#description of violence

[arcade-anonymous]

DEAN WASNT MEANT TO BE LIKEDDDDDDD AND NOW HES AN ANONVOID FAVORITEEEEE UGHHHUHHHGUHHHH HIDING HIM FROM CANNIBAL SEAMSTRESS

-Clown anons mod

// she just wants to rip off his flesh and consume it, its not like there's gonna be anything more to it, let a girlthing have fun /silly

[viro-lil-goat]

I really hope this reaches more people, I'm only reposting this information from Instagram, the least that I can do. (Update: I changed their upbringing as it appears to have been listed wrong) Wiki page

When I just saw this information I couldn't stop crying thinking about it, and now my heart aches. They were the same age as me, I know for a fact like any other teen they dreamt of their future, who they would want to become, what to achieve, create, wondering if they meet those in the future they can call friends, wondeting if it'll get better when they grow up, maybe wished to leave that terrible place or maybe wanted to stay. How could anyone let this happen, why were they discharged from hospital so easily? And the school, we all know why. I hate to think about how, even with all the progress made, these things still happen.

"murdered schoolgirl Brianna Ghey on February 16, 2023. Candlelit vigils are being held across the UK this week for Brianna Ghey, 16, who was stabbed at Linear Park in Culcheth, Cheshire last Saturday. Brianna was a transgender girl and police are now investigating her killing as a hate crime. A boy and girl, both 15, have been charged with her murder"

An article that explains trans hate crime murders as on 2023

I hate everyone who have ever committed such vile hate crimes, I wish them in prison and hell. But i would never go down to their level. But I also blame the government, the school, and even those bigoted online accounts that teach their followers hate. In this case LibsOfTikTok, who targeted the teacher of this school, who supports lgbtq+, so they had to leave their position. It must have been the push for this to happen. I think their tiktok account has been thankfully deleten. But i have no idea about Twitter or any other. Please check and mass report them if it still exists. (Link to Instagram reel that this information is from)

ADDITION, PLEASE MASS REPORT THESE ACCOUNTS

[krscblw-2]

some moments last forever, but some flare out with love, love, love

[frownyalfred]

Jason coming back from the dead angry and out for revenge using a crowbar as his weapon of choice only to bash in someone’s skull with one well-placed, Lazarus Pit-fueled swing and suddenly getting hit with a flashback of gargling his own bloody teeth and fucking losing it on the cobblestone of a random alley somewhere in the Narrows send tweet

[vive-le-roi-au]

Prologue

(This post contains both images and text.)

(You’d been looping back to just the third floor for… you don’t know how many loops. Hundreds?)

(Maybe that was the problem. You didn’t do it all in one go. You just have to do it all, from start to finish, and kill the King.)

(From the top.)

(…Again.)

(You went back. Again.)

(Maybe you took too long. Just need to go faster.)

(…No. Still not enough.)

(It feels good though. Killing the one who killed you, thousands of times. It’s cathartic.)

(You’re even strong enough that you don’t need the Housemaid—MIRABELLE. HER NAME IS MIRABELLE, MIRABELLE, MIRABELLE!!!)

(…You don’t need Mirabelle’s help anymore.)

(…)

(You wouldn’t mind doing this a few more times.)

(…)

(Back to the stage, Siffrin.)

(…)

(…)

(…)

(It’s just another part of the loops now.)

(Go through the House. Kill the King. Talk to the Head Housemaiden. Something’s broken, failing, rotting. Loop back to Dormont.)

(The worst part?)

(Murdering the King has stopped bringing you joy.)

(It used to make you smile, seeing him crumble, blood spilling from his mouth, pooling on the ground.)

(Sometimes, you reduce his body to dust, cutting it up more and more and more until there’s nothing left. You’ve killed him slowly, draining him of his strength and bleeding him from a million places all over, watching the light slowly leave his eyes.)

(And you can’t even enjoy it anymore.)

(…)

(So why are you still here?)

(Whose fault is it that you’re trapped here?)

[veinsfullofstars]

“Are… they gonna be okay?” “Probably.”

(ID: Kirby series fanart comic of Shadow Kirby showing off his fighting skills to the Wave 2 gang, prompting rather… mixed reactions. Transcript in Alt Text. END ID.)

Started 11/23/24, finished 12/14/24.

[herarcadewasteland]

Tragic, Really.

A/N: Inspired by @hoseokhasmyheartxx and @orchidyoonkook because Yoon sent the post that @hoseokhasmyheartxx reblogged about a quote: "I know baby, I know." (Condescendingly). And this was born. No idea who the original poster is, the reblog rabbit hole went too far for me to keep looking.

-CW: Violence and kinda gorey, read at your own discretion.

-Hoseok x Reader, almost yandere (probably full yandere hoseok)

This took a fairly dark turn. Enjoy?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I know baby, I know.”

His voice was overly sweet. Condescending. His large hands pressed roughly into your side, the stab wound gushing as he released pressure to draw a line of your own blood over your cheek. It didn’t start like this… he had been the sweetest, most attentive and caring boyfriend in the world. But when Yoongi started spending time with you, something changed. He became quicker to anger, he pulled you closer with more force than necessary, kissed you in front of Yoongi for no reason. He had changed overnight and now you were here, laying on the floor beside Yoongi, Hoseok hovering over you with his normal joyful smile.

Your head shook from left to right, legs pushing you away from his crazed smile and harsh touch. He tsked and looked like you had shot his dog, his eyes watering before he grabbed you around the waist, pressed his thumb into your wound and pulled you back. The only difference now was he had settled over your thighs, not just leaning over you from your side.

Tears tracked down your bloody cheeks, eyes dancing from Yoongi to Hoseok, his smile still firmly in place. Your struggle resumed despite the sharp pains it caused, his thighs tightening around yours as he pressed your wound harder, reaching behind him to grab a discarded bottle of Soju that had been involved earlier in a drinking game. Your eyes caught the shine of the glass, head shaking side to side in denial even though you knew exactly what he was about to do. His disappointed tsking made you freeze, eyes trained on the hand holding the bottle of alcohol. The tilt of the bottle tensed your stomach, pain pulling a strained cry from your raw throat. The liquid hitting your wound and pooling in it caused a burning sensation to spread through your body, the dried blood around it flaking as a new source of wetness pulled it from its new place on your skin.

Screaming at the added pain, you saw Hoseok frown through hooded and blurry eyes, his smile somehow bigger as he watched you writhe. His hand tilted again, the Soju burning an imaginary hole through the existing one in your side. You thought watching Hoseok change so drastically was the worst pain you had ever felt, but as he took a few sips from the bottle and chucked against the wall before he leaned down to your ear, plush lips brushing it lightly, you realized whatever happened next would be even worse than losing your brother.

���This could have been avoided, Y/N. How could you do this to me?! You left me for him. Your attention wasn’t mine. I had to do it. You understand, right? Of course you do! You love me~!”

His whisper sent rough shivers through your body, his hand pressing against your wound again. You coughed violently, blood spilling past your lips as you struggled to breathe. A new, duller and redder shine caught your eye as you spoke roughly.

“He’s my brother! I couldn't-”, you coughed again, watching the shine become clearer in your blurred vision, “I couldn’t just abandon my family for you!”

A growl left him. Your pulse quickened against his lips as he trailed them down your neck. His hand raised above you as the shine grabbed your attention once more. The knife. There was nothing you could do, even if you were afraid. You couldn’t be scared to death, you were right on the brink of it anyways. So as his hand raised, his monologue continuing, you closed your eyes and waited for the greatest pain of your life. Being killed by the one man you had loved more than anything. The knife pierced your chest with a dull thump, your body lurching as you coughed up more blood. You could feel his eyes as he watched the blood drip down the edges of your jaw, his laughter filling the space as he pulled the knife back only to plunge it back in moments later.

“If even I can’t have you, then no one will. Not ever. Tragic, really. How you thought you could get away with it!”, his voice raised with a new arc or the knife, your body jerking upwards again.

His voice faded slowly, his laughter following stabs of the knife as he traced his other hand over your body. Seeing a light behind your eyes, you smiled. As much as you loved him, the man above you was no longer him. It never would be. For after you let the warmth of the light take you in its embrace, he had let himself go after you, following you to be with you, even in death. In some ways, the news article that would be released days later was accurate. He had gone insane. And you had struggled. But in the eyes of the public, you died as lovers. Hoseok was not your lover at that moment. He had simply been Jung Hoseok. Kind man gone insane.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

I don't trust the world with you

I wrote this on my phone while I was at work so there's probably a ton of errors. It's not a particularly original piece, my take on deep cover Danny working for Red Hood and offering Jason the chance to take out his rage on Danny.

Viewer advisory: Mentions of sex but no descriptions, descriptions of violence.

----

Red Hood was furious, he was furious and there was fuck all he could do about it! He had been on a hunt when the piece of shit had decided he'd rather take his own life them give Jason the pleasure, leaving the pit madness swirling in his guts with no release. He wanted Blood, he wanted screams, he hated it and he had no other prospects. And no matter how much of a villain he was he wasn't going to take this out on anyone who didn't deserve it, including or especially the people who worked for him.

Best he could do right now was lock himself in his office and pace, snarling furiously and making aborted little motions with his hands as he held himself back from breaking anything.

"Wow boss, you're really pissed aren't you?" A familiar voice said conversationally. Before Red Hood processed he had drawn his gun and had it leveled at Fox, who did not flinch, grinning at him with his unusually sharp teeth.

Fox had worked for Red Hood for longer then just about anyone, Hood had picked him up half on a whim. With his green-blue eyes and his hair, black on top and white underneath it was like looking in a mirror, a younger version of himself. Fox was good, strong for his size and resourceful, with his filed teeth and odd demeanor he must have had a History but he never spoke about it.

"Fox! How did you get in here?! Get out," Jason demanded in a snarl.

Fox didn't move for a moment, then he stepped forward, his eyes calm and resolute and a small.smile still on his face. "It's okay. There's more to do and you're useless like this. You need to hit something? Hurt something, hit me." He said calmly and Hood balked.

"No! You've seen me-"

Fox had seen Hood at his worst, he knew how violent Hood could be, how could he offer-? But then Fox darted forward and grabbed q knife from Hoods belt. Hood tensed, ready to defend himself but then Fox turned towards Jason's desk, slammed his hand down on the wood and then stabbed the blade through his own hand.

Jason gave a startled yelp but Fox didn't make a sound, his teeth gritted as he pulled the knife out. He turned back towards Hood, holding out his bleeding hand only for it to heal in moment under Jason's shocked gaze. Fox smiled at him and offered the knife, handle first, back to Hood who took it on autopilot.

"No matter what you do to me I'll heal, and it won't be the worst pain I've been through. So, Boss," he said hopping up on the desk and sitting there staring at Jason daringly. "Hurt me."

It was a mad impulse that had Jason driving the knife down into Fox's leg. Fox arched and let out a pained little whine that soothed the beast in Jason even as he froze with shock and regret. He pulled out the knife, leaving Fox breathing heavily. When Hood tried to pull back Fox grabbed the collar of his jacket and yanked him back.

"I know you're not done, that's not enough for you. Keep going." He nearly snarled, his eyes more green then usual.

He wasn't wrong but Jason didn't want to hurt him, but being handed handled like that triggered Jason's fight reflex again. He cut Fox's arm making him yelp, but not let go. Jason pressed the knife into Fox's shoulder until he let go.

The smell of blood was filling his nose and his vision was tinged green around the edges. Fox collapsed back against the desk and Jason cut the young man's stomach with barely enough presence of mind to not go to deep. Each cut drew small sounds of pain from Fox but none loud enough to be heard from outside Jason’s office and all healed in moments leaving only a bit of blood on Fox's clothes and Jason's knife.

Finally the green retreated from Jason's vision and Fox was no longer just flesh capable of feeling and bleeding and became his loyal employee again. Sprawled on the desk, clothes and hair mussed, eyes half lidded and breathing heavily. He looked beautiful, and under different circumstances it would have been so... erotic, but now Jason just felt like a complete monster.

"Fox, I'm so sorry," Hood practically groaned, offering Fox his hand. Fox took it but didn't get up yet. "I'm so sorry, I should have,"

"No," Fox murmured giving Hood a small reassuring smile. "I told you to. You feel better don't you?"

Jason froze, because yes he did. "Is there anything I can do to... help?"

"Kiss it better," Fox said with a crooked little smile, he seemed almost high. Jason choked and Fox laughed. "No, just stay, hold me if you don't mind. I'll be fine in a minute."

Jason nodded and pulled Fox into his arms, holding him, hesitating for a moment before combing his fingers through Fox's hair. They were quiet as Fox's breath evened out again.

"I didn't know you were a meta," Jason murmured and Fox twitched, tensing for q moment and then relaxing again.

"I was trafficked when I was pretty young, I've kept it on the down low as much as I can since then. I don't want anyone to know, but I trust you Boss," Fox said giving him a little smile. Oh man that sweet trust made his heart flutter in a way he really Shouldn't be feeling for a man he's just basically tortured.

"I won't tell anyone, and I won't take advantage of it." Jason promised softly, Fox was a good worker and Jason wasn't going to lose him.

"Alright," Fox said, giving him another smile and pushing himself back. "But if this happens again and you need to hurt someone, call me okay? I make a good punching bag," he said with a bitter little curl to his lips.

"I'm... really not sure I want to do that," Jason said worriedly and Fox shrugged.

"Alright then I'll just break in here again next time. Now get back to work Boss," he joked as he walked over to the door and unlocked it to leave.

"Wait if it was still locked how did you get in here?!" Hood demanded suddenly.

"Byeee," Fox cackled as he dashed out the door leaving Jason confused, but not as upset as he would have been had it been anyone else who'd managed that. Fox could probably be trusted with keys at this point, even if he apparently didn't need them.

--------

Jason managed to control himself properly for another month but then things went wrong again. Not another misplaced hunt but a confrontation with Bruce about how Everyone deserves to live and other bullshit! It had him furious with no easy outlet and pacing in his office again. He has passed Fox on his way here, hesitated, then continued. He would Not ask.

He didn't need to, it was less then ten minutes before he turned again and Fox was there. He was sympathetic and worried, last time he'd been there for the last time, this time he didn't know why Red Hood was angry, though that didn't stop him from approaching, he kept his posture low, submissive but unafraid and for some reason Jason completely Hated it.

He grabbed Fox by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the wall forcing his breath out in a wheeze. Fox covered Hoods closed hands with his own, staring back at him with a serious expression.

"Stop this! You're worth more then being a punching bag, I don't care if you've been through worse it doesn't make it okay for me to hurt you," he snarled in Fox's face practically lifting him off the ground.

"That's sweet, Boss," Fox wheezed, unable to breath properly with Jason bearing down on him. "But you need this, and I'm not leaving till your calm. If you think you can calm down by talking about your feelings we can go with that," he said with a sharp and crooked smile. He knew Hood well enough to know that wasn't enough.

"You self sacrificing piece of shit," Jason nearly yelled, pulling Fox forward and slamming him against the wall again before punching Fox in the face. Fox let him, barely flinched away and didn't fight back as Jason hit him. Bruises bloomed and faded on Fox's skin almost instantly and the stupid man didn't even shield his face. His nose crunched and his head snapped back against the wall, he let out a slight gurgle, the blood on gloves and Jason recoiled in shock at his own actions.

He let go and Fox slid down the wall till he was sitting, he set his nose with a grimace and shook his head. He held up his hand and coughed up a bit of blood that must have flown down the back of his throat. "You done Boss?" He asked with another soft cough.

One lost flare of anger shot through Jason and he kicked Fox in the side making him yelp and fall back against the wall again. "Okay, now I'm done," Jason sighed, slumping back against the wall and sliding down to sit next to Fox who was looking at him a little warily now, even as he leaned closer. Jason sighed and lifted his arm, hating himself and loving it as Fox brightened and ducked under his arm, leaning against his chest.

"What upset you?" Fox asked softly.

Jason twitched he knew Fox meant well so, after a moment, he answered. "It's a long story, but the short version is family bullshit. Something really bad happened to me a few years ago, and my dad just... let it happen, didn't avenge me, nothing. He's still dragging his feet and acting like I'm a villain for wanting some justice," he sighed, moving like he was going to run a hand through his hair only to remember he was still wearing his helmet.

"I get that, it's part of the reason I never went back to my family after everything that had happened to me," Fox agreed softly.

"You know I go after traffickers all the time. If the people who hurt you are still out there..." he trailed off, the suggestion hanging in the air.

"Trust me," Fox said with a humorless laugh, "that's not something you can help me with."

"If you can trust me with it, I'd like to help you," Jason said, brushing Fox's bangs out of his face.

"I trust you with everything Hood, but I don't trust the world at all, not with me, or with you really. But... my real name is Danny, I left it behind a long time ago, but that's my name." Fox, no Danny, said softly. Proof of his trust.

"Thanks Danny, just between us huh?" Jason agreed, wishing he could trust Danny with his name in turn, but he wasn’t rest to.

"It feels good to be called that again," Danny murmured nuzzling into Jason's armored chest as if there was no where else he'd rather be.

---------

Danny just kept coming back, and Jason shouldn't have been shocked when the fifth time ended in them fucking. It was a much more pleasant way to work out Jason's anger and after that he was much more willing to call Danny for help. Even to meet Jason at one of his safe houses, this time wearing a domino mask instead of his full helmet.

When Danny arrived at the safe house he immediately kicked off his shoes and darted into Jason's arms, looking up at him with wide eyes. "We match," he said with a grin, tugging on the little lock of white hair in Jason's bangs. Jason laughed and nodded, tugging Danny towards the bedroom.

"Yep, it was one of the first things I noticed about you. It made me wonder if..." he trailed off.

"If," Danny prompted softly.

"Easier to talk about after, once I'm calm," Jason said, shoving Danny down on the bed. Thankfully Danny liked it rough, or it probably wouldn’t have worked.

A couple hours later they lay in bed together, Danny absently tracing a few of the scars on Jason’s chest. Danny still had his shirt on and Jason hadn't argued, if Jason was keeping his mask on Danny could keep his shirt on. "So, it made you wonder if...?" Danny prompted and Jason winced, he sort of hoped Danny would forget.

"It made me wonder if you died too," Jason said softly and nearly jumped at the way Danny flinched and then gave a nearly full body shudder. He sat up and stared down at Jason with wide eyes.

"I did," Danny said softly and Jason froze.

"What?" He croaked softly.

"I did, I died when I was 14. I was electrocuted," he pulled up one sleeve of his shirt to show the branching scar.

"I was 15, got murdered," Jason said, feeling a familiar burning pain, he wondered if Danny felt it to.

Danny shuddered and lay down against Jason's chest again. "I thought you might be like me too, I felt it when we first met, but the way you act and... some other stuff, I sort of talked myself out of it." Danny said and Jason nodded.

They were quiet for a long time, but there was tension in Danny's back that said he wasn't done. "It wasn't actually traffickers that hurt me," Danny said softly. "It was the government. A branch called the Ghost Investigation Ward, a exception was carved out of the meta protection act for people like me, like us. The government wanted to find out how I came back, how powerful I was, everything. They did a lot of awful shit.

"I destroyed that base when I escaped but I know there could have been more so I ran. Changed my name with every new town and never stayed anywhere more then a few months, until I met you." He looked up at Jason with such utter trust and adoration Jason's breath caught in his throat.

"You made me feel safe, and wanted. I always wanted to help people and you gave me a way I could and still be safe, and keep you safe in case you were like me. I don't have much of a life, still hiding like this, but I have more of one then I thought I would and Red Hood, you know I'd do anything for you right?"

"You've proved that many times over," Jason murmured caressing Danny's jaw. "And it's Jason, my name is Jason."

"Jason," Danny murmured reverently.

"So, how does dismantling a government organization as a first proper date," Jason asked and Danny laughed. It wasn’t bitter, or dry, it was a true, loud, joyful laugh and it was the most beautiful thing Jason has ever heard.

Part 2

Masterpost

[asterdisaster06]

Rottweiler's Callsign Story

platonic 141 x reader

summary > The mission was supposed to be an easy in and out stealth operation; however, you getting cornered by enemy guards that weren't drawn out by the team's distraction left you to desperation. Such circumstances resulting in unsavory acts needed to get out alive and back to your team. Half the blood on you might not even be yours, but you're out alive and safe.

word count > 5.6k

warnings > graphic description of blood and violence, like i'm not kidding. medical terms used to describe some of the gore. reader is described like a feral dog.

ao3

You had always been quite animalistic in your ways, vocal on the battlefield with snarls and hisses escaping your lips through the sheer effort of your tyranny. Grunts and growls being a point made to enemies you faced before absolutely thrashing them to death. Your skills with a gun whether a handgun or an assault rifle were top tier, your training made sure of it, but your real talent laid in hand to hand combat. Specializing in utilizing your own body and surroundings to tear your enemy down. It was something that had confused and yet impressed your teammates on the taskforce. They stared at you with something akin to visceral horror and pure adoration when you save their asses more than they can count. 

Whether that comes from tackling the one on top and pinning them by their throat or managing to spot an enemy that they had missed on their six. Either way, any way, they were significantly impressed by you and your prowess. Your expertise offered something new to the group. Your bones held your pride that was either to be completely snapped or remain unwounded. Your muscles flexed to show the pride that was your mortal self. Your teeth were bared to the world like a stray dog. And in a sense, that was what you were.

You were found by Laswell and Price with your fur matted and your teeth too sharp from eating trash-thrown bones. Metaphorically of course. Literally though, they were your saviors. She took you off the previous military base you would’ve died on and Price raised you like his own flesh and blood. He took the limping, ugly mutt and showed a kindness you had always heard directed at others but never you. You learned to not bite at the hand that feeds you. 

The others came later once you were settled in - learning very little of your past; only knowing what you had seethed through tight lipped smiles. At that point you were known simply as ‘hound’ to them. You’re not entirely sure how or when it came about, but it seemed to fit you for the moment. 

You weren’t exactly talkative, similar to Ghost in that aspect. That’s not to say that you didn’t learn to open up and trust, especially when you were on a mission that required trust and teamwork. Collaboration and communication were the foundation for the taskforce, and it wasn’t something you could opt out of. You mostly sat back and smiled at a few of the jokes shared, but the one time you spoke to add onto the dark humor from Simon scared the shit out of them. Even Simon was a little caught off guard despite his vehement denial. It was the start of the blossoming friendship between you and the team. 

This particular mission was no different than the others. Or at least, it shouldn’t have been. Unfortunately, the world had different plans in mind for you and the boys. 

Soap had been talking your ear off and you listened in with a small smile on your face at his antics. It was amusing to you that he wasn’t put off by your scars, both physical and mental. He looked past them, not quite ignoring them but not pushing for you to spill the story behind them all if you weren’t ready. You were forever grateful for that. Gaz was in a similar vein, learning to eventually see you for who you were. Sometimes he poked and prodded you, but only in the intentions of helping you. Especially when you refused to see a therapist. Not after the last incident.

Ghost respected you at face value. The mask was who you were to him, and it didn’t make a difference in the slightest for your identity. It was a refreshing contrast to the other two who were not exactly openly prying, but their curiosity emitted from them like radiation. And you didn’t need a geiger counter to see that being near them would eventually unravel your DNA containing your secrets. Ghost simply left your skeletons in the closet lie. A needed deviation in your life. 

This mission required you to sneak into the compound in order to collect intel about nuclear weapons that a recent terrorist group had gotten their hands on. Obviously, that was a paramount issue that Shepherd had wanted the taskforce to take care of. Your boys would be creating a distraction away from your position, eventually creating a path to your location for a safe exfil after they had planted bombs around the compound. This establishment wasn’t going to be left standing after you guys were done with it if you could help it. 

“Is everyone clear on their positions?” Price’s voice breaks through the disassociation your mind had thrust you into. 

The ringing in your ears faded as the chatter began to quiet down and focus was injected into your veins. There was a small nagging feeling in the back of your mind, but you brushed it off as simple leftovers of anxiety growing mold in the fridge of your consciousness. You responded with a simple affirm alongside the rest of the team, eyes beginning to lose the dazed look within the cornea. You blink once and then twice as you take in your surroundings and run your tongue over your sharpened canines. 

Your muscles tense with anticipation, letting your legs carry you out of the truck that was about one klick from the objective. You were to be going on foot from here to avoid raising suspicion. The treeline would offer some cover for the infiltration attempt, the leaves in full swing. Unfortunately that also meant so were the bugs and thorns. You would just have to deal with it, although Soap wasn’t so easily placated.

“Fucking hell,” Soap exclaims, swatting at a very vague buzz that was swarming him.

“Here,” Gaz says, throwing Soap a can of bug spray. 

The droning and whirl of wings belonging to insects that lived long before humanity came about offers you a weird amount of comfort. It’s almost a commiseration of sorts between the creatures that nobody wanted around. You and the acarids. Nonetheless, you cover yourself in a self assumed shield of the spray that sticks to your skin in a way that makes you almost uncomfortable. The thorns and sticks pricking you through your tactical gear brings you relief. The opposite from what you presumed the others were experiencing.

It’s not like you were a masochist, peace and comfort have just never quite been something you’ve gotten used to. It’s what you’ve known most of your life and it’s what you’ll continuously go through. Much to the chagrin of your boys.

Speaking of, they appeared to be having varying levels of reaction to the harsh woodland environment. Soap has been openly complaining, although you knew it was mostly to break up the monotony of the trip alongside easing the anxiety of the others. He knew just how to utilize his personality like that and he wasn’t scared to come off as brash or even semi-annoying. You try to humor him enough to keep that spark going in his soul. That’s honestly a thought that keeps you up at night; Soap becoming like you or Ghost.

Gaz was experiencing his classic bad luck; truly trying to avoid any muddy spots or tripping on an exposed root, but it appears that it wasn’t working out for him. He had tripped over his own feet two times, an exposed root five, and almost twisted his ankle thrice. It was almost as if the woods had it out for him. You wince and make that last thing four times now as Gaz tripped over a small pebble and had to execute an almost ballerina-esque move to avoid falling face first into a puddle. It made you huff out a laugh, earning you a middle finger in your direction. Gaz truly does try his hardest in everything he does, placing expectations upon himself that nobody else even thinks of. Pressure mounting upon him that moves you to make sure he takes care of himself. You’ll be damned if you let him drown himself in the same way you do. 

Ghost was similar to your apathy, although you could tell from his body language that he was in as much discomfort as Soap was expressing. He refused to let even a slip of a grunt or groan escape from his sealed lips. His combat boots were sinking into the mud as much as Gaz, but he had significantly more coordination and confidence in his steps than Kyle did. You observed him quietly, seeing thorns stick into his skin - likely releasing the red ichor of his mortal body. Nonetheless, he braved on with only a slight wince betraying his emotions. It reminded you of how he faces his own torment and demons with nothing showing to anyone around. Not unless they’re particularly attuned to him and his distinctive micro-expressions. You know this as well as anyone, so you make a conscious effort to try and get Simon to open up to you. Not a lot, and sometimes not at all, but enough to sand down the roughness around his edges. Enough to heal him one scar at a time. 

Price was admonishing Soap for being so loud and semi-obnoxious. All in good fun, at least, at the distance you were away from the location. Given that Price was back at the car, you couldn’t exactly see what he was doing or his own personal quirks. However, you had known him long enough to know his personality and behavior. You had spent a good chunk of time analyzing the man that had offered you not only a position on this team, but a hand to help you up from your back-alley way of living. He was a tired man that needed some positive affirmation in his life if you were being honest. He had this entire team on his back alongside his position that designated him to a life chained to his work. His title delegated him to the duress that came with everyone expecting victory from you. It’s probability is down right improbable for him to always come out on top. Although, you doubt that he’s come to terms with that idea. You try your best to offer support in your own way, realizing that words alone aren’t going to cut it. You try to guide him to sleep if he’s too caught up in paperwork or offer him a cup of coffee just the way he likes it if an all-nighter is inevitable. You want to be there for him like he is for you. 

Laswell’s voice cuts through the comms and snaps you from your stupor. Kate Laswell. She offered you kindness while others offered you chains. She let you into her life instead of caging you like a feral animal. She took the muzzle off of your maw and let you speak. She presented you with a purpose outside of being a killing machine for your previous team sent in with no regard for your health or happiness. She gave you a life. One of your own. A team that you could rely on with a street of protection that goes both ways. Possibilities were opened up that you had never dared to dream of beforehand. You owed her your life, and that’s what you fought with on every mission. 

“You’re closing in on the base. Can we get a general overview of how it’s going?”

You smiled and shook your head before the Scot even opened his mouth.

“How’s it going? Oh wonderful, absolutely joyous,” Soap spoke with mock annoyance, good-natured humor shining through despite his tone.

“All is well, the intel we were given appears to be good. There should be no difficulties from our view over here,” Ghost answers, genuinely. 

“Affirm, I’m all set and ready here, Kate,” Price speaks, his commanding timbre sending rumbles down your spine and through your nervous system. 

“Remember, get in and get out, don’t get caught up in the blast,” Kate reminds you all, as if you could forget. 

A chorus of proclaimed agreements echoes throughout the trees of the forest. The silence that falls over the group afterwards makes you tense up and get into the mindset of the feral mutt that has kept you alive for this long. Your breath ends up heavy, saliva coating the inside of your jaws as you harshly swallow it down - almost choking every time you do. Your shoulders rise and fall in time with your respiration. Ghost checks in with the group one last time before you’re sent off first into the craw of the compound. Being a sacrifice is nothing new to you, but it still causes you to shudder in anticipation. Goosebumps rise all across your skin despite the temperature dictating otherwise. 

You wander forward, joints creaking in protest as you sneak around the side of the building. It’s inevitable that you have to utilize your knife, but you use it sparingly - not wanting the alarms to ring because some unfortunate soul stumbles upon the body of their fallen comrade. It’s almost second nature to you at this point and you would’ve zoned off if it wasn’t for the pure adrenaline rushing through your system.  You finally reach point A in which you reaffirm with the rest of the boys that the plan is a go and no complications have arised. 

You hear a plethora of acknowledgements before you begin to move forward with the permission of Ghost and Price. You snake cam the door before lock picking it after deeming it safe. There didn’t appear to be any enemies nearby much to your satisfaction. The less possibilities for this plan to go wrong, the better. It’s a waiting game as you come upon the stairwell door leading up to the room you were meant to infiltrate. The clock ticks down, the beats of your heart sounding out in your ears as a unit of measurement. 

Boom.

It’s the signal for you to proceed as all of the cameras are abandoned with the clicking of the gun trigger replacing the clack of keys in the office. You were all set up and ready to acquire the real reason your mission was handed out. Pushing past into the stairwell, you’re met with the surprise of an elbow to the face, effectively causing a gush of blood to start trickling down your face. Despite the advantage the enemy had from his effort of concealment working to catch you off guard, you gained your balance back quickly, and the pounding of your head did nothing to quell the vexation that led you to putting a knife in the guy’s eye. You shoot a bullet straight into his cranium with a glare, just to cover your tracks. 

You lick your chapped lips, tasting the metallic mouthful you had gotten from your little scuffle. You didn’t hear a crack, but it was definitely going to be a pain in the ass the next day. Nonetheless, you pushed on, aiming to be more aware of your surroundings. There was an odd lack of guards around the area for what seemed like the main structure. It set off warning bells in your head, but there was no turning back now. From the gunfire sounding out from below it seemed that the others would be too caught up to engage in a verbal conversation regarding your worries. Not like you weren’t confident in your own abilities, quite the opposite, but Price had managed to drill into your head that not everything had to be faced alone. Jokes on him, this situation had the appearance of it being a one man operation. 

You and your blood soaked sleeves made your way to the computer where you gathered yourself into a semi-coherent being in order to upload data from their system. The hard part was already done for you; all you had to do was plug a hard drive into a computer and wait. And that you did. You almost felt sorry for getting their keyboard all slick with your carnage escaping from your sinuses. It also felt as if you had bitten your tongue during the altercation, your mouth being yet another outlet for the liquid escaping you. You spat on the floor, maroon saliva staining it. 

Running down your neck, the blood seemed to stop at that point, trickling off into a simple seeping of gore. You consider yourself lucky, just in time for the information to be uploaded onto the hard drive you were given. You report over to Price and Laswell, a slight lisp imbued into your words due to the tip of your tongue suffering from puncture wounds your teeth had embedded into the soft muscle. They understood you perfectly fine however, and you were instructed to continue with the orders you were given. At that moment however, the lack of communication on your part about your suspicions of an ambush was coming back to bite you in the ass. Almost literally. 

A gloved hand smothers your mouth, effectively suffocating you. If the arm around your throat and its connected hand stifling your ability to productively breath wasn’t enough, there was now a knife lodged in your side. Your attacker drove the knife you suspected he took from your gear even further into your abdomen, twisting it like he was wringing out the last of his laundry. Except you were the clothes and your blood was escaping you, much to your chagrin. Fortunately for you, this particular guard was practically brain dead when it came to medical knowledge, so you were pretty confident that you were going to live. That is, if you could escape without being asphyxiated to death. 

You maneuver your maw into an opportune striking position, opening your jaws like a dog being thrown a bone. The coincidental nature of that thought would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t currently on the verge of being slaughtered and gutted like a pig. You chomp down and dig your teeth into the metacarpals of his skeleton, relishing in his grunt of pain and attempt to recoil. You were like a dog with a bone though, and you’d be damned if anyone tried to take it from you. His attempt to pry your jaws open with the hand that soon abandoned the knife in your side after the puncturing of his palm. You ground your teeth into the fat of his hand before realizing the glove was going to be an issue. You turn your teeths’ attention to his exposed wrist, aiming for his radial artery. Unfortunately for him, your fangs found their intended target and perforated his skin. You threw your head back, grasping his arm with your other hands - clawing at it like a feral beast. 

You effectively were one, your mouth full of flesh and muscle that didn’t belong to you. Although, you suppose that one could argue it didn’t belong to him either. Not anymore. You spat out the pulp of tissue, realizing that he had let you go. You put a bullet right through his eyes, spraying blood and brain matter across the room. Well deserved for someone like him. You drive your boot into his lifeless corpse, really kicking the man while he was down. Your joke, although knowing nobody alive was around to hear it, made a hysterical laugh claw its way out of your throat. Your larynx had really betrayed your deranged and volatile behavior. Your manic nature had kept you alive so far, so you supposed you had only yourself to thank. 

You shoved your bloodied tongue around your mouth, hoping to wash out the taste of human flesh. It wasn’t the worst thing you’ve tasted - that goes to Ghost’s attempts at cooking - but it certainly wasn’t pleasant. You wiped your mouth against the back of your hand, quickly realizing that it too was bloody. Red wasn’t really your color right now, otherwise you would have appreciated the look. You quickly checked over your supplies, knowing that you could make due with anything around the room or at the very least your hands, but feeling comfort in the weight of the metal contraption that delivered death at a much quicker rate. Hemorrhaging from either a knife or a gun was much more effective than your bare hands. Or teeth. 

It appears that your enemies didn’t appreciate your sentiment though, ambushing you only to take away such things from your grasp. There were two this time. They almost reminded you of Soap and Ghost, if those two were actively trying to kill you. Your boys only sometimes did that, and most of the time it was pitiful attempts. You were actually the one that got quite a few new rules implemented during training - but seriously, who stops in the middle of a fight to ask if something is legal? No-one, which is exactly why you simply did what was necessary to survive, to quote verbatim what you had said to Price as your excuse when Soap had ended up in the med bay. 

Be that as it may, these guards weren’t who you thought them akin to. Therefore, everything was on the table. Especially since they had made the grave error of giving your standard weapons a place on the backburner. Now, the only thought in your mind was kill. At all costs necessary. Your sharpened canines glinted in the dim lighting with a scarlet staining the pearly white as your mouth opened. It’s unfortunate for them that they didn’t have a muzzle on hand. 

Before the one in front of you had an opportunity to shoot you through any vital organ, you used your body weight to shove the one holding you to the ground - the bullet whizzing above you. A guttural growl escaped your throat as you turned your attention to escaping the grasp of the poor soul restraining your body. You grasp his upper arm, twisting yourself to use his body as a human shield. It would’ve made you gag if this was the first time you’ve done this. Regrettably, you have quite a bit of experience in this particular experience. 

The bullets pierced the soon to be corpse of his comrade, narrowly avoiding you except for one that grazed your side. You really were losing a lot of blood today. Making your way to safety was your biggest priority; however, that was proving difficult with leftover guards that were actually doing their job semi-well. You untucked yourself from under the weight of the stiff remains and threw yourself at the unlucky fellow who had just run out of ammo in his weapon. A simple click is all you heard as the gun escaped his grasp in favor of his bare hands. You were thrown into a chokehold yet again. These guys really did like their chokeholds. His hand gripped the knife slick with your own blood from your hands and ripped it out, leaving you to bleed to death. His mistake though was only using one hand to contain your rage filled body made of torn flesh and bones. 

You tore yourself from his grasp, with the worst luck in all of history happening with the knife getting knocked down the stairwell - sounding like a fork being dropped in the sink on its way down. You were in no condition to run or even jump after it, and the only other weapon was out of ammo, so it seemed you were yet again stuck using your bare hands. They trembled as you gathered yourself, preparing yourself for what you were being forced to do in order to escape this ordeal alive. You settled your weight into your haunches and launched yourself at the enemy, vision bloodshot and tinted red. An animalistic growl escaped yourself, sounding almost like a hyena’s maniacal laugh. Your lunge proved fruitful as your claws came into contact with his facial features, digging into his eyes to blind him. The texture of the soft tissue under your sharpened nails flexed and then ruptured. The front layers of his cornea gave way to the gooey gel similar to egg whites that filled the orbs. 

A visceral scream escaped the man below you, causing Price to finally check in over comms. At least, you think so, it was getting hard to hear with the ringing in your ears. You didn’t respond either way.

You knew that even blind, the man was still a liability. Or maybe he wasn’t, but to your addled brain firing neuron after neuron that drove you with the only thoughts occupying you being: survive and kill; well, the feral nature of yourself pushed you to make sure he was dead. You had your training to thank for that. You knew that the rest of his body was protected by the structure of his epidermis, much to your dissatisfaction. Your thoughts wandered back to the first enemy you encountered as you loomed over the blinded man. Your mind was made up.

In a split second decision, you descended your fangs into his throat, sinking your teeth into his trachea and hearing a sickening squelch of his bare flesh. The muscles gave way as you shook your head like a rabid dog, separating his tissue from their home within his body. You didn’t stop until you felt his carotid artery begin to hemorrhage. You shakily stand up, staring at the massacre you had left behind. Your jaw would definitely be sore the next day. There wasn’t a surface of you that wasn’t absolutely drenched in blood, and you couldn’t tell where yours began and theirs ended. The corpse beneath you had stopped screaming after the first puncture of your teeth - at least, you’re pretty sure. The haze surrounding your mind made thinking about it too hard. It almost fills you with a sense of regret at letting the monster you once were out of their muzzle yet again. The halfway decapitated body was left as you limped down the stairs and out a back door. 

You shambled out into the woods, faltering only twice to prevent yourself from tripping since you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t be able to get up again after that. The rush of blood in your head faded as the sounds around you finally cascaded back into reality. You swore you could feel the dripping of blood spurting out of all open wounds in time with your heart. The chaos finally sunk in, the screaming over comms for your response demanding your attention.

“I’m,” You break up your sentence with a cough. “I’m fine,” Your voice sounds crackly and hoarse. Not that you’re surprised.

“Where the fuck are you, you were supposed to be out of there five minutes ago,” Price yells out over the radio. 

“I don’t exactly know. Somewhere out in the woods?” You respond, your head pounding.

“Ghost, find them!” Price had apparently discerned that you were in no condition to be taking in your surroundings accurately enough to ascertain an accurate location. 

“Fuck, I think I see them. Hound!”

You think you hear a faint yelling of your name, although it doesn’t quite register to your unhinged and disoriented brain. All you could tell through the muddy fog of your mind was a person. Enemy. Kill. Survive. Escape. You felt their hands on you, your throat closing up in response as you preemptively expected to be strangled half to death. You let out a snarl, baring your teeth and coming into contact with what you think is a hand. Either way, it doesn’t matter to you and you bite down with the force of a wild animal. A yelp is heard, only cementing your actions in your mind. 

“Calm the fuck down Sergeant.”

A voice cuts through the haze like a hot knife through butter. You fall limp in the grasp; whether it’s because you recognize the voice or you simply are accepting your fate is up in the air. Nonetheless, your surroundings begin to load in, your eyes stopping their constant darting around and focusing on a singular face. Or, faces. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz. They had found you. You were safe. You notice Soap has a bleeding hand - your own handiwork without a doubt. Guilt floods you, your behavior similar to a puppy hearing the words ‘bad dog’ for the first time in their life. 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay. You did great, Hound,” Soap begins to say. 

“Come back to us, Love,” Gaz whispers, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. 

“Shit, fuck, I’m sorry,” You cry out, finally feeling the effects of your pure exhaustion. 

“I don’t blame you, Jesus, you’re gonna have a hell of a story to tell us when you get all patched up again, Hound,” Soap exclaims.

“How much of this blood is yours?” Ghost finally cuts in.

“Not a lot, just where the knife was and I might’ve gotten shot.”

“Might’ve?” Soap laughs.

“Mission, guys,” Price finally interrupts. “I’m glad you’re safe, Hound.”

The mission continues, you leaning on Soap since you’re pretty sure stumbling down the stairs strained one of your ankles. You spewed out numerous apologies for his hand, but he didn’t want to hear any of it. The go ahead for the air team with Laswell to level the building was given, and the exfil point was finally reached by your ground group. At that point, you were barely conscious, hearing echoes of pet names assuring you only a little longer and to stay with them. They plagued the darkness that overtook you and greeted you as you woke up to the blinding light of the medical room. 

“Welcome back to the world of living,” Soap says. “The doctors hadn’t seen anything like you before,” He laughs. 

“Do you want to explain why they found human tissue in your mouth?” Ghost asks, his tone inquisitive.

“Shit man, let them have a bit of a break before we interrogate them,” Gaz chuckles, offering you some water, much to your appreciation. 

You gulp down the water like it was the last time you would ever get the precious liquid, your body thanking you. You sheepishly hand the empty cup back to an amused Gaz. You clear your throat, not quite ready to delve into the specifics of what you had to do to survive, but knowing you had to. Being open in communication was a non-arguable point to being a part of the taskforce. 

“Most of the blood on me when you found me was probably belonging to the man I might’ve,” You pause, “ripped the throat out of?” You rush that last part out as quickly as you could, knowing that despite your efforts, they’re going to question you.

Both Soap and Gaz’s eyes widened almost comically, both quickly exclaiming different curse words. One being Scottish curses that you could barely make out from his accent. The other being aggressively British expletives spilling out of Gaz’s mouth. Ghost simply looked upon you with what seemed to be both admiration and affirmation. You had known he would be the most likely to not be surprised at your actions. He knew what it was like to have an untamed beast within you. 

“What in the bloody hell did you say?” Price was apparently looming in the doorway, keeping himself hidden until this moment.

You cough, and ask “Is now a good time to mention I also might’ve done the same to a man’s hand?”

Soap had a horrified look upon his face. “You’re saying I could’ve lost my precious hand?”

You had almost forgotten about Soap’s injury, and stared at him with a semblance of guilt flashing across your face. 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” You say quietly. 

“What happened to the good ole knife or bullet?” Soap asked, offering you his bandaged hand to hold in an offer of forgiveness and trust.

“They stole my shit, and my knife ended up kicked down a staircase after it was ripped out of me,” You pouted, the drug concoction of morphine and other such things loosening you up to talk. 

“You’re quite a rabid beast, ain’t you?” Price said, his tone betraying the fact that he was in fact quite proud of you. It wasn’t meant in a derogatory way and you knew that. You smiled in his direction, jokingly baring your teeth at your Captain. 

“Aye, I think you’re more than a baying hound at this point. Maybe Rottweiler would serve you better. That mouthful of teeth sure does remind me of my childhood,” Soap says, shivering at the thought of being the victim of your maw. 

“I hate to think of the final view those soldiers saw of you,” Gaz laughs. 

“I think Rottweiler suits you,” Ghost says. “Fearless yet loyal.”

The rest of the team nods in agreement, surrounding you with support and love. Something that still unsettles you to this day, but not in the same way facing down the barrel of a gun would. It’s a warm embrace in front of a fireplace that sends a jolt of something new down your spine. A fondness spreading like wildfire, adoration deep seated in your bones to those around you. Just like a dog, you were a fierce protector of your family, but with them? You were a tender beast that rolled over at their feet. 

You couldn’t think of anything better than that thought which warmed your heart. 

[chimchiri]

My MLP Summer Swap gift for @dragonlunar who prompted Spitdash butchxbutch competitions! My excitement took over and it ended up way bigger than initially planned.

Ultimately it ended up as a Spitdash MMA fight with some tenderness sprinkled in between. My main inspiration was pretty gruesome MMA photos and seeing some MMA woman kiss her opponent during press stand-off. Which I loved and wanted to portray!

Some notes: - I very clearly have no idea about MMA. This probably shows in various ways, so don't take this a proper representation of the sport. - Yes I know it's weird how they have separate locker rooms but share them in the end. Please ignore it for the sake of plot and kissing! - Making a comic in a short span of time makes you learn a lot, especially regulating your tendency for perfection. Can recommend for learning purposes, cannot recommend in terms of stress level management! - I'd like to formally apologize to Fluttershy lovers. I simply could not figure out a way to include her in the final shot without disliking the composition and how it all comes together. - I still hate drawing AJs hat and it's definitely something I need to practice more.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

[sacredashes]

MYTHAL as JUDAS ISCARIOT

"You have murdered me! You have murdered me!"

Dragon Age The Veilguard | Jesus Christ Superstar

[steveyockey]

We started seeing a series of children, preteens mostly, who’d been shot in the head. They’d go on to slowly die, only to be replaced by new victims who’d also been shot in the head, and who would also go on to slowly die. Their families told us one of two stories: the children were playing inside when they were shot by Israeli forces, or they were playing in the street when they were shot by Israeli forces.

As we met Palestinian physicians and nurses working at the hospital, it was clear that they, like their patients, were physically and mentally unwell. Giving anyone a pat on the back dropped your hand between two unpadded shoulder blades and onto an exposed spine. In any given room one found staff members with jaundiced eyes, a sure sign of acute hepatitis A infection in such overcrowded conditions.

Many staff had no sense of urgency and often no empathy, even for children. We were initially taken aback by this, But we quickly learned that our Palestinian health care colleagues were among the most traumatized people in the Strip. Like all Palestinians in Gaza, they had lost family members and their homes. Indeed, almost all of them now lived in and around the hospital with their surviving family. Although they all continued working a full schedule, they had not been paid since October 7; health sector salaries are paid by the Ramallah-based Palestinian Authority and are always cut off during Israeli attacks.

Among the medical staff who survived the assaults on the Shifa and Indonesian Hospitals, many were taken from those hospitals by the Israeli military. They all told us a slightly different version of the same horror story: In captivity, they were barely fed, continuously abused and ultimately dumped naked on the side of a road. Many said they were subjected to mock executions and other forms of mistreatment and torture.

Several staff members told us they were simply waiting to die, and that they hoped Israel would get it over with sooner rather than later.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

A million possibilities, a million different deaths, and I just HAD to be the one that's all alone.

[marlynnofmany]

Here, have an album cover. I know one of the tracks would have to be the space shanty, but what else would they sing about?

[greenleaf4stuff]

Of Convenience 6.2

(all previous parts of "Of Convenience")

Adar x Celebrimbor (silverscars) political marriage AU, 6th snippet, part 2. Celebrimbor has an unfortunate run-in with a bigger threat than he expected. Thankfully, Adar arrives in time to take care of it. Celebrimbor is rather intrigued as a result.

Just some competence kink and Adar protecting Celebrimbor, who takes notice. Warning: If you are squeamish about Damrod graphically threatening violence towards Celebrimbor, or show-level violence being described in regards to a hill troll, you might want to skip this one!

Thank you lovely people again for the likes and replies! This has already gone on way longer than I expected thanks to you! <3

The easy conversation between Celebrimbor and Glûg was cut short, however, when he and his guards heard heavy footsteps close in on them and Celebrimbor saw various uruk either slowly back up or run past him and Adar's lieutenants.

As the elf turned in the direction of the commotion, he felt his heart jump into his throat as his eyes rose high, then higher, and finally settled on the misshapen face of a hill troll.

A hill troll, who was slowly but surely moving in the direction of their little group – and all the while, his eyes firmly rested on Celebrimbor.

Next to him, Glûg snarled and threw some words at the other lieutenant, who quickly shouted something urgent in black speech. The smith could hear the call repeated further along the camp, but was far too focused on the threat in front of him to pay any mind to what might have been said.

The troll finally came to stand some paces away from the elf and his guards. He continued to look at Celebrimbor for a long moment before a mean grin broke out across his face.

"Elf meat," he simply stated, tone giddy.

The smith gulped, and contemplated that perhaps, his cursing of Eru might have been a bit of a bad idea, considering that he seemed intent to throw ever more danger Celebrimbor’s way.

Next to him, Glûg made to step forward and raise his spear at the troll. The smith quickly shot out his arm and held him back. Glûg was staring at him in disbelief. "Adar sent me to guard you. Let me do my duty!"

"Don’t be a fool," the elf hissed in response, "You have no way to best him. Your spear would hardly do any damage before tore you apart. Think of your child."

The uruk seemed ready to argue with Celebrimbor, but still let himself be pushed backwards as the smith gave him a light shove. He stared imploringly at the uruk. "Let me try and handle this before you risk your life, at least."

Truth be told, the chances were slim – trolls couldn’t be charmed with clever words and appeals to their better qualities. If they even had any of those. And judging by the fact that the troll saw Celebrimbor as food...well, it was difficult as prey argue with one’s hunter.

Perhaps, he might be able to use his elven strength and speed against the other, if worst came to worst, but it would surely put the camp at risk. And without a proper weapon, Celebrimbor knew he didn’t exactly have an advantage.

"Greetings," the smith tried, deliberately cordial, and still kept himself between the troll and the two uruk guards. He could see that not all of Adar’s children had fled; some were still nearby, standing half-hidden behind the tents and crates. "My name is Celebrimbor. Who might you be?"

The troll didn’t seem to be the least bit surprised at the smith's greeting. Or perhaps he wasn’t sparing much thought to anything but the potential meal in front of him, come to think of it.

"Damrod."

The smith nodded. "Damrod. Pleased to make your aquaintance?"

The troll couldn’t be dissuaded. "It has been a long time since I have eaten an elf. You will do nicely."

"I’d actually think that I am a bit too bony to make for a fulfilling meal, after the recent strain I have been put through, to be quite honest," the smith replied and couldn't quite keep his voice from shaking as he did so.

It was a half-lie – Adar had been feeding him well, after all. It was just that, after the amounts of stress and exhaustion the smith had dealt with, his robes weren’t quite so form-fitting anymore as they had been back in Eregion.

"Hrm. We will see about that," Damrod retorted, and made to take a step forward.

Celebrimbor held up his hands to make the other halt his movements as he tried to search for words, but Glûg beat him to it. "Adar wants this elf alive, troll. Leave your dirty paws off of him!"

The smith silently cursed and motioned for the uruk to stay back, but it only ended up with the two of them glaring at each other for a brief moment before they turned their attention back to the menace in front of them.

"Adar would have told me if that were true. He mentioned no elf."

"I am mentioning it now, Damrod," came a new voice from slightly behind Celebrimbor, who both felt a weight drop off his shoulders and his heart seize at the words – glad he wasn’t facing this danger alone anymore, but worried about yet another person who would be at risk due to the troll. "My lieuntenant is right. That elf is mine, leave him be. You aren’t even supposed to be in the camp proper."

The Lord Father of the uruk walked by the smith without taking his eyes off of Damrod, but Celebrimbor couldn’t help following the other with his gaze. Adar’s presence was commanding as he slowly walked up to the troll, seemingly unafraid.

He did have his hand placed on the handle of his sword, however.

It didn’t escape the smith that Adar was directing his path in such a way that it had him step between Celebrimbor, the lieutenants and their opponent as if by accident. The elf suspected it to be anything but.

"What do you need an elf for?" the troll asked, sounding petulant. He was still focused on the smith as he spoke.

"This elf is from a noble house. I have married him, and he will give me the ability to enter the elven city and drag out Sauron," Adar explained calmly. "So that we, you and I, may kill him."

The troll thought on that for a moment. "Hrmph. So I cannot even kill and eat elves in battle?"

A pause, and then he grinned once more, malicious as his gaze finally settled on Adar. "He can still be that without legs. Can’t he? He can live without those. Also, he won’t be able to run away if I take them."

Celebrimbor felt himself blanch, and looked down his legs before his gaze shot up once more. Ignoring the fact that such an injury could be life-threatening even for an elf – he rather liked his legs?

Damrod took another step towards the elf, and suddenly Adar stepped backwards as well until his back was almost up against Celebrimbor’s chest, arm outstretched as if to shield him. He still didn’t look at the smith, who stretched out a hand and lightly placed it on Adar’s arm – not to clutch, as he wouldn’t want to hinder the uruk’s movements, but because he needed to let the other know where he was.

And also, he was unsettled enough that he needed something to ground himself. Despite the danger, the smith couldn’t help but notice how firm the arm in his hold was. How he could feel Adar’s body heat and smell the metal of his armor due to their closeness.

"Celebrimbor will stay in one piece. That is not up for discussion," Adar replied, and his voice did sound decidedly more strained now.

And then, he drew his sword. "Though you are right about one thing, Damrod – some things can be lived without. And I think my army can live without you being part of it."

Neither Celebrimbor nor the troll had any time to react to the Lord Father’s words before Adar lifted his free hand to the smith’s chest and pushed him backwards roughly – the elf stumbled and almost fell, but found himself caught in Glûg’s hold instead. Who didn’t even let the smith get his bearings before he yanked him further back and away from what was quickly turning into the site of a dangerous fight.

The troll seemed more stunned than anything, and Adar used that advantage to sprint forward and get in the first hit of his sword.

The elf watched, mesmerized, as Adar spun about the troll and quickly slashed the back his heels while avoiding the grasping hands of Damrod. The hill troll bellowed as he dropped to his knees and swiped his arms about as he tried to catch Adar, but he was clearly too slow and too immobile to do so.

The uruk kept his distance and remained in Damrod’s blind spot, adjusting the hold on the sword as he studied the troll’s movements with a drawn expression. Whether it was anger or concentration, Celebrimbor couldn’t tell.

Adar was deliberate in his movements and didn’t waste any of his strength as he let Damrod rage and flail about. The smith wasn’t quite sure what did eventually cause the uruk to spring into action again – it must have been some cue Celebrimbor couldn’t parse as someone who mostly existed as a non-combatant. But eventually, the uruk grasped the handle of his sword with two hands and began to sprint at Damrod’s back.

With a few steps and two jumps up Damrod's arm, he had reached the troll’s shoulders, and drove his sword into the back of the troll’s neck in one quick thrust. It went through like a knife cutting through butter, despite the fact that trolls were quite sturdy creatures.

Celebrimbor couldn’t help but be awed at the uruk’s display of skill and strength. Very few elves could fell a hill troll all on their own, and even fewer could do it in such few attacks as Adar had peformed.

Damrod gurgled and tried to hold the front of his throat, to get a grasp of Adar’s sword, but Adar withdrew it and leapt from the troll’s back before he even got close. Safely out of reach, the uruk began to walk back to where the elf and Glûg were frozen in place.

For a moment, it looked as if the troll would struggle back to his feet, snarling and glaring in the direction of the group, before he toppled over and onto the ground. It did not take long before his body stilled completely.

The elf released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, and could feel Glûg do the same behind him. The lieutenant soon began to pull Celebrimbor up and back into a standing position from where he’d been slouched into the uruk’s chest.

Still, the smith couldn’t take his eyes off of Adar, who didn’t even have a scratch or a drop of blood on him. He merely shook his sword to clean off some of the thick, black liquid on it, and then sheated it again as he came to a stop right in front of Celebrimbor.

He reached out, and grasped Celebrimbor’s elbow when the elf’s legs shook precariously for a moment. As he steadied the smith, he asked, "Are you alright?" and let his eyes move over Celebrimbor’s body, undoutably looking for injuries.

Both the concern and the other’s searching gaze made the smith feel strangely warm inside. He lifted the arm Adar had a hold of without shaking his grip, and placed his hand on the inside of the uruk’s elbow. Adar’s head jerked up, and the two locked eyes.

"I am a little shaken, but otherwise unharmed – thanks to you. And your guard," the smith confirmed, and turned a shaky smile at Glûg. Then he turned back to his husband. "How about you? Are you okay?"

Adar stared at him for a breath, expression unreadable, before he nodded. "I am fine. He tried, but he couldn’t reach me."

Neither he nor Celebrimbor had let go of the other, and the smith didn’t feel inclined to bring attention to that fact – or change anything about it. Adar’s hand was a warm, comforting weight through Celebrimbor's robe, and despite the ability for violence he had just displayed, his hold was decidedly light – gentle.

The uruk turned his face to Glûg, then. "How about you, child?"

The lieutenant bowed slightly. "Lord Father. I am unharmed as well."

Adar nodded, and placed his free hand on the uruk’s shoulder in a gesture of support. The uruk seemed to preen under his leader’s attention.

The moment did not last long, and Adar quickly withdrew his hands again – both of them. The feeling of dissappointment was a surprise for the smith, but he chalked it up to how unsettled he still felt due to the unexpected danger.

He was even more surprised when, after that, he felt a hand between his shoulder blades, and caught sight of Adar watching him.

"I hate to cut your exploration short, Celebrimbor. But I think I’d be more at ease if you remained in our tent for the rest of the day," he explained. A pause, a snort, and then he added, "You seem particularly skilled at attracting danger."

The elf would have been indignant, if he hadn’t caught himself wishing to return to the imagined safety of the tent as well. He nodded in assent, but his mind continued to linger on a particular, little piece of Adar’s previous sentence.

‘Our tent,’ the elf thought, and let himself be lead along by his husband, whose hand still remained firmly on his back. Celebrimbor was sure Adar hadn’t even been aware of his choice of words, and yet-

The warmth he had felt before spread across his chest and down to the tips of his fingers. Once he wasn’t quite so much in need of a chair to sit down in and some time to contemplate the day’s events, the smith knew he’d have to try and examine that more closely.

For now, however, Celebrimbor let himself be guided back, Adar walking by his side as he talked to Glûg and the other lieutenant. If there was a small smile spreading across the elf's face for a moment despite what had just happened, well, that was only for Celebrimbor to know.