#descriptions of violence

[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

[c0smoshit]

Inevitable future ࣪.⋆ ♡

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ≫ Link/Reader

⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕝𝕠𝕥 ≫ Link finds you in the worst way he could've had

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ angst!, death is heavily implied, descriptions of mild gore/violence, blood, brief mentiond of reader with self-image issues, not proofread!

⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ I wrote this with BOTW/TOTK Link in mind but again, you can imagine whoever Link is your fav!

⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥 ≫ 3.314

"Link stop"

Your pained words ringed through his slightly bleeding ears, the grip he had on his sword intensifying.

He felt as if his head was going to explode, veins pumping furiously around his brain. His skin was sweaty too, trying to regulate the temperature of his warm body. A dificult task thanks to his lively and irregular breathing and of course, his anxious thoughts.

Your hand fell on his shoulder as he felt the dew surfacing the grass bellow him, soaking lightly his clothed knee. His whole body was on fire, lungs screaming for air and his scraped hands begged him not use them anymore tonight.

But he didn't want to lose you either.

Your worn out clothes and the cut you had on your arm begged him to do something about it too. He felt so guilty at the sight of you hurt and exhausted, he should've heard your yells before, he should've came sooner.

And now that he was thinking about you, he saw your lips moving again, the same worried frown rested on your brows. What were you saying again...?

"Link, please don't do this"

Right, he had expected you to say something like that, but he didn't listen to you. You always did that, he thought, putting other people's lifes on top of your own one.

But putting aside his own fierce mindset, you were worried sick about him, his torn off tunic and his dirtied up boots only boosting up your concerns. His stubborn demeanor sometimes pissed you off, he had to get what he wanted, more in situations like the one you were in right now.

But he wasn't other people, he was your friend, your best one.

He had almost spent his whole life protecting and saving people, but you were above those random travelers or villagers. Why wouldn't he help you out?

Well, maybe you were the stubborn one, maybe after all the things you had done to help other people, maybe you did deserve some help too.

But you were fine on your own, fine until a big, strong and not so friendly Lynel had crossed your path.

"Please"

"Fuck"

Your muttered out cuss only alerted the wild Lynel more, his head perking up to where you were hiding.

His slow but confident, powerful steps inched closer and closer and you didn't need to look at him to know that he was just mere meters from the tree you were hidden in.

You questioned yourself what were you more scared of, it's face and strong horse features or it's steps. Anxiety bubbled up inside your stomach, proliferating to your legs and arms, keeping them in place. You didn't know were it was right now, but you surely knew that if you took a glance, you wouldn't be able to tell others what had happened.

You also could hear the metal clanking sound of the shield it was carrying around, or maybe it was a bow. A girl from the zora domain always talked to you about the Lynels and how she needed to scare off her brothers before they did anything stupid. She told you that they always had a big bow resting on their backs, they weren't only good when they kept distance from enemies, they were fast and really strong in close encounters too.

After that talk you had figured out that you didn't want to ever see or hear a Lynel near you.

But today must be your worst lucky day.

It was so close you could hear it's breath, it's nose sniffling and searching for anything strange. Your heart almost beat off your chest when you saw it's big hairy hand from the corner of your eye.

That's it, I'm going to die.

You pictured yourself in every way it could've ended your life, grabbing you by your throat and tearing you apart with it's hands, using one his his enormous arrows, stepping on you...

Then. . . Silence

The sound of the quiet rivulet in front of you mixed with your laboured breathing was the only thing that you could hear right now.

Strangely you thought about how calm the night was today, the shiny and shy fireflies flew around the valley in front of you. The breeze hitting the rocks on the mountain next to you, creating a curious sound.

You had always loved nights in Hyrule, you loved when you and your mother walked around and watched the fishes under the moonlight on the pond in front of your house. You loved your mother and all the stuff she had taught you.

Then she would tuck you inside your warm and cozy bed after a long cold day, warming up your feet with her hands. She would always tell you a different story every night before a kiss was planted on your forehead with a sweet smile.

Why were you thinking about your mother?

You read that people's lasts thoughts before dying were related to their family, friends, lovers or pets too.

Maybe you were going to die after all.

But you haven't said goodbye to Link, you haven't invited him to a homemade meal like you promised to after he had cooked you dinner a few days ago.

You haven't told him to be careful like you always did before he stepped outside of your door.

Maybe you shouldn't have followed your insticts, stopping dead on your tracks when you heard it's characteristic stride. But you didn't, and by your stupid past decisions you were here now, trapped without any posible escape that didn't involve your death.

The grip you had on your bow had tightened, the hand you previosly saw being harshly replaced by some furious, red eyes.

You were caught.

Your legs didn't budge and theirs didn't too, at least not when he didn't spot the weapons you had. You saw him back away, a long sigh you were forcing not to let out of your mouth finally sliping off your chest.

Relief washed all over your body, carefully taking away all the stress from the prior situation.

But the warm waterfall lasted just a few seconds.

The canopy fell almost in slow motion in front of you, the violent air blast passed through your head and into the cold rivulet. You froze on spot once again, you saw the tree sliced in half in front of you.

Had whatever weapon he used, sliced a whole trunk of a tree?

You had no doubts he could, and ceirtainly would, slice your head off in an instant. Your heart was weirdly calm, your hands weren't shaking either, almost as if you were ready for your terrible end.

Your mind pictured him, his hands caressing your bow with grace as he taught you, he had strong hands. Your eyes couldn't leave his fingers, the thought of how skilled they were passed through your tired brain.

A scream finally ripped from your throat, little blue sparrows flying off in front of your feet.

Shit.

Your body was moving without the intervention of your anxious brain, rolling to your right side you managed to dodge his furious attack.

The moon rested heavily behind him, so big you thought it might have fallen from the starry sky.

Whiteish fur mixed with angry purple stripes, it's exotic form welcoming you to the dangerous nights of Hyrule. Red eyes staring almost confusedly at you, trying to read your next move.

. . .

"Hey!"

A splash of cold water awoke you from your daydreams, you flinched on spot before turning to the michevious smirk that was staring at you.

The water calmly soothed your legs, too cold to submerge the rest of your body yet. Stripped down to your underwear you had pleaded to Link to let you swim on a beautiful lake topped with a gorgerous waterfall, to console your body from all the movement it had done today.

But of course he was there to mess up your relaxation.

Sun kissed skin and soaked piercings hid the waterfall from your eyes, standing tall in front of you.

"Stop"

His lifted arms revealed his intentions, slowly approaching your dry and comfortable skin. Backing up as much as you could, your pleading face didn't break down his playful one.

You turned your head to see if you were going to bump into a rock, admiring the trees that surrounded the semi-hidden paradise.

That was your terrible mistake.

Two strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist, lifting you up until your face was met with his back, thighs resting on his chest. His colder and wet skin made you shiver, trying to squirm your way out of his grasp.

But of course he was stronger and faster than you.

"Lin-!"

Your yelp died down, drowned by the water as threw himself into it again, this time with your pleasant company. You slid off his grasp, ending up bellow him.

His hands rested on your biceps, your torso floating beside his own one. Your own hands held his nape and his shoulder for dear life, taking a big, choked out breath.

"You're a jerk"

A chuckle escaped his lips and as if someone had punched you with a knucle full of reality, you took in the state you two were in right now.

His sleepy muscular frame held your body close to his, teeth flashing as he chuckled.

He was shirtless.

You had seen him plenty of times in that state, normally his Gerudo vests left little to imagination when he showed them off to you.

And you actually found that really cute about him, he liked showing you whatever he had bought that day, from gorgerous opal earings to fierce armours.

But this time it felt different.

The warmth he naturally emited from his body warming you up from the cold water, both of you soaked and making skin to skin contact.

You needed to get out of there or you were going to explode.

But you were too comfy on his arms, unconciously leaning further into him. You noticed the little red hues on his cheeks, matching yours perfectly.

Maybe you could rest there for a few more minutes, just some silly quick minutes.

. . .

You missed that warmth, a warmth that could lasts for days on your skin, almost as if your mind didn't want to let go of the comfort.

Comfort you seeked on cold nights like this, rushed steps towards his house, curious eyes trying to adjust to the dimness of the night. Your breath fanned on his window, knees a bit scraped as you had just climbed his hard wall.

He was about to go to bed as the good, young man that cared about his health he was. But your knock on the glass inturrumpted his routine.

His senses were highened again and he quickly tried to figure out if someone had broken in. But when he saw your face on his window he nearly had a heart attack.

"Hey"

You whispered out as he opened the window, your smile never failing to melt down his limbs, all the stress he had acumulated inside him fading away just by your sight.

"I can't sleep"

Just as he had thought.

"And I see you're not asleep yet so..."

He was indeed half asleep.

But he fought his urges to fall right on your knees to sleep, you were way more interesting than whatever dreams he had waiting for him that night.

"Do you wanna go for a walk?"

And that's how he ended up with you by his side tonight, his sword resting heavily on his back just in case something happened.

Cold, muted grass bellow your feet, the air striking nicely through your hair all the way down to your feet.

You needed to feel alive again, the silence of the night consumed you.

You loved the loud echo of your shoes compared to the serene demeanour of your surroundings. It was almost as if the world changed when the sun dissapeared, new animals that were too shy to come out, flowers that only bloomed when it was dark.

You loved all of those little Hyrule things.

But on top of all of them, you loved him.

Those words seemed to have lost their potential by all the times you had repeated them inside your head, but they were true.

He was your hero, your shoulder to lean on whenever you wanted, a puppy that loved when you let him place his head on your lap, your personal knight.

You adored the dexterity he had with his multiple weapons, his easiness to use whatever his eyes had landed on to fight and end up victorious. His bow, his abilities were incredible to watch.

"Look"

Your muttered words almost weren't percieved by his ears, but his training didn't betray him.

"They're gorgerous"

His eyes then saw what you were chit chatting about, his pupils immediately shrinking slightly by it's lighting.

A blupee was jumping around some fireflies, the whole scene causing a disrupt of the natural darkness. But it looked so volputeous, you were thankful you weren't sleepy that night.

Well, he thought so too but after a while he felt something getting heavier on his shoulder.

Your face was crushed by his shoulder and your legs had gave up from your squatted position. But before your head could make contact with the floor, he stopped the movement with his palm placed on your forehead.

You had fallen deeply on top of him.

Soon his legs gave up too, afraid to move too much but not enough to sit appropriately. He relaxed to the sound of the quiet hops and your silent snores.

Your lightened face whenever you saw the smallest things were his will to live, to fight for Hyrule.

He liked your nose, the way it would scrunch up whenever you had smelt something you didn't like. He liked your cheeks too, maybe that was the reason he liked to tease you, waiting impatiently for them to turn red.

He loved what your eyes didn't.

He didn't understand much things about the world he was standing on, but on top of all of them, he didn't understand the way you viewed yourself in the mirror.

How could a human being, so gorgerous like you, disregard such beautiful features?

He often found yourself covering your smile when you laughed and was mad he couldn't see your cute teeth. Or whenever you tried to hide your body from other's eyes, he was absolutely clueless why you did so.

"You idiot"

Unfortunately, your sweet voice was wasted away with those nasty words. His head hurt, everything hurt.

He first saw your rosy cheeks and then your glossy eyes and although he felt guilty he had made you cry, he felt more guilty for finding that look on your face absolutely stunning.

His body enveloped itself with pain once again and he asked himself if he had passed out on top of you. Maybe that was the reason your pretty lips were quivering as you looked at him.

Your softness narcotized him back to sleep, but your pained voice kept him from doing so. His head felt warmer than the rest of his body and when he looked around, you were there, holding his head so tenderly he thought he had died right there.

The rest of his body was soaked up by the night grass, your knees touching his left tricep.

He then flashed back to what had happened, your worn out body ready to be squashed by a huge broadsword. But his shield was there to take the hit instead, his heart dropping down to his feet when he saw the blood on your face.

His mind wouldn't stop tormenting him about how he should've been there sooner, he was angry both at you and at himself. How could you risk your life like that?! What if he wasn't there that evening?

He couldn't bring himself into thinking further about that horrible topic, he was happy he had saved you from that stupid lion-looking monster.

"Don't you dare passing away on me again"

He smiled, the most truthful smile you had ever seen on a man's face. His skin was dirtied up, his calloused hands rested almost sinfully on top of the pure grass.

And yet you didn't seem to care about it all.

He could be covered in mud, dirt or whatever he had fallen on that day you were still going to happily hold him in your arms for as long as you both pleased.

Your love for him could break walls, thick tension in the air whenever you hugged him, held his hand.

Your fingers found his cheekbone, pressing his face so it was pressed on your stomach as you let some few bitter drops fall from your eyes.

You were too scared you could've lost him today, die without telling him how much love you had waiting for him with open arms.

Yet it was the most beautiful scenario you could've wished for.

The fear of loss, you weren't going to sit on that grass like you were now ever again.

Even the goddess was jealous of you, the way you lived like it would be your last day breathing, loving.

How you fought, spending your days with the anxiety of nostalgia and the inevitable future.

Your passion, love, living your life at it's fullness.

You then found yourself with your head on his chest, listening to his slowed down heart. It should have calmed you down, but it only made the bubbling sensation inside your guts grow.

Your hands were on fire, veins still pumping furiously thanks to the attack from earlier. But you didn't care, streams of salty water slid down your cheeks, hiccuping on his chest with no reason to.

He was alive, breathing.

However, you didn't seem to stop, the more you thought about him, the more you let yourself fall appart on his chest.

"I'm fine"

His voice was deep, months had passed since the last time you had heard it. His palm soothed your back and that only made your whimpers louder.

You were probably one of the few people he let himself talk freely with, that made your heart shrink hard. But the reason why he couldn't talk with anybody made your heart nearly explode.

He was expected not to feel.

He couldn't let himself slip out a scared gasp, what would Hyrule think about a scared hero?

Let alone crack a smile, Hyrule wouldn't want some dumb, crackhead as a saviour right?

He was so used to it that he barely even talked to you, it would be disrespectful. And, Hylia, how you missed his voice. You would pay a thousand rupees only to get him to talk to you, soothe you with his honeyed tone.

Such a pretty mouth that was wasted away by his strict norms.

"You'll be alright, I swear"

Your puffy eyes looked at his half lidded ones before both of your hands brought his attention to you.

"I'm going to run you a hot bath, you'll be alright"

You continued talking, trying to calm him down but in reality you were trying to soothe your own nerves.

When death took your hand, you would held him with your other one. Promising you would find him in every life time.

"Please stay with me"

[stygiovictoria]

Onibi

[lily-drake]

The Demon's Queen

Chapter Fifteen

First <> Previous

One month passed both far too soon and not soon enough.  She hadn’t received any information from anyone on what she would be doing, but her training was ramped up tenfold.  She hadn’t been this sore and bruised since her first few months of training.  

“What on Earth was that ?”  Maha bellowed from where she stood on the side of the mat.  Marinette grit her teeth as she ducked under another blow made by the bulkiest of her oh-so-precious Jackals.  

“I must agree with you Maha,” Hadid sighed, “and here I thought she had finally mastered the move.”  He sounded disappointed and it pulled at something inside Marinette.  For some reason, a part of her felt upset at the thought of upsetting Hadid.  She could care less about Maha, but failing Hadid made her want to fight even harder.  She felt like she needed to prove herself to him.

Feigning a punch she ducked before kicking out and pushing him off valence slightly.  But the second that it took for him to fall back into position was just enough for Marinette to get close and hit multiple of the central pressure points she learned about from Tomoe, paralyzing his arms, shoulders, and neck.  Then with one last well placed kick he was down with her on top of him squeezing his windpipe until he tapped out as best as he could with his paralyzed arm.

Marinette stood up.  She expected her legs to start shaking, for her breath to be staggered, to feel scared about what she had just done.  But no, she felt calm, her legs were steady, and she felt proud of herself.  She felt like she had finally accomplished something great.

She looked up, her face an emotionless mask.  Maha had her usual displeased frown, not giving away any emotions.  But when she looked up and saw the large Cheshire grin Hadid was giving her she felt a cold shiver of fear run down her spine.  His face was unnatural, but it showed just how proud he was of her.

“Still a long way to go with you, but it’s a good start,” Maha finally growled out, “at least you have proven ready for your mission.”

Marinette stared down at one of the men that had caused her so much pain and distress.  She should despise him for the pain he’s put her through, after all he chose this life.  He chooses to live a life that causes the pain and suffering of others.  She should just leave him to get back up on his own.  After all, it was just a training spar.

Hadid’s voice from so many months ago rang through her mind, “Your defiance against your allies could lead to your demise.  Be careful of who you make your enemies.”  Marinette didn’t like it, but she knew what she needed to do. 

She lifted her hand and was actually rather surprised when the man—she’d been sparring him for months now and still didn’t know his or the other’s names—took her hand.  Like usual he didn’t say a word and when dismissed by Maha, he disappeared.

__________ Damian was worried about sending her on this mission.  It was the strangest thing he’d ever felt before.  Never once had he worried over the safety of his servants.  If they died it was simply because they were not strong or skilled enough to over power their enemies and return.  But this, this was different.

He had chosen Marinette himself, had hand picked her to be part of his most elite.  If she died here it would not only mean that she was not strong enough, but that he had made a mistake in his beliefs.  He could not allow that to happen.

His mother was gone—something about a private affair she needed to see to—so she couldn’t tell him if he had indeed been mistaken in his decision or not.  He didn’t feel like he had made a mistake, he needed her to see exactly what they’re fighting and why.  Needs her to see that he is not the villain.  Of course he is no hero either, heroes are naive and can only bring themselves to carry out the barest sentence of justice. 

Take his father as an example.  He calls himself and his little Posey “the heroes of Gotham”, but nothing ever changes.  His enemies always escape their cages, always kill more innocents, always spread destruction and chaos, and then what happens to them?  They’re sent back to their broken cages only to reoffend again and again.  

Todd had the right idea when he broke the moral code and killed the monsters he found.  With them gone and the others controlled under Hood’s reign, the people under his protection are truly safe.

Damian stared out across his balcony overlooking the entire base.  He watched the silhouettes of Marinette and her team—The Jackals Maha liked to call them—headed towards the entrance where a helicopter was waiting to take them on their mission.

Something was pulling at his chest.  A strange dropping sensation in his gut telling him to follow her.  Telling him that something would go wrong and that he needed to be there to ensure her return.  He ignored it.  She would return, she is strong enough that she will live through this.  It’s not even that complicated of a mission.  The feeling of unease still remained.

__________ The helicopter ride to the “airport” was an interesting—unsettling—experience.  All four of them, plus the pilot—so five—sat in complete silence the whole way.  They were all dressed in their robes, faces covered and weapons strapped and hidden all along their bodies.  Once they made it to a secret bunker of sorts they switched to a messenger plain where the shortest of the Jackals took over and began to fly them to G* knows where.

“I should probably know your names while we are on this mission if we want to communicate effectively.”

“And you will need a code name so we do not blow your cover.”  The smallest of the group said tersely.  The voice was obviously female though she spoke with a slight accent, but it was still a shock to hear it after so many months of nothing but silence.  She had honestly wondered if all of them were actually mute or not.

“You may call me Rajani.  My brother,” she pointed to the most muscular of them, “is Azrael, and he,” she pointed to the second man, “is named Hosaam.  Now we must pick a name for you.”

“Khata sounds just fine to me,” the pilot—Azrael—grunted.  Marinette’s brows furrowed at that.  Through her studies of the Arabic language she had quickly found the name Maha had given to her as one of the biggest insults she had received.  Everyday she would call Marinette a mistake.  Everyday she would say that the name Khata was the only thing she had truly earned.  It burned her insides and made her push herself if only to prove her wrong.

“I agree,” Hosaam nodded, arms folded in front of him.  “It is a good name for this mission.  No one would suspect.”  The others nodded allowing the silence to fill the space once more.  Marinette but her lip.  She did not wish to be known in the field as “The Mistake”, but she knew arguing would only activate her supposed Allie’s, so she remained silent.  

It took nearly 11 hours for them to reach their destination.  11 hours were the only noise was the whirring of the plane’s engine.  It made her skin itch, but Marientte did her best to make as few movements as possible.  She didn’t trust that either of these three wouldn’t try something if she left herself vulnerable in any way.  Marinette was honestly surprised with how smooth the plane ride went.  She had assumed that–with her luck–something would have gone wrong.  But no, from the air to landing not a single misfortune moment had occurred–she wondered if that was because she no longer had any access to her miraculous.  

They had landed in a sort of bunker, away from the public and any cameras that could have picked them up.  She followed the Jackals to a sideroom where a large table sat in the middle of the room with a set of black blue construction manuals.  “Where are we?”  Marinette asked, breaking the tense silence.

“ Fortaleza, Brazil,” Rajani stated, shoving a flashlight into her hands.  The others gathered around the table and turned their flashlights on before shining it above the paper, revealing the structural design of a large warehouse with text written all around it in the League’s Dialect.  Marinette followed suit as she studied the design and read about their mission.

A large worldwide trafficking ring will be meeting in this city in two days.  The ring leader will be the last to arrive minutes before they begin auctioning off hundreds of children to the highest bidders.  Nearly everyone attending are people that oppose The League of Assassins and have been trying to destroy it.  Their job is to break into the event, free the children, and kill everyone in attendance ensuring the safety and secrecy of the League and its existence.

The warehouse was large, and located in a deserted part of the city.  It was far enough away from the Favelas to keep the public away while also close enough to not be a conspicuous meeting place.  In order to ensure a peaceful gathering, the gangs and cartels were all paid off as were many of the cops.  

“It will be best if we can get in and out.”  Rajani began to plot, “I will ensure that all of the exits are sealed off while Hosaam sets up a trap.  Khata and Azrael will be in the audience ensuring crowd control.  We have the guest list, so it is of utmost importance we ensure everyone on this list only enters the building.  I wonder if it would be best for one of us to go in as one of the children though,” everyone’s gaze turned to Marinette.

She felt a shiver up her spine from how intense everyone’s eyes were.  They were all cold, calculating, distant.  They were assessing in their minds whether or not she would actually fit in, and unfortunately for her, it was rather well.  Marinette was short, her full height only coming to 157.48 centimeters (5ft 2in).  She was petite, and was still covered in large bruises from her shoulders down from all of the sparing she has had to endure.

“It would make finding and freeing the children more manageable,” Azrael grumbled, tilting his head slightly as he studied her, “as long as she put up a convincing act.”

“And what if I’d rather not be the caged child,” Marinette snapped, meeting his gaze.  She couldn’t see it as he still wore his mask, but she could feel his smirk, his cold brown eyes boring into hers.

“You don’t get a choice.”  The coolness of his voice sent a shiver down her spine, but she didn’t let them see how much he frightened her.  

What if she became like that?  Cold, uncaring, cruel.  How would she ever be able to live with herself?

“Where are we supposed to take the kids once they’re free,” Marinette snarked, changing the subject, “we aren’t doing all of this just to let them wander off and get taken by someone else.”

“The Demon’s Head has a plan.  We take them to the rendezvous point four miles East of the warehouse–transport will be provided.  Once they are dropped off we leave,” Rajani reported calmly.  “We have our own rendezvous  a mile north from there.  If we do not arrive by twenty-two hundred hours we will be stranded here and forced to return in disgrace.”

This was a lot for Marinette to take in.  Here was a top secret ninja league that had kidnapped her rescuing a bunch of children while also killing the children's tormentors.  What was their goal here?  Like Rajani had started, there were going to be hundreds of people who planned against The League here, and their main purpose was to eliminate them–Marinette wanted to gag–but why save the children.  Why not just let them die as well in the collateral?  Why go through the trouble of ensuring they’re safe at all?

“What’s the most efficient way to kill the others?  There will be hundreds of people, and if even one person senses something off or dies too early, everything will be over.”  Hosaam spoke for the first time since the flight, nearly making her jump.  His voice was rough and deep, deeper than she imagined, though she didn’t know why.

“Poison is out of the question, too easy for something to be messed up in the interim,” Rajani muttered to herself as he brought her hand up to cup her covered chin.  “There are too many people for a frontal attack, explosions hold too much risk to the cargo,” Marinette bit her lip to keep her from lashing out at calling the kids “cargo”. 

“We could gas the place.  First we could gas the place.  Sleeping gas first, then nitrogen gas.  Kills them fast and is untraceable.  We get in, then we get out,” Hosaam supplied.  

“We’d have to get the kids out first, kill the guards and switch them places, but it should work.”  Rajani agreed with a firm nod.  Reaching across the table to grab a single match, lighting it against the table before tossing it onto the blueprints.  Marinette watched as the blue paper material burned black and red, turning to ash in front of her eyes.  She couldn't help but think of a dress that she’d like to make based on the burning paper flying around her.

Next

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[bittyfromquotev]

The Noise

He didn’t care.

It was too loud.

Everyone at the return parade to celebrate their victory in the war was having fun, but Sun didn’t care.

He wanted the noise to stop.

The sound of drums and trumpets and other instruments vibrated with power in his chest, rattling the metal and wires within his scarred body. He pushed his even more ruined brother along in a wheelchair as if he was nothing more than a S.T.A.F.F. Bot. He kept moving even though all he wanted to do was run away and hide. He wanted quiet. The large band parted eventually, forcing Sun to roll a crippled Moon and himself through the tunnel of noise.

The band grew ten times louder than before, blaring into Sun’s audio sensors and forcing him to hunch over. He tried to stand straight again for the people, he really tried, but he couldn’t. It’s as if his joints rusted in place.

He pursed what would be his lips together, biting on the soft material that made up his tongue. He would get through this even if he had to be reset because of the delayed reactions to his panic this would bring.

The band wouldn’t stop. As the rest of the military branches followed behind Sun and the army, the noise got increasingly louder. The civilians at the parade cheered with all their might every time someone announced something on the booming microphone. Images of a hospital flashed though Sun’s mind. A hospital. Snow. Red snow. The screams of the Ukrainian victims. The ones he and his comrades were unable to save. Moon’s leg, lying mangled in the dirty snow several yards away from who it belonged to. Instead of the overjoyed faces that were actually there, Sun saw faces of fading hope.

The faces of defeat that were plastered on the victims of the war.

His grip on Moon’s wheelchair tightened as he looked on. Luckily, it wasn’t long before they all came to a stop. The military that walked, the band that played, the people that cheered.

It all stopped.

However sudden it was, the relief was obvious as soon as his sensors processed the silence.

Sun didn’t care for Moon’s concerned gaze trained on him as he breathed a sigh of relief.

All was quiet.

He would be okay.

[builder051]

Whumptober 2023 day (something)— I have 3 prompts planned to be in this story, but it’s going to be a long multi-chapter ordeal.

*Warning* This chapter (well, probably this whole fic) is some heavy stuff. Poor mental health, depression, passing mention of suicide, death (canonical), grief, descriptions of war (Operation Iraqi Freedom), mentions of drug use… that’s all I can think of.

This is powers/No powers.

The dreams in which I’m dying

I find it kind of funny

I find it kind of sad

The dreams in which I’m dying

Are the best I’ve ever had

I find it hard to tell you

I find it hard to take

When people run in circles

It’s a very very

Mad world

—Tears for Fears

———

There’s a water main break in Sam’s building. His apartment has escaped the damage, but the water has been turned off for the entire complex. He’s fine without access to a shower or dishwasher, but the toilet and the tap pose problems.

Well, some problems. Sam could cope with a hand-dug latrine and bottled water for his toothbrush. The Air Force deems sanitation a necessity. Clean clothes and regular bathing are only priorities in the Civilian world. The thing is, Sam’s having enough trouble with his own problems. He hasn’t been sleeping well lately. If it’s not insomnia, it’s unpleasant dreams. Neither provide the opportunity to rest and recharge. Stress is steadily building, and the monuments run is losing its meditative properties. Either that or he’s becoming treatment resistant.

Autumn in general doesn’t agree with Sam. He begins sniffling when the leaves fall and clump in wet piles to grow fungus. He doesn’t take anything for it, not even what’s available over the counter. He likes to have as little on board as possible. It’s a habit from his flying days; being mission-ready required his body to be free of substances. hasn’t shaken the habit from his flying days. The Air Force’s definition of ‘mission ready��� calls for a body to be free of substances. No beer. No Benadryl. Certainly no Prozac.

It’s calendar that gets to Sam the most, though. He’s antsy when it’s time to turns the page to the next month. The weeks and days have slipped through the autumnal equinox and the start of a new fiscal year. He tenses even more as the days pass steadily toward Halloween. Sam would throw out his calendar if he thought he could function without it, but it stays stuck to the kitchen wall. He’d forget everyone’s birthdays and anniversaries.

Sam doesn’t actually know if that’s true. It’s more of a convenient excuse. The series of dates immortalized in his mind are far from celebratory. They shouldn’t matter. It’s certainly been long enough.

The lines of squares continue to spite him, though, as he marks through through the days passed. It’s the middle of October now, and Sam is caught in the middle of an agonizing countdown.

———

Twelve.

The day Riley’s parachute didn’t open. Sam watched him flip himself over as he struggled with the cord to his backup. What was supposed to be a lifeline wound up as a death sentence. Sam watched him plummet in slow motion, foolishly believing that he’d catch Riley by the ankles if he swam through the air fast enough. But gravity and physics were against him. Against them. Sam was only halfway between the helicopter and the sand when Riley hit the ground head-first.

———

Thirteen.

The day the enemy line backed up far enough for a crew to gather what was left of the corpse. Sam wasn’t picked for the mission. He’d wandered to a table of donated books and DVDs. One corner was overtaken with teetering stack of bibles. Sam meant to glance and move on, but he found himself rooted to the spot. If he’d ever believed in god, he certainly didn’t anymore.

———

Seventeen.

The day Riley’s remains left Kandahar for Regan National. Sam had seen the open cargo hold of the sleek passenger jet, but someone in an orange safety vest jogged around the plane and slammed it shut. Too late. All he was left with was Riley’s terrified expression. That, then a view of the bottoms of his boots. However impersonal, Sam would’ve preferred to see his friend off in a long rectangular box.

———

Nineteen, or so Sam assumes. Maybe twenty. Or twenty-one.

Sam knows the time it takes to get someone to back to their hometown and into a flag-draped casket is highly variable. He’d still found the feeling of anxiety overwhelming his grief. He felt excluded, out of the loop. Then it occurred to him that he have the right to be in it. In truth, he has no ties to Riley. But that didn’t keep Sam from holing onto strings of their bond, struggling to knit them back together.

———

Twenty-four.

The day of the funeral. Sam didn’t attend. He didn’t know it had happened. He’d entertained the thought of asking for leave, but there was no way he’d be approved. He’d get two days, maybe. At most. Too little time to make it stateside, let alone attend an event for which he didn’t know the date or time. Sam’s anguish made him want to try anyway. But in the end, he let logic win out.

———

Thirty.

A letter from Riley’s grandmother showed up for Sam at the makeshift post office. The message seemed canned, though Sam didn’t doubt its sincerity. Riley had been laid to rest. Sam was a good buddy who should’ve been at the service. He was always welcome to visit. Riley was in a better place now. Arlington. Not heaven. But that was Sam’s interpretation. He should’ve folded the pages back into the envelope and placed it in his bag of personal belongings. A better man would’ve. Sam’s angry disappointment backtracked through the previous six days. The image of a flag-draped coffin disappeared in his mind to be replaced with that of an elderly woman who had just outlived her adult grandson.

———

Thirty-one.

The day Sam dropped the torn pieces of stationery into the trash outside the mess hall. He didn’t watch the shreds flutter into the bin; he’d done an about face and headed out for the day’s mission. He hated every second he rode in the rickety rear-facing seat. Sam tried to hold it together, but he threw up during the HH-60’s descent back into camp. He hadn’t done that since before PJ school.

Laying low and slinking toward his bunk had been impossible; the rest of Sam’s unit was outside enjoying cigarettes and melted chocolate bars. It took him a moment to remember the American fascination with Halloween. A boom box thumped in the background with more crackle than bass, and Sam felt sick again. It was as if he was a ghost in the middle of the crowd. Someone passed a hand-rolled cigarette his way, and the sensation of invisibility was broken. He accepted the smoke, hoping it would get the taste of bile out of his mouth. Sam swallowed a gag when he realized he’d just dragged on cannabis. As he got in position to sleep, Sam was sure he would spontaneously combust if he ever smelled pot again. And Werwolves of London should be abolished from the earth.

———

This month is passing in the same way, no different from before. Sam tries reminding himself that he’s made it through the fall and winter months for six years running. Six Octobers. Two during deployments. One at his sister’s house. Sam hadn’t been reaching out for care. He’d just needed a place to sleep before he could sign his lease on the first of November.

Spending time with relatives or squadron buddies doesn’t lift his spirits. He’s far too troubled to open up. In the presence of others, Sam feels like he’s wearing a mask to hide his dour expression. The mask isn’t held in place with straps around his ears; it’s attached with nails that dig deep into his skull. Just thinking brings on throbbing pain. And there’s no dignified way to take it off.

Sam has yet to find proper support, if that’s what he needs to feel better. He imagines an outlet where he can emote without obligation to explain himself. Something with a balance of familiarity and anonymity. Support group feels too formulaic. Sam’s loss seems to close, too personal to be dissected as part of lesson in trust falling. That’s why he prefers to be the leader. He can cue and comfort much more easily than take the plunge to share.

Per his usual, Sam’s been ignoring what’s going on inside him. His issues haven’t yet caused the choking and vertigo of a real panic attack. Those tend to be as embarrassing as they are painful; Sam feels weak and guilty knowing it all stems from heartache. He knows he’s barely hanging on, though. Sam would gladly accept orders to repel to the ground in the whipping wind of the bird’s propellers and run into the middle of a firefight. That would be easier. A welcome distraction. Instead he’s suck wallowing in his marshmallow bed and existential thoughts, lying to himself and denying the fact that he’s past dark thoughts and well into depression.

Sam knows it’s not a fault, but truly a disease. He hates the idea of his body being slowly destroyed by ravaging sickness. And he has the terrible feeling that whatever he has may be contagious. Nobody ought to be around him right now anyway. Sam’s touchiness and vulnerability are turning him into a different person, someone irritable and rude and cold. The stupid broken pipe prevents him from melting his frost in a hot shower or a cup of coffee.

Perhaps the current situation in his apartment is a sign. Even in his current state, Sam wants to be more than than a lump in his bed. A psychopathic robot in the office. His suffering isn’t bringing Riley back. He’s known that from the beginning, but he’s aware that his actions are completely contradictory. There are lifelines. Sam knows the suicide prevention hotline number by heart. He scribbles it on the back of business cards and hands them out to new faces at the VA. But Sam’s nowhere near that far gone, and chatting with nameless, faceless strangers isn’t his style.

He has people he knows. He even has friends. His motivation is the size of a mustard seed, but Sam feels the push to try again at living his own life. The first step will be getting out of his place with no plumbing.

———

[dwarvendiaries]

Glazednourishes 26th of Slate, year 12

Seeing how the wrestler training is going. The dwarves have been training all summer. wow, oh my ok I need to get this.

That's intense

[maddoc05]

Full fic on Ao3

Suits / The Magnus Archives Crossover

You shouldn’t trust anyone in here.

Mike stares sightlessly into the ceiling of his cell, the spring of the bed curving a scar into his back, and it’s that moment where the terror becomes so familiar it’s almost a messy comfort. The strange thing about the human body - he remembers reading about survival instinct, that rapid acclimatization to whatever is in the periphery after long enough. The ever-changing wallpaper of life. 

Harvey, he thinks. Then squeezes his eyes shut, and tries to breathe.

The cell door creaks. Mike knows that sound like the back of his hand - the creak of metal, the slow thump of footsteps that savor every second of a bite. 

This is war, Mikey, the prison walls tell him.

Harvey’s war. Gallo’s war. A war that was waged over thirteen years ago and Mike would be the latest casualty of battle. Sleep with your rifle, but there was no goddamned rifle, only the gleam of sharpened silver in Frank Gallo’s hands. Mike tastes Kevin’s blood in the back of his throat, coppery and bitter, the specks of rust still on that weapon’s length, glinting so very distinctly in the dimmed prison lights. 

There are three men. Two pin Mike against the cell wall, the corridors are devoid of guards. Mike knows he is so very alone, that this is how they got Kevin, isn't it. Kevin falls, but Mike still stands. In war, this will have turned out to be Gallo's fatal mistake, so proud to have the knife sinking into Mike's chest that he misses the rifle aimed at the soft underside of his throat.

Curiously, Mike doesn’t strain. It’s not a disconnect. His senses alert him to everything. He sees the dark near-brown of dried blood, a grinning sea, in Gallo’s eyes. Revenge drives men to madness, in a perpetual haze of distraction. One that works well in Mike's favour. He waits, as still as a mouse, as Gallo’s men carry out their orders and take grotesque satisfaction in those commands. 

His blood stirs up a song.

“I’m tired of waiting.” Frank says, lips pulled in a vicious smirk.

“Yeah.” Mike says. “So am I.”

There are no cameras in the cell, says the stale wind.

Frank lunges. Mike slams his head forwards in the nearest human jaw. Bone cracks. 

And somewhere in the process of prying Gallo’s fingers off the hilt of the knife, hearing the individual crack of each finger bone as it contorts, Mike realises he really doesn’t particularly care. The screaming fills his background noise, the mortar shells and rifle pumps of even more distant footsteps, the grit of a dry throat - it is all a pale comparison to the vivid strokes of his own actions that slips his head above the surface of this waking nightmare.

Gallo is coiled strength and festering rage. Mike has the knife. 

He’s never delighted in violence before. The crimson spill of it as it gushes past his steady palm, pouring onto the floor. The terror has long since blent into a measured fury - at Gallo, at the world. The faintest butterfly of hope he’s carried around for so long, a torch of naivete and always, always believing the best, and it is now crushed wings and flakes of ash that escape his grasp as easily as he’d once held onto it. It’s a dance that Mike has never learnt, but knows each step of. 

The eyes, throat, chest.

The thigh, lung, heart.

His blood pulses the rhythm of that song, and so Mike dances each step. It feels right. It feeds that chasm inside of him, and for the first time in a long time, he knows how it is to feel the brush of organs beneath his skin, the adrenaline rush of blood through every vein, a network map of intent and purpose and clarity.

Gallo had stopped screaming. In fact, he’s stopped everything. 

It's so quiet now, he can finally hear the song. It threads his veins, nuzzles into the exposed edge of his throat. It is blood that ran like wine, and it is the sound that flesh makes when it splits apart at the seams. 

Light floods his eyes. The cell door pushed open. The cacophony of shouting.

Mike turns, his eyes unknowingly slit thinly to the invisible drumbeats of war, the gunpowder-flash of irritation flashing with ill-concealed viciousness, blood streaking past his face like veins running upwards. The rumpled collar of his prison uniform soaked through with crimson, wrist-deep in warm, cooling viscera. He balances on his ankles, recalled for the instinct of fight instead of flight. 

The energy floats through him, intoxicating and wonderful. 

The cell door slams shut again. 

-

Ring, ring counsellor. 

These are the words echoing through Harvey’s min

Ring ring.

It’s an empty threat.

Gruffly, “This is Harvey Specter.”

“You have a call from Danbury Federal Prison.” 

The guy who’s in here for you is never coming out. 

“Do you accept the charges?”

The world is spinning. Harvey’s chest is too tight. “Yes.”

It’s not Mike at the phone. Harvey grabs onto bits and pieces of the conversation, like he's staggering through a haze. “ ...I work at the Danbury Federal Penitentiary… calling for Michael James Ross… listed as the emergency contact .”

Harvey is going to be sick.

The voice continues, and dimly he picks up the audible edge of tension. He can barely discern the words over the pounding of his heart. “There was an- altercation between Mr Ross and three other inmates in his cell. There have been casualties-”

He stops listening.

Tightness in his chest, a vice grip around his throat, the ground is fallible beneath his feet. There is nothing but the cold, so very cold, and something must have shattered in his expression because Donna- she’s reaching for him, because, because Harvey Specter is nothing but the mantra of MikeMikeMike rising through his throat like the scream of a piano chord.

He’s floating. “I’m on the way.” He says, numb to the phone, and then calls Ray. 

[rukkako]

So I just got told the news about tweetdeck. What the fuck is this shit.

So let me get this straight, right

not only did they axe old tweetdeck, and with it: > Multiple accounts > Multiple timeline columns > multiple notification columns > Interacting with tweets from any account instantaneously > having all your dms in a nice little column > tweeting from any account instantly But they also are PAYWALLING the dying, armless and legless corpse of the tool they just hacked multiple times on the neck with a meat cleaver AND they have the audacity, the fucking gall to say THIS

New and improved? NEW AND IMPROVED??

NEW AND IMPROVED????

IMPROVED???? YOU THINK THIS IS IMPROVED???

YOU THINK THIS IS BETTER????

HOW FUCKING DARE YOU.

THERE'S LESS SHIT!!!! YOU REMOVED FUCKING FEATURES!!!! THIS IS OBJECTIVELY WORSE!!!!!! DO YOU KNOW THE DEFINITIONS OF THE WORDS YOU FUCKING USE???? DO YOU. THINK THINGS BEFORE YOU SAY THEM???? OR DO YOU JUST SAY THEM AND PRAY TO GOD THEY STICK???

I should not be this pissed off by this, I made the full on switch to here months ago, I stopped checking twitter altogether a while ago, but this one stings on a very personal level. I've been using tweetdeck to roleplay on twitter all my fucking life. It was honest to god the only good fucking thing that shitass platform had. And now it's gone. And it's making me realize all those good memories I had will never be replicated again. No more live rping through the twitter timeline. No more doing it with multiple accounts at the same time. I already had no reason to stick around twitter. I was okay with that. Now I wanna delete all my accounts in protest. From the bottom of my ehart fuck E. Musk. Fuck this fucking pig. I have never seen a more catastrophic downfall of a platform in my LIFE. And I have seen MANY platforms go to shit. But this???? this is SPECTACULAR. This motherfucker killed something I used to love. I wish upon you pain and misery and anguish and despair, the worst suffering you could ever imagine. God. Ugh.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Caring enough to Kill (part 2)

Part two to this. Jason confronts Bruce and when it doesn't go the way he wants it to Danny is there to pick up the pieces.

tw: Mentions of sex, descriptions of violence, abusive relationships

----

Jason stumbled back into his safehouse, clutching his bleeding throat where Bruce had cut him. He could feel the tears trapped behind the stupid Domino mask and he ripped it off, sobbing as he collapsed to the floor. He had finally done it, he had confronted Bruce, told him it was Joker or Him and Bruce had, Bruce had attacked him! 'Because he took me from you'. So pathetic, Jason had practically begged, and Bruce had nearly slit his throat. So pathetic! to have believed he still even had a father!

He could swear the tears that fell to the floor had a subtle green glow as he wept, he felt helpless, worthless, purposeless! He could feel the Pits churning inside him, burning in his veins with grief and rage that might turn him into a monster for good. He would let it, maybe escaping all this human misery would mean he didn't care so much about someone caring enough to avenge him. Maybe he would finally just be able to kill Joker himself.

A floorboard creaked and he looked up sharply. Danny, sliding through the window after him. He gave Jason a look of sympathy and concern as he approached slowly, his back hunched and his knees bent, making himself as small as he could as he kept closer.

"One of your people saw you running and called me. Jason, what happened?" Danny asked softly, reaching out to touch Jason's face.

Jason couldn't stand, couldn't stand the care, couldn't stand a gentle touch that wasn't from his father. He grabbed Danny's wrist and twisted it, startling a scream out of Danny who so rarely cried out in pain. He shouldn't have, he didn't want to, but he was not in his right mind when he threw Danny to the floor. Danny who did not fight as Jason lashed out at him Again, channeling too much rage and misery into the person who probably deserved it least, but who always let him.

He was barely aware of what he was doing as he hit and kicked, though he knew that for once Danny was actually shielding his head, curled up on the floor. The rage broke suddenly, and all that was left was the sadness and the growing dizziness and nausea of blood loss. He backed away from Danny where he was curled on the floor and slumped into an armchair.

After a drawn out moment of stillness Danny uncurled from where he was laying on the floor, he spat out a tooth and some blood as he pushed himself up to his hands and knees. Jason noticed that he had a black eye that wasn't healing as quickly as usual, had Jason broken something? Still when Danny looked up at him it was with concern not fear.

This time when he approached it was fully on his hands and knees, creeping over to Jason again, who this time stayed still and let him, Danny knelt between Jason's legs and cupped his jaw, Jason tilted his head back and to the side, bearing his neck to Danny so he could get a good look at the injury.

Danny grimaced sympathetically and kissed the corner of Jason's mouth before flitting away to the bathroom, he came back moments later with the well stocked first aid kit and knelt by Jason again. Jason stayed still, allowing Danny to gently clean the wound, stitching it up, besides the small place where it had ruptured his windpipe so the fluids would have somewhere to go besides down Jason's throat. By the time he finished and had bandaged the wound the black eye had healed as well and besides the blood on Danny's face there was no sign of what Jason had done.

There was no sign of it in Danny's behaviour either, as he curled up on Jason's lap, leaning against his chest and wrapping his arms loosely around his shoulders. There was no fear in Danny's posture, no anger. How could he love so unconditionally? Especially someone like Jason, who so clearly didn't deserve it. They stayed there until Jason fell asleep, exhaustion winning out over everything else.

Jason woke up in bed, and confused, how had Danny gotten him here without waking him?! He must have been more tired then he realized. Danny was there too, on his side next to Jason with an arm around his waist. As soon as he felt Jason stir he sat up and reached over to the bedside table where there was a bottle of water, unopened, which he offered to Jason.

He took it and drank deeply, finishing about half before he offered it back to Danny who took a few gulps as well before putting it down and laying back down with his head propped on Jason's shoulder. "I've never seen you that angry," He murmured against Jason's skin who winced, remembering just what he'd done yesterday. Danny had showered, and cleaned Jason up as best he could so there weren't really any signs of it but still...

"I'm sorry," He murmured and felt Danny shake his head.

"It's okay. I'm not upset, just worried. What happened Jason?" He asked softly.

Jason felt tears burning the back of his eyes again and he huffed, biting his lip for a moment, but Danny deserved to know. "It was my father again. I finally asked him outright why he hadn't avenged me, I basically begged him to, even let Me kill him and witness it. And you know what he did? He slit my throat to stop me, he chose the Joker over me." Jason gave a bitter little laugh, and was genuinely startled by the snarl Danny let out, he'd never heard him make a noise like that, but it continued, a deep, inhuman growl that didn't pause even when Danny spoke, creating a dark undercurrent to his voice.

"Who is your father," He asked, and Jason felt a chill run down his spine.

"Batman, but don't confront him Danny. I don't really have a father anymore. He can't change, I'd rather focus on the things I can change."

"Like the Joker's status as living?" Danny said dryly, but the growling did ease off.

Jason winced and sighed before he looked to the side. "As much as I know the world would be better off without him, something is holding me back from doing it. I do a lot of avenging people, killing rapists and traffickers and shit. Is it so bad to want to Be avenged for once?"

"No, it's not," Danny said softly. "Does it have to be Batman, or would someone else who loves you doing it be enough?" 'Would I be enough' goes unsaid.

"Yes, that would be enough."

----------

Jason's throat healed, months passed and Danny didn't mention the conversation they'd had about the Joker. Jason threw himself into work, gaining control of more of the drug trade to make sure his rules were followed. He set up safe injection sites and rehabs. He killed corrupt police, politicians, traffickers and anyone who harmed children, cleaning out his turf in the most permanent way he could, making it safe for the kids, the working girls, and everyone else who called it home without being a Complete piece of shit.

Danny kept him from completely losing himself, dragging him away from work for date nights, meals and to get some sleep. Occasionally Jason got angry, occasionally he lashed out, but Danny never held onto those times. Danny didn't only pull him away from work though, since they'd gotten together he started participating even more in Jason's work. He was no longer just a 'goon'.

He designed himself a costume, with a pattern different shades of brown and red, a muzzle covering the lower half of his face and a colour. The first time Jason had seen Danny in the tight leather... let's just say Danny hadn't kept it on for very long, Jason Really liked the collar. Danny called himself Hyena, like it was a joke Jason didn't fully understand. He was Jason's second in command and he gave orders when Red Hood wasn't around since he knew what Red Hood would want. It was almost like being able to be two places at once and Jason was incredibly grateful to Danny for it.

The Joker still being out there was the only thing that kept nagging at Jason, and as they got closer and closer to the anniversary of his death the worse it got. He thought he might have been imagining it but he though Danny was pulling away a bit too. He was busy more often then usual and distant in a way that made Jason worry he was keeping secrets, though he had no idea WHAT they might be since his life genuinely did seem to revolve around Red Hood and his mission.

When the day of his death came Danny was nowhere to be seen and Jason shut himself up on his office to focus on work, reading reports and writing responses. Doing whatever he could to try not to think about what had happened this day five years ago, and how Joker was either not thinking about it at all, or celebrating.

He had explicitly said for no one but Fox to disturb him today so when there was a pounding at a door he was ready to Fucking Kill someone! Danny never knocked like that, usually he just let himself in, so he knew that wasn't Danny. He got up from his desk so abruptly he knocked his chair over and stomped over to yank the door open.

"Please don't shoot! Hyena is in trouble!" The goon at the door, Marcus he though, cowered. Marcus got along with Danny, they might even friends, he would know.

"What happened?" Jason snarled through the voice modulator on his helmet, but he wasn't about to bite Marcus' head off anymore.

"He left your turf in costume this morning, I tried to tell him not to but he didn't listen to me! We've got reports he's on his way back but the Bats are on his tail! You have a tracker on him don't you?! He's gonna need help!" Marcus said in a panic and Jason grabbed his coat and his phone.

"Ya I do I'm not going to let them touch him," Jason snarled checking his guns before he practically bolted out of the building wondering what the Hell Danny had gotten himself into.

He grabbed his grapple and headed to meet Hyena as quickly as he could. He knew Danny was fast but Bruce and the Replacement would catch him eventually if none of the others were already on their way to intercept.

He heard Hyena before he saw them, the high cackling of the manic laughter Danny tended to lean into when he was in his Hyena persona, then Jason saw him, he planted his feet on a rooftop just inside crime ally and drew his guns. He saw the moment Danny spotted him and slightly adjusted his flight so he landed on the same roof as Jason, rolling to absorb his momentum and skidded to a stop half hiding behind Jason as he grinned at the Bats who had also come to a stop on the roof across from them with the muzzles of Jason's guns trained on them.

"Sorry about this, I knew what I was doing but I don't know the placement of the cameras all over Gotham, I didn't know they saw me," Danny said, resting his hands on Jason's shoulders.

"What did you do Hyena?" Jason asked without looking away from Batman and Robin.

Danny cackled again, the Hyena laugh that made him shiver just a little. He ducked out from behind Jason and got halfway between the two groups in the stand off. He pulled the bag Jason hadn't noticed off his shoulder and reached inside. Jason could tell Danny was smiling at him from behind the muzzle as he grabbed something and pulled out... The joker's head, Jason's breathing caught in his throat.

"Happy death day baby," Danny said fondly, his voice loud enough that Batman and Robin would be able to hear as well. "Someone cares about you enough to avenge you."

It was brutal, and final, it was a decoration of love as surely as anything else and so much better then a dozen roses. Jason thought he would be horrified, fixated on the head, but the Joker was just a lump of flesh now, a horrified expression fixated on his face as if he hadn't actually expected anyone to kill him. Nothing to be scared of anymore.

"Holy shit," Jason laughed and turned to Danny, scooping him up making Danny yelp in surprise and drop the bag, the Jokers head rolling away as Jason twirled a laughing Danny. "I love you so much Cub! This is the best gift anyone's ever gotten me!" He cheered and Danny blushed all the way to his slightly pointed ears, clearly pleased.

It was the first time Jason had said he loved him and Danny felt like he had won the lottery! He couldn't control his purring as Jason put him back down, he snuggled into Jason's side as he aimed his gun and put a bullet in Joker's decapitated head just for the catharsis of it.

"Jaylad," Bruce's voice was soft and betrayed. As if he had any fucking right!

Reminded of his presence Jason's gaze snapped back to Bruce, as did his guns, pointed at Batman and Robin again. "If you're planning to arrest Hyena for this I will not hesitate to shoot. If you take one step inside My territory," Jason snarled at them. "You can take the head if you want, I don't need to keep a lump of rotting flesh, I just needed to know Someone gave a shit." He stepped forward and kicked the head like a football, sending it hurtling at Batman with pretty damn good aim as Danny cackled behind him, high and loud.

Batman caught it, more on instinct then anything, but it was evidence, it was a body, he would take it, and the corpse from wherever Danny had left it. "Now if you'll excuse us, I think we have a celebration to plan!" Jason said before he shot at them, he wasn't aiming to kill, just to make them leave and it worked. They dashed off and Jason turned back towards Danny.

"I love you too," Danny said, soft and warm, pressing himself against Jason's chest. "Now take me home and Fuck me~"

Jason laughed and scooped Danny up into his arms, letting him wrap his arms back around Jason and cling as he set a quick pace towards their nearest safe house.

Part 2.5

Part 3

Masterpost

[bonesandquills]

Splattered Ink

This is a post is for @blair-witxh, since I messed up their other ask. I hope you enjoy this one better, and I'm sorry about the mix-up

He had been having those dreams again.

Those waking nightmares, those thoughts that held at the back of his mind, refused to give him rest.

He set his paper and pen aside, and rubbed his temples, hoping to relieve some of the aching pressure in his injured eyes. It didn't help.

He looked up at the sound of your voice and allowed a small smile to cross his face as he stood and crossed to the door, quietly narrating his actions under his breath in that low voice of his as he did so.

"The Host is pleased to see his dearest," He purred as he crossed over to you. You looked up with that beaming smile of yours, just as pleased to see him.

You wrapped your arms around him and smiled up at him, and although he couldn't really see it, the narration told him all about it.

You looked at him and cupped his face, the bloodied bandages around his eyes not even serving to faze you anymore. Instead, you looked at him with concern, studying the clothes that covered his eyes.

"Have you changed your bandages today?" You said in that tone that he knew too well. The well-meaning one that he couldn't resist and yet tried so hard to.

"The Host tries to redirect with a question about how your day has gone," He teased, leaning down to your height. "How has it gone?"

You shook your head and lightly motioned back in the direction of his office. "That won't work on me. Go."

He sighed and straightened up, figuring today wasn't the day to argue.

"The Host would like to protest," He narrated quickly as he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. "But knows that his dear is simply too stubborn for that."

You laughed, and gently pushed him towards the open office door. "Glad you figured it out. I'll be waiting out here."

He went willingly, closing the door behind him, before sighing softly to himself.

"The Host wonders..." he said, then trailed off to gather his thoughts. "How he ever got so lucky."

The sentence hung alone in the air for a moment before he turned to his desk drawer and started rummaging for bandages, a task that was hindered slightly by his thoughts wanting to narrate every single object in the door, every way that it moved as it was pushed aside in his search for bandages. Finally, his hands close upon the damn things and he straightened, closing the drawer.

"It was time for what the Host hated most," he muttered to himself, raising his hands to undo the bloody and soaked bandages. As he pulled them off, he was once again disappointed to find that the world remained dark, although he knew by now that it was pointless to hope that his vision would ever return.

He had his writing, his narration. And he had you. That would have to be enough, and it already was for most things.

As he lowered the bandages, there was a sudden searing pain right behind his cold and empty eyes, and he gasped. It would have been blinding had he been able to see, and felt like a thousand hot knives being driven into his eyes.

Again.

He was barely able to narrate through the choked breaths he was able to take, and his legs felt weak. He gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles were white, hoping against hope that he wouldn't fall over, and you would have to come see him like this.

He gritted his teeth, and slowly sank to the floor, his mind going blank for a blissful moment as he lost consciousness.

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

When he opened his eyes, he could see.

He allowed himself a brief moment of excitement before his logical side took over. This was another dream. When he woke up later his vision would be as dark as before.

He looked around, taking in his surroundings. He was in his office, but you were there, just as beautiful as his narration had described you to be. His mind had crafted every detail, every small minute part of you. He had never seen you truly, but he figured that this was close enough.

He got to his feet and went to cross over to you, but was suddenly stopped by an invisible force. He tried to push past it, but it was unyielding in keeping him away from you.

"The Host finds himself unable to advance further," came the familiar endless voice. This time, he noted with some alarm, it didn't originate from his own mouth or voice. In fact, he hadn't even said anything.

He tried to open his mouth and speak, to banish this unseen field and to make his way to you.

But nothing came out.

He tried again, but his vocal cords refused to move, refused to produce his voice. Worry because to course through him as the voice spoke again, without his bidding.

"The Host wants so badly to get to his darling," it said, but this time it was as if it was mocking him... taking advantage of his silence and his lack of control. "But he's trapped. Alone without his only tool."

He tried to call your name, but nothing came. You only stared at him, confused, as if you couldn't hear the voice, his voice, speaking without his bidding.

"Are you alright?" You asked. "Do you need me to get something?"

"The Host steps forward toward his darling," it continued, and he eagerly moved toward you, relief coursing through him. You were almost within his reach now, almost close enough for him to embrace...

"His darling is happy to see him," the voice cooed as he reached out to you. "A pity that she won't be for long."

His blood ran cold.

"The Host," the chilling voice continued. "Grabbed his darling by the throat."

To his horror, he watched as his hand reached out, his fingers closed around soft flesh. He watched your eyes widen, listened to his voice narrate every detail, felt your pulse weaken and flutter under his fingers.

You scrabbed at his hand, trying in vain to loosen his tight hold, but it did nothing. Your eyes began to flutter shut, and he tried in vain to loosen his hand, but he was powerless. Powerless to do anything except watch as the life left your eyes.

"And then the Host's darling was no more," sneered the voice, and you slumped to the ground as his fingers slackened.

He opened his mouth to cry out, to call your name, something.

But nothing came out.

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

He awoke on the office floor.

Everything was dark.

And for once... he was relieved.

"The Host awakens," He narrated softly, as he felt a gentle touch on his face. "To his dear taking care of him."

"You scared me!" You chastened him, but the relief was evident in your tone. "What the hell happened?"

"The Host merely got dizzy for a moment," he replied, sitting up and reaching a hand to his eyes, feeling the fresh and clean bandages there. "And he didn't mean to scare you."

You sighed but hugged him tightly. "...I love you."

"The Host loves you too, very much," He said with a smile, picking you up with ease. "He requests that we go lay down for a while."

You laughed and kissed him as he brought you to your bedroom, holding you close all the time. Just before you settled in, however, you heard him murmur one last thing.

"The Host prays that he will never lose you."

[dontyoulistentome]

Back in primary school, if someone had me really flustered, I'd just imagine them being cut perfectly lengthways, organs pulsing and blood spilling. And it'd help.

Shapeshifter who gets horribly grotesque and mutilated when flustered

[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

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

Part 2/2

By the time Stanley had realized he wasn't as alone as he believed himself to be entrapped in this ravenous abyss; he had honestly begun to suspect that he was finally starting to properly lose his mind.

In all the ceaseless miles that Stanley had journeyed during his apparent permanent residence within the dark devouring void, not once had he encountered another conscious, walking, talking being similar to himself. Every other formerly living creature that he had crossed paths with had been so... silent. Empty. Dead, in every sense of the word. It was as though the very essence of life itself had been sucked out of their bodies with a straw, their forms slowly falling apart piece by piece under the vicious gluttony of the darkness that surrounded them. They looked like they actually were supposed to be there, unmoving and comatose, unlike him.

So, when Stanley first began to encounter the twins, all of a sudden, he wasn't the only one in the dark.

When meeting the first pair of them, he found himself standing in a lake.

He hadn't even noticed the changes at first. It felt as though he had been walking for weeks on end, his body moving purely on autopilot and his aching legs leading him towards a destination only it knew. A thick fog of forgetfulness and flickering memories had descended upon his brain like a heavy blanket of numbing static as he had traveled. In this absentminded state, he hadn't even realized that the ever-present undulating, buzzing darkness surrounding him had begun to gradually shift and morph to form a horizon line; stretching into tall looming cliffsides that almost seemed to close in on him. Once the nonexistent floor beneath his soles abruptly began to ripple and warp, like the disturbed surface of a shallow puddle; only then did he finally notice his transformed environment.

The transition was seamless, almost dream-like. One moment, he was still surrounded by that filthy, overwhelming abyss; and the next, his boots were suddenly plunged deep into the cold, dark lake water.

The silence didn't leave, however. It still choked and stuffed its way into Stanley's ears to clog up his mind with thick cotton; the eerie quiet not quite matching the calm, almost serene scenery the void seemed to have abruptly transformed itself into. Like a movie with its sound cut off; leaving only the unsettling hum of the projector to fill the empty air.

It was odd. The lake was surely incredibly deep. He could obviously tell from how thin and pathetically small the shores appeared all the way from where he now unceremoniously stood in the middle of the lake. Stan could look down and see the darkness below his feet swallow what meager light that managed to break through the murky waters. The overwhelming black almost seemed to beckon him, gaping and haunting; a bottomless underwater pit of pitch black that never seemed to end.

And yet, he didn't sink. Stanley remained perfectly level, the almost ink like waters stopping just at ankle level, as though he were held up just above the surface by some invisible force. Even the writhing waves seemed small and low, as though the waters were shy to climb up his legs further than that. It was odd, so very odd.

However, it wasn't nowhere near as odd as the sight that greeted him when he finally lifted his eyes from the waters.

Stanley had crossed paths with truly unbelievable sights in this strange somewhere; from bursting, collapsing stars; to the imploding heat death of entire universes, but none of them seemed to hold the candle to what he saw then when he lifted his eyes:

Children.

Two, to be exact. Two, nearly identical looking children stood motionless before him; completely soaked through to the bone as though they had taken a plunge into the frigid water that pooled around their ankles. It was a girl and a boy, both adorned with twin expressions utterly devoid of emotion, their wide eyed stare seeming to burn holes into his thin jacket. Their drenched clothes sagged off of their scrawny frames; thin rivulets of water dirpping off of them and disturbing the glassy surface of the water at their feet. The little girl's hair had messily stuck to her face in thin sodden strands, her cheeks still full and round with youth just like the boy's. They looked young. Too young to be in a place such as this.

Oh, but their eyes; their eyes.

They burned with such anger; such injustice, brighter than any dying star or galaxies he had ever seen. Anger towards the world, to fate, to whatever cruel deity that had deemed them fit to be sent to this wretched place so prematurely. They were too young to be here; to be entrapped like he was amongst this hungry darkness. And yet, here they were, sheer denial against their own untimely deaths being the only thing keeping them awake and conscious amongst the dead and rotting. A show of juvenile defiance to nature itself so vehement even the all-consumign darkness seemed hesitant to devour them whole just yet.

It saddened him. It saddened him to know that they belonged there, that they were supposed to be there. He could see it, he could feel it; they were dead. No amount of determination could deny that universal fact.

When they spoke, Stanley could hear anger:

Stan chuckled in a futile attempt to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere that threatened to crush him whole. "A lake monster? You kids and your imagination," he teased, hoping to somehow rid the poor kids of the haunted look that seemed to whirl in their glares. No child should have been burdened with such a knowing look; such eyes that looked like they had seen everything there was to see about the world, the horrid and the good.

Clearly, it had been the wrong thing to say, and Stanley's faux pas was rewarded with a scowl from the little boy. A world's worth of sour contempt etched into every contorted groove that his grimace seemed to dig into his much too young face. Stan suddenly felt guilt squeeze at his weary bones for having caused that.

"That's what they all said," the boy spat out, eyes shining with a sheen of wetness Stan wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with.

Stan left that first interaction with the twins with the feeling of guilt and sorrow still clining to him.

He couldn't have known, at the time. He couldn't have known that this wouldn't be anywhere near the last time that he would meet the pair. He hadn't realised just how many of them there were. After that first pair, his endless journeying within the Abyss was hardly be spent alone anymore. Countless more times, he came face to face with the exact same two young and impossibly worn faces; forced to meet one pair of beaten and bruised kids after another.

Not one pair had died the same death as another. Some had gotten lost, prey to whatever threat that had snatched them up out in the open; some had fallen from high up; some had been crushed under an incredible weight; some had burned; some eaten alive; some zombified. Some didn't even seem physically harmed at all, body perfectly intact, and yet that same faraway, distrubed look in their eyes remained.

He thought the worst ones were the ones he found alone. A little girl or a little boy, left all lonesome without their other half there. Twins, he remembered a pair of them telling him once.

Once, he had come across a town full of silent, stone statues. It was a rustic, shabby, almost nostalgic looking town- odd and strangely familiar. The sight of it had tugged at an aged memory that had long since wasted away in the back of his mind. It was serene, almost deceptively so. The sun shone; the air smelled crisp and fresh; numerous waterfalls continued to crash down from the tall cliffsides; and a soft nonexistent breeze whistled through the thicket of pine trees that blanketed the outskirts of the town. None of it seemed to match the gruesome scene of the hundred wailing statues that littered every inch of the town.

He had found the boy's statue on the other side of town, deep within the green forest and toppled over the gnarled roots of a towering tree. Like the rest of the townsfolk, he too, was frozen mid-shriek; his stone face twisted and contorted into a mock impression of a silent scream as his body lay paused in a writhing struggle. He made sure to be gentle when he carried the boy's statue over to place it beside the girl's, whose statue stood far deeper into the forest, sporting the same rictus grimace of terror as her brother's. It somehow felt wrong for them to have been so far apart from one another, even in death.

He had come to dread meeting of the twins. He hated every second he had to confront yet another pair of dead children that did not belong here, but fate had decided they did. He despised having to listen to their tales of woe as they wept about the injustice of the world, of having died young; he despised himself for being unable to do more than weep with them.

"We don't belong here, Grunkle Stan," he would listen to the little girl weep, calling him a title he didn't recognize. He never remembered if they had ever told him their name, but they all seem to know his, without a fail. "If we're dead, then what about you? What about Grunkle Ford? Mom? Dad? What about them? We can't be dead, we can't be," they would say, confusion and frustration written all over their faces. They didn't understand. They didn't understand why they had come to the darkness so early, so unfairly.

He never knew what to say, he'd never been good with words.

All he could do was kneel down to their levels and engulf them in his arms, hoping he could somehow squeeze the pain straight out of their bodies in his embrace. He hugged them, because what else could he do?

[fuckin-wilde]

Begin ID: First Image is a tweet of a video with the caption "Shocking footage shows several officers at Washington University, St. Louis beating a professor, slamming him, and dragging his limp body.

SIUE professor Dyeve Tamari is reportedly hospitalized with broken ribs and a broken hand. One doctor told him he's lucky to be alive."

Second media is the video linked in the original tweet, which shows a middle aged Palestinian man being pulled from a crowd of protestors and assaulted by 3-5 cops, specifically one cop twice his size, who repeatedly drops down on the smaller man, allegedly breaking his ribs in the process. The professor is later dragged further from the crowd, limp, and dropped on the grass behind a white police van. You can briefly see an officer standing over his body before the video cuts off.

Third image is a thread of texts all from the same person, reading:

"He was filming. A cop grabbed his arm and windmilled him, punching another cop in the process.

Then they swarmed him and beat him and then dragged him across the field

Then a cop dropped on him, knee to the ribs, twice

His surgeon said he was lucky to keep the lung."

End ID.

[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