,’ actually.” You finally add, eyes glancing at each of their angry faces. “And man, how many people did you all kill, hm?”

“It was an accident.” Emma blinks at you, “fuck, great, she knows.”

Andy huffs like a mad bull seeing red flapping in front of him. “You gonna keep quiet about it, paste, or do I have to make you?”

Their stares bore into you, you now realize the amount of danger that you're in. Individually, you can take one down, but with them all after you, you won't survive the morning.

So you dig deep, you free the moth from the pits of your soul, letting it loose. “Oh, I'm going to keep quiet about it. Who would believe me anyway?” You scoop out a peach from the untouched can, bringing it to your mouth, you let the fruit slide down your throat. “Besides, I know something you don't. Something important that could lead to dangerous consequences if you didn't know.”

“What is it?” Emma looks you up and down, brows knitted together in uneasiness.

You tilt your head, grinning but your eyes don't convey the same expression. “Only if you promise not to hurt me.”

They all look at eachother, silently agreeing. “Fine,” Flash starts, “what is it?”

You lean back on the tree trunk, “you forgot to say please.”

They scoff, “please.” Emma says it first, then one by one, they say it with reluctance.

Miranda is the only one who hasn't said a word, but with a steely gaze from her boyfriend, she relents. “Please.” She says through gritted teeth.

You smile. “Mrs. Williams and the others aren't coming.”

“What?!” They shout.

“Yeah, I called the school but turns out they don't know where they are either. They're technically missing.” You pause, watching their expression sour further. “I told them where we are but since we're fairly alright they're focusing on trying to find them instead. So we're stuck here— wait, no, I'm stuck here with a bunch of murderers.” That seems to break the camel's back.

“You fucking freak!” Miranda jumps over the bonfire, lunging towards you with her fist connecting with your cheek. “Say that again!”

You laugh, spitting out blood as she wraps her hands around your throat. The others watch while Emma is the only one that's trying to stop her from choking you out with her hands, desperately failing to wrench her away from you.

“A–all this time,” you wheeze out, “you keep calling me the freakazoid, the fucking weirdo when you and your fucked up little friends are the ones who have actually kill—!” With a yell, she closes her fists around your throat, cutting off your air while you claw at her hands. “Fucking b–bitch!” You manage to let out.

“Miranda, no!” Emma tries to yank her away from you.

“That's enough!” Flash finally tries to do something but Miranda elbows his nose, blood quickly pouring out a second later. “Shit!”

Quinn and Andy slowly back away until they're well into the forest, nowhere to be seen.

“Fucking die!” Miranda squeezes harder as black spots filter your vision, she bangs your head harshly against the log behind you, warm crimson trickling out immediately after impact. “You've always been a thorn on my side! Always so fucking perfect, always the better one!”

You grin despite the blood coating your mouth. “I–I won't be surprised if it w–wasn't an accident. I get it, your mom and dad never loved you enough. Is that it, Miranda?” You choke, using your remaining energy to get the last word out, nails digging into her wrists.

Suddenly, piercing screams echo above your gasps. Flash manages to yank Miranda's grasp around your throat, leaving you breathless and gasping on the cold soil. The three of them look where the sound came from with trepidation rising in their veins.

Holding onto your neck, the skin tender and raw, head swirling, you watch on with wide eyes as Quinn comes out of the thicket covered in blood. Her former pristine white coat is drenched, face splashed with the same ruby hue, trainers leaving a trail of thickened crimson. She holds onto her bleeding arm, lips wobbling as tears leave a streak of clean skin amidst the spray of blood. Her head is oozing more of the ichor as she staggers her way out of the dark.

“H–help.”

“Fucking hell.” Emma holds out her arms for her, face contorted into deep fear. “W–what happened? Where's Andy?”

“He's dead!” Quinn cries, feet shuffling slowly towards Emma. Meanwhile, Flash and Miranda watch on with horror, clutching onto one another. “He doesn't have a head anymore. How will he play rugby now?” Just as when Quinn lets out the last word, the arm she has been holding up falls on the ground, making a squelching sound as it meets the grass below. Emma backs away, hands upon her mouth, shocked and terrified. “Oh, my arm fell.” Quinn chuckles through tears only to then tumble down on the gore filled soil right next to her arm.

“What the fuck?!” Emma shrieks.

“No!” Miranda hides behind Flash, who is also trying to hide behind his girlfriend, they struggle to hide behind one another.

You stare at the tainted dirt where Quinn lays face first. She still gurgles in place, body twitching all the while her arm sits a few ways from her. Your blood rushes in your ears, mouth turning dry, chest heaving to let air in. You have no idea what's happening, but there's one thing on your mind.

Run.

With leaves crunching underfoot, out comes a tall figure dressed in black mechanic overalls. His face is obscured by a macabre theater mask that depicts sadness. In his hand is a bloodied machete, and in the other is Andy's head swinging as he moves. He flicks the weapon free of blood, spraying the tall grass below with oozing iron.

You don't wait for the screams to run ahead. With your neck still aching, head pounding, you run for your life.

The hunting begins.

—

You run into the dark nowhere, panting, vision dancing as you push yourself to your limit. If not for your injuries, you'd have a better time navigating the forest from your acquired skills. You've gained some distance between you and the others, so with an apprehensive peek behind a tree, you sit down on the cold soil, back sliding on the trunk, windbreaker scraping against its rough surface.

With a hand on your chest, you try to even out your shallow breathing. “Fuck.” You mutter, tongue brushing along your dry lips.

Reaching behind you, you feel for your wound. Wincing, you bring your hand back towards you, finding blood coating your fingers. Your survival instincts kicks in, perhaps your years as a volunteer summer camp counselor has its perks. An incident with a bear trap involving a fellow counselor was an accident, it wasn't your fault that they blindly stepped into it. Too bad it forced your camp to close permanently.

Zipping your windbreaker slowly so as to not make any noise, you slowly rip the bottom half of your shirt. Once off, you tie it around your head while biting down on the inside of your cheek to tamp down your pained groans. With a tug, you tighten it fully to help stop the blood flow.

You take a breather, that motorcycle ride with Hobie sounds great right about now— Hobie! Your eyes fly open to the thought of him, he can get you out of here on his bike. If not then you can call for help on the payphone. So you find courage deep in you, with a shaky exhale, you stand up, walking back to the same direction where you ran from. You could only hope that he's alright.

Armed with your butterfly knife, you're careful of where you step on. You avoid dry leaves and sticks, opting to walk on the softer soil instead to lessen the sound you make lest you draw a target right on your back.

After a few minutes of trudging along the dark, you make it back to the campsite. The smell of corpses filters through your nose, its smell is just beginning to rot in the moist air as maggots and crows have managed to find their meal.

“Damn it.” You cover your nose with your sleeve, creeping your way towards your pack. You pass by a very much dead Andy, whose head is left out for the worms to get into. His expression is frozen in fear, mouth agape, and eyes wide in surprise. “That colour suits you, Andy.” You scoff, remembering how he tormented you during class by almost burning your hair with his lighter. You watch as maggots eat their way into his eyeball, eyes unable to look away for a moment.

Getting inside your tent, you give one last look at Quinn laying on the ground, unmoving now and skin turning into chalk white. Red still pools around her while the quiet of the night permeates through the chill autumn air.

Pushing the tent open, you enter to grab your backpack on the ground. Finally, hope blossoms in your chest, but the sound of a twig snapping near you freezes you on the spot. You slowly grab your knife next to your leg, all the while barely making any sudden movements. Your eyes flicker on your left, a shadow forms behind the yellow tent, slowly making its way towards you.

You follow its movements, hand gripping the knife until it leaves indents on your skin.

A bead of sweat slides down your temple as the shadow makes its way to the front of your tent.

Breath stuck in your throat, you raise the knife above your head, ready to strike.

A shadow of a hand reaches towards the tent entrance, and you ready yourself.

The tent opens and already you're lunging at them with your knife raised and hand clutching at their front.

“Jesus, it's me!” Flash yells from under you, hands gripping at your windbreaker, eyes wide and blown out as blood flows from a cut on his cheek. “Lower your damn knife, paste.”

“Your girlfriend tried to kill me, why should I?”

“Because I'm not her, duh?!” He shakes his head, hands raised next to him in surrender. “Listen, let's set our differences aside for a second, okay? I don't know a damn thing about surviving out here but I do know that we've got a bigger chance of staying alive if we stay together.”

You clench your jaw, weighing your options. If push comes to shove, you can use him as your shield since he's bigger built than you.

“...fine. But you listen to me, and do what you're told or I'll leave you here.” You push yourself off him, the knife never leaving your grasp.

Flash nods, standing up and brushing himself off. “Do you have a plan? Because you sound like you have a plan.”

“I do.” You say whilst going back inside the tent to grab your backpack. Once you emerge, you find Flash standing above Andy's decapitated head. “C’mon.” Beckoning him, you open your flashlight. He still stands there, staring at his friend's head. “Flash, do you want me to leave you here?”

He sighs, eyes trained on the rotting head. “He was my best friend. I should've told him that I slept with Quinn.”

You snort, “trust me, buddy, he knows.”

“What?” He turns to you.

“Come on before he gets back.”

Flash takes one last look at Quinn's body and Andy's head before jogging to catch up to you. “So how did you know?”

“Shut up, I don't want to talk to you.” You ignore him while walking the same path you and Hobie took.

“Jeez, you're no fun.” He says while making a disgusted face at Andy's dead body that you stepped over nonchalantly.

You whirl around, flashlight aimed at his face as he scrunches up his nose. “This isn't supposed to be fun, Flash. Say one more word and I'll leave you out here, because if he hasn't gotten to Miranda and Emma yet, you'll be the next one he targets.” He nods furiously, frown evident on his face. “Good.”

After a few good minutes, you find the same purple flower you saw while walking with Hobie. “So how do you know that I'm next—?”

“Because if it was me, I'll kill the ones who can fight me off first.”

“And you know this because?” He asks you suspiciously, eyes narrowed at you.

“Just nature. And lots of horror movies.” He continues to stare at you with the same face. “I'm not the killer, you moron. I was with you when he attacked, remember?”

“Yeah, but in those killer movies there's always more than one killer.” He leans closer to you, eyes staring daggers. “You one of them, paste?”

You pause, craning your neck to stare at him back with venomous eyes. “You imbecile.” You mock before walking again. He stands there for a moment, unblinking at where you stood. He follows after your light is starting to fade from his line of sight.

“So…you're not one of them?”

“There's the phone.” You roam your eyes around the clearing all the while ignoring the man next to you. The pay phone still stands completely unharmed, and the lamp post flickers in the night, bulb whirring above the sound of owls. Your heart aches when you don't find a sign of Hobie being there or his bike. You like to imagine that he's far away from the chaos right about now, at least he'd be safe.

Crossing the distance, you pick up the phone, finding it still in good condition as you hear the dial tone. You rummage through your pockets for a quarter, but to no avail. And then you check around the payphone and the coin flap to check for any forgotten coins. You don't find a single one. “Fuck, do you have a quarter?”

“Shit.” Flash pats his jean pockets and varsity jacket pockets. Again, finding empty handed. “Wait—” he takes off his baseball hat to take out a crisp bill. “Here, it's my emergency money.”

You stare at the bill wordlessly while pointing at the coin slot. He shakes his head, gawping at you. You gesture at the slot then at his bill in hand until he gets it.

Realization flickers in his dim witted eyes. “Oh.”

“Oh.” You mock his tone. “We can't make a call without one.”

“What now?”

“I say we just follow the road and hope that a car comes by.” You point at the dark dirt road ahead of you. “Better get walking—”

An ear piercing scream startles Flash, while your head swivels down at the direction of the sound.

“Shit, that's Miranda!” Flash yells, grabbing your hand in his iron grip, and gunning down the slope to get to the source. “I'm coming, baby! I'm so sorry I slept with Quinn, Darlene, and the rest of your cheer team!” His voice rings in your ears while you're trapped in his hold, you try to pull away and get back to solid ground as he continues to drag you away to the dark abyss but he's too strong for you.

“Flash! Let me go!” You pull and tug with all your might but you're left trying to catch up with his speed while your feet drag behind. “Fuck!” A branch hits you right on your face, getting a mouthful of leaves while you almost lose your balance as you skid down the slope.

“Baby—! Oh mother of fuck!” He freezes, hand falling from your wrist, staring at the unfinished building looming overhead amidst the tall trees and overgrown grass. “Shit, it's this place.”

You glance around the space, finding abandoned heavy machinery, concrete, and trailers littered around the skeleton of a would be condo.

“Flash!” Miranda appears from behind a pillar, limping her way towards you and Flash. “He got Emma!” She embraces him while Flash's attention is glued on the grey building with its protruding metal that creaks in the wind and moss covered concrete. “I definitely tried to save her but she tripped and now she's dead with her body chopped in half!”

You glance at her, finding her tears utterly fake. “Or you tripped her.”

She leans away from flash's chest, eyes narrowed to slits and lips frowning. “You're still alive?”

“No thanks to you.” You smile bitterly at her. Before she gets a word in, you're already walking away towards the tall building, eyes scanning its skeletal structure. You notice the ground is darker from where you stand. “This is where it happened.” You turn towards the couple, “this is where they died.”

“Listen, it wasn't completely our fault.” Miranda stalks closer towards you and you quickly ready your knife in your hand. “We were just playing around, we didn't mean to.”

“You're grown ass adults, Miranda. Did none of you listen to Smokey?”

“No, we were too busy having friends, paste.” She mocks, even in danger she finds it in herself to torment you. “That is not our problem right now, we need to go—!”

A sudden bright spotlight appears in front, you squint your eyes, managing to see the masked figure behind the wheel of a motorbike. Oh. He revs his engine, taunting Flash and Miranda.

“Oh fuck, he's back!” Flash yelps, surprisingly enough, he shields Miranda behind him, arms raised to his sides. “Touch my girlfriend and you die!” You raise a brow at his sudden heroic action.

“Yeah, you tell him, baby!” Miranda coaxes him while you step away and watch the scene unfold.

The masked killer revs his engine again, this time, he rides towards you at lightning speed. Smoke billows out from behind him, blanketing the whole area with fog.

The couple screams, bracing for impact while you step back with your eyes only looking at the killer.

Instead of plowing them down with his bike, he skids on the ground sideways, stopping a few ways ahead of the three of you. Once the sound dies down to a murmur of the engine, Flash and Miranda open their eyes to find the killer tossing his machete at their feet.

“Are you surrendering?” Flash turns to you. “Is he surrendering?” You could only shrug.

The figure points at the blade, and then gets off his bike, letting it run in the background and using its light to illuminate the place. Wordlessly, he stomps over to the front of the bike, his figure obscuring the light a bit.

You can't see his eyes from behind the mask as he gestures towards the glade once again. “I think he's trying to tell you to pick it up and fight him.”

“What?” They both look at you with surprise, they simultaneously turn towards the figure, only to find him eerily nodding in approval.

Flash points at himself, and the man nods slowly. “Fuck.”

“Pick it up, babe, show him how it's done!” Miranda cheers him on, pushing him towards the machete. “End his miserable life so we can get back to our lives.” She spits out.

With a gulp, Flash bends down to grab the blade with reluctance. Miranda moves closer to your side, hand grasping your arm. You let her while Flash assumes the position in front of the figure.

“Come at me!” Flash yells, lunging for him.

With a quick side step, the figure dodges with barely any movement. Flash follows ahead with his attack, raising the weapon over his head to slice but his miserable attack is only met with air. All the while, the stranger has his hands hidden in his pockets, upper half barely making a move as he keeps dodging Flash's desperate slashes.

“Stop moving!” Flash frustratingly yells while sweat flows from his forehead.

“You're not fair!” Miranda adds, yelping when Flash gets close to cutting the figure's hand off, but of course he dodges at the last minute. “Fuck! Come on, baby!”

Flash moves to stab instead, “you fucker—!”

With quick movement that you could barely decipher, Flash suddenly has a knife in his nape. Blood ebbs from his neck as he stands in place, gurgling and choking on his own blood.

Miranda's piercing scream echoes around the clearing as birds caw in the distance. “Oh god!”

The figure takes his knife back with an ugly squelch of muscle and blood. Crimson spraying all over his mask as he holds the knife in his gloved hand. He tilts his head, the sharp end of the knife pointed directly at you, to then slowly go down from your neck to your hand that's gripping your own knife.

Miranda shakes you, “he wants to fight you, Y/N!”

“Hm, I don't think so.” You mutter under your breath while gazing at him. “Why should I?” You glance at her horrified face. “You saw what happened to Flash, I can't fight him.”

“P–please.” She says in between sobs, “do this for us.” You roll your eyes and she shakes your arm. “I never wanted to hurt you, paste.” She pleads, the nickname earning a scoff from you.

“You once slashed my tires just because I was paired with your ex for a project.” You say calmly, façade now fully broken, moth freely flying over you. “I almost crashed into a tree, Miranda.”

The figure steps closer, knife now at his side, waiting for your next move.

“T–that was just a joke! We were just—!” Her words are suddenly cut off by your knife stabbing at her jugular. She gasps as blood sprays at your smiling face, her body falling, hand stuck around your knife, you finally turn towards the masked man.

“And here I thought you'd leave me alone with them.”

He peels off his mask, revealing Hobie's awestruck expression. Blinking, chuckles slowly escape his pierced lips. “Holy shit, love. You're brilliant.”

You shrug, smile never leaving your lips. “You should've said something, I would've helped.” You say, reaching for your knife back, flicking all the blood away before tucking it inside your boot. “

“I thought…” he crosses the distance, hand reaching for your own, he loops his pinky around your own, gently tugging you into his bloodied form. “... never mind that now.” you can hear sirens echo from somewhere. “You still up for that ride?”

“I thought you'd never ask.”

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

Custom banners by @the-shroom-garden

[starry-bi-sky]

my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out

and my poor heart is an open wound A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident. CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.

------------

What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it. 

Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.

He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats. 

Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.” 

Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.  

He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died. 

Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream. 

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. 

He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.  

He has no mouth, but he must scream. 

Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood. 

Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off. 

Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts. 

Scrappy is just not enough. 

He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all. 

Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash. 

But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane. 

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings. 

Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice. 

He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail. 

Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.

Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it. 

Being dead is agony. 

Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow. 

His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever. 

In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be. 

Being dead hurts. 

[zaritarazi]

(x)

[charlietheepicwriter7]

Finally reading "Under the Red Hood" for my story, Dick Grayson V Gotham and some notes about what exactly happens here:

Jason's helmet really is a whole ass red circle with eyes, isn't it.

There's constant internal monologue about how much Batman cares about his kids. From Alfred and from Batman.

There's a whole ass woman who I have never seen referenced before called Onyx? Who's apparently the "only other hero allowed in the whole of gotham... other than catwoman".

Bruce recognizing Jason just based on how he fights and plans is beautiful, even if bruce doesn't believe it yet.

Superman's over here flirting with Bruce, going "we could have gotten tickets to the theater if you'd called ahead 😘😘" while bruce is traveling all over the world to figure out if his baby boy might be back from the dead.

Lowkey sad that Jason doesn't have the skunk stripe. I know it was fanon that occasionally became canon, but I still like it.

Wow, this Robin!Jason flashback is really giving us good views of the scaly panties, >:P

So, during the flashback, Bruce brings up the idea that Jason has a "mean streak" in comparison to how Dick was. But it's not that Jason was "mean" and Dick "nice"--Dick has a massive temper, even if canon rarely allows him to acknowledge it--but with Dick... Everytime he was Robin, I think he was still in the mindset of "performer". There was a bit more disconnect between him and the criminals of Gotham, because the fights were more like acts. Jason performs too, but he's very personal about it. This is his city, he's taking all these crimes personally and even when he's "performing" it's still Jason Todd, while Dick's Robin is more so a mask. IDK, this is just the vibes I'm picking up.

I really love the panels after Jason blows up the meth lab. The way the colors are... it makes Jason almost look like he's teared up? It's beautiful.

Oh great, Slade's here. No wonder this things so damn long

You know what, Slade? I'm on Black Mask's side here. A nazi and a hyena man? You can find better hired help on Craigslist.

Just finished the fight, and I'm STILL on Black Mask's side. Slade, who the fuck are these losers!?

Yes, Jason baby, kill the nazi!

Jason got them Christmas presents! That's sweet!

Slade, why the FUCK were you here? Did you see Nightwing was in town and go "lol, this'll be funny"?

Black Mask really calling himself Daddy around Jason... wasn't a joke. Huh.

There are some very nice parallels after Jason reveals his identity to Bruce. Bruce was too late to stop Joker's bomb, he was too late to stop the bomb in the meth lab. Bruce was too late to stop his son from getting attacked by a supervillain, but Bruce was faster now, good job! And Bruce never killed his son's killer, and he won't kill Stephanie's killer either. It's like he keeps testing Bruce to see if he really has to go through with his plan with the Joker.

Actually, it wouldn't surprise me if Jason's entire beef with Black Mask was because of his part in Stephanie Brown's death.

...I don't really like the idea of Jason calling himself a zombie after Joker did it.

Jason wiped the smile off his face, goddamn! (And don't think I didn't notice how similar Joker and Jason's laughs are, comic artists. Sure, maybe that's just how cackling laughter was drawn back then, but in literature, that smells like foiling).

...THIS is when Bludhaven gets destroyed!? Really???

Also, what is this depiction of Bludhaven just... being across a river? This feels unreasonably close, why hasn't Gotham just eaten Bludhaven at this point?

IT'S A NUKE???

THEY ARE LOOKING DIRECTLY AT IT, HOW ARE THEIR EYES NOT GETTING BURNT OUT OF THEIR HEADS

I'm just realizing how many explosives there are in this series. Between the bombs the Bats use, and the bombs Jason sets up, and... what happened to bludhaven. That, kids, is what we call a theme!

Bruce really is sympathetic in this. It's subtle, which is good, I don't think anyone would have appreciated the author blaring out "BATMAN IS IN THE RIGHT, HE'S THE BEST GUY, FUCK JASON."

And Jason is getting more and more unhinged as the fight progresses.

You know, it's occurring to me that this all could have been prevented if New Jersey had the death penalty. There's no way Joker could have gotten the insanity plea so many times if they could put him in the ground for good.

...I wonder if Batman votes to reinstate the death penalty?

"But why... why on God's earth--??! Is he still alive!!??" Is just... such a good reveal. Such a good line. No wonder we're all so fixated on this character, omg.

Oh. This is why Jason thinks Batman doesn't love him.

It's the lack of reciprocation. Jason sees "killing the Joker after he killed you" as an act of love. Batman cannot provide that act, so Jason sees that refusal as proof he is unloved.

The funniest Joker's ever been:

Oh, the batarang moment. Oh no.

Oh no oh no oh no

I still feel like resurrection via Superboy punching the universe hard is still a cop-out reason why Jason's alive, but the line "Until time decided to set things right." is speaking to me.

Oh god, the buried alive scene is brutal.

Okay, so Jason came back fully sane, he definitely knew what he was doing breaking out of the coffin, but his injuries that were unhealed and getting hit by a fucking car are what caused his catatonic state. He didn't just wake up not all there, that happened because no one was looking out for him.

Okay, so 6 months dead, about a... year in a coma. It says a year for his time catatonic on the streets, then a year with Talia, still catatonic... that's three and a half years, Jason really started being the Red Hood... like what, a few weeks after he got tossed in the Pits?

...I thought the pits were green. They look gold in my version of these comics, is that normal?

EW, WHY'D SHE KISS HIM

Also, there was no brainwashing this boy, Talia literally just said "you remain avenged" and it sent Jason on this whole murder spiral, she didn't do shit

Except kiss him. which, EW

Alright, good night everybody!

[mipexch]

heed heaven’s call, one way or another

[arthursfuckinghat]

Arthur has had a lot of bad close encounters, like Sonny, but sometimes I think we don't talk enough about the whole Edmund Lowry Jr thing.

Arthur was stalked by an absolutely terrifying sadistic serial killer and led to his hideout via multiple mutilated bodies and cryptic clues placed across high traffic areas on the map.

If you choose to find Lowry in his hideout, you will see a gruesome display of many body parts and carcasses strung up like christmas decorations all over the place. Arthur will get knocked out by Lowry after venturing in further and tied to the ground, he will then threaten and taunt Arthur with a knife once he wakes up.

This all happens in the span of like five minutes, and how did Arthur escape? He had to throw a severed head that was on the ground next to him at Lowry. And if being stalked, knocked out, kidnapped, threatened, exposed to a gross display of mutilated bodies, tied up and examined like a piece of meat wasn't enough, Arthur had to save Sheriff Malloy from getting his face bitten off by that sick freak too.

I mean, holy fuck right?

The only justice was being able to shoot Lowry, but he had killed so many people and he took pride in that, shooting wasn't enough. Sadistic is honestly an understatement, it's shown through newspaper clippings in the hideout that he enjoyed toying with his victims for long periods of time before murdering them. An article by the missing poster for a woman named Eliza Bloom in his basement stated that he enjoys his victims like 'trophies' - And Arthur was scarily close to becoming another one of them.

Unsurprisingly, he didn't write about the encounter in much detail.

"Found the murderer, man named Edmund Lowry. Took him into the sheriff in Valentine after he nearly killed me. He jumped the sheriff. I killed him. Nasty bastard he was."