#moralsofajackal

[hellexpont-blog]

@moralsofajackal | from here

THE WORDS RESONATE something within him and the seed burrows, lodging between his rib-cage, to the soft tendons and tissues between. It’s a blossom that will germinate, words forming on his mouth to retort.

But he finds that he can’t dismiss nor disagree.

“I never trusted them. The beautiful ones. They always have something to hide. They always mock those who they believe are lesser than they.”

He turns his head and he sees a coil of red and he finds himself a bit lost in the shape.

“Tell me, what brought this melancholy on?”

Lex considers the man beside him.  The Penguin, people call him, in this part of town.  He can see it, too -- the pointed, hooked nose, the limp as he’d entered the room, the immaculate suit and tie.  It makes sense.  Doesn’t add up to a beautiful man, by conventional standards.

He glances down at the magazine on the bartop before him.  The cover story, a trans man giving an interview to the magazine; the cover photo, him shirtless, surgery scars displayed with that elusive concept, pride.

“Well,” he says, rolling the word in his mouth.  “Just a thought.”

He cocks his head to the side, his red hair falling over his thin shoulder.  If he was a woman, he’d be a beautiful one, and he knows he looks it.  But the fact remains; he is not.

[knightlaws-blog]

♞. @moralsofajackal ･˙ * ❰ CONT. ❱ FOR REASONS !!

His footsteps echo through a FORTRESS filled with guards and henchmen but every step magnifies the LONELY air of solitude that consumes this place.  What should be a safe place for the King of Gotham was far from it ; fear bred a FALSE LOYALTY among thieves that the detective couldn’t miss. 

The shadowed FIGURE that sat perched on the throne as he enters the room wasn’t the Penguin ( if one cared to look closer ) , a touch of vulnerability in the way Oswald shut himself away from the world if only for a MOMENT.   The crown weighs heavy , power that used to be shared among a group of men all on the shoulders of one man now.   It’s a LOOK Jim’s seen in the mirror of his mind TOO OFTEN  , haunted by nightmares dreamt with eyes wide open — so the words slip out before he has a chance to stop himself.  

He NEVER MEANT to say it out loud ( with a familiarity that shouldn’t exist ) , a slip of weakness exposing an opening under all the armor he DONS against Gotham’s worst of the worst.  Instead of leaping at the chance , Oswald gives him a curious look as their eyes meet. Jim stops a good DISTANCE from where Oswald sat , recognizing when there were unsaid thoughts that bore into him from those watchful , PERCEPTIVE eyes that held the depths of a predator watching him from the SHADOWS. Oswald could always see him for what he was.

It’s what Jim hated most about Oswald.  It’s why he REGRETS his words instantaneously , the spark of rage simmering to the surface , one that came so easily to him as if Oswald’s presence was a CATALYST for his anger.

Fear doesn’t need conquering.  Fear tells you where the edge is.

         ❛  Fear is a good thing , especially for men like you.  ❜   He’s said it once to Bruce before but to Oswald , IT ISN’T MEANT TO COMFORT.   ❛ It’s an effective weapon. ❜  But it would always leave Oswald standing alone.  Always.   ❛ But I’m not afraid of you. ❜  It’s a WARNING but absent of disrespect , a coarse reminder that even if the rest of Gotham was afraid of the Penguin , Jim would NEVER BE.

Cold eyes narrow , a muscle in his jaw TICKING IN ANNOYANCE but otherwise , Jim remains silent.  They were far past the games and circling around each other , stepping on glass.  Shut up , the beast in him growls , RECOILING at the idea of admiration coming from the likes of someone like Oswald.    

      ❛  We need to do something about the Court.  I can’t do it on my own , ❜  he says instead.

[selflessdoctor]

[1:50:36 AM] ★ ☾ ♚ ᴸᵃᵘʳᵉᶰ: simon is an 80 year old man basically [1:50:39 AM] ★ ☾ ♚ ᴸᵃᵘʳᵉᶰ: your tags. [1:50:44 AM] dude, where's my sister?: w ELL [1:50:49 AM] ★ ☾ ♚ ᴸᵃᵘʳᵉᶰ: "Well~" [1:50:58 AM] ★ ☾ ♚ ᴸᵃᵘʳᵉᶰ: NO OSWALD [1:51:03 AM] ★ ☾ ♚ ᴸᵃᵘʳᵉᶰ: "I always did like older men." [1:51:11 AM] ★ ☾ ♚ ᴸᵃᵘʳᵉᶰ: Fucking the nursing home. [1:51:17 AM] ★ ☾ ♚ ᴸᵃᵘʳᵉᶰ: Those wheelchairs go squeak squeak

[cherylrising-blog]

[8:33:17 PM] ★ ☾ ♚ ᴸᵃᵘʳᵉᶰ: ;A; [8:33:20 PM] ★ ☾ ♚ ᴸᵃᵘʳᵉᶰ: Cat believes in me [8:33:22 PM] ★ ☾ ♚ ᴸᵃᵘʳᵉᶰ: I can do anything. [8:33:26 PM] ★ ☾ ♚ ᴸᵃᵘʳᵉᶰ: I BELIEVE IN YOU TOO. [8:33:28 PM] Cat | ᴄʜᴇʀʏʟ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀғᴜᴄᴋɪɴ' ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍ: waves pom poms

have i ever told y’all how much i love @moralsofajackal

[alwaysearchiing-blog]

@moralsofajackal   It was already going hectic in the hospital due to the Olivia’s sudden disappearance. This wasn’t out of the normal though, so the hospital was not too worried because she would always return safe and unharmed. May it be from someone finding her and bringing her back or she coming back on her own. A big grey jacket with colorful flowers on it covered her arms, but was not long enough to hide the child size hospital gown that stopped a little above her ankles. She wore pink bunny slippers that were leading her to nowhere at all, yet her green hues wandered about the various buildings in silent interest while smiling a closed lip warm smile.

      “Let me help you, Mister!” She shouts out randomly as her eyes fell on an elder male walking down the street. It was his shoes that caught her attention. One of his shoelaces were loose. She eagerly approaches him, ready to help, and when she stood in front of him she put up one of her little fingers before bending down to tie his shoes for him, “You have to be careful because you could fall and get hurt and get a lot of boo-boo’s.”

[shcwgirliisms-blog]

@moralsofajackal from here

Caroline’s nose crinkled as she thought back, with distaste, to high school math class. “It was boring as hell for me.” She said. “And algebra only made things worse, and whenever I asked the teacher when I would use this in real life I never got a straight answer.” She ran the pad of her finger around the rim of her glass (water, she wanted to keep her wits about her). “And now that phones have calculators, who needs to work stuff out in your head?”

In truth, much of Caroline’s distaste for the subject came from the fact that she was never very good at it. It was one of her worst classes, along with science, and every minute spent in math class felt like torture. She can appreciate the elegance in it, much the same way she can appreciate the elegance in ballet without actually taking part. But what love she may have had for the subject died years ago.

[tuppencetrinkets-a]

                 @limpingconscience gets a reply

✉ 2 A.M TEXT: Whatever you do, please, do not fret when you see me. This happens often, especially when I am not careful. Rest assured the man that delivered a black eye on my person will suffer for it.

✉ [SMS] MR. BOJANGLES:  How exactly do you propose I -not- fret?!  Where are you?  I am coming to you.  And no, I will not take no for an answer.

[riddle-factory]

♂ (Destroy us all.)

Don’t talk to Roger Nashton about his boy, Ed.

Don’t tell him you saw him in town today, popping quarters into arcade machines instead of making something out of himself. Don’t call him up on the phone to tell him the kid got beat to shit after school again. Don’t tell him he won some stupid prize for solving a riddle.

Nashton had patience for the boy. Once. 

But he’s always been off. Doesn’t look you in the eye when he talks to you, goes between being mute and shrieking, at times, for no real goddamn reason. You’d be tired, too. You’d be sick of constantly having to look after him, of driving him to school and every single morning dealing with the same bullshit excuses for why he doesn’t want to go. For why he’s sick, why he’s scared, his teachers are mean to him, he gets bullied, whatever. 

Anyone with half a pound of meat in their skull could see that it’s all just in his head. It’s some unfathomable choice he’s made to be different. For some reason, old man Nashton has been selected by God himself to be the recipient of some cruel fucking joke.

And he’d try again for an offspring – preferably a son, but at his point, he’s not as picky as he used to be – but the old lady at home hasn’t moved off the armchair except to eat and shit since she gave birth. Sometimes, it feels to him like when she pushed that screaming, red face out from between her legs, she was purging the part of her that gave a damn about living along with the gore and placenta. It was a far less magical moment than media had promised him. More nightmarish than anything – and when she gave up on life as anything more than a mindless robot, their marriage crumbled.Now, old Roger frequents the red light district after work. A man’s gotta cope somehow.

They’ll tell you that liquor impairs judgement. Nashton doesn’t see the appeal of the cliche. Sure, he can feel his liver slowly hardening into a slab of dried up, blackened jerky. But when he’s drunk is probably the only time he’s not bothered by the fact that he’s married to a shell of a woman and his only progeny should probably be in special-ed. 

When he started beating the crap out of the boy, he didn’t remember it at first. Maybe he didn’t want to – maybe he felt guilty. But after the third incident, he started to notice a difference in the boy’s behavior. He’d get easier to manage. He’d at least shut up if he was scared of getting hit.

The missus looks the other way. As she does with all things in life. So can you really blame him for it? He’s so tired. He works so hard – all day, every day, trying to feed the mouths of people he doesn’t even want to know. Sometimes, it feels like he’d do anything just to get a goddamn break.

So, yeah. Don’t talk to Roger Nashton the full-time, underpaid, underachieving auto-mechanic, about his boy, Ed.

He just ain’t right.

[bloodthirstybirdbabe]

@moralsofajackal​ | cont. from x

 Her solemn gaze averted to bore hard at the fireplace. She shut her eyes, seared blotches fading fast, and with it all weakness for one sake. She reached, but dared not touch her without her permission, resting her hand beside hers. “Olisa. I am your sword. I will aid your vengeance, and I will help you achieve glory for your name. I will stand by you. But, I’ll not condemn you to be a haunted house with so many empty rooms.”

[bloodreaving-blog]

          ✘    he  already  has  a  busted  lip  and  a  bleeding  cheek , but  it’s  not  like  that’s  stopping him . he  feels  a  pair  of  hands  wrapping  over  his  arms , but  he  keeps  kicking  and  yelling  the  same. ❝    come  on,  you  bastard !!    ❞  the  area  around  them  seems  to  dissipate . he’s  making  a  scene , but  for  arsen  this  is  not  a  new  thing .  ❝    let  me  go , so  i  can  beat  his  ass !!     ❞  his  words  are  laced  with  anger  as  he  senses  himself  being  dragged  towards  the  door .  //  lowkey  s.c  feat.  @moralsofajackal.

[counselorbennet]

❝Tell me we’ll never get used to it. ❞ (fuck me up NEW FRIEND.)

@moralsofajackal

“Used to it? No. Numb to it? Eventually. You’ll start to be able to get through days easier despite the trauma. You’ll never get used to it. The feelings will sneak out of nowhere and lay you out without warning. You’ll be able to internalize but they’ll be there. Waiting.”

“You want them to be. The day you get used to this is the day you should leave. That’s the day you become a monster.”

[burlapterrors-a-blog]

"The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on."

"ᵂᶤˢᵉ ᶜʰᵒᶤᶜᵉ ᵒᶠ ʷ���ʳᵈˢ˒ ᶜᵒᵇᵇˡᵉᵖᵒᵗˑ ᴮᵉᵗʷᵉᵉᶰ ᵠᵘᵒᵗᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ᵐᶤˢᵉʳʸ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵍˡᵒʳʸ˒ ᴵ ᶜᵃᶰ ˢᵉᵉ ʷʰʸ ʸᵒᵘ ᵖᶤᶜᵏᵉᵈ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵒᶰᵉˑ ᵂʰʸ ʷᵒᵘˡᵈ ᶤᵗ ᵇᵉˀ ᴮᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃᶰ ʳᵉˡᵃᵗᵉ ᵗᵒ ᶤᵗˀ ᵞᵒᵘ ᶜᵒᶰˢᶤᵈᵉʳᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ˒ ᶤᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃˢᵗ˒ ˢᵒᵐᵉʰᵒʷ ᶰᵃᶤᵛᵉ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵈᵒᶜᶤˡᵉˑ ᴮᵘᵗ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰᶤᶰᵍ ᵖᵘˢʰᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘ˒ ᵖᵘˢʰᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉᵈᵍᵉ˒ ᶰᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉᶜᵒᵐᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒᶰᵉ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ᶰᵒᵗ˒ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒᶰ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵉʳᵉ ᵃˡˡ ᵃˡᵒᶰᵍˑ"  ᴼʰ˒ ᵗʰᶤˢ ʷᵃˢ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰᶤᶰᵍ ᶠᵘᶰˑ ᴶᵒᶰᵃᵗʰᵃᶰ ʷᵒᵘˡᵈ ᶰᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵐᶤˢˢ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵒᵖᵖᵒʳᵗᵘᶰᶤᵗʸ ᵗᵒ ᵃᶰᵃˡʸᶻᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒᶰᵉˑ ᴴᵉ ʷᵃˢᶰ'ᵗ ᶜᵒᶜᵏʸ˒ ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵉ ʷᵃᶰᵗᵉᵈ ᵖᵉᵒᵖˡᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵏᶰᵒʷ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʰᵉ ᵏᶰᵉʷ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ᵗʰᵃᶰ ᵗʰᵉᵐˢᵉˡᵛᵉˢˑ ᴮᵉᵗʷᵉᵉᶰ ʰᶤˢ ˢˡᵉᶰᵈᵉʳ, ᶠᶤᶰᵍᵉʳˢ ʰᶤˢ ᶜᶤᵍᵃʳᵉᵗᵗᵉ ʳᵉˢᵗᵉᵈˑ ᵀʰᵉ ˢᵐᵒᵏᵉ ʷᵃˢ  ʷᵃˢ ˢˡᵒʷˡʸ ᶜᵒᵐᶤᶰᵍ ᵒᵘᵗ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰᶤᵐ ˡᶤᵖˢ ᵃˢ ʰᵉ ˡᵒᵒᵏᵉᵈ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵃᶰ ˢᵗᵃᶰᵈᶤᶰᵍ ᶤᶰ ᶠʳᵒᶰᵗ ᵒᶠ ʰᶤᵐˑ