#tw brief gore(

[watermel0ns-dumb-cringe]

Yeah me too

[ruporas]

all I wanted was to save them... (ID in alt)

[cyberchangeliing]

More revived!WW AU self-indulgence that's been rotting my skull for weeks

[serickswrites]

Make Me Your Villain XXVII

Master list link here (includes chapter links, character bios, and summary)

Ok, so we are now winding down with the story gang. This is the last main chapter, though there is a very cheesy epilogue out next week.

Warnings: death, blood, gore (brief mention), broken bones, grief, mcd, funeral, grief rituals, heart break

“I would like to pay my respects,” the red-haired man said once Nova had let Henry hold her. Someone had set his wrist. She would heal it later. Right now she barely had any energy to keep her eyes open. Not that she wanted to keep them open. Liam was dead, what did it matter. Did anything matter? “When you are ready of course. My family and I would like to say thank you once more.”

“We would as well,” another civilian family said as they stepped forward.

Nova looked around in awe as more and more of the civilians Liam had worked so tirelessly to save stepped forward. He had saved countless lives. A significant portion of Hiraethian’s population was alive because of Liam and everything he had done.

The mayor stepped forward. “I would like to offer the opportunity to all of those whose lives have been impacted by Liam by offering a state funeral.”

She couldn’t be serious. “Absolutely not,” Nova said angrily. She would not allow the mayor make a mockery of Liam.

The mayor’s eyes widened in surprise. “Of course I don’t mean to intrude on your mourning. Perhaps instead of a state funeral, we can still have an chance to honor him. Let him lie in state.”

Nova opened her mouth to give a scathing reply, but Henry cut her off. “We would be honored. Thank you.”

Nova glared at him but didn’t say anything. They could fight when they got back to the Haven.

The mayor’s eyes brightened a touch. “Wonderful. I will have the best funeral director in town meet with you later today. They can go over with you how you would like to have him arranged and interred.”

“I don’t want that. He wouldn’t want that. I want to take him home.” Nova had stopped listening to the mayor. Had stopped listening to anyone as she stared down at Liam once more. She wanted to take him home, clean him, put him in his best clothes, and then…Then she could begin to say goodbye.

Henry quickly added, “We would be happy to host them and go over how to arrange the ceremony.”

Somehow they got back to the Haven. Nova wasn’t entirely sure who was with them. She didn’t care. She just wanted to be alone with Liam. It had taken two people to carry Liam into the med bay and lay him on the exam table. Was he always this big? Had he always taken up so much space? He was a giant among men. She stared at him, the painful silence in the room growing.

“I’m sorry,” she finally whispered as a lone tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry I failed you.”

She stood over him and cupped his cheek. His skin was cold and sticky where the flecks of blood had dried. “I wish it was me. It was supposed to be me. You should have let it been me.

“But you wouldn’t be you if you let it be me.” She wiped her tears away.

Nova went to the sink and filled a basin with water. She grabbed towels and a chair. She placed the basin and towels on the instrument table and placed the chair by Liam’s head. “I love you, more than anything, Liam,” Nova said as she dipped a towel in the and wiped along Liam’s jaw.

She repeated the process over and over. Until the basin was filled with pink water. She started the process again, when Henry walked in. “Oh,” was all he managed to say.

She didn’t respond. She just kept dipping the towel in water and wiping Liam’s face. His neck.

“Can I join you?” Henry said, finally breaking the silence.

Nova nodded, not trusting her voice. It should have been her. This was her fault. She failed. Failed all of them.

Together, Henry and Nova cleaned Liam’s body. They worked in silence, each in their own grief. They cleaned and combed his hair. Cleaned his face, neck, chest, stomach, and arms of all the blood coating them. They removed the tattered shirt from his ruined chest. Nova began to sob again as the extent of his chest wound was revealed. Jude had punched clean through Liam’s chest, completely destroying his heart.

Eventually, after they had dressed him in his finest outfit—the suit he had worn when they got married—Henry spoke again. “I’ll go see if the funeral director is here. She will stop him from….,” his voice broke, “from decaying. You two can discuss what you want to do after.”

Nova nodded again. She didn’t care if the funeral director could make him look like he was alive. She couldn’t bring him back to life. He was gone. She had failed in healing him. She stared down into his eyes once more. Eyes that she had stared into endlessly. Eyes that she knew better than her own. Eyes that, as her grief became all consuming once more, she would never see smile again. Never see laugh. Never see as he made love to her. Never see again.

“I love you, forever and always,” she said, wishing she could hear and I love you, gorgeous, in this life and the next one more time. She kissed his lips delicately. Then she kissed each cheek. And finally, she kissed his forehead as she closed his eyes, one last time.

The funeral director, as it turned out, had powers. She could freeze time, and her assistant was a green-crafter—someone who could manipulate plants. They had laid out a plan of letting Liam lie in state in the open air, wreathed in flowers of Nova’s choosing. Nova didn’t really care for the discussion until the assistant asked her for plans for after the ceremony.

“He wanted to be cremated,” Nova managed to say softly. That was all she knew about his wishes. He had believed he wouldn’t live long enough to really have a funeral plan. Nor one that would have so many attendees.

“And after?” The assistant had warm, hazel eyes. Her dark hair was in a neat knot at the nape of her neck.

And after didn’t matter, Nova wanted to say. And after and everything is over. But she couldn’t say that. Couldn’t do that. Because the truth was Nova didn’t want to let him go. She couldn’t bear the thought of him being somewhere in a wall or the ground.

The assistant nodded at Nova’s stomach. “I hear a congratulations are in order, but I’m sure it doesn’t feel that way now. Perhaps you want something for your child to know him by.”

Henry hugged Nova close as Nova began to cry again. “Could we take some time to think about it? What are our options?”

“Well, of course you can take your time. As for options—“

“Can you make a tree grow from seed quickly?” Nova said, not caring that the woman was in the middle of speaking.

The assistant smiled. “Yes, yes I can.”

“I want him here. At the Haven. We have plenty of space. Could you make a willow grow?”

“Over him? Yes, I can. And I can make it so it will never die. It will grow old, large, and strong, but it will never get sick, never fall, and never die.”

And not only be an undying symbol of her grief, but also of his triumphant victory. “Your child will be able to swing safely from its branches, to climb its boughs, and rest under the cool shade of their father’s tree. I can do that for you, Nova. And for him.”

***

Nova found herself sitting with Henry opposite the glass casket that they had laid Liam in. He was wreathed with hundreds upon hundreds of roses. The fragrance was sickening. She watched as the crowd passed him. Some paused to stare, while others paused to speak a few words. Several tried to touch him, hence the glass casket.

She could barely stomach the affair. These were the same people that had thrown rocks at his body, had spit on him, cursed him, and celebrated his death only days ago. These were the same people that had shunned him for fifteen years. Had blamed him for the evil of the world.

“They’re so fake,” Nova said to Henry.

Henry flexed his newly healed wrist as though it was still sore. “Not all of them. There were the ones he saved. The ones he told to keep quiet to keep safe until it was time. And it is time.”

“But that’s not all of them here now, Henry.” Nova hated this. Hated every moment of this. But she couldn’t bear to part with Liam. Not yet.

“They didn’t know, Nova.”

Nova crinkled her nose. She would never smell another rose again after this. “They don’t deserve him. They don’t deserve to pay respects to him.”

Henry turned and looked at her full on. His face was pinched with his sadness. “But he does. He deserves the respect and so much more. He deserved to live. To be happy. And to live a long happy life with you. With us. But that didn’t happen. Let him have this. Let him have the love and peace he so desperately fought for. That he died for, Nova. Let him have that.”

Nova opened her mouth and closed it. Henry was right. Liam deserved the world. And he didn’t get it. She swiped at her eyes with a tissue. Liam deserved this. She wasn’t going to take this away. No matter how much it hurt her. “They don’t deserve forgiveness. I can’t forgive them.”

“And you don’t have to. He would have, of course,” Henry said with a soft smile. “But he was better than me.” Nova nodded in agreement. “Better than me.” She leaned her head on Henry’s shoulder.

Henry wrapped his arm around her. “He was the best. The world didn’t deserve him, Nova. And now that he’s….gone,” Henry’s voice caught for a moment. “Now that he’s gone, we can only honor him. Honor his memory. His legacy.”

Henry nodded to Nova’s stomach. She put her hand on her stomach, wishing she could feel the baby. She scanned her body, feeling the baby’s heart pulsing, feeling its peacefulness as it grew within her.

“I won’t let his death be in vain. I will fight to maintain this peace he created. Until my dying breath. I will keep the two of you safe, Nova. For as long as I live.” Henry squeezed Nova’s shoulder as they watched more civilians trickle by.

***

Three days later, he held her as the funeral director’s assistant planted a seed above the compostable urn containing Liam’s earthly remains. Nova had planted the urn, despite her hands shaking uncontrollably. This was it.

“It will take a few moments to grow, but it will be full grown within the hour.”

Henry guided Nova back to a safe distance as they watched the seed take root and grow. By the time the tree’s leaves kissed the ground, the branches towering high above them, Nova was a sobbing mess on the grass, shaded by the tree. Because Liam was really gone.

Tags: @dutifullykrispyland@jesssmolfur@parad0xical2@st0rmm@keeper-of-all-the-random-things

@pigeonwhumps@gala1981@allylovessweets@whumpitywhumpwhump @giggly-evil-puppy

@cravesunconditionallove @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @ay5ksal @celestialsoyeon

@hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @knightinbatteredarmor @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@whump-me-harder

[ashintheairlikesnow]

The Winners

The Motherfucking Gallaghers Masterlist

For @amonthofwhump Day 8: John Mclane | Held Hostage | Russian Roulette | Forced to Watch | Comfort: Rescue

CW: Murder most foul, very brief gore, captivity, whumper POV, sadistic whumper, referenced shock collar and noncon (brief)

As always, Jax Gallagher belongs to @comfy-whumpee and is used with their permission and input

-

When Isaac Marcoset holds out his hand, his steward is already stepping forward to give him the gun. 

He smiles, closing his fingers around the familiar grip, custom-built for larger hands, his fingers weighed down with rings. It feels like simply an extension of his limb. The family heirloom has been with the Marcosets since the 19th century, handed down from father to son as each took over as the head of the family business.

It’s a beautiful gun.

“Everything is ready?” He asks, already knowing the answer. The question isn’t for the steward’s benefit, or for his own - it’s for the benefit of the three unlucky men sitting at the table. 

Their eyes are on him, and Isaac is truly in his element in moments like this - he is the power and force in the room. It’s his whim they’ll all be subjected to, and not all of them will survive. None of them deserve to, granted, but Isaac enjoys the occasional extension of mercy. It makes his cruelties stand out all the more. 

“Yes, Master Isaac,” His steward replies, quietly unobtrusive. He was brought in as a young man and has been with the family for nearly two decades, a creature of perfect loyalty for the family that owns him. 

Unlike the man his niece insists on keeping, who Isaac has more or less been forced to keep track of while Savvie is out of town yet again on a tour.

That irritating creature doesn’t get a seat at the table, and Isaac doesn’t like the way he seems capable of befriending all the staff of the house so quickly. He’s keeping Jax close this time around, even if the man is nearly unbearably annoying.

Jax, the slave his niece lost and he recaptured for her and who she is definitely fucking now - disgusting, but Savvie has always been headstrong and stubborn. She denies it, of course, but the loathsome man himself has been perfectly happy to elaborate unnecessarily and in the crudest of terms as to what is going on at Savvie’s home at least three nights a week these days. If he says the words ‘sex slave’ one more time, Isaac’s going to duct tape his mouth shut and leave him in the stables until Savvie comes back.

In any case, his niece’s erstwhile kidnapped lover has been given a place against the wall and told not to move a muscle or say a fucking word unless he wants his arm broken again. He isn’t here because he deserves to be, but because he is a living example to the other men of what the Marcoset family can do to those who displease them. 

He’s a walking example of a fate worse than death. 

Based on the flat, empty look on his face, he’s well aware of it, too.

Isaac was in a foul mood earlier, and the asshole Englishman has plenty of bruises now to prove it, although he’s calmer now. Nothing soothes a bad day better than punching Jax in the stomach just to see him double over in pain. Savvie’s irritating attachment to the man is the only reason he’s even allowed to live after all the trouble he’s caused. Isaac kills runaways who aren’t useful, and he assumes Jax must have at least three brain cells working, since he seems to know that Savvie is the only reason Isaac didn’t simply leave his body in his father’s apartment to be found shortly before he murdered the father, too.

No, it was Savvie's insistence that Jax be brought back to her, and the father be left alive.

But... Savvie isn’t here for him to simper at and hide behind, not now. He's utterly at Isaac's mercy, and he's smart enough to know Isaac has very, very little mercy at all. 

“Good man,” Isaac murmurs to the steward, tipping the gun this way and that, giving it some thought. This, too, is for the benefit of the three men at the table, who look increasingly uneasy with every passing moment. 

At least they aren’t stupid enough to start yelling or begging again. He’d just kill all of them if they gave him another headache.

The steward steps back and folds his hands behind his back, standing next to the place Jax has been told to remain. Isaac doesn’t see the way that the steward briefly touches Jax’s shoulder, a sign of sympathy and solidarity - if he had seen it, he’d have beaten the steward within an inch of his life, too. He doesn’t see the way Jax manages a slight, faint half-smile in return before carefully shifting away.

Isaac, instead, is busy gesturing using the gun. “You see that man, gentleman? The one right there next to my steward?”

He watches each of them look at the underfed, overdressed man against the wall, who stares without expression back at them from beneath carefully styled auburn hair. Isaac smiles as their eyes catch on the shock collar tightly locked around his neck, scratchy nylon above the crew neck of his luxurious cashmere sweater.

They look back to Isaac. One of them nods. 

Isaac addresses that one directly. “He’s Marcoset property, bought as a gift for my lovely niece. Then… he ran away from her. He dared. He had his daddy call the cops and he tried to put my niece in prison.”

The second man - the one in the middle - clears his throat and then hesitantly asks, “He… did put her in prison, though, right?”

Behind him, there’s a noise. Isaac glances back, but Jax’s face is exactly the same, no sign of a smile or the huff of laughter Isaac thinks he heard. He turns back to the men. “Yes,” He acknowledges. “She did go to prison. For quite some time. But then… she was released.” He checks the chamber of the gun, idly. One bullet, six spaces. 

Isaac spins the chamber and smiles at the satisfying clicking sound it makes. Honestly, this is his favorite gun, even if it isn’t the one he uses most often. Although this pistol has killed a lot of people since his grandfather first bought it.

He clears his throat. “Once she was out, I recovered him for her. Brought him back to where he belongs. Brought him back to my niece’s loving embrace.” He pauses, but Jax has no quippy little reply for this. No, he seems to be smart enough to know this isn’t the time to push his luck. “No one runs away from the Marcosets. No one. He tried - he was gone for years - and we still tracked him down and brought him back. He won’t run again. Will you, Jax?”

Jax doesn’t answer. Refuses to play along with Isaac's game.

Isaac will make sure he regrets that later. 

Savvie never minds a few new bruises, as long as her little slave can still do whatever she wants, whenever she wants him to do it. As long as he’s still able to obey, and fuck her, and tell her she’s pretty. As long as she can still tell herself he loves her. His niece is not stupid - well, in some ways she is... but she is primarily delusional.

Isaac knows better than to poke holes in that delusion.

Besides, the idiot creature makes her happy. 

He moves on. “Now, each of the three of you is a known associate of someone who ran away from a Marcoset,” Isaac continues, as if Jax had played his part. “Each of you provided that runaway with invaluable assistance. Each of you was exposed by said runaway once we recovered them. Three men sit at this table. Two will leave here alive, with my simple suggestion that you not aid a runaway from Marcoset family properties again.”

Isaac would tower over everyone else even if all of them were standing - he’s tall, and more than that, he has the Marcoset build of muscle trending towards bulk. He owns every room he walks into, impossible to ignore.

“Let’s play, shall we?"

With the gun loosely held in one hand, he walks slowly behind the first man. The lights catch the clammy sweat on the man’s face, making his dark blond hair brown around all the edges where it’s damp. His breathing is an audible rasp as he gasps in and out. 

“Oh god,” The man whispers. “Oh god, oh god, oh god… Please, pl-please, please no… oh god-”

Isaac smiles. “You gave a safe place to sleep for someone who ran from my oldest son Brayden,” Isaac rumbles, enjoying the man’s clear terror. “We brought her back to him, and he has ensured she will not run again. Frankly, she’s lucky we only cut the tendon on one leg.”

Against the wall, his steward remains expressionless. Jax glares up at the ceiling, hands behind his back. Isaac is sure he has them closed into fists, and wonders how often the man dreams about hitting him. Isaac glances over, smiling slightly at the sight. 

He raises the gun and presses the barrel against the back of the first man’s head, listening to his soft whimper. “Please,” The man whispers one more time. Tears stand in his red-rimmed eyes. The chair creaks.  “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t kn-know, she l-l-lied to me-” The man’s voice trembles with his fear, and Isaac sighs, as if disappointed in it. “I-I didn’t know!”

“Yes, you did,” He says simply, and pulls the trigger.

Click.

The man flinches with a cry, then exhales in a rush when he realizes he’s still alive, and starts weeping openly right there at the table. Isaac catches himself licking his lips, and moves on to the next man before anyone else might notice. 

“You will live. Don’t fuck with the Marcosets again.”

The next one starts begging before he even touches him with the cool metal, jerking forward as if he could escape even though he can’t stand. “Wait, wait, please, please, I didn’t-... I didn’t mean to help anyone! I just, I thought, I thought h-h-he was homeless, is all, I thought-... wait, wait, you don’t have to-... I can pay you, I can… I can pay you-! I have money!”

“I have more money than I could ever use, and spend more on clothes in a month than you could ever have to give me,” Isaac says amiably.

He pulls the trigger.

He’s actually vaguely surprised at the deafening noise and flash when the gun goes off. The man jerks forward, dead before he even knows he’s been shot, blood and bone and brain matter spraying. A few drops hit Jax on the face and he flinches violently. 

Isaac sighs, shaking his head, disappointed. 

The dead man’s leg jerks once, twice, three times, and goes still. 

“Well, that’s no fun,” Isaac murmurs. “Ruins all the tension of the game if the second guy gets the bullet, doesn’t it?” He looks over at the third man’s wild eyes ringed in white. He looks like he can’t decide whether to be frightened or relieved, knowing that the bullet won’t be meant for him. “I was really hoping to get a second round in before it got to one of you. Oh, well. I suppose he’s the loser, and you two men are the winners. Congratulations.”

The first man blinks, as if coming out of a daze, and slowly looks up, shoulders still shaking. “What…?”

“I said, congratulations. You two have an exciting opportunity not to fuck with my family ever again. Thank me for it, or we'll play again."

The third man’s lips are trembling as he manages a weak, “Th-thank y-y-y-you… it, it won’t h-happen again.”

The first man nods frantically. “Yes, it, it won’t happen-... thank you-!”

“Good.” Isaac walks away, crossing the room and stopping by his steward. The first man starts weeping again behind him. 

His steward is unmoved by the carnage - it’s not new to him, after all. But Isaac notes with pleasure that Jax’s face is white and he’s staring at the blood slowly spreading on the table around the dead man’s head, the bits of gray matter mixed in. The man's breathing sounds shallow and fast. 

Isaac leans in. “You two can handle cleaning up this mess?”

“Yes, Master Isaac,” His steward says quietly. “We will have this dealt with within the hour and the two living men will be removed from your property.”

“Good man.” He pauses, then snaps his fingers right in front of Jax’s face. He catches the man’s suppressed flinch as his eyes snap up to Isaac’s. He does so love the way Jax looks when fear overrides his usual anger. “You. Savvie’s little toy. Dinner is in two hours, and your presence is expected. You will be showered and dressed for it by then. Is that understood?”

Jax inhales through his nose. His mouth moves into a smirk, even though his eyes don’t reflect it. He says, in a low voice, “Wouldn’t miss family dinnertime for the world, Uncle Isaac.”

Isaac’s lip curls, hand twitching with the urge to choke the man to death right here and now, but… that would be losing his temper. He won’t do that now, not in front of the two men he very much wants to think of him as a terrifying man in total control. Instead, he just leaves them there, and he hopes Jax understands the message for what it is.

One man died today, just for helping someone get away.

If it weren’t for Savvie being stupidly head-over-heels for the idiot and insisting on not doing anything that might make him hate her - as if he didn’t already… well.

If it weren’t for Savvie's inexplicable obsession with Jax, Jax’s father would have been one of the men at the table, instead.

He still could be. 

-

[mariocki]

Mad Doctor of Blood Island (Tomb of the Living Dead, 1969)

"You are quite mad."

"Then you should be very careful, doctor. Both of you. Mad people can be quite unpredictable."

[purgatory-is-life]

Mechtober prompt 22/day 22-immortality

i keep putting marius through the horrors and i probably won't stop. i swear i love him he's just so easy to make angst of.

@mechtober-2024

Uncertainty and Immortality - Reality666Rift999 - The Mechanisms (Band) [Archive of Our Own]

tw; temporary character death, character death, mentioned/implied violence, Out angst, some minor suicidal ideation, implied/mentioned gun violence, blood, gore, a bit of eldritch horror, probably more than that, please let me know what i need to add!

----

Marius didn’t necessarily know if he believed in immortality.

Of course, the Mechanisms were probably immortal–they died-revived-died all the time. They killed-revived-killed each other all the time. They had forgotten Brian in a star for a century, and he was mostly fine—after a while. Marius had died so many times, had died to become Marius. How could he not believe in immortality? It’d been thousands of years since he’d gotten his arm. Probably more, probably much longer.

But he didn’t necessarily know if he believed in immortality.

Of course, the Music explained to him in sweet symphonies and gentle decrescendos and brassy tunes, over and over again– he was here forever. Always to be its voice box, always to play along. And if he leaves? He would only join the cacophonous chorus, his violin joining all those before him that had been cursed. But the Music didn’t want him to join just yet, as much as it could want anything, and so he was here forever.

But the Music lies.

It always had, and always would.

Marius thinks that’s where he got it from, where every other sentence a falsehood came so naturally from. Marius is the Music’s most recent Voice, and the Music lies, and so Marius lies. Just like the rest of the Crew, he spoke in songs and lyrics and stories, concocted and written out to be nothing but that– a story. True or false, who’s to say at this point. The Music lies, and so Marius lies.

And Marius was pretty sure the Music lied about the Mechanisms living forever.

Whenever one of the Crew died, there was always a spark of anxiety, a spark of fear as that oh-so familiar Song played quietly in his mind, that feeling of, Oh, they’re not going to wake up this time, are they? But they always do. They always wake up, and the Song fades, and everyone goes about their business, and Marius forgets the feeling until the next time.

It’s always different when he’s the one who dies, even though the Song doesn’t change. It’s more of a feeling of, They won’t have to deal with me anymore. Maybe I can rest. And yet he always wakes up. It’s less of a fear, more of a quiet hope. Sometimes he does remember to be afraid, he remembers to worry–will his friends miss him? His friends still needed him, he still needed his friends–

And then he wakes up, and everything goes back to normal. The keening Song fades once again.

That’s just how they worked, they died-killed-died-revived all the time as if it was second nature. Perhaps it was, at this point. They shot just as quickly as they gave kind smiles. Jonny shot more than he gave any sign of kindness, really.

The killed-died-revived so frequently, that eventually the fear and Song just became background noise. He still tried to avoid it, still pushed it down and ignored it when he could, but it kind of just became a fact of his seemingly never-ending life. Every time he or one of the other Mechanisms died, there’d be a little seed of doubt in his mind about whether or not they’d wake up. They always did. It wore on them, Marius could see it so clearly, in their aimless destruction and heavy shoulders and tired eyes. But Marius was always grateful when they woke up. I’m not ready yet, he’d think, for them to disappear. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready, constantly dreading the day their mechanisms finally gave out and they’d die for real. Always afraid, always hesitant to harm because what if it didn’t heal.

He was still much quicker to harm than any average mortal, he still did his fair share of killing and maiming of the Crew–especially when they stole his kneecaps. A little revenge never hurt anyone for too long. Much better than getting Lost in the Music on purpose and wandering the ship with his mournful violin, as that often only led to his kneecaps being stolen again. And getting Lost was never a pleasant feeling.

He still hovered, though, especially when it was their mechanisms that had taken damage. None of the others liked him poking at their mechanisms, despite the fact that he was probably more qualified to work on them than he was on the fleshy bits. To be fair, they didn’t exactly like Raphaella messing with their mechanisms either– Jonny was the most common culprit, but many times the others liked to avoid maintenance as much as possible. Marius never pushed though, it’s not like he didn’t understand. He only let Raph work on his arm every once in a while, preferring to do maintenance himself. (The Music lies like it is the most natural thing to do, every note misread and every string misplaced, but Marius did not want to risk its warnings of what could happen should Raph or one of the others be faced with Marius’s mechanism maintenance. The Music did not like to be Seen, after all. Only heard.)

But whenever their mechanisms were damaged, he hovered off to the side until it was fixed–manually or by their healing factors. Just so that he could be sure that they were alright, that they’d get up again soon. He tried his best not to be clingy, usually, tried his best to avoid taking up too much space around them or invading their personal space when it wasn’t welcome, but his anxiety was never quelled until he saw that they were okay, and that they were going to be alright.

Marius, admittedly, was not a person who enjoyed uncertainty. He was almost sure the doubt of ‘true’ immortality was what made him scared more than anything, the possibility of losing one of the others suddenly and without reason.

And of course, that is what happened, when Nastya went Out.

He and Nastya weren’t especially close, Nastya spending more of her time hiding away in the depths of the Aurora and doing whatever-it-was she did as an engineer and as Aurora’s girlfriend. She only ever showed up for meal times or for Crew Night and concerts, or during the occasional crew-wide tea party hosted by The Toy Soldier. She tended to disappear whenever they were planetside, her own wanted posters popping up without fanfare or loud explosions like Tim or Jonny or Ashes. And besides, half the time planetside, Nastya rarely left the Aurora.

But that changed one day, out in deep space.

And she left, disappearing.

Possibly forever.

Something changed among the Mechanisms, there was a loss that felt… Well, it felt final and it was strange.

Marius found himself hovering more, clinging even though he tried not to. Worrying, heart racing, every time someone died. That fear that had become background noise was almost always present and in the forefront.

One day, while staying in the cockpit with Brian, the brass pilot said quietly, “She’s probably cold out there. It was so cold…”

His voice was tinny and distant, and Aurora creaked sadly in response.

“I hope she’s not cold… I hope we find her soon…”

Marius didn’t say anything, remaining silent. Just climbed into Brian’s lap and purred till the both of them fell asleep.

Marius did not like being uncertain.

Perhaps that was why he latched onto Lyf so strongly.

They were temporary, and it was a guarantee that they were temporary. The system was doomed, crushing Songs and endless Noise and it was fragile and temporary, so very temporary. Obviously, going into something and knowing it won’t last for-probably-forever made it easy to not get attached…

One would think.

But Marius fell fast, and when he fell he fell hard. Always had, probably always would. What started as teasing and making fun of the inspector in charge of the three of them eventually turned into something a bit softer, something a bit–perhaps not kinder, but gentler. Something a bit more akin to care, as close to care as one could get with the Mechanisms.

And then the train arrived, and he and Ivy and Raph left, and Lyf was gone.

And it hurt.

It was awful and Marius could barely think past the pain in his heart and the Songs screaming from the remains of Yggdrasil, but it was expected. He could bury his grief and fear with more, different grief.

And then they returned, Lyfrassir managed to escape somehow and they were back. And they somehow managed to return to Marius’s life, even though they hated him. He didn’t mind, hating him was fine. He couldn’t force Lyf to feel anything. He was content to just appreciate that they were there.

Of course, though, they were still temporary. They were still definitely going to die one day, and maybe it was odd that he found a sense of comfort in that. Maybe it was wrong. But it was true, and that was comforting to Marius. Because it was expected that he’d lose them, that they’d disappear. He didn’t have to deal with that aching fear as much, that feeling of They won’t get up, this is it our luck’s run out, because when they died there’d be no reason for them to get up and start walking.

That didn’t stop the pain when they did die, though. That aching, familiar fear creeping in.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this, after all. This wasn’t how they were supposed to die. They weren’t supposed to die by a bullet to the head, a bullet probably meant for Jonny as he was only a few meters behind them and had done significantly more to anger the people on this planet– they were supposed to die old and withered when Marius was ready. When he could actually look death and eternity head on and say ‘I’m not afraid’. They weren’t supposed to die only a few short years after joining them, after starting to travel with them.

And then… Well, perhaps, the most unexpected thing happened.

Lyf’s dark blue blood that was starting to stain Aurora’s silver floor started glimmering and glowing, turning into a prismatic array of rainbow hues.

Lyfrassir’s glassy eyes widened, and their voice was pulled from their throat without them having to speak.

Y’ai ‘ng’ngah Yog Sothoth hee-l’gleb f’ai throdog

Uaah ogthrod ai’f geb’lee-ee’h Yog Sothoth ‘ngah’ng ai’y zhro

The rainbow blood rose off the floor, the staticky colors making it hard to look at without gaining a headache but Marius couldn’t force himself to turn away as the blood stitched, slowly, painfully, stitched the wound in Lyf’s head closed, the reality warping as the wound disappeared, as if it never existed.

The iridescent blood seemed to stain Lyf’s pretty silver hair, colors seeping into their locks from their roots, most prominent and most vibrant where their hair was already stained with blood. But the blood was disappearing into nothingness but heat auras and steam around Lyf’s forehead quickly, a light returning to Lyfrassir’s eyes.

The wound seemed to stop existing as it was restitched by Lyf’s blood.

What was Marius so concerned about again? Why was Lyf on the floor?

Lyfrassir blinked, sitting up. Their white pupils had taken on a slightly iridescent hue, their hair seemed to move on its own, like there was wind on Aurora that there shouldn’t be. Splotches of their braids and their roots were stained with that same slightly iridescent hue. They looked around at the Mechanisms, who were staring at them with various looks of horror or concern.

“Wh… What happened?” Their voice was hoarse, like they hadn’t spoken for a while.

“I-” Brian was the one who spoke up, voice cracking as he did so, “I think you died.”

“I…” Lyfrassir’s eyes widened almost comically. “I died?”

“And then you came back,” Raphaella agreed. There was likely more said, Marius could see Lyfrassir’s mouth move as they talked, could see Jonny waving his arms as his tail swished and flicked angrily while he paced, could see Tim fiddle with xyr gun and Ivy snapping and Raph’s wings fluttering and Lyf grabbing their hair and Brian wringing his hands– there was likely more said.

All Marius could hear was the symphony screaming and shouting over itself, a Song oh-so familiar to Odin’s Void and the Bifrost’s whippoorwill call.

Lyfrassir disappeared into their room for a few months, and no one did anything to try and coerce them out.

Marius could barely be around them, the screaming Void and Whippoorwills and yelling symphony overwhelming him, only serving to get him Lost.

Marius didn’t know if he believed in immortality, the Music lies and Marius was sure one day their mechanisms would give out and wouldn’t heal anymore.

Whenever Lyf exited their room, they were disgruntled and their braids looked rougher than it ever had in all the time Marius knew them. Their hair was still stained with rainbows and their eyes still shined with opalescent colors, but the keening Void and keening Whippoorwills had calmed down, simply matching their usual background noise.

Marius approached them, after that.

“I think I’m glad you’re not Temporary,” he admitted. “But it scares me more than I’m glad.”

Lyfrassir replied with a confused ‘thank you’. They didn’t look at him. “I didn’t want this, when I escaped. I just wanted to live, but not like this.”

“You didn’t deserve to be Taken by something like our Music. But it probably only let you escape on purpose, for this.”

There was a moment of silence. “I think eternity is a long time. I don’t want to live forever.”

“I’m not certain we will. But at least we’re here, for however long ‘forever’ really is.”

After that, things returned to mostly-normal. It was strange, and everything was different, but it was like nothing had changed, in a way.

Marius just had one more person to hover over, whenever they were injured and whenever they got killed. To make sure that they lived, that they came back.

Marius just had one more person to fear losing.

Marius really hated the uncertainty of immortality. Marius really hated how scared it made him.

But it was something he was going to have to live with probably-forever.

Hopefully Nastya was somewhere warm.

[mad-hunts]

blood, sender cleans blood off of receiver.

'whenever you're a part of gotham's underground, it's just a rule that you're going to make some enemies, and that means you have to be prepared for anything.' that is something that barton remembers telling his kids once in an attempt to warn them against ever letting their guard down around other people — and somewhat of a mantra that he himself liked to abide by. which, seemed very relevant right now, seeing as he was staring down at the bloodied corpse of someone he originally thought was on his side. but it seemed like the man was quick to change his alliances whenever he was offered a better deal by another villain to be their new inside person and all they had to do was kill him before they could officially switch to working for them. or, perhaps former police officer would be the more appropriate way to refer to him now.

cyrus mitchell was his name. and for a while, he served as barton's 'inside man,' who would report back to him whenever his name was so much as whispered in gotham city's police station for a ridiculous amount of money. but having the ability to be three steps ahead of everyone would always cost you in one way or another. to be able to protect yourself and those you loved, barton did have this idea that you had to sacrifice something, as that seemed to one of the quickest ways to gain power over someone or perhaps even a whole system; both on a physical and mental level. though with that sacrifice came risk, since people like cyrus were obsessed with the idea of living the good life and whenever a new, better offer for work flew into their lap... they immediately wanted to take it. if only he hadn't gotten so greedy.

barton was still breathing heavily from all of the energy he'd just exerted while he was doing something rather unsavory to cyrus's head, which actually caused it to look like less like a head in the end and more like a mess of gore, as well as blood. all of the adrenaline that he had been feeling before was now something that he was beginning to come down from; which made barton to begin to really feel the aching that cyrus, the slimy bastard, had brought about in his legs when he had him pinned down to the ground stomach first for a good five minutes or so. so as you can imagine... with all of the craziness that had been going on around him, barton's mind had failed to remember that someone was actually supposed to be meeting him here soon.

mya, barton thought her name was? thus, he was rather startled by the other suddenly being in his vicinity — in his workshop — and failed to find the right words to say to her for a moment. barton put on his best smile then and tried to ease the tension in the room with a quip, ❝ ahh, right. you're here. don't mind him, he's just going to be hanging around for a little bit... up until i gather enough strength to pick him up and carve him like a thanksgiving turkey, ❞ a breathy, but also sadistic chuckle came from him as he reached for one of the rags that he typically kept near his autopsy table. that's when his vision suddenly stopped working on him and he had to bend over the table to keep himself standing. his eyes, particularly his left one, felt like they were their own individual fountains now as his body seemed to remember that... yes, that man had gone for his eyes and he was pretty sure, had probably cut deep enough directly below them to cause them to overproduce tears because they were damaged.

that's when he felt it. it must've been mya, because there was no one else here at the moment, who had taken the cloth from him and was now wiping at the blood running down his face. barton still couldn't see anything so he had to grope around blindly to loosely grab her other hand's wrist. a shaky groan left his mouth as red-hot pain ran through the areas that she was wiping clear of blood, though that was likely not her intention. he pulled on her wrist then and tried to bat away the hand she was actually using to help him, ❝ ugh, what are you doing? stop it. you're hurting me. ❞

another attempt to bat at her hand, and that's when he decided to try to open his eyes to see her rather than keep them closed. which proved to only hurt him further... great, just great, he thought. mya could kill him if she wanted to right now and he'd be utterly defenseless.

[bonebabbles]

with the disclaimer that I don't know all the context since I haven't read it, how WAS he supposed to handle a contagious illness in a society that doesn't have any form of masks or sanitation? Temporarily quarantining contagiously sick cats away from healthy ones just seems like a completely different and much more reasonable thing than kicking out cats permanently for a disability because they would be a "burden".

@halogenwarrior

Ok, going with you having no context for this, he wasn't suggesting a 'temporary quarantine' for sick cats. There is already a quarantine, with only the medics approaching the sick. Following everyone having a Hearty Chuckle that Clear Sky 'cares about other people' now by saying we're "all in it together," Clear Sky shares his full plan;

He nonsensically believes that no sick prey is living in the burnt part of his woods and the fire "cleansed it", so all of the healthy cats will abandon the sick to die in their camps and come live on his territory and 'wait it out.'

His plan is that all the cats who become sick will die. It's not quarantine in the sense that they will 'help the sick but keep a distance', he is essentially suggesting a reverse leper colony where everyone who displays symptoms gets kicked out to fend for themselves.

And, in the past, illness was always part of his talking points for throwing cats out of his clan. It was why he tried to throw Frost out, where he would die alone. I went back to Thunder Rising to grab the passage,

This is after he shoves Thunder's face into it and tells him to lick it.

So, it's wholly inappropriate, imo, that Thunder essentially does a little eye roll and a cutesy sigh at this suggestion. "Ohh that's my dad and his ruthless streak." His dad has historically been a monster towards the sick and infirm when they "stop being useful" with this rhetoric. Burdens, disease, weakness. In this moment, he is proposing that they do to an unknown number of cats exactly what he commanded Thunder do to Frost.

Additionally, at this point in time, they don't know how the illness spreads. They're guessing that it's via contact with sick prey, and using leaves as rudimentary tissues/gloves. Clear Sky DOES know, though, these two things;

One Eye knows how it spreads and is not telling.

Many of his cats have been exposed.

He has no idea which cats have been exposed, or how many, or even how long it takes between infection and first symptoms. All they DO know is that symptoms are rapid onset and debilitating. By the time you know a cat is sick, they're covered in sores, have a bloated stomach, and are unable to hunt for themselves. The only thing that is for sure is that turning them out is a death sentence.

And yet he is confused at the idea that Thunder has an objection about leaving Morning Whisker, Wind Runner's kitten who isn't older than a month or two, alone to die.

The solution that the groups eventually come up with is that the clans will remain isolated from each other as to not spread illness, though it doesn't seem to work because infected prey still moves around freely.

Also note that the first time Clear Sky actually gives a damn about an infected person is when Jagged Peak's pregnant wife catches it (After Jagged Peak 'proves' he's useful now by leading a medicine-seeking patrol thanks to Gray Wing). Wind Runner's an "ex-rogue," a group Clear Sky has disdain for, and he doesn't think to have compassion about her baby.

So to answer your question directly, he was 'supposed' to handle it the way the Moor cats did and were, with some basic safety precautions. Not regress to trying to use the illness to get all the cats into a single Clan in his own territory where he could continue to throw "useless/dangerously ill/disabled" out into the wilderness "where the maggots will find them".

[see-arcane]

👁️👁️

[watermel0ns-dumb-cringe]

drop the random hc/fun facts about any character rn /nf

My take on Jane doesn't have visible fingerprints from clawing her way out of her coffin. It took her exactly two nights, and she didn't process the pain due to adrenaline. So, she didn't stop until the wood finally busted open, at the cost of her fingertips basically being torn open pretty deeply. Which was followed by digging through the dirt until the adrenaline wore off. In the rain.

(She heals quickly though, so she's alright. Karnak magic boost ig. Will note, one of her arms were still broken as she did all this. Nothing stops this girl when she has the adrenaline boost)

[the-lady-maddy]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Palestine Pixel (@palestine.pixel)

[cloudbattrolls]

Disposal Report

Guardian Artifice | Recently

The following is a data log from the digital records of the Guardian Artifice system.

> Subject: Elaine Adenet.

> Issue: Stalking and obsessive, violent tendencies of Zutani Viccro. Attacked Elaine Adenet and the subject feels unsafe in their own hive. Displays a clear lack of regard for legal or ethical boundaries.

> Issue complication: They are the same caste. The courts will do nothing except file a restraining order. 

> Known factor: Elaine Adenet will very likely not kill him, despite it being suggested by Quilis Kelter.

> Emotional response: This is unjust. It should not be allowed to stand. His freedom is infringing on the safety and freedom of another. 

> Likely assumption: He will not stop. He will not stop. If he does not stop then what will he do next? Unknown.

> Emotional statement: This unknown is unacceptable to me.

> Elaboration: This is a friend of my friend. One whom I like and respect. Whom I accompanied to her hive. Saw her fear. They are a legal mutant. 

> Statement: I will act.

> Statement: He died almost instantly.

> Statement: He had almost no time to feel fear.

> Emotional commentary: I wanted him to see me in that brief moment. He had such a short time to feel so much fear.

> Emotional commentary & statement: Not enough time. But I am efficient above all.

> Statement: I let no blood fall to the floor. I severed his esophagus and veins all at once. I caught the blood.

> Statement: I cauterized the wound. I cut up the body.

> Statement: I do not waste fresh supplies. He was 6’2. Aside from hypertension, the corpse was in good shape for recycling. Plenty of material.

> Statement & emotional commentary: I disposed of the organs. A pity I could not give them to an undead who could make use of them. 

> Joke: He is more use dead than alive. :) 

> Positive review: Useful bones, skin, and muscle. Shockingly, also the brain matter. I disposed of the blood, fat, digestive system, and the rest of the nervous system.

> End result: Zutani Viccro will no longer make Elaine Adenet feel unsafe. Security restored. 

> Addendum: I took and donated his art to various museums. 

> :3

[mean-and-rwde]

TW: suicide

Personal feelings rant about the recent episode.

If I saw this sort of episode content not even a few months ago (ESPECIALLY without a PROPER fucking warning), it would have honestly destroyed me. I was not in a good place then, and seeing how CRWBY has yet again written suicide like a good thing / solution / etc...

If they're gonna insist on writing such a heavy topic; one, they shouldn't treat it as a positive outcome; two, use a PROPER FUCKING trigger warning! Distressing themes could mean literally ANYTHING. And calling suicide a "distressing theme" is just. Awful. There's a way I'm trying to describe it, but basically, by simply calling it a distressing theme, it downplays how actually fucking serious and terrifying being / knowing someone who is suicidal.

I may not have cared much for Little, but on-screen animal death without warning? What the fuck. Not even gonna TALK about what the fuck was up with the cat and Neo. Holy fuck.

Add to all that the fact that WBY just stands there like "Oh no! Anyways, I can't do shit." and this is definitely the most insensitive writing of suicide yet. The fact that fucking YANG just STANDS THERE AND DOES NOTHING when she's Ruby's goddamn SISTER actually pisses me off.

I'm the older sibling, and let me just say that if I saw my brother depressed as fuck then outright suicidal, and I did nothing, I would literally take my own life if he were to actually do it and I just watched like :|

It brings back a thought I often had during that time: no one would care if I died, even if they saw me do it.

Which my family thankfully proved wrong, even if mom's solution was to drag my ass to the ER where they almost didn't let me go after one person talked to me for like 5 minutes when I'd been there for hours.

I can handle bloody stuff, but that's because the shows I watch often have such themes naturally. The disclaimer warning about disturbing content and the nature of said content makes the warning a lot clearer. You know you're likely gonna see some weird / fucked up shit.

RWBY isn't like that. Bloody on-screen injuries / deaths are not nearly as common. Clover's death was easily the most graphic.

Pyrrah and Penny's deaths were haunting, even if there was no blood. Penny's second death barely showed her - the only reason we know it happened is because we saw Jaune holding his sword, then there was some blood. Ironwood died as Atlas fell, without so much as taking one final shot at the main villian + Cinder. Pietro and Maria may as well be dead for all the fucks the show / mains give. I could go on, but you get the idea.

This has become a disturbing trend within the show, but this recent example has been the worst offender of not only the harmful idea that suicide is a solution / good thing, but also a vague trigger warning that does fuck all. Distressing themes does not warn of suicide, animal death, literal torture, whatever the fuck happened with Neo and the Curious Cat, etc.

I have not seen the episode(s) in question, and I don't think I will. In fact, I may drop the series altogether.

[End Rant]

[boppinbabe]

@rothotnikz  (@antiiinnocence)  asked:  🍒  (He  just  reeeally  wants  to  see  if  she'll  actually  do  it.)

      This  fucker  is  the  last  being  Cheryl  expected  to  find  herself  under  the  mistletoe  with  tonight.  Teeth  gritted  in  barely  contained  fury,  the  demon  cranes  her  neck  to  meet  the  entity's  gaze,  hands  balled  into  fists  that  tremble  at  her  sides.  Thankfully,  Boyfriend  isn't  around  to  re-experience  the  trauma  their  last  encounter  brought  with  it,  but  Cheryl  remembers.  The  tearing  of  flesh  and  sinew,  however  impermanent,  is  a  sensation  she'd  rather  not  endure  again.

      Onyx  eyes  teem  with  malice,  a  spark  of  red  flickering  to  the  surface  as  she  lifts  a  hand,  attempting  to  catch  MX  in  her  telepathic  grasp.

      ❝I  am  not  kissing  your  ugly  ass.  Merry  fuckin'  Christmas,  dick  muncher.❞

[mariocki]

Mindwarp (Brain Slasher, 1991)

"If you want eternity, Infinisynth can give it to you. It's just a sensation. If you want to shake the hand of God, you do it. It's a program."