#voilence tw

[gen-z-culture-is]

Gen Z culture is picking up tear gas with our bare hands, outwardly speaking out against the government, and spitting facts about political corruption but not being able to make a phone call to set up a doctors appointment.

[fanged-cotl]

sketches/unfinished/old art dump

(tw for violence further down)

and here's more old art but it's actually finished- i never uploaded it here I dont think.

i definitely draw lamb differently now lol. I think they are good drawings on a technical level but i still kinda dont like them

[fangsforhire]

FLASHBACK;

Katherine Pierce.

The name was making him nauseous by now, the vampire he’d pinned up against the wall struggles no longer satisfying. Lately, ever since he’d laid eyes on her, everything had lost its fun, suppressed memories coming back with a vengeance.  ( It had been a lifetime ago since he had felt warm delicate hands trace cheek bones, cupping his jaw and peppering his face in kisses. His wife; the most exquisite sight he’d ever seen, had been his calm in the storm, his never-ending lighthouse. ) Back when he’d met her, he’d believed that love was a chemical reaction of the brain; a thing to be mocked and disregarded. Time spent captive with a demon had taught him that trust came at a cost, a price he hadn’t been willing to pay and yet she had changed all that, colliding into him like a supernova. Oh how he’d never seen her coming, her very presence making him question every belief that existed. She’d had power over him, alright and apparently - still did. 

‘I didn’t ask you her name. I asked you what she is.’

Consumed by rage, fingers ripped out organs and by the time he had come back to his senses; there wasn’t an inch of him not covered in blood. Fuck. So much for keeping this clean. So much for keeping it civil. That look-alike was already causing him to lose his mind, sanity slipping by the day. ( It wasn’t fair, he’d been for the most part walking on the straight and narrow. Why here? Why now? ) Grunting he shoved the remains of the body off him; knowing now he would have to change. Though it seemed whatever this Katherine was, she had more foes than friends, and yet still, none of them would spill her secrets. Either they lacked the knowledge, or they were pissing their pants, and hysteria took over. Even his telepathy hadn’t been very useful thus far, only enabling him to track those he set his sights on. 

The bitch was elusive, infuriating and yet making him curious as hell. It was a dangerous combination, for the less he knew - the more desperate he became for answers. Having lost count of how many books he’d researched, how many articles he’d squinted over. ( Katherine Pierce was quickly becoming a thorn in his side. Like salt adding to his wounds; his grief much more rawer than he’d suspected. )  Ugh, it was becoming clear, it was inevitable and how he’d wanted to avoid it at all costs. Somewhat preferring to live in a delusion, that this slippery snake was his wife. Unhealthy, yes, but then again so was spending nights obsessing over what he couldn’t have… no? 

‘Fuck it.’ 

Decision made, he was quick to dispose of the remains, setting fire to them with his lighter, adding his own grace to the mix until sinew and flesh melted, turning to ash. Without bothering to watch as the flames died down; he turned and headed back the way he’d come. ( He was a blur to the human eye and reluctantly unfurled his wings taking to the sky, to avoid witnesses, allowing his mind to wander and his sorrow to dampen. ) Instead he marvelled at the way the world looked from high above; lost to the rhythm of each flap and only returned to reality as he landed back in the confines of the safehouse, stripping and taking to the shower. Ha; if he had any hopes that it would help, he was mistaken.

Sure the heat from the water enabled him to scrub away the signs of his kill, crimson soon staining the drain; yet her face floated in and out behind closed lids, smothering him. Punishing him for his survival. ( To say he felt haunted was an understatement, trapped in his own skin, even as said skin became red raw from the sheer force of his scrubbing. ) Allowing his forehead to rest against the tiles, he summoned a bottle of his best; downing the liquor without pause, and fell into a drunken stupor, sliding to sit underneath the spray, allowing the world to fall away, only to gain clarity and rise, shutting off the shower and padding out. 

‘Here fucking goes.’

The moment he had gotten dressed, he knew there was no beating around the bush anymore. That if he truly wanted answers, he would have to go to the source and demand them from her. That regardless of his desolation, he would have to get some balls. ( That revelation was the kick up the arse he’d needed, wasting little time in dragging on his jacket and picking up an array of items. His knife went in its standard place, up his sleeve, and his dog tags were slipped around his neck. ) Only once he’d consumed another bottle, however, did he head out; using the tracking skills he’d been gifted with to locate the residence in question; approaching with a wrinkle of his nose, and deciding to be polite, and knock. It was time to get this over with. 

PRESENT;

Fangs pierced flesh, sinking into mortal throat without mercy. It had been a week since he’d invaded her life and come to some whacked up understanding with her. A week of doing his best to pretend she meant nothing to him; that she was just a ship in the night, passing him by and that sooner or later he would grow bored and everything would return back to normal. ( It was a nice thought, wasn’t it? Yet everywhere he went, she seemed to be - almost like she was goading him now she knew she had some influence over him. ) It was unfair for after that first meeting he’d done his best to stay away, fighting the urges to check in. Katherine wasn’t so different from himself, the two had suffered greatly and there were times he had almost seen her crack underneath the pressure of… what, running? It took a tortured soul to know another and perhaps that was the issue. For now he knew that this woman wasn’t his wife, it hadn’t made a blind bit of difference.

She was still underneath his skin, still smothering him. Now she was just doing so with a smirk as wicked as sin; winding him up the wrong way whenever she got the chance. ( Interrupting his bloody dinner. ) A grumble was given in her direction, sensing her nearby as with a shake of his head; he continued to guzzle down the blood he required to unfortunately survive, the woman's nails scraping his cheek, warning him to pull away reluctantly. Wrenching his mouth away; he glanced towards the mess he’d now made, giving a small tssk. 

‘A little warning next time? It’s rude to sneak up on a meal, don’t you know?’

Vampire 101 wasn’t it? Still he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, adjusting the limp body in his arms and checking that  they were alive, before resting them down against a tree, knowing better than to drop human bodies like flies, when he was doing his best to keep a low profile. ( There was a time and a place for such massacres. ) The years had taught him to tread with caution, glancing towards where he could smell her and sliding back in his fangs. He’d always been aware playing with fire got you burned, he just hadn’t expected it to spark so badly. Stupid really. 

‘So are you hungry, bored or both? What can I do for you right now, Miss Pierce? I'm all ears.’

[jonesatheart]

Pinned Down

"Raph!" Leo cried and bolted to his brother's side.

"Forget about me!" Raph snapped and pushed Leo back from the debris pile as best he could while still half burried in shattered wooden boxes and assorted weapons. "Casey! Get Casey!"

Casey hit the ground hard, grunting as the wind was knocked out of him, and rolled like a rag doll. He started to push himself up onto his elbows, gasping for air, but before he could get even half way up, Hun kicked him hard in the chest sending him bouncing off a wall with a sickening crack.

Casey moaned, he could feel the blood running the back of his head as he fought to get himself off the ground. To even retain consciousness.

Hun laughed at the pathetic scene before him. "Still just that scared little boy you always were." He shot his hand, intending on finally strangling the life from this nuisance once and for all.

Casey flinched, unable to do little more than raise an arm and turn his head away, not wanting to see the final blow coming. The grip about his neck was just as tight as he expected, the flesh hot and sticky from the fight. A small whimper was squeezed from his throat as he was pinned to the floor. There was dizzying moment as Hun hoisted him from the ground and pinned him at arms length into the wall, watching in murderous glee as Casey squirmed helplessly in his grip.

Casey waited with sickening dread for Hun to press closer to his already broken body to watch the life drain from his eyes. Determined to give Hun no such pleasure he squeezed his eyes shut and waited for it to be over as Hun slowly tightened his grip. Waited for his life to finally end.

He'd always known he'd die young.

Instead there was a single thwip and loud thud as Hun hit the ground in a lifeless mass.

Casey hit the ground a second after, coughing and choking on the air he so desperately needed.

He looked up, eyes wide and confused, as Master Splinter lightly landed between him and Hun's body.

"I will not allow anyone to take my family away from me again," he said calmly and tossed aside Hun's own stolen gun and silencer.

"Sensei?" Casey croaked, breaking the stunned silence that had fallen over the room.

Splinter's posture softened as he turned and knelt in front of Casey. "It is alright, my son. You are safe now."

"Casey!" Raph cried and stumbled as quickly as he could to his friend's side.

"Raph, stop trying to run!" Donatello barked. "Your knee is dislocated!"

"Slow down, Raphael," Splinter advised catching his son before he fell face first into Casey and injured either of them further. "Where is Michaelangelo?"

"He's outside with Leo," Don answered. "He was knocked out a few minutes ago. I got him to safety then Leo came and got me when he saw Raph's leg."

"I'm fine, Don," Raph grumbled. He winced audibly as he tried to get Casey upright.

"The shell you are!" Don snapped back and reached for his brother. "Sorry, Sensei."

"Let Don take care'a ya," Casey rasped before falling into a coughing fit.

"Hush," Splinter spoke gently, resting a hand on Casey's shoulder. "Spare your voice, my son."

"Master Splinter's right," Don said as he took Raph's leg by the ankle and knee. "We don't know how bad the damage to your throat is. Okay, Raph take a deep breath and let it out slowly."

Raphael did as he told and as he exhaled Donny slowly straightened his leg, carefully guiding the knee cap back into place.

It was all Raph could do to keep from screaming as he felt the bone shift under his skin and snap back into place.

Donatello pulled the kneepad back up into place. "That'll have to do for a brace for know. We need to go." Don announced and hoisted Raph to his feet.

Splinter stood and slipped under Raph's arm. "I will take Raphael, you take Casey."

---

"What happened?" Leo demanded when his family came hobbling out of the warehouse.

"We'll explain later," Don said.

"Hun nearly killed Casey," Raph told him at the same moment.

"Later," Don repeatedly, more firmly. "How ya feelin', Mikey?"

"My head hurts," he moaned.

"Do you think you can walk okay?"

"Yeah? Don't think there's anything wrong with my legs, is there?"

"No, Mikey," Leo assured and carefully helped him to his feet. "You do have a concussion though."

"Aw, bummer."

"Leo, take Raph from Master Splinter-"

"I'm fine, Don. We just need to get Case taken care of," Raph insisted but let Leo tuck an arm around him anyway.

Master Splinter took Michaelangelo by the hand, to keep him steady and from wandering off. "Let's go home."

[dojimakaichou]

SENT FROM @akiiyamashun​​​​ ―   ( from here / accepting )

❛  that was pretty intense, huh ?  ❜

★. ―

She was surprised. The paperwork and legal circling she had expected ( after all, declaring yourself dead while still living was not an easy feat ), but the work on the vampires’ part she hadn’t. It was a process, her aunts assured her. Turning didn’t happen in the span of one night, and there were certain requirements that needed to be met first.

          Part of what Kiriko hadn’t anticipated was the demand it would place on her father. She insisted that the elder of her parents be the individual who stripped her mortal coil from her ; being the font from which their family had sprung, it only made sense. Daigo’s reluctance was soothed by his daughter’s expert hand  —  but then came the next step. The king needed to starve himself completely before he changed her, and that almost broke Kiriko’s heart. Her parents maintained strict requirements for their feeding to avoid ever reaching a point of desperation, so Kiriko had never seen what a vampire that went without looked like.

          Frankly, it was frightening. Daigo’s handsome features paled further, sank in slightly, and took on a predatorial edge that Kiriko wasn’t accustomed to. His eyes followed her in the house, unblinking, as if he were stalking prey in an alley. Akiyama thankfully intervened in the moments he sensed his mate was leaning too far into desire. Turning Daigo’s attention from their daughter seemed to help, and the pair spent several nights with Daigo unmoving and nestled into Akiyama’s neck.

          “How long does it have to be?” Kiriko asked once, nodding toward the figure of her father curled pitifully into her dad.

          Akiyama’s grin was smaller than usual, she remembered. Kiriko thought she caught a flicker of worry in his normally easy expression. “When he can’t take it,” Akiyama replied softly. “He has to be able to replace most of your blood with venom. It’s an extraordinary amount to someone who hasn’t gorged in . . . well, since we met.”

          That proved to be two days later. Kiriko came out of her bedroom, wearing her pajamas, to find her parents at the table. Daigo was slumped into it, claws digging into his scalp, while Akiyama stood at his side. The younger vampire’s palm rubbed soothingly into Daigo’s back. As Kiriko approached, her dad looked over his shoulder.

          “Hey, kiddo,” he murmured affectionately. “Your father’s ready when you are.” A muffled growl issued from the creature beside him.

          Kiriko nodded. “I’m ready now,” she answered, clear and sure.

          Akiyama smiled. Her confidence reminded him of his own strong answers back then. “Call your aunts, Kiri-chan,” he instructed.

          The next few hours were a blur. Okamura and Melissa soon appeared on the family’s stoop, issuing praise for their beloved niece and her determination. Kiriko changed into a comfortable outfit to rest in as her aunts discussed turning with her again, going over the finer details in an effort to make the process easier. In spite of their assurances, Kiriko still felt a knot of anxiety forming in her stomach. She knew this was what she wanted ( more than anything ), and that her fear was simply a natural reaction to thought of openly embracing death. 

          Death came in the shape of her father. Akiyama released Daigo’s arm once their daughter was settled. He didn’t dare interfere with what happened next. Their bond was a mess of anxious instinct : Daigo needed blood  ―  that Kiriko was the only source sat poorly with him in spite of knowing why. She sucked in a breath at the sight of him, though it was because her heart ached at his wretched appearance. 

          “Come here,” Kiriko murmured, drawing Daigo in by his shoulders. Her father complied numbly. An arm slipped under her back to better hold her in place. “Remember : you’re only doing what I wa  ―  ”

          Kiriko’s reassurances were cut off by the feeling of her father’s jaws clamping down at the place where her neck and shoulder met. Her eyes locked with her dad’s across the room, and she resisted the urge to yell at the sudden pain. Akiyama steeled himself and stepped to the edge of the bed. As his mate fed, the loan shark leaned in to kiss their daughter’s forehead. His fingers stroked her hair comfortingly. The venom in Daigo’s formidable fangs soon dulled the agony and made it easier for Kiriko to cope. Nonetheless, Akiyama knew his lover’s bite was not gentle. He had watched Daigo snap metal rods in two with the force of it. Akiyama was accustomed to all of the older creature’s teeth and his strength ; Kiriko, who Daigo only ever nipped with his fangs in the past to cement her immunity to their kind, was not. Her fingers disconnected from her father’s shoulder and shakily reached for the moneylender. Akiyama pressed his lips to the back of her hand before he held it.

          “See you soon, kiddo,” he murmured affectionately.

          Gradually, Kiriko’s eyes closed. She slumped into Daigo’s grip. Once her father was finished, Akiyama tenderly lowered her into the pillows. He could tell his mate was uneasy and shaking too greatly to release her in the way he would have liked.

          “That was pretty intense, huh?” the younger vampire asked, sweeping ebony strands out of Daigo’s face. While the answer was plain to him, he framed the query as information for the pair behind them. To let Melissa and Okamura know that Daigo was  .    .    .  temporarily in a delicate place.

          The ex - yakuza scooched closer to his mate. He hid his face against Akiyama’s throat, seeking his beloved phoenix’s heartbeat. Daigo sank into the warmth of his mate, unshed tears clinging to his lashes. “Did I  ―  ?” he asked hoarsely, unable to finish.

          “No,” Akiyama replied firmly. “She’s still breathing, Daigo. You took just enough.”  The loan shark clasped Daigo tighter. “You’re both alright.”

[sincerelybubbles]

Here's a dialogue prompt for Emily please! Try this out pls. Love you Kam sm sm. "So why are you here?" "To make a fool of myself." ok ty lysm

even though i watched u type this, the wording makes me giggle every time i look at it.

emily prentiss x tech analyst!reader <3

warnings: fem!reader, cannon typical violence, very brief allusions to sexual assault (nothing happens!), angst and fluff! mutual pining.

word count: 5.4k

Emily is the loveliest thing you've ever seen and you can't imagine how she could ever possibly like you back. She enjoys the game, though, and teasing you is her favorite hobby.

-

It’s a sunny day. Warmth trickles down with the scattered light through the leaves. Patterns trace your arms, throwing your skin into a collage of different shapes and shades. Leaning back on your elbows, you watch people mill about the park. You look back down at your arm after a few more minutes, this time focused on the small watch resting there. With a sigh, you stand up and dust off your pants before picking up the small blanket you laid out and tucking it into your bag. 

You walk back to work, enjoying the sounds of the people around you. You lingered too long at the park during your break and are hoping that nobody notices your slightly late return. Maybe the team will be in a meeting, gruesome pictures you never quite learned to stomach plastered on the board, entirely oblivious to your tardiness. 

Unlikely, but a welcome thought soothing your anxiety as you push the door open and scan your badge at the security desk. 

“Welcome back,” the security guard says, smiling at you over his paperback. He’s an old greying man and you vaguely recognize him. You think he’s new and send him a warm smile in return. 

“Thanks,” you glance at his name badge, “Martin!”

You walk past him and step into the elevator. “Wait!” A voice calls and you reach forward to hit the hold button instinctively before you register the voice as Emily’s. 

She jogs into the elevator with you, smiling gratefully. “Thanks, I’m already running a little behind.” She lifts a container and shakes it a little. The label is from the Italian bistro across the street, about a ten-minute walk away and always nearly triple that in wait time. 

“Brave of you to go there during your lunch,” you joke, returning her smile and pressing the button for your floor. 

You hope she can’t see how your hands shake as you reach forward.

“I know, I just love their Pasta Brado. Have you tried it?”

“Can’t say I have. I’m boring, I usually go for the parm.”

“You’re not boring,” she says so earnestly that you can’t help but blush. You cough as an excuse to raise your hand to your face and hopefully hide it some. “You do have to try it, though. Here,” she offers you the plastic box. 

“Oh, I couldn’t. And I already ate.” You ignore the way your chest hurts a little at how enthusiastic she is. The worst part? She doesn’t even know how endearing her simple kindness, her casual enthusiasm, is to you. 

“Tomorrow, then. We can go together.” The elevator doors open as she says it and she steps out with an affirmative nod to solidify it. “Don’t try to bail out on me either, I know where to find you.”

“Yeah, I'm okay,” you say, feeling lame as you step out behind her. “I would love to.” She’s too far to hear you, though, already heading to Spencer’s desk and jumping right into his conversation with Morgan. 

Someone says your last name and you turn on your heel to see Hotch and cringe slightly. “I was trying to find you.” It’s a kinder way of him reminding you that you’re nearly ten minutes late back from your lunch. 

“Sorry, sir.”

“It’s fine. Do you have the reports finished from last week's trip to Huston?”

“Yes, sir, they’re at my desk. One moment.”

-

You and Emily don’t go to the bistro the next day because she and the team are sent to a small town in Kansas that night. 

“I’ll owe you lunch,” she says, hand on the back of your desk chair and brushing your shoulder as the team rushes to the jet. 

“Don’t worry about it!” You reassure her.

“I’m taking you to lunch,” she calls over her shoulder, pretend-glaring, “you will try that Brado!”

And then she’s gone, leaving you giddy and breathless. 

You know she’s just being friendly – she treats Spencer, Morgan, and JJ all the same as you – but her efforts to spend one-on-one time with you outside of work still have you feeling like a schoolgirl passed a note from her crush in class. 

You try to remind your heart to stop singing because Emily probably isn’t even gay and definitely isn’t interested. Instead, Garcia scares the shit out of you when she interrupts your inner monologue. 

“Lunch with Emily? Things are getting serious in your work marriage.” You hadn’t seen her walk into the room and jump at her voice, hand jumping to your mouth to suppress a yelp. “Sorry! Sorry!”

“It’s okay, didn’t see you.”

“Your loss, I look fantastic today.”

“As always,” you smile up at her, nose wrinkling and genuine fondness filling your senses. 

“Careful, wouldn’t want a workplace affair,” she jokes, leaning against your desk and picking up the stress ball you keep handy. 

“Stop,” you moan in good nature. “Nobody else calls us work wives.”

“That’s just because they don’t have my brilliance and excellent observational skills.”

“Nor do they have the same privy to my more personal thoughts,” you say, glancing up at her before returning to your paperwork. With the team leaving so quickly to tend to a missing child's case, you’re not getting home in time to cook dinner but are hoping to leave early enough to grab food instead of resorting to your freezer stash. 

“I would hope not. You know I can’t be replaced, baby.”

“Does Morgan know you talk to all your work besties like this?”

“I most certainly do not. You’re a regular bestie, not a work bestie.” A wink and then her expression sobers. “I do have an actual reason for visiting your humble cubical, though.”

“Hm?”

“I’m going to need extra hands for this case. It’s time-sensitive, as usual, and seems like it will be particularly tricky.”

“Yes ma’am,” you say, dropping your pen and standing to follow her. 

Your position at the bureau is kind of a catch-all. Most of your time is spent logging data, building reports, and doing general research for the team. Occasionally, though, you jump in to help Garcia with real-time research. Nothing as high-stakes as her direct assignments, more background work. Calling offices to talk to managers, combing through more meticulous data, generic census material to rule out obvious dead ends. 

It’s stressful work that technically isn’t what you’re paid for but you never complain. Your team saves lives, consistently putting themselves in the line of danger. If you have to spend a few hours a month helping Garcia call a suspect's manager at McDonald's to see if he still works there, it’s literally the least you can do. 

“Yes, so, it looks like our unsub…”

You drown out Garcia’s brief about information you already have sitting in front of you and begin vetting possible suspects from the large pool her system created.

It’s going to be a long night. You think about future Brado to cheer you up. 

-

“Reid, Prentiss take the back,” Hotch’s voice fills your ears. You imagine the pair nodding and splitting off from the group. 

This is your least favorite part of helping the team with active investigations – listening in on the calls. It’s rare that you and Garcia join the line when they’re approaching the unsub but, with you helping her, it isn’t a risk to distract Garcia and a much quicker method of getting any new information the team needs. It’s a new system you’ve only tried thrice, unsure how having microphones on 24/7 will work, and it grants you and the team more fluid communication.

Still, adrenaline floods your veins as you listen to their coms, the sounds of Garcia typing a constant behind their voices, imagining every way this could go wrong. 

You suspect the girl is still alive, the uncle doesn’t seem to have any reason to kill her just yet, but your fear for her grows with every minute. 

“Clear!”

Your eyes fall to the receipts flooding your screen. Ammo. A new rifle and pistol. The team knows but the evidence of this unsubs ability to hurt any of your friends, your family, isn’t helping your nerves. 

“I think he’s going to the roof!” Morgan’s voice, clear in the comms. 

You click out of the documents. Two swift motions on the screen. The firm press of the button. 

“Morgan, you’re on foot. Prentiss, follow him. Everyone else in vans, go!”

“Garcia, map out possible escape routes from the roof,” you instruct. 

She nods, screens shifting immediately. She puts on her own headset with one hand and clicks on the call and starts to bark information to Hotch. 

“Got her!” Reid’s voice sounds and you deflate a little. He mutes as he begins to console the small girl. 

You know you can take off your headset now, leave the call, and go to your paperwork. There isn’t much more you can do to help – you’re sure that’s what you’re supposed to do – but you stay on anyway, listening. 

“Right on Elmore!” Morgan calls. You find the street on Garcia’s screen, eyes tracing the path you think they’re taking. 

“We’ll try to cut him off,” Rossi says and you can hear tires in the background of the call. The click of a steering wheel cutting to the side too quickly. Someone’s labored breathing – probably Morgan’s as he dead sprints. 

“Stop! Put your hands up!” Emily shouts. The firmness in her voice makes you sit up straighter in your chair. 

You hear something that sounds vaguely like, “bitch,” before a loud pop drowns anything else out. 

“Emily!” Morgan’s voice, more pops. 

Gunfire. That’s gunfire, your brain recognizes. 

Your blood has gone cold.

“We need a medic!” Morgan shouts. Hotch’s line blinks red, going dead as he calls the ambulance. “Emily, Emily.”

Rustling. Cars. Sirens. Morgan’s line goes dead after you hear a car door slam shut. Then Reid’s and Rossi’s. Emily’s is the last to stay green, blinking.

You and Garcia stare at each other as you listen to Emily be loaded into an ambulance. Listen to Morgan tell the team, voice far away and barely tangible, that the unsub only managed to fire out one shot before he downed him. 

Neither of you can hear where she was shot or how badly injured she is before Emily’s line goes red as well.

-

“Emily?” You call softly, rapping your knuckles softly on the frame of the cracked hospital door. 

Your name, faint, answers you and you take that as permission to nudge the door open. The room looked dark from the hallway but Emily has the small lamp embedded on the wall switched on, throwing her face into harsh shadow. 

“Hey, you,” you say, walking in, arms full. “I brought things.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, trying to sit herself up further and wincing as the motion pulls on her stitches in her abdomen. 

“Wait, let me help you,” you say, setting your things down and reaching out a hand. 

You wait for her nod before touching her, letting her grasp your arm and looping your other arm around the back of her waist to take most of her weight yourself. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles. You can tell she hates feeling useless, hates needing help for something as simple as sitting up, so you drop the subject with a nod and kind smile. 

You turn around to the small rolling tray where you put your things down, pulling two black containers out from a plastic bag. You feel silly and very awkward as you turn around to show them to her. 

“I know it’s probably not quite what you meant but,” you set the containers down on her bed and pop one open. 

“The Pasta Brado! Oh man, I was going to treat you.” She’s pouting through a smile, attempting to put on an upset facade and failing miserably. 

It’s so cute that you struggle with what to say next. 

“Thank you, really. You can pull up that chair, if you’re hungry now.”

You grab the chair she’s motioned to and drag it to sit next to her. “I’m hungry if you are. It might be a little cold, though, it’s kind of a far walk.”

“You walked here?” Emily asks, tone appalled and face comically shocked. 

“Yeah, my car broke down last week. I’ve been walking to work – it’s actually really nice out right now – and I couldn’t find a cab from the bistro.” You busy yourself with the food while you talk, opening the second container, setting it on her legs, and unwrapping the plastic cutlery for her. 

“Jesus! You didn’t need to come and see me if you don’t have a car. You didn’t need to come at all, actually. I really appreciate it,” she amends, seeing how your bashful smile freezes on your face, reaching forward as if to touch your face and brushing your shoulder instead. “It’s really sweet of you but you didn’t need to walk all that way. Isn’t it like a twenty-minute walk from here?”

Over thirty, but you nod anyway, knowing it won’t help your case to correct her. “It’s not a big deal. You were shot in the stomach, of course I wanted to see you.”

“Ah, so you wouldn't want to see me otherwise,” she teases, nodding and pushing her pasta around with her fork. She doesn’t even try to conceal her grin. 

“Ha ha, very funny,” you mumble. You take a bite of your food and your eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

“I knew you would love it,” she beams, watching your expression as you taste the food. You you she meant to say it in a gloating way but you swear you can hear a sort of fondness behind the words. Something in you warms at her ability to know you so well. 

You tell yourself you’re overreacting about both thoughts. 

“You were right – Emily this is unfairly good.”

“Oh, I know,” she says, taking her own bite and letting out an exaggerated moan, complete with an eye roll. You giggle and she smiles at you. “Thank you, this is exactly what I needed.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, holding her eye contact. 

She's been in the hospital for three days, transferred back to Virginia last night; her hair is unwashed and unbrushed, and she’s wearing no makeup and a hospital gown. 

She’s still the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen. 

-

Your car is fixed by the time Emily is released from the hospital two days later and you offer to take her home. 

“Hi Sergio,” you greet the cat brushing against your legs as Emily disengages the alarm. 

You set her things down by the door before turning to offer her your arm. Emily doesn’t pretend that she doesn’t need the help when it’s just you two, something you’re grateful for after watching her struggle with the team around, and lets you guide her to her bedroom. 

You set about making her comfortable, turning down her sheets and propping the pillows up so she can sit. 

“I’ve got it,” she laughs, playfully pushing away your hands. 

You laugh along with her, raising your hands and backing away. “I’m going to go put the rest of your stuff away and get you a drink.”

“Perfect, I’ll take an old-fashioned. Don’t forget the cherry.”

You roll your eyes at her, scoffing and leaving her room. 

You throw her clothes and go-bag in her laundry room before making her a glass of water and another glass of juice. Once you’re sure she’s settled in her bed with her book, you return to the kitchen to make her a few dinners, ignoring her protests. 

-

Emily is back in the field much sooner than you would have liked. 

“I was cleared by the doctors,” she tells you, coat slung over her arm as she digs through her bag for her badge. 

You smile at Martin, sending him a mock exasperated look, before she finds her ID and shows it to him. 

“It still seems too soon, Em,” you persist, reaching forward to push the elevator button and turning so you can lean back to watch her face. 

“Em?” Emily asks, the hint of a smile pulling up the left corner of her mouth. 

You sort of feel like you could die in that moment, just from the heat that simple gesture surges through you. 

“It just sort of slipped out, sorry,” you say, thoroughly embarrassed. 

The elevator dings and the doors open, throwing you off balance for a second. This doesn’t help your already flared nerves as you stumble back and drop your bag. You reach down to gather it and the files scattered across the floor. 

You’re kneeling to stuff everything in your bag when Emily crosses your line of sight again, wide smile on her face – teeth fully on display and nose scrunched, you are in desperate need of help – holding out your notepad.

“I think the nickname’s sweet. I kind of like the idea of having a name only one person, only you, calls me.”

All of the air has left this godforsaken elevator, the heat must be on, you stare dumbly at her as she reaches forward to grab your bag and put the rest of your papers inside of it for you. 

And then, realizing you look like an absolute idiot, you snap back into your body and cough slightly. The doors ding and open again, you grab your bag from her and stand slowly. Smiling at her, still crouched on the floor and looking, amused, up at you through her eyelashes, you say, “Okay. Thanks, then, Emmy.”

You walk away after that brief flash of confidence, telling yourself you’re just imagining how you swear her face flushed bright at your comment. 

And if Morgan mentions a few minutes that Emily seems flusters, well, who can blame you for floating on that high for a few days?

Except she doesn’t let it go. 

She corners you on your break in the kitchenette. Literally. She catches you when you’re examining the coffee pot that has been making concerning gurgles for the past few days and leans on the counter behind you, effectively blocking your exit. 

Not that you really want to leave. 

She’s wearing a red tank top and dark jeans, her hair is loose around her shoulders, eyes steadily trained on your face as you work. 

“Hello,” you say, quiet in a way you’re not normally. 

“Hi.”

“What’re you doing?” You ask after a few more moments of her silently staring at you while you pretend to know what you’re doing with a screwdriver. 

“Enjoying the view.”

You drop your screwdriver and relish in the sound of her laugh. 

-

You’d love to say that you had some suave answer to return her charm but you think you spent it all that morning with your boldness. 

You’re not shy but confidence doesn’t run in your blood either. You’d say you’re pretty normal – average. You don’t find much wrong with that, you know you have other qualities that build you up into an interesting person. You love your friends and coworkers deeply, for one. And have an intense trust in them and their abilities. 

That trust is always tested in your day-to-day at work but never more than now as you feel the car around you make turns at highway speeds. You think you’re on some sort of back road but it’s hard to tell from the trunk given the obvious lack of windows. 

You’re calmer than you thought you would be if kidnapped. 

Groaning after one particularly rough turn that has you jostling against the sides of the trunk, you allow your head to thump back and stare at the inside of the dark car. Light breaks through the cracks of the hinges of the trunk and you wonder if water trickles through when it rains. 

You’ve been in here too long to consider if you’re focused on the wrong things. You’re scared shitless, of course, but the adrenaline faded about an hour into your drive and now you’re just bored. 

Imagine that – bored as fuck in the trunk of a stranger's car, wrists burning from the rope and jaw sore from where it’s been forced open too long by the fabric tied around the back of your head. 

You’re just allowing yourself to reimagine your morning with Emily when the car stops and the engine cuts. 

You snap back into the present, energy flooding your system again as your brain flicks into overdrive. You might spend your days paper-pushing behind a desk, but you passed your physical. You’re smart, you’ve heard the stories of how these victims survive captivity. 

When the trunk pops open, you squeeze your eyes shut to prevent pain from the sudden lack of light. You don’t want to be blinded and the action has the added benefit of pleasing your captor. He put a hood over your hood when he grabbed you, muttering in your ear in tense tones that you would do best to not even try to see him. 

Say what you will, you usually do a pretty good job at following directions. This one is easy and happens to be number one on your list right now – keep him happy so he keeps you alive. 

“Good girl,” a gruff voice says before a calloused hand gropes the back of your neck to yank you forward. Scratchy fabric envelops your head and your hot breath bounces back against you, trapped against the fabric of the hood. 

You stand when his hands start to grab your waist, pulling yourself to your knees and allowing yourself to be lifted from the trunk.

You want to run but know now’s not the time. 

“Look at how well-behaved you are!” His breath is wet against your neck. He stands too close, hands clawing under the hem of your shirt to cling to your skin. 

He walks you forward like that, chest pressed against your back and breath slithering down the collar of your shirt to hang uncomfortably over your collarbones. 

It’s becoming increasingly more obvious what this sicko wants from you and your stomach is twisting at the thought. You urge the team to hurry up, knowing your absence would have been missed ages ago. They have to be looking for you by now. And, with how sloppy this dude seems to be, he must have left a plethora of clues waiting to be found. 

You have to repeat this to yourself as you hear a door lock click. 

“Took you long enough. This is the girl? She’s kind of … well,” the second man kisses his teeth with a sharp sound. You’re pushed forward again. “Whatever floats your boat man.” The door shuts and locks behind you. The second man's voice fades as he talks, disinterested. 

You wonder if it’s wrong to feel slightly insulted right now. 

“This way, doll.”

You listen. It’s saving your life to be complicit in his directions, so you listen. Still, you’re shoved harshly to the floor once you get to where he wants you, knees striking what feels like cement. Before you can recover, your cheek stings and your head is whipping to the side from a sudden slap. 

Then, there’s a kick to your ribs. You fall onto your side, too winded to even cry out, lips falling open in a silent scream. A boot in your belly. Your ribs again, your hip and back. 

“Why?” You manage to sob out. “Why, why?”

You don’t get an answer.

-

You’re not overly religious but you thank whatever heavens or universe exists that he leaves you alone once he’s done kicking the shit out of you. Your ribs are bruised but the worst you expected hasn’t happened. 

The boredom returns as you lay with throbbing ribs. At least one is broken and every breath hurts. You can’t imagine sitting up and, luckily, with your hands tied behind your back, it’s not really an option anyway. 

It must be near an hour later when you’re fading out of consciousness – a purposeful choice on your part to save your energy – when you hear the front door burst down. 

“FBI! Hands where I can see them!” Morgan. You nearly weep but think better when your stuttered gasp makes your side throb. “What the fuck?” You hear shouted in reply. “Robb, what the fuck man.”

There isn’t much of a resistance from the living room. The second man is shouting at what you can only assume is the first – your initial kidnapper – but there’s nothing else other than that. 

“Clear!” You hear Hotch call. Spencer replies and then you hear the door nearest you open. 

His voice calls out your name. You deflate against the floor. A second, you know he’s scanning the room with his gun before holstering it. “Clear! I need a medic!”

Hands, gentle, against your face, removing the hood. Swifter after that, removing your gag, and then hand binds. 

“Hey, Spence,” you say, trying to smile up at him. 

“Shh, you’re okay. We’ve got you.” He starts to support your weight behind your shoulders and the pain that brings is too intense to prevent your yelp. 

“Oh my god, is she okay?” You hear Emily ask seconds before you see her. She looks concerned, hair now in a tight ponytail and FBI vest strapped over her chest. She whispers your name once and then a second time, reaching forward to gently brush your hair out of your eyes. 

“Hey, pretty,” you say, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can catch them.

“Hi beautiful,” she answers, reply just as soft as your own. Earnest. 

It makes your heart ache and, for the first time since being yanked off the road walking to grab lunch, you start to cry. 

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, beautiful, it’s okay. You’re okay.” She repeats this as you’re lifted by the paramedics and cry harder. 

She repeats it when they stitch up where kicks burst the skin over your cheekbone open, repeats it as she trails a hand down your arm in gentle patterns while they examine your ribs and confirm that you’ve broken two, maybe three. 

She tries with you in the ambulance. 

You can’t help but think about being on the phone when you heard Emily be shot weeks earlier. You squeeze your eye shut as they insert the IV, beyond grateful that she’s there to hold your hand while they do it. The tear that falls down your cheek has nothing to do with the pain and everything to do with the thought that you couldn’t have been there for her in the same way. 

An odd thought, you realize, but it’s the one you’re stuck with as you drift away when the pain medicine enters your system. 

-

You’re sent home three days later. You insist on spending the night alone, afraid to admit you’re scared because, honestly, nothing much happened to you. 

Oh, of course, everyone tries to convince you otherwise but you know they’ve all had it worse. You were gone from the bureau for about eight hours and spent most of it bored. 

So you force yourself to spend the night alone. You don’t need help moving around or doing things for yourself so you convince yourself you don’t need help. 

You’re cooking dinner when the doorbell rings. You wipe your hands with a dish towel and take your time walking to the door to look through the peephole. You don’t know who took you yet, you haven’t asked and nobody has said, but you can imagine seeing him through the door. Waiting for you, waiting to kill you this time. 

Okay, yeah, maybe Spencer was right when he talked about PTSD and usual levels of anxiety, but you’re so tired of him being so right all of the time that you really want to prove him right.

There is no man standing on the other side of the door, though. Instead, you see Emily, holding a plate wrapped in tin foil and looking serene in your apartment hallway. 

You open the door quickly, unlatching it and turning off your alarm with a few clicks. “Emily?”

“Ah, man, I was getting used to Emmy,” she jokes, stepping inside with a smile in your direction and kicking off her shoes. 

You can’t think of an answer so you just smile at her, hoping she’ll take the lead. You’re tired and she must see it because she offers the plate in her hands to you once the door is closed and the alarm is reengaged. 

“Rossi sent me with it with explicit instructions to not let you share it.”

You giggle and take the plate. “I’ll have to tell him thank you. It’s kind of out of your way to come all this way, though, isn’t it?”

“Not out of my way at all,” she says, words dripping with meaning as she holds your eyes. “I would have come even if Rossi didn’t have food for you.”

“So why are you here?”

“To make a fool of myself,” she says, casually, like that’s something people say every day, “probably. You’ve just gotten back from the hospital and I know you said you wanted to be alone, but,” she swallows and her words are becoming more rushed as she speaks, “I said the same thing and you still stayed.”

“Emily?” You ask, setting the plate down on your hallway table and clearing your throat. “Ah, Emmy?” You amend when she cuts you a look. Your attempt to diffuse the tension doesn’t work and she steps closer so you’re toe to toe.

“That doesn’t really answer your question, though. You’re sweet enough that you would let it go, but,” she shrugs, reaching forward to gently loop her fingers around your wrists. “Stop me if this is awful timing. Please,” she says, leaning forward and staring into your eyes. 

You feel like you’re suffocating, but if this is death, you’ll greet it gladly in the irises of Emily Prentiss. You’re caught in the trap of the moment, heart hardly breathing, all aches and sores forgotten because Emily is leaning closer, breath fanning across your face. You feel intoxicated, ensnared. 

Everything that has ever been exists here, now, in this moment. Every breath used to blow out birthday candles and blow away eyelashes – breaths with purpose, with wishes, with intent – exists between the two of you as she leans closer and closer. Closer, still, and how can so much distance exist between you two when you’ve been standing so closely?

“Just, stop me, if you want,” she whispers against your lips, eyes falling shut. 

Time yawns again, freezing. Your eyes open, hers closed, beats of seconds pausing. Hesitating for you to hold this moment in your hands. You’re grateful to appreciate it because she really is so lovely. Her bangs are pushed back from her face with a headband – imagine that! Emily owns headbands! – and you can see every detail of her face. Her elegant nose, her slim eyebrows, her narrow, prominent, lips.

And then your heart finally catches up, beats loudly, cracks whatever fragile plane of glass holding the moment so perfectly still, and her lips are meeting yours. 

You gasp into her mouth, hands breaking out of her hold to grab her face. You’re afraid that she’s going to pull away before this kiss can be fully real. Before you can actually taste her – lemon cake and rain and warmth. Before you can memorize the feel of her lips pressed against your own before you can drag her closer and slip your hands into her hair. 

But she doesn’t pull away. She meets your enthusiasm with a sigh and then enthusiasm tenfold. You can feel relief in the kiss, feel how she relaxes into you. She takes a step forward and you take one back half the amount to account for it. 

A tilt of your head and it’s better, impossibly. She’s firm, sturdy, beautiful. Confident. Lovely, lovely, lovely. 

And then she reaches forward to hold you to her, hands brushing your ribs to wrap around your back and you can’t hold in the gasp of pain that causes you to stiffen. You want to take it back, want to ignore the pain, want to keep her near, but she won’t allow it.

“Oh, I’m so so sorry. Are you okay? I’m sorry.” You smush the apologies against her lips, removing one hand from her hand to guide her arms around your shoulders where they won’t hurt. “Okay! Okay,” she giggles, leaning back with several short kisses that do nothing to satiate you. “I need to know you’re okay.”

She can obviously tell she hasn’t hurt you too bad by your reaction, but the sweet caution in her voice has you melting further. 

“I’m perfect.”

[han-ban-bam]

we are going for a multipart angst journey this time u guys. Someone decides to take a hit not meant for them and it spirals from there, buckle in.

music;

across the daybrink part 3 : HZD

as verdant limbs wither : HFW

[the-moon-in-the-gutter]

Omega: *brooding and upset over how an argument between him and a Sibling went*

Ifrit: I can make their blood boil and leak from their eyes

Zephyr: I could make them suffocate if you'd prefer that avenue

Mist: Oooo wait, I could drown them at the beach if you want less mess

Omega: *raises his head from his hands* No?!?! What the fuck is wrong with you guys?

Delta: *leans into the room after ovehearing* I could make him hallucinate to the point where he solves the issue himself

Omega: *rising from the couch* I'm putting in a damn request to get a new therapist in here for you children

[theflowerofthecommonwealth]

Dad of the year right here.

His kitten daughter being in danger activates his Papa Bear Fury.

(Apologies for the bad quality and the cutoff of the sound at the end, Tumblr insists on having them both no matter what I do)

[xoheisse]

russians abuse the poor animal, pretending it is a Ukrainian prisoner. In the video, russians say "speak russian and not your khokhlyak language" (khokhol is a slur they use against Ukrainians). Also in the video, one russian says to the other "hit him" and the other beats the mouse.

it literally hurt me to watch this video so i didn't save it. If you want to watch it, follow the link yourself.

[rowiewritesstuff]

Yandere Prompts

Feel free to use as long as ya ping me. Give me a number and a character (in asks) and I'll see what i can do.

Some are uhhh Yeah. TWs are MILD but still there. Some of these made even ME uncomfortable lol

Worst Numbers: 5. 7, 13, 16, 20, 25, 26

Violence: RED

Toxic and Uncomfortable words/insults to make you hate yourself/get self-conscious: GREEN

“Don’t you get it? You can’t go outside! You could die, or get sick or something worse! Don’t worry, I’ll go out for you.”

“I know it hurts, but you had to be punished. Why don’t we fix you up and then get ice cream?”

“You think you can just…leave? No, as soon as you accepted that ring you became mine. There’s no leaving.”

“SHUT UP! I can’t stand your damn whining. You should have thought of that BEFORE trying to run off like a pathetic little coward.”

“If you ever run again, I won’t just break your legs- it will be much, much worse.”

“It hurts me to see you like this, but you brought it on yourself.”

“You want to see other people? No one wants used goods.”

“Shut up before you get hurt.” 

“(name of Partner)…? No, WE’RE together. Are you cheating on me?”

“I wouldn’t have to do this if you just behaved.” 

“Tch, you think I’m stupid or somethin’? You’re so damn predictable.”

“I’d never hurt you! I’d just hurt your family, friends, and anyone you love.”

“Oh sweetie- you’re just not smart enough, so just stay home. It’s for the best.”

“Red is just so beautiful on you.”

“I know what’s best for you, trust me.”

“If I have to break every fucking bone in your body, I will. You’re. Mine.”

“Your friends did what? Aw, baby, I’m so sorry. You don’t need them anyway- you have me.”

“Our love is like fire! I’d burn the world to keep you in my arms.”

 “Don’t you see? Your family was in the way, I had to do it!” 

“Maybe if you were prettier he’d like you.”

“Stop fighting me! I don’t want to hurt you!” 

 “Leave me?” (Laughs) “Baby you have nothing left. No money, no home, no family… what would you do without me?” 

“We’ll always be together, even in death” 

“If you die before me, I’ll eat your heart so it will always be near mine.”

 “You fucking asked for this. This is all YOUR fault, and now you’re crying?”

“You think you’re special? You mean nothing to anyone. You were forgotten, and everyone’s moved on.” 

“‘Don’t’? Are you serious? I warned you over and over again and now that you’re facing consequences you care?”

“If you look at another man one more time I’ll pluck out your eyes so you’ll only look at me.”

 “I see. You need a reminder of just who I am- don’t worry, I’ll make sure you never forget.”

 “Scream all you want- no one cares. This is the world I made for us, and no one can stop me.”

“I’m the only one that loves you. Your family all but sold you to me.”

“I’ve given you everything! Food, clothes, jewelry- EVERYTHING! And you think you can just walk out that door? No, you’re staying here.”

 “Love? No, you’re just a pet- a plaything.”

 “Sit down before I make you.”

“Packing? Going somewhere?”

[3mutantsinatrenchcoat]

JUICY JURY FREEDOM part 1 below cut

Tw for blood, hallucinations, gore, eye strain and violence as always

Tormented time and time again Three simply just wants to go home, it's been... he doesn't know how long, but he desperately misses his siblings, the gladiators, anyone who would simply hold him gently instead of toss him around as a ragdoll.

Part 1, next

And sometimes his past comes to haunt him...he is, in fact...almost 60 years old.

That's a lot of time for traitorous acts.

[jaxxsoxxn]

I can just imagine them facing against scarecrow and scarecrow being you know using his toxic fumes being fear, making boomerang remember that day so clearly and vividly and boomer gets so pissed he tackled scarecrow in the ground and starts beating him, beating him in like until he’s almost to death and Harley and Floyd has to like Get him off of him so he won’t kill scarecrow and Boomer is just screaming at scarecrow

 you fucker how dare you piece of shit you’re gonna die for that and Floyd and Harleys trying their best to keep boomer at bay because of that they have to ask for back up you can choose who they have asked for back up

Oh, and if you want, you can add some of your boomerflash 

Also, you’re the best of making boomerflash head cannons and stories your apps your pieces are beautiful French kiss 💋

kisses!!! <33 thank ya, the brain rot feeds off them, so I'm happy with every little idea thrown my way.

---

In defense of Harley, she had no way to know that when Scarecrow decided to test his "new" gas on them (in a safe space, after he got "recruited" too), apparently this one showing off old fears instead of creating new ones, whatever that meant, Boomer would be hit with something... like that.

Through most of the experiment, few chosen heroes around them to help if needed, Digger was the only "normal" one. He stood still, almost peacefully, if you ignored the shaking hands and short breaths. Maybe it was the fact that they knew it's all a hallucination, maybe it was the fact that the person responsible was right next to them, but when it all finally broke away, when most started trying to get some water and calm themselves with help, the first thing he did was jump Jonathan.

The first hit wasn't the thing that broke the shock of heroes and others around them - it was the sound of a breaking bone that did it. A pain-filled whine left Scarecrow, when he tried to use his claw-like gloves to tear the Australian away, his whole body mass keeping them down, while he punched almost blindly. He was angrily half screaming, half mumbling something about Owen, whom Harley herself didn't know exactly.

But Flash, who was the first one to try to hold Digger back, definitely knew. Most people who aren't dragging Crane away to make sure he'll survive probably notice the way his eyes go wide at the suffering screams that slowly turn into whispers full of bitterness. His hands, now bloody from the scientist, shaking rapidly and trying to hold onto something - failing to do so. Barry has his arms intertwined with the Rouge's elbows, holding him behind while clinging to him and trying to calm him down.

But when he does get calm, it doesn't mean his brain is fully caught up with what happened exactly, so all they hear now, less shaky and unfocused, are the words of horrid truth that Boomer saw.

"...How could they do that? They took my boy-" this time only a few people freeze, Flash now slowly working his way to the ground with trembling Boomer in his arms. "They took my boy, he was only eight-! How could they? What did he do to deserve it?"

Floyd, water bottle in hand, gets closer to the man, brushing his wet from sweat hair up, showing his blurry green eyes clearer. Shark looks angrily at the bloodied up scientist for a second, a protective urge firing deep inside, before he gets on the floor next to the two, touching Digger without grabbing him, being more something to rest up on than anything.

And when he continues, this time words just... giving up, changing between sobs and empty anger, Harley joins up. She walks straight at him, until she's right in front of him, her shoes almost touching his. Steadily, she sits down right there, looks her friend in the eyes and waits for him to ground himself, doing her best to ignore the hurt sounds coming from him and the few words that crawl their way out of his closed up throat.

"...He was so small, y'know? His body was so light-" a sob shook him, making Barry change his hold, from holding him back to just having his arms around him and his head rest on his back. "They took him from my arms to check for pulse, but- but they didn't have to take him to the hospital - too late, they said. Too much blood, he stopped breathing fifteen minutes before their arrival. I couldn't get his blood out of my hands, it's still stuck under my nails- I need to, I need to wash my hands-"

Another attack of weeping stops him, while all they do is be here, for now. Somewhere in the back, the rest of the heroes takes care of Crane and talks to Flag, who has a grimace on his face and a glint of understanding in his eyes - it probably was in Boomer's files, knowing how they like to have all possible information. Doesn't make it less dehumanizing.

[willowedhepatica]

WIP... Wednesday

Got tagged by @the-darkness-does-not-bargain so here's a snippet of a the last of us au that's probably never going to see the light of day. Thank you again, and I'll tag @desognthinking, @analogoose and @littledata if you guys are interested 😄

CW for blood and voilence!

---

The chains around her wrists strained as she leaned forward. Ava wished she could rip them apart. She had tried. “Why not just get it over with? I'm going to turn anyway.”

The woman's smile slipped and she let out a sigh, like a disappointed mother reprimanding a child. “We're not going to kill you, Angel. But I have some men that would like to have a chat with you about those who died today." Her mask had slipped entirely now, perhaps she thought it was no use keeping it up when Ava could see right through it. "I suggest you drop the attitude. I promise you that will make the experience much more pleasant."

There it is.

They blamed her for their death. Which frankly, didn't surprise her at all.

Ava leaned back, seeing no use in arguing. "Like your faction hasn't killed thousands." She was tired of not being able to fight. Frustrated because she felt like an animal trapped in a cage.

The woman only ignored her and Ava watched as she walked out of the room and called two guards over. She gestured over to her and Ava made eye contact with one of them, a man with long tangled beard and unkempt hair she reckoned he had been cutting with his own dull knife. It was this glint in his eyes, one she'd seen before. That was the look of someone who found pleasure in fighting. Found satisfaction in seeing his knuckles stained with blood.

Shit.

With a final nod they closed the door, leaving the woman behind.

As they approached he tapped the wooden club against the flat of his hand – like some sadistic villain type of shit. Ava couldn't help but snort at the image. “Really? Are you too scared to speak with me alone so you need your little buddy to help you–” A hit to the abdomen cut her off. Made her fold in on herself as she sucked in air through clenched teeth. Ava was no stranger to pain, the sting in her lungs were familiar and she had learnt to endure the feeling of her muscles constricting in on itself.

"Say that again." His voice was like gravel. In a way it got stuck in your shoe and you couldn't shake it off no matter how hard you tried. Fucking annoying. A twisted smile pulled at his lips. Ava knew he enjoyed how she gritted her teeth though the pain. How she clenched her hands into fists and dug her nails into her palm in an attempt to settle it somewhere else where it was more manageable.

Idiot.

She looked up at him only to smile wider. Camila would have thought it was entirely too cocky. She was probably right, but that wasn't new. "Unlike you I don't attack innocent people. I don't follow bullshit propaganda just to feel some ounce of control as if that would make this world fucking better–" This time the strike came right between her eyes. They welled up involuntarily, white spots quickly invading her vision. She could taste the copper in her mouth and soon, blood dripped down onto the floor. Ava groaned as she tried to fight away the overwhelming feeling of nausea.

Any sane person would stop talking at this point. They would give in to whatever these fuckers wanted from them. But Ava wasn't like any sane person and she flexed her hand, balling them into fists. The chain rattled by the motion, reminded her of its existence, that she was trapped and the only thing she could do was look up and smile at them again – like it was her only choice of weapon. "Come on, don't you want to get a little closer? Unless you're too afraid to be hit by a firefly." Her voice slurred by the words but she knew it would inevitably tick them off. They were all so very predictable.

To her absolute pleasure the other guard janked the bat from the man's hand and stepped forward.

Typical.

He raised it over his head, scowling under his breath. "Such a big mouth for a little brat, just because you have a name–" SMACK!

Ava flinched away, her eyes squeezing shut. But the blow never came, the pain she was waiting for never happened. It took a moment for her brain to process and her body to relax from its tense posture – but when it finally did – when she finally opened her eyes, there was a woman standing in front of her. Different from before, facing the men and blocking the bat with her hand. "That's enough."

Her voice was sharp, tone demanding in a way that made the man back away with a scowl. “Do you have any idea what she's done? She has killed an entire regiment of guards! She's a fucking monster.”

Her lips twitched down, but other than that her expression was blank. “I'm well aware of what she's done.” She glanced back at her and they made eye contact. Ava couldn't help but stare. Her hair was pulled up in a tight bun, exposing a scar that went by her left ear and down to her cheekbone. Her eyes were a deep brown and she realised quickly that she was studying her, looking Ava over with a clenched jaw. She must look like shit. “Both of you are needed at the left wing, I'll take it from here.”

[desultory-suggestions]

Your partner should never punish you for your mistakes. You deserve a loving conversation where you can work on your worries, not a test or abuse. 

[hydrasquadd]

Truth Arc

Part eleven

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