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#descriptions of violence
letterstotherestofme · 2 months
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Panic Attack In A Genocide, Yonma ElSharony Text below the cut:
Panic Attack In A Genocide OCT. 23rd, 2023 ― Yomna ElSharony
Today, I wake up with a panic attack. I gasp for air, cannot breathe And I feel ashamed; I did not lose my child Youssef seven years and curly hair like the sun. Deeply ashamed, Lana, my student didn't die on me She loved stickers on every page of her notebook. Today, I wake up in Ithaca New York and I feel ashamed of all these trees around me Why cannot I breathe? No white Phosphorus is bombing on my head day and night. I am not under the rubble, with a steel rod penetrating my femoral artery. Today, at 5 am, I wake up with a panic attack. I feel so ashamed of my trembling limbs, I am not the thirteen-year-old kid, wounded in the head, running around Shifa hospital screaming my siblings' names, hoping that someone will yell back 'I am here'. Why am I shaking? I am not Omar, five years old walking my wounded baby sister to the hospital everyone else died; I am all her family now. Today, I feel ashamed of my lungs, of my limbs, of my brain. I calm myself; I try you don't get to panic Yomna… A sip of water going down my throat reminsd me no water in Gaza now "I am thirsty", "I am thisty", "I am thisty" my whole timeline in drought but flooding with blood. Today, We scream A GENOCIDE they nod in sorrow and smile "Why are you forcing us to massacre you?" "it is called defense, you know?" "a million kids in harm's way? oh you did that too" Today, I wake up, and six thousand Palestinians, walked this earth, two weeks ago left us behind to panic to feel ashamed.
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c0smoshit · 7 months
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Inevitable future ࣪.⋆ ♡
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⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 ≫ Link/Reader
⋆ ࣪. ℙ𝕝𝕠𝕥 ≫ Link finds you in the worst way he could've had
⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤 ≫ angst!, death is heavily implied, descriptions of mild gore/violence, blood, brief mentiond of reader with self-image issues, not proofread!
⋆ ࣪. 𝔸/ℕ ≫ I wrote this with BOTW/TOTK Link in mind but again, you can imagine whoever Link is your fav!
⋆ ࣪. 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥 ≫ 3.314
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"Link stop"
Your pained words ringed through his slightly bleeding ears, the grip he had on his sword intensifying.
He felt as if his head was going to explode, veins pumping furiously around his brain. His skin was sweaty too, trying to regulate the temperature of his warm body. A dificult task thanks to his lively and irregular breathing and of course, his anxious thoughts.
Your hand fell on his shoulder as he felt the dew surfacing the grass bellow him, soaking lightly his clothed knee. His whole body was on fire, lungs screaming for air and his scraped hands begged him not use them anymore tonight.
But he didn't want to lose you either.
Your worn out clothes and the cut you had on your arm begged him to do something about it too. He felt so guilty at the sight of you hurt and exhausted, he should've heard your yells before, he should've came sooner.
And now that he was thinking about you, he saw your lips moving again, the same worried frown rested on your brows. What were you saying again...?
"Link, please don't do this"
Right, he had expected you to say something like that, but he didn't listen to you. You always did that, he thought, putting other people's lifes on top of your own one.
But putting aside his own fierce mindset, you were worried sick about him, his torn off tunic and his dirtied up boots only boosting up your concerns. His stubborn demeanor sometimes pissed you off, he had to get what he wanted, more in situations like the one you were in right now.
But he wasn't other people, he was your friend, your best one.
He had almost spent his whole life protecting and saving people, but you were above those random travelers or villagers. Why wouldn't he help you out?
Well, maybe you were the stubborn one, maybe after all the things you had done to help other people, maybe you did deserve some help too.
But you were fine on your own, fine until a big, strong and not so friendly Lynel had crossed your path.
"Please"
"Fuck"
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Your muttered out cuss only alerted the wild Lynel more, his head perking up to where you were hiding.
His slow but confident, powerful steps inched closer and closer and you didn't need to look at him to know that he was just mere meters from the tree you were hidden in.
You questioned yourself what were you more scared of, it's face and strong horse features or it's steps. Anxiety bubbled up inside your stomach, proliferating to your legs and arms, keeping them in place. You didn't know were it was right now, but you surely knew that if you took a glance, you wouldn't be able to tell others what had happened.
You also could hear the metal clanking sound of the shield it was carrying around, or maybe it was a bow. A girl from the zora domain always talked to you about the Lynels and how she needed to scare off her brothers before they did anything stupid. She told you that they always had a big bow resting on their backs, they weren't only good when they kept distance from enemies, they were fast and really strong in close encounters too.
After that talk you had figured out that you didn't want to ever see or hear a Lynel near you.
But today must be your worst lucky day.
It was so close you could hear it's breath, it's nose sniffling and searching for anything strange. Your heart almost beat off your chest when you saw it's big hairy hand from the corner of your eye.
That's it, I'm going to die.
You pictured yourself in every way it could've ended your life, grabbing you by your throat and tearing you apart with it's hands, using one his his enormous arrows, stepping on you...
Then. . . Silence
The sound of the quiet rivulet in front of you mixed with your laboured breathing was the only thing that you could hear right now.
Strangely you thought about how calm the night was today, the shiny and shy fireflies flew around the valley in front of you. The breeze hitting the rocks on the mountain next to you, creating a curious sound.
You had always loved nights in Hyrule, you loved when you and your mother walked around and watched the fishes under the moonlight on the pond in front of your house. You loved your mother and all the stuff she had taught you.
Then she would tuck you inside your warm and cozy bed after a long cold day, warming up your feet with her hands. She would always tell you a different story every night before a kiss was planted on your forehead with a sweet smile.
Why were you thinking about your mother?
You read that people's lasts thoughts before dying were related to their family, friends, lovers or pets too.
Maybe you were going to die after all.
But you haven't said goodbye to Link, you haven't invited him to a homemade meal like you promised to after he had cooked you dinner a few days ago.
You haven't told him to be careful like you always did before he stepped outside of your door.
Maybe you shouldn't have followed your insticts, stopping dead on your tracks when you heard it's characteristic stride. But you didn't, and by your stupid past decisions you were here now, trapped without any posible escape that didn't involve your death.
The grip you had on your bow had tightened, the hand you previosly saw being harshly replaced by some furious, red eyes.
You were caught.
Your legs didn't budge and theirs didn't too, at least not when he didn't spot the weapons you had. You saw him back away, a long sigh you were forcing not to let out of your mouth finally sliping off your chest.
Relief washed all over your body, carefully taking away all the stress from the prior situation.
But the warm waterfall lasted just a few seconds.
The canopy fell almost in slow motion in front of you, the violent air blast passed through your head and into the cold rivulet. You froze on spot once again, you saw the tree sliced in half in front of you.
Had whatever weapon he used, sliced a whole trunk of a tree?
You had no doubts he could, and ceirtainly would, slice your head off in an instant. Your heart was weirdly calm, your hands weren't shaking either, almost as if you were ready for your terrible end.
Your mind pictured him, his hands caressing your bow with grace as he taught you, he had strong hands. Your eyes couldn't leave his fingers, the thought of how skilled they were passed through your tired brain.
A scream finally ripped from your throat, little blue sparrows flying off in front of your feet.
Shit.
Your body was moving without the intervention of your anxious brain, rolling to your right side you managed to dodge his furious attack.
The moon rested heavily behind him, so big you thought it might have fallen from the starry sky.
Whiteish fur mixed with angry purple stripes, it's exotic form welcoming you to the dangerous nights of Hyrule. Red eyes staring almost confusedly at you, trying to read your next move.
. . .
"Hey!"
A splash of cold water awoke you from your daydreams, you flinched on spot before turning to the michevious smirk that was staring at you.
The water calmly soothed your legs, too cold to submerge the rest of your body yet. Stripped down to your underwear you had pleaded to Link to let you swim on a beautiful lake topped with a gorgerous waterfall, to console your body from all the movement it had done today.
But of course he was there to mess up your relaxation.
Sun kissed skin and soaked piercings hid the waterfall from your eyes, standing tall in front of you.
"Stop"
His lifted arms revealed his intentions, slowly approaching your dry and comfortable skin. Backing up as much as you could, your pleading face didn't break down his playful one.
You turned your head to see if you were going to bump into a rock, admiring the trees that surrounded the semi-hidden paradise.
That was your terrible mistake.
Two strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist, lifting you up until your face was met with his back, thighs resting on his chest. His colder and wet skin made you shiver, trying to squirm your way out of his grasp.
But of course he was stronger and faster than you.
"Lin-!"
Your yelp died down, drowned by the water as threw himself into it again, this time with your pleasant company. You slid off his grasp, ending up bellow him.
His hands rested on your biceps, your torso floating beside his own one. Your own hands held his nape and his shoulder for dear life, taking a big, choked out breath.
"You're a jerk"
A chuckle escaped his lips and as if someone had punched you with a knucle full of reality, you took in the state you two were in right now.
His sleepy muscular frame held your body close to his, teeth flashing as he chuckled.
He was shirtless.
You had seen him plenty of times in that state, normally his Gerudo vests left little to imagination when he showed them off to you.
And you actually found that really cute about him, he liked showing you whatever he had bought that day, from gorgerous opal earings to fierce armours.
But this time it felt different.
The warmth he naturally emited from his body warming you up from the cold water, both of you soaked and making skin to skin contact.
You needed to get out of there or you were going to explode.
But you were too comfy on his arms, unconciously leaning further into him. You noticed the little red hues on his cheeks, matching yours perfectly.
Maybe you could rest there for a few more minutes, just some silly quick minutes.
. . .
You missed that warmth, a warmth that could lasts for days on your skin, almost as if your mind didn't want to let go of the comfort.
Comfort you seeked on cold nights like this, rushed steps towards his house, curious eyes trying to adjust to the dimness of the night. Your breath fanned on his window, knees a bit scraped as you had just climbed his hard wall.
He was about to go to bed as the good, young man that cared about his health he was. But your knock on the glass inturrumpted his routine.
His senses were highened again and he quickly tried to figure out if someone had broken in. But when he saw your face on his window he nearly had a heart attack.
"Hey"
You whispered out as he opened the window, your smile never failing to melt down his limbs, all the stress he had acumulated inside him fading away just by your sight.
"I can't sleep"
Just as he had thought.
"And I see you're not asleep yet so..."
He was indeed half asleep.
But he fought his urges to fall right on your knees to sleep, you were way more interesting than whatever dreams he had waiting for him that night.
"Do you wanna go for a walk?"
And that's how he ended up with you by his side tonight, his sword resting heavily on his back just in case something happened.
Cold, muted grass bellow your feet, the air striking nicely through your hair all the way down to your feet.
You needed to feel alive again, the silence of the night consumed you.
You loved the loud echo of your shoes compared to the serene demeanour of your surroundings. It was almost as if the world changed when the sun dissapeared, new animals that were too shy to come out, flowers that only bloomed when it was dark.
You loved all of those little Hyrule things.
But on top of all of them, you loved him.
Those words seemed to have lost their potential by all the times you had repeated them inside your head, but they were true.
He was your hero, your shoulder to lean on whenever you wanted, a puppy that loved when you let him place his head on your lap, your personal knight.
You adored the dexterity he had with his multiple weapons, his easiness to use whatever his eyes had landed on to fight and end up victorious. His bow, his abilities were incredible to watch.
"Look"
Your muttered words almost weren't percieved by his ears, but his training didn't betray him.
"They're gorgerous"
His eyes then saw what you were chit chatting about, his pupils immediately shrinking slightly by it's lighting.
A blupee was jumping around some fireflies, the whole scene causing a disrupt of the natural darkness. But it looked so volputeous, you were thankful you weren't sleepy that night.
Well, he thought so too but after a while he felt something getting heavier on his shoulder.
Your face was crushed by his shoulder and your legs had gave up from your squatted position. But before your head could make contact with the floor, he stopped the movement with his palm placed on your forehead.
You had fallen deeply on top of him.
Soon his legs gave up too, afraid to move too much but not enough to sit appropriately. He relaxed to the sound of the quiet hops and your silent snores.
Your lightened face whenever you saw the smallest things were his will to live, to fight for Hyrule.
He liked your nose, the way it would scrunch up whenever you had smelt something you didn't like. He liked your cheeks too, maybe that was the reason he liked to tease you, waiting impatiently for them to turn red.
He loved what your eyes didn't.
He didn't understand much things about the world he was standing on, but on top of all of them, he didn't understand the way you viewed yourself in the mirror.
How could a human being, so gorgerous like you, disregard such beautiful features?
He often found yourself covering your smile when you laughed and was mad he couldn't see your cute teeth. Or whenever you tried to hide your body from other's eyes, he was absolutely clueless why you did so.
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"You idiot"
Unfortunately, your sweet voice was wasted away with those nasty words. His head hurt, everything hurt.
He first saw your rosy cheeks and then your glossy eyes and although he felt guilty he had made you cry, he felt more guilty for finding that look on your face absolutely stunning.
His body enveloped itself with pain once again and he asked himself if he had passed out on top of you. Maybe that was the reason your pretty lips were quivering as you looked at him.
Your softness narcotized him back to sleep, but your pained voice kept him from doing so. His head felt warmer than the rest of his body and when he looked around, you were there, holding his head so tenderly he thought he had died right there.
The rest of his body was soaked up by the night grass, your knees touching his left tricep.
He then flashed back to what had happened, your worn out body ready to be squashed by a huge broadsword. But his shield was there to take the hit instead, his heart dropping down to his feet when he saw the blood on your face.
His mind wouldn't stop tormenting him about how he should've been there sooner, he was angry both at you and at himself. How could you risk your life like that?! What if he wasn't there that evening?
He couldn't bring himself into thinking further about that horrible topic, he was happy he had saved you from that stupid lion-looking monster.
"Don't you dare passing away on me again"
He smiled, the most truthful smile you had ever seen on a man's face. His skin was dirtied up, his calloused hands rested almost sinfully on top of the pure grass.
And yet you didn't seem to care about it all.
He could be covered in mud, dirt or whatever he had fallen on that day you were still going to happily hold him in your arms for as long as you both pleased.
Your love for him could break walls, thick tension in the air whenever you hugged him, held his hand.
Your fingers found his cheekbone, pressing his face so it was pressed on your stomach as you let some few bitter drops fall from your eyes.
You were too scared you could've lost him today, die without telling him how much love you had waiting for him with open arms.
Yet it was the most beautiful scenario you could've wished for.
The fear of loss, you weren't going to sit on that grass like you were now ever again.
Even the goddess was jealous of you, the way you lived like it would be your last day breathing, loving.
How you fought, spending your days with the anxiety of nostalgia and the inevitable future.
Your passion, love, living your life at it's fullness.
You then found yourself with your head on his chest, listening to his slowed down heart. It should have calmed you down, but it only made the bubbling sensation inside your guts grow.
Your hands were on fire, veins still pumping furiously thanks to the attack from earlier. But you didn't care, streams of salty water slid down your cheeks, hiccuping on his chest with no reason to.
He was alive, breathing.
However, you didn't seem to stop, the more you thought about him, the more you let yourself fall appart on his chest.
"I'm fine"
His voice was deep, months had passed since the last time you had heard it. His palm soothed your back and that only made your whimpers louder.
You were probably one of the few people he let himself talk freely with, that made your heart shrink hard. But the reason why he couldn't talk with anybody made your heart nearly explode.
He was expected not to feel.
He couldn't let himself slip out a scared gasp, what would Hyrule think about a scared hero?
Let alone crack a smile, Hyrule wouldn't want some dumb, crackhead as a saviour right?
He was so used to it that he barely even talked to you, it would be disrespectful. And, Hylia, how you missed his voice. You would pay a thousand rupees only to get him to talk to you, soothe you with his honeyed tone.
Such a pretty mouth that was wasted away by his strict norms.
"You'll be alright, I swear"
Your puffy eyes looked at his half lidded ones before both of your hands brought his attention to you.
"I'm going to run you a hot bath, you'll be alright"
You continued talking, trying to calm him down but in reality you were trying to soothe your own nerves.
When death took your hand, you would held him with your other one. Promising you would find him in every life time.
"Please stay with me"
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lily-drake · 5 months
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The Demon's Queen
Chapter Fifteen
First <> Previous
One month passed both far too soon and not soon enough.  She hadn’t received any information from anyone on what she would be doing, but her training was ramped up tenfold.  She hadn’t been this sore and bruised since her first few months of training.  
“What on Earth was that ?”  Maha bellowed from where she stood on the side of the mat.  Marinette grit her teeth as she ducked under another blow made by the bulkiest of her oh-so-precious Jackals.  
“I must agree with you Maha,” Hadid sighed, “and here I thought she had finally mastered the move.”  He sounded disappointed and it pulled at something inside Marinette.  For some reason, a part of her felt upset at the thought of upsetting Hadid.  She could care less about Maha, but failing Hadid made her want to fight even harder.  She felt like she needed to prove herself to him.
Feigning a punch she ducked before kicking out and pushing him off valence slightly.  But the second that it took for him to fall back into position was just enough for Marinette to get close and hit multiple of the central pressure points she learned about from Tomoe, paralyzing his arms, shoulders, and neck.  Then with one last well placed kick he was down with her on top of him squeezing his windpipe until he tapped out as best as he could with his paralyzed arm.
Marinette stood up.  She expected her legs to start shaking, for her breath to be staggered, to feel scared about what she had just done.  But no, she felt calm, her legs were steady, and she felt proud of herself.  She felt like she had finally accomplished something great.
She looked up, her face an emotionless mask.  Maha had her usual displeased frown, not giving away any emotions.  But when she looked up and saw the large Cheshire grin Hadid was giving her she felt a cold shiver of fear run down her spine.  His face was unnatural, but it showed just how proud he was of her.
“Still a long way to go with you, but it’s a good start,” Maha finally growled out, “at least you have proven ready for your mission.”
Marinette stared down at one of the men that had caused her so much pain and distress.  She should despise him for the pain he’s put her through, after all he chose this life.  He chooses to live a life that causes the pain and suffering of others.  She should just leave him to get back up on his own.  After all, it was just a training spar.
Hadid’s voice from so many months ago rang through her mind, “Your defiance against your allies could lead to your demise.  Be careful of who you make your enemies.”  Marinette didn’t like it, but she knew what she needed to do. 
She lifted her hand and was actually rather surprised when the man—she’d been sparring him for months now and still didn’t know his or the other’s names—took her hand.  Like usual he didn’t say a word and when dismissed by Maha, he disappeared.
__________ Damian was worried about sending her on this mission.  It was the strangest thing he’d ever felt before.  Never once had he worried over the safety of his servants.  If they died it was simply because they were not strong or skilled enough to over power their enemies and return.  But this, this was different.
He had chosen Marinette himself, had hand picked her to be part of his most elite.  If she died here it would not only mean that she was not strong enough, but that he had made a mistake in his beliefs.  He could not allow that to happen.
His mother was gone—something about a private affair she needed to see to—so she couldn’t tell him if he had indeed been mistaken in his decision or not.  He didn’t feel like he had made a mistake, he needed her to see exactly what they’re fighting and why.  Needs her to see that he is not the villain.  Of course he is no hero either, heroes are naive and can only bring themselves to carry out the barest sentence of justice. 
Take his father as an example.  He calls himself and his little Posey “the heroes of Gotham”, but nothing ever changes.  His enemies always escape their cages, always kill more innocents, always spread destruction and chaos, and then what happens to them?  They’re sent back to their broken cages only to reoffend again and again.  
Todd had the right idea when he broke the moral code and killed the monsters he found.  With them gone and the others controlled under Hood’s reign, the people under his protection are truly safe.
Damian stared out across his balcony overlooking the entire base.  He watched the silhouettes of Marinette and her team—The Jackals Maha liked to call them—headed towards the entrance where a helicopter was waiting to take them on their mission.
Something was pulling at his chest.  A strange dropping sensation in his gut telling him to follow her.  Telling him that something would go wrong and that he needed to be there to ensure her return.  He ignored it.  She would return, she is strong enough that she will live through this.  It’s not even that complicated of a mission.  The feeling of unease still remained.
__________ The helicopter ride to the “airport” was an interesting—unsettling—experience.  All four of them, plus the pilot—so five—sat in complete silence the whole way.  They were all dressed in their robes, faces covered and weapons strapped and hidden all along their bodies.  Once they made it to a secret bunker of sorts they switched to a messenger plain where the shortest of the Jackals took over and began to fly them to G* knows where.
“I should probably know your names while we are on this mission if we want to communicate effectively.”
“And you will need a code name so we do not blow your cover.”  The smallest of the group said tersely.  The voice was obviously female though she spoke with a slight accent, but it was still a shock to hear it after so many months of nothing but silence.  She had honestly wondered if all of them were actually mute or not.
“You may call me Rajani.  My brother,” she pointed to the most muscular of them, “is Azrael, and he,” she pointed to the second man, “is named Hosaam.  Now we must pick a name for you.”
“Khata sounds just fine to me,” the pilot—Azrael—grunted.  Marinette’s brows furrowed at that.  Through her studies of the Arabic language she had quickly found the name Maha had given to her as one of the biggest insults she had received.  Everyday she would call Marinette a mistake.  Everyday she would say that the name Khata was the only thing she had truly earned.  It burned her insides and made her push herself if only to prove her wrong.
“I agree,” Hosaam nodded, arms folded in front of him.  “It is a good name for this mission.  No one would suspect.”  The others nodded allowing the silence to fill the space once more.  Marinette but her lip.  She did not wish to be known in the field as “The Mistake”, but she knew arguing would only activate her supposed Allie’s, so she remained silent.  
It took nearly 11 hours for them to reach their destination.  11 hours were the only noise was the whirring of the plane’s engine.  It made her skin itch, but Marientte did her best to make as few movements as possible.  She didn’t trust that either of these three wouldn’t try something if she left herself vulnerable in any way.  Marinette was honestly surprised with how smooth the plane ride went.  She had assumed that–with her luck–something would have gone wrong.  But no, from the air to landing not a single misfortune moment had occurred–she wondered if that was because she no longer had any access to her miraculous.  
They had landed in a sort of bunker, away from the public and any cameras that could have picked them up.  She followed the Jackals to a sideroom where a large table sat in the middle of the room with a set of black blue construction manuals.  “Where are we?”  Marinette asked, breaking the tense silence.
“ Fortaleza, Brazil,” Rajani stated, shoving a flashlight into her hands.  The others gathered around the table and turned their flashlights on before shining it above the paper, revealing the structural design of a large warehouse with text written all around it in the League’s Dialect.  Marinette followed suit as she studied the design and read about their mission.
A large worldwide trafficking ring will be meeting in this city in two days.  The ring leader will be the last to arrive minutes before they begin auctioning off hundreds of children to the highest bidders.  Nearly everyone attending are people that oppose The League of Assassins and have been trying to destroy it.  Their job is to break into the event, free the children, and kill everyone in attendance ensuring the safety and secrecy of the League and its existence.
The warehouse was large, and located in a deserted part of the city.  It was far enough away from the Favelas to keep the public away while also close enough to not be a conspicuous meeting place.  In order to ensure a peaceful gathering, the gangs and cartels were all paid off as were many of the cops.  
“It will be best if we can get in and out.”  Rajani began to plot, “I will ensure that all of the exits are sealed off while Hosaam sets up a trap.  Khata and Azrael will be in the audience ensuring crowd control.  We have the guest list, so it is of utmost importance we ensure everyone on this list only enters the building.  I wonder if it would be best for one of us to go in as one of the children though,” everyone’s gaze turned to Marinette.
She felt a shiver up her spine from how intense everyone’s eyes were.  They were all cold, calculating, distant.  They were assessing in their minds whether or not she would actually fit in, and unfortunately for her, it was rather well.  Marinette was short, her full height only coming to 157.48 centimeters (5ft 2in).  She was petite, and was still covered in large bruises from her shoulders down from all of the sparing she has had to endure.
“It would make finding and freeing the children more manageable,” Azrael grumbled, tilting his head slightly as he studied her, “as long as she put up a convincing act.”
“And what if I’d rather not be the caged child,” Marinette snapped, meeting his gaze.  She couldn’t see it as he still wore his mask, but she could feel his smirk, his cold brown eyes boring into hers.
“You don’t get a choice.”  The coolness of his voice sent a shiver down her spine, but she didn’t let them see how much he frightened her.  
What if she became like that?  Cold, uncaring, cruel.  How would she ever be able to live with herself?
“Where are we supposed to take the kids once they’re free,” Marinette snarked, changing the subject, “we aren’t doing all of this just to let them wander off and get taken by someone else.”
“The Demon’s Head has a plan.  We take them to the rendezvous point four miles East of the warehouse–transport will be provided.  Once they are dropped off we leave,” Rajani reported calmly.  “We have our own rendezvous  a mile north from there.  If we do not arrive by twenty-two hundred hours we will be stranded here and forced to return in disgrace.”
This was a lot for Marinette to take in.  Here was a top secret ninja league that had kidnapped her rescuing a bunch of children while also killing the children's tormentors.  What was their goal here?  Like Rajani had started, there were going to be hundreds of people who planned against The League here, and their main purpose was to eliminate them–Marinette wanted to gag–but why save the children.  Why not just let them die as well in the collateral?  Why go through the trouble of ensuring they’re safe at all?
“What’s the most efficient way to kill the others?  There will be hundreds of people, and if even one person senses something off or dies too early, everything will be over.”  Hosaam spoke for the first time since the flight, nearly making her jump.  His voice was rough and deep, deeper than she imagined, though she didn’t know why.
“Poison is out of the question, too easy for something to be messed up in the interim,” Rajani muttered to herself as he brought her hand up to cup her covered chin.  “There are too many people for a frontal attack, explosions hold too much risk to the cargo,” Marinette bit her lip to keep her from lashing out at calling the kids “cargo”. 
“We could gas the place.  First we could gas the place.  Sleeping gas first, then nitrogen gas.  Kills them fast and is untraceable.  We get in, then we get out,” Hosaam supplied.  
“We’d have to get the kids out first, kill the guards and switch them places, but it should work.”  Rajani agreed with a firm nod.  Reaching across the table to grab a single match, lighting it against the table before tossing it onto the blueprints.  Marinette watched as the blue paper material burned black and red, turning to ash in front of her eyes.  She couldn't help but think of a dress that she’d like to make based on the burning paper flying around her.
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trans-dwightschrute · 9 months
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My South Park analog horror/found footage AU based on the 1992 Spirit of Christmas short. It's one of those AUs that are too elaborate for my brain to put into one specific drawing and is just one I like to think about. I don't think I could be able to visualize my vision the way I want anyways.
I'll be completely honest with you, I'm taking inspiration from analog horror type media. My main inspirations are The Walten Files and Amanda the Adventure.
The beging of the story starts with a 90s TV news interview with Stan and Kyle. The interviewer asks questions about the vague incident that happened in the small mountain town, such as "what killed these children?" "Where you on acid? "Did you see any strange people before the incident?" The kids try to explain the incident but Stan has a hard time recovering his memories and Kyle doesn't have clear answers that the news reporters want.
There's questions about the incident, but it's extremely vague on what exactly happened.
Then next we see local newspaper clippings about a freak accident that resulted in the death of Kenny [in this au Kenny isn't the parka kid, Kenny is who we know as Cartman today but it this AU he is Kenny].
We then see another news report about the movie Frosty the Snowman being banned from the state of South Park for satanic imagery and demonic possession. The news people are kind of making fun of the town for what they see as paranoia and just another Satanic Panic over nothing.
Then we see a pictures of Kenny hanging out with his friends in the snow with an audio recording of Liane talking about her son and the events leading up to that day. It was Christmas week and nothing unusual had happened before the incident. The mother gets emotional and starts to explain that there are supernatural forces in South Park. The reporters yet again dismis the idea that there are demons in South Park.
We get a quiet video of locations in South Park. The church, the neighborhood where the incident happened and the homes of the boys who knew Kenny.
Then there's a VHS tape that Stan provides. He says he was scared to say anything about it because whenever he tried to watch it with Kyle bad things happened. He cries and tells the reporters to not watch the video because he's terrified that the footage is possesses Frosty. For the first time we get a more specific detail about the incident and how Kenny died. They play the VHS tape anyway.
The tape is a recording from Stan's perspective. The camera is very shakey because Stan is having fun. Kyle has a strange hat he found at an antique store for free. Stan wonders why such a nice hat is being sold for free.
Then analog story cuts off from there to switch back to the interview room. We met a third child who doesn't want to share his name or identity. The reporters try to get information from him but he just has a vacant stare.
Then we see a breaking news story of the unnamed kid dying suddenly after reporters showed the kid the found footage of the incident. We are met with christian mothers upset at any Frosty the Snowman merchandise or film. Mothers against Frosty. Jesus vs Frosty if you will 😁
The church gets involved and they try to perform an exorcism at the place the unnamed kid died. Stan and Kyle look scared and helpless.
Then we are back to the VHS tape we cut away from. We hear the boys singing the Frosty the Snowman song. Then there's a blood curdling scream. The snowman lights on fire and Kenny trips on a rock as he ran, trying to run away from the fire and breaks his head open. Eventually he dies.
When Stan tries to get footage of the entity, the screen goes blank. Then we hear screaming of pain from whoever is watching the VHS tape that is labeled The Spirit of Christmas.
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bittyfromquotev · 5 months
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The Noise
He didn’t care.
It was too loud.
Everyone at the return parade to celebrate their victory in the war was having fun, but Sun didn’t care.
He wanted the noise to stop.
The sound of drums and trumpets and other instruments vibrated with power in his chest, rattling the metal and wires within his scarred body. He pushed his even more ruined brother along in a wheelchair as if he was nothing more than a S.T.A.F.F. Bot. He kept moving even though all he wanted to do was run away and hide. He wanted quiet. The large band parted eventually, forcing Sun to roll a crippled Moon and himself through the tunnel of noise.
The band grew ten times louder than before, blaring into Sun’s audio sensors and forcing him to hunch over. He tried to stand straight again for the people, he really tried, but he couldn’t. It’s as if his joints rusted in place.
He pursed what would be his lips together, biting on the soft material that made up his tongue. He would get through this even if he had to be reset because of the delayed reactions to his panic this would bring.
The band wouldn’t stop. As the rest of the military branches followed behind Sun and the army, the noise got increasingly louder. The civilians at the parade cheered with all their might every time someone announced something on the booming microphone. Images of a hospital flashed though Sun’s mind. A hospital. Snow. Red snow. The screams of the Ukrainian victims. The ones he and his comrades were unable to save. Moon’s leg, lying mangled in the dirty snow several yards away from who it belonged to. Instead of the overjoyed faces that were actually there, Sun saw faces of fading hope.
The faces of defeat that were plastered on the victims of the war.
His grip on Moon’s wheelchair tightened as he looked on. Luckily, it wasn’t long before they all came to a stop. The military that walked, the band that played, the people that cheered.
It all stopped.
However sudden it was, the relief was obvious as soon as his sensors processed the silence.
Sun didn’t care for Moon’s concerned gaze trained on him as he breathed a sigh of relief.
All was quiet.
He would be okay.
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nerves-nebula · 1 year
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heyyy genuine question: am I using the word intrusive thoughts wrong??
I use the word to refer to the following:
triggering thoughts my brain forces me to think (which sometimes results in my physically reacting like yelping or hitting myself)
stuff that used to bother me more and would be generally considered disturbing by most people (brain saying i should kms, violent depictions of parts of my body being mangled if I’m, say, holding a knife or something.)
and prolly the most irritating, detailed and triggering scenarios i get lost in where people i like hurt me (example: I start to warm up to a teacher and my brain is like “what if they assaulted you. quick, lets run down a list of how you should react and prepare just in case. It would SUCK if you had to keep going to class with them lol but we both know you wouldnt do anything about it” and then depicts them violently assaulting and abusing me)
the thing is that they can get really violent and disturbing, or at least I assume disturbing to other people cuz im kind of just like “well that happened. anyway.”
but they’re almost never aimed AT other people. It’s almost never like “what if ur friend got pushed in front of a car.” and half the time it’s more annoying than distressing cause I know damn well I’m not gonna jump in a river and drown. So is this the correct usage or what.
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builder051 · 5 months
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Whumptober 2023 day (something)— I have 3 prompts planned to be in this story, but it’s going to be a long multi-chapter ordeal.
*Warning* This chapter (well, probably this whole fic) is some heavy stuff. Poor mental health, depression, passing mention of suicide, death (canonical), grief, descriptions of war (Operation Iraqi Freedom), mentions of drug use… that’s all I can think of.
This is powers/No powers.
The dreams in which I’m dying
I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I’m dying
Are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It’s a very very
Mad world
—Tears for Fears
———
There’s a water main break in Sam’s building. His apartment has escaped the damage, but the water has been turned off for the entire complex. He’s fine without access to a shower or dishwasher, but the toilet and the tap pose problems.
Well, some problems. Sam could cope with a hand-dug latrine and bottled water for his toothbrush. The Air Force deems sanitation a necessity. Clean clothes and regular bathing are only priorities in the Civilian world. The thing is, Sam’s having enough trouble with his own problems. He hasn’t been sleeping well lately. If it’s not insomnia, it’s unpleasant dreams. Neither provide the opportunity to rest and recharge. Stress is steadily building, and the monuments run is losing its meditative properties. Either that or he’s becoming treatment resistant.
Autumn in general doesn’t agree with Sam. He begins sniffling when the leaves fall and clump in wet piles to grow fungus. He doesn’t take anything for it, not even what’s available over the counter. He likes to have as little on board as possible. It’s a habit from his flying days; being mission-ready required his body to be free of substances. hasn’t shaken the habit from his flying days. The Air Force’s definition of ‘mission ready’ calls for a body to be free of substances. No beer. No Benadryl. Certainly no Prozac.
It’s calendar that gets to Sam the most, though. He’s antsy when it’s time to turns the page to the next month. The weeks and days have slipped through the autumnal equinox and the start of a new fiscal year. He tenses even more as the days pass steadily toward Halloween. Sam would throw out his calendar if he thought he could function without it, but it stays stuck to the kitchen wall. He’d forget everyone’s birthdays and anniversaries.
Sam doesn’t actually know if that’s true. It’s more of a convenient excuse. The series of dates immortalized in his mind are far from celebratory. They shouldn’t matter. It’s certainly been long enough.
The lines of squares continue to spite him, though, as he marks through through the days passed. It’s the middle of October now, and Sam is caught in the middle of an agonizing countdown.
———
Twelve.
The day Riley’s parachute didn’t open. Sam watched him flip himself over as he struggled with the cord to his backup. What was supposed to be a lifeline wound up as a death sentence. Sam watched him plummet in slow motion, foolishly believing that he’d catch Riley by the ankles if he swam through the air fast enough. But gravity and physics were against him. Against them. Sam was only halfway between the helicopter and the sand when Riley hit the ground head-first.
———
Thirteen.
The day the enemy line backed up far enough for a crew to gather what was left of the corpse. Sam wasn’t picked for the mission. He’d wandered to a table of donated books and DVDs. One corner was overtaken with teetering stack of bibles. Sam meant to glance and move on, but he found himself rooted to the spot. If he’d ever believed in god, he certainly didn’t anymore.
———
Seventeen.
The day Riley’s remains left Kandahar for Regan National. Sam had seen the open cargo hold of the sleek passenger jet, but someone in an orange safety vest jogged around the plane and slammed it shut. Too late. All he was left with was Riley’s terrified expression. That, then a view of the bottoms of his boots. However impersonal, Sam would’ve preferred to see his friend off in a long rectangular box.
———
Nineteen, or so Sam assumes. Maybe twenty. Or twenty-one.
Sam knows the time it takes to get someone to back to their hometown and into a flag-draped casket is highly variable. He’d still found the feeling of anxiety overwhelming his grief. He felt excluded, out of the loop. Then it occurred to him that he have the right to be in it. In truth, he has no ties to Riley. But that didn’t keep Sam from holing onto strings of their bond, struggling to knit them back together.
———
Twenty-four.
The day of the funeral. Sam didn’t attend. He didn’t know it had happened. He’d entertained the thought of asking for leave, but there was no way he’d be approved. He’d get two days, maybe. At most. Too little time to make it stateside, let alone attend an event for which he didn’t know the date or time. Sam’s anguish made him want to try anyway. But in the end, he let logic win out.
———
Thirty.
A letter from Riley’s grandmother showed up for Sam at the makeshift post office. The message seemed canned, though Sam didn’t doubt its sincerity. Riley had been laid to rest. Sam was a good buddy who should’ve been at the service. He was always welcome to visit. Riley was in a better place now. Arlington. Not heaven. But that was Sam’s interpretation. He should’ve folded the pages back into the envelope and placed it in his bag of personal belongings. A better man would’ve. Sam’s angry disappointment backtracked through the previous six days. The image of a flag-draped coffin disappeared in his mind to be replaced with that of an elderly woman who had just outlived her adult grandson.
———
Thirty-one.
The day Sam dropped the torn pieces of stationery into the trash outside the mess hall. He didn’t watch the shreds flutter into the bin; he’d done an about face and headed out for the day’s mission. He hated every second he rode in the rickety rear-facing seat. Sam tried to hold it together, but he threw up during the HH-60’s descent back into camp. He hadn’t done that since before PJ school.
Laying low and slinking toward his bunk had been impossible; the rest of Sam’s unit was outside enjoying cigarettes and melted chocolate bars. It took him a moment to remember the American fascination with Halloween. A boom box thumped in the background with more crackle than bass, and Sam felt sick again. It was as if he was a ghost in the middle of the crowd. Someone passed a hand-rolled cigarette his way, and the sensation of invisibility was broken. He accepted the smoke, hoping it would get the taste of bile out of his mouth. Sam swallowed a gag when he realized he’d just dragged on cannabis. As he got in position to sleep, Sam was sure he would spontaneously combust if he ever smelled pot again. And Werwolves of London should be abolished from the earth.
———
This month is passing in the same way, no different from before. Sam tries reminding himself that he’s made it through the fall and winter months for six years running. Six Octobers. Two during deployments. One at his sister’s house. Sam hadn’t been reaching out for care. He’d just needed a place to sleep before he could sign his lease on the first of November.
Spending time with relatives or squadron buddies doesn’t lift his spirits. He’s far too troubled to open up. In the presence of others, Sam feels like he’s wearing a mask to hide his dour expression. The mask isn’t held in place with straps around his ears; it’s attached with nails that dig deep into his skull. Just thinking brings on throbbing pain. And there’s no dignified way to take it off.
Sam has yet to find proper support, if that’s what he needs to feel better. He imagines an outlet where he can emote without obligation to explain himself. Something with a balance of familiarity and anonymity. Support group feels too formulaic. Sam’s loss seems to close, too personal to be dissected as part of lesson in trust falling. That’s why he prefers to be the leader. He can cue and comfort much more easily than take the plunge to share.
Per his usual, Sam’s been ignoring what’s going on inside him. His issues haven’t yet caused the choking and vertigo of a real panic attack. Those tend to be as embarrassing as they are painful; Sam feels weak and guilty knowing it all stems from heartache. He knows he’s barely hanging on, though. Sam would gladly accept orders to repel to the ground in the whipping wind of the bird’s propellers and run into the middle of a firefight. That would be easier. A welcome distraction. Instead he’s suck wallowing in his marshmallow bed and existential thoughts, lying to himself and denying the fact that he’s past dark thoughts and well into depression.
Sam knows it’s not a fault, but truly a disease. He hates the idea of his body being slowly destroyed by ravaging sickness. And he has the terrible feeling that whatever he has may be contagious. Nobody ought to be around him right now anyway. Sam’s touchiness and vulnerability are turning him into a different person, someone irritable and rude and cold. The stupid broken pipe prevents him from melting his frost in a hot shower or a cup of coffee.
Perhaps the current situation in his apartment is a sign. Even in his current state, Sam wants to be more than than a lump in his bed. A psychopathic robot in the office. His suffering isn’t bringing Riley back. He’s known that from the beginning, but he’s aware that his actions are completely contradictory. There are lifelines. Sam knows the suicide prevention hotline number by heart. He scribbles it on the back of business cards and hands them out to new faces at the VA. But Sam’s nowhere near that far gone, and chatting with nameless, faceless strangers isn’t his style.
He has people he knows. He even has friends. His motivation is the size of a mustard seed, but Sam feels the push to try again at living his own life. The first step will be getting out of his place with no plumbing.
———
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dwarvendiaries · 11 months
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Glazednourishes 26th of Slate, year 12
Seeing how the wrestler training is going. The dwarves have been training all summer. wow, oh my ok I need to get this.
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That's intense
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maddoc05 · 7 months
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Full fic on Ao3
Suits / The Magnus Archives Crossover
You shouldn’t trust anyone in here.
Mike stares sightlessly into the ceiling of his cell, the spring of the bed curving a scar into his back, and it’s that moment where the terror becomes so familiar it’s almost a messy comfort. The strange thing about the human body - he remembers reading about survival instinct, that rapid acclimatization to whatever is in the periphery after long enough. The ever-changing wallpaper of life. 
Harvey, he thinks. Then squeezes his eyes shut, and tries to breathe.
The cell door creaks. Mike knows that sound like the back of his hand - the creak of metal, the slow thump of footsteps that savor every second of a bite. 
This is war, Mikey, the prison walls tell him.
Harvey’s war. Gallo’s war. A war that was waged over thirteen years ago and Mike would be the latest casualty of battle. Sleep with your rifle, but there was no goddamned rifle, only the gleam of sharpened silver in Frank Gallo’s hands. Mike tastes Kevin’s blood in the back of his throat, coppery and bitter, the specks of rust still on that weapon’s length, glinting so very distinctly in the dimmed prison lights. 
There are three men. Two pin Mike against the cell wall, the corridors are devoid of guards. Mike knows he is so very alone, that this is how they got Kevin, isn't it. Kevin falls, but Mike still stands. In war, this will have turned out to be Gallo's fatal mistake, so proud to have the knife sinking into Mike's chest that he misses the rifle aimed at the soft underside of his throat.
Curiously, Mike doesn’t strain. It’s not a disconnect. His senses alert him to everything. He sees the dark near-brown of dried blood, a grinning sea, in Gallo’s eyes. Revenge drives men to madness, in a perpetual haze of distraction. One that works well in Mike's favour. He waits, as still as a mouse, as Gallo’s men carry out their orders and take grotesque satisfaction in those commands. 
His blood stirs up a song.
“I’m tired of waiting.” Frank says, lips pulled in a vicious smirk.
“Yeah.” Mike says. “So am I.”
There are no cameras in the cell, says the stale wind.
Frank lunges. Mike slams his head forwards in the nearest human jaw. Bone cracks. 
And somewhere in the process of prying Gallo’s fingers off the hilt of the knife, hearing the individual crack of each finger bone as it contorts, Mike realises he really doesn’t particularly care. The screaming fills his background noise, the mortar shells and rifle pumps of even more distant footsteps, the grit of a dry throat - it is all a pale comparison to the vivid strokes of his own actions that slips his head above the surface of this waking nightmare.
Gallo is coiled strength and festering rage. Mike has the knife. 
He’s never delighted in violence before. The crimson spill of it as it gushes past his steady palm, pouring onto the floor. The terror has long since blent into a measured fury - at Gallo, at the world. The faintest butterfly of hope he’s carried around for so long, a torch of naivete and always, always believing the best, and it is now crushed wings and flakes of ash that escape his grasp as easily as he’d once held onto it. It’s a dance that Mike has never learnt, but knows each step of. 
The eyes, throat, chest.
The thigh, lung, heart.
His blood pulses the rhythm of that song, and so Mike dances each step. It feels right. It feeds that chasm inside of him, and for the first time in a long time, he knows how it is to feel the brush of organs beneath his skin, the adrenaline rush of blood through every vein, a network map of intent and purpose and clarity.
Gallo had stopped screaming. In fact, he’s stopped everything. 
It's so quiet now, he can finally hear the song. It threads his veins, nuzzles into the exposed edge of his throat. It is blood that ran like wine, and it is the sound that flesh makes when it splits apart at the seams. 
Light floods his eyes. The cell door pushed open. The cacophony of shouting.
Mike turns, his eyes unknowingly slit thinly to the invisible drumbeats of war, the gunpowder-flash of irritation flashing with ill-concealed viciousness, blood streaking past his face like veins running upwards. The rumpled collar of his prison uniform soaked through with crimson, wrist-deep in warm, cooling viscera. He balances on his ankles, recalled for the instinct of fight instead of flight. 
The energy floats through him, intoxicating and wonderful. 
The cell door slams shut again. 
-
Ring, ring counsellor. 
These are the words echoing through Harvey’s min
Ring ring.
It’s an empty threat.
Gruffly, “This is Harvey Specter.”
“You have a call from Danbury Federal Prison.” 
The guy who’s in here for you is never coming out. 
“Do you accept the charges?”
The world is spinning. Harvey’s chest is too tight. “Yes.”
It’s not Mike at the phone. Harvey grabs onto bits and pieces of the conversation, like he's staggering through a haze. “ ...I work at the Danbury Federal Penitentiary… calling for Michael James Ross… listed as the emergency contact .”
Harvey is going to be sick.
The voice continues, and dimly he picks up the audible edge of tension. He can barely discern the words over the pounding of his heart. “There was an- altercation between Mr Ross and three other inmates in his cell. There have been casualties-”
He stops listening.
Tightness in his chest, a vice grip around his throat, the ground is fallible beneath his feet. There is nothing but the cold, so very cold, and something must have shattered in his expression because Donna- she’s reaching for him, because, because Harvey Specter is nothing but the mantra of MikeMikeMike rising through his throat like the scream of a piano chord.
He’s floating. “I’m on the way.” He says, numb to the phone, and then calls Ray. 
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rukkako · 9 months
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So I just got told the news about tweetdeck. What the fuck is this shit.
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So let me get this straight, right
not only did they axe old tweetdeck, and with it: > Multiple accounts > Multiple timeline columns > multiple notification columns > Interacting with tweets from any account instantaneously > having all your dms in a nice little column > tweeting from any account instantly But they also are PAYWALLING the dying, armless and legless corpse of the tool they just hacked multiple times on the neck with a meat cleaver AND they have the audacity, the fucking gall to say THIS
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New and improved? NEW AND IMPROVED??
NEW AND IMPROVED????
IMPROVED???? YOU THINK THIS IS IMPROVED???
YOU THINK THIS IS BETTER????
HOW FUCKING DARE YOU.
THERE'S LESS SHIT!!!! YOU REMOVED FUCKING FEATURES!!!! THIS IS OBJECTIVELY WORSE!!!!!! DO YOU KNOW THE DEFINITIONS OF THE WORDS YOU FUCKING USE???? DO YOU. THINK THINGS BEFORE YOU SAY THEM???? OR DO YOU JUST SAY THEM AND PRAY TO GOD THEY STICK???
I should not be this pissed off by this, I made the full on switch to here months ago, I stopped checking twitter altogether a while ago, but this one stings on a very personal level. I've been using tweetdeck to roleplay on twitter all my fucking life. It was honest to god the only good fucking thing that shitass platform had. And now it's gone. And it's making me realize all those good memories I had will never be replicated again. No more live rping through the twitter timeline. No more doing it with multiple accounts at the same time. I already had no reason to stick around twitter. I was okay with that. Now I wanna delete all my accounts in protest. From the bottom of my ehart fuck E. Musk. Fuck this fucking pig. I have never seen a more catastrophic downfall of a platform in my LIFE. And I have seen MANY platforms go to shit. But this???? this is SPECTACULAR. This motherfucker killed something I used to love. I wish upon you pain and misery and anguish and despair, the worst suffering you could ever imagine. God. Ugh.
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bonesandquills · 1 year
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Splattered Ink
This is a post is for @blair-witxh, since I messed up their other ask. I hope you enjoy this one better, and I'm sorry about the mix-up
He had been having those dreams again.
Those waking nightmares, those thoughts that held at the back of his mind, refused to give him rest.
He set his paper and pen aside, and rubbed his temples, hoping to relieve some of the aching pressure in his injured eyes. It didn't help.
He looked up at the sound of your voice and allowed a small smile to cross his face as he stood and crossed to the door, quietly narrating his actions under his breath in that low voice of his as he did so.
"The Host is pleased to see his dearest," He purred as he crossed over to you. You looked up with that beaming smile of yours, just as pleased to see him.
You wrapped your arms around him and smiled up at him, and although he couldn't really see it, the narration told him all about it.
You looked at him and cupped his face, the bloodied bandages around his eyes not even serving to faze you anymore. Instead, you looked at him with concern, studying the clothes that covered his eyes.
"Have you changed your bandages today?" You said in that tone that he knew too well. The well-meaning one that he couldn't resist and yet tried so hard to.
"The Host tries to redirect with a question about how your day has gone," He teased, leaning down to your height. "How has it gone?"
You shook your head and lightly motioned back in the direction of his office. "That won't work on me. Go."
He sighed and straightened up, figuring today wasn't the day to argue.
"The Host would like to protest," He narrated quickly as he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. "But knows that his dear is simply too stubborn for that."
You laughed, and gently pushed him towards the open office door. "Glad you figured it out. I'll be waiting out here."
He went willingly, closing the door behind him, before sighing softly to himself.
"The Host wonders..." he said, then trailed off to gather his thoughts. "How he ever got so lucky."
The sentence hung alone in the air for a moment before he turned to his desk drawer and started rummaging for bandages, a task that was hindered slightly by his thoughts wanting to narrate every single object in the door, every way that it moved as it was pushed aside in his search for bandages. Finally, his hands close upon the damn things and he straightened, closing the drawer.
"It was time for what the Host hated most," he muttered to himself, raising his hands to undo the bloody and soaked bandages. As he pulled them off, he was once again disappointed to find that the world remained dark, although he knew by now that it was pointless to hope that his vision would ever return.
He had his writing, his narration. And he had you. That would have to be enough, and it already was for most things.
As he lowered the bandages, there was a sudden searing pain right behind his cold and empty eyes, and he gasped. It would have been blinding had he been able to see, and felt like a thousand hot knives being driven into his eyes.
Again.
He was barely able to narrate through the choked breaths he was able to take, and his legs felt weak. He gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles were white, hoping against hope that he wouldn't fall over, and you would have to come see him like this.
He gritted his teeth, and slowly sank to the floor, his mind going blank for a blissful moment as he lost consciousness.
------------------------------------------------
When he opened his eyes, he could see.
He allowed himself a brief moment of excitement before his logical side took over. This was another dream. When he woke up later his vision would be as dark as before.
He looked around, taking in his surroundings. He was in his office, but you were there, just as beautiful as his narration had described you to be. His mind had crafted every detail, every small minute part of you. He had never seen you truly, but he figured that this was close enough.
He got to his feet and went to cross over to you, but was suddenly stopped by an invisible force. He tried to push past it, but it was unyielding in keeping him away from you.
"The Host finds himself unable to advance further," came the familiar endless voice. This time, he noted with some alarm, it didn't originate from his own mouth or voice. In fact, he hadn't even said anything.
He tried to open his mouth and speak, to banish this unseen field and to make his way to you.
But nothing came out.
He tried again, but his vocal cords refused to move, refused to produce his voice. Worry because to course through him as the voice spoke again, without his bidding.
"The Host wants so badly to get to his darling," it said, but this time it was as if it was mocking him... taking advantage of his silence and his lack of control. "But he's trapped. Alone without his only tool."
He tried to call your name, but nothing came. You only stared at him, confused, as if you couldn't hear the voice, his voice, speaking without his bidding.
"Are you alright?" You asked. "Do you need me to get something?"
"The Host steps forward toward his darling," it continued, and he eagerly moved toward you, relief coursing through him. You were almost within his reach now, almost close enough for him to embrace...
"His darling is happy to see him," the voice cooed as he reached out to you. "A pity that she won't be for long."
His blood ran cold.
"The Host," the chilling voice continued. "Grabbed his darling by the throat."
To his horror, he watched as his hand reached out, his fingers closed around soft flesh. He watched your eyes widen, listened to his voice narrate every detail, felt your pulse weaken and flutter under his fingers.
You scrabbed at his hand, trying in vain to loosen his tight hold, but it did nothing. Your eyes began to flutter shut, and he tried in vain to loosen his hand, but he was powerless. Powerless to do anything except watch as the life left your eyes.
"And then the Host's darling was no more," sneered the voice, and you slumped to the ground as his fingers slackened.
He opened his mouth to cry out, to call your name, something.
But nothing came out.
----------------------------------------
He awoke on the office floor.
Everything was dark.
And for once... he was relieved.
"The Host awakens," He narrated softly, as he felt a gentle touch on his face. "To his dear taking care of him."
"You scared me!" You chastened him, but the relief was evident in your tone. "What the hell happened?"
"The Host merely got dizzy for a moment," he replied, sitting up and reaching a hand to his eyes, feeling the fresh and clean bandages there. "And he didn't mean to scare you."
You sighed but hugged him tightly. "...I love you."
"The Host loves you too, very much," He said with a smile, picking you up with ease. "He requests that we go lay down for a while."
You laughed and kissed him as he brought you to your bedroom, holding you close all the time. Just before you settled in, however, you heard him murmur one last thing.
"The Host prays that he will never lose you."
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Text
Bruised
For @whumptober 2022 day 4: hidden injury, waking up disoriented, can't pass out
Fandom: My Hero Academia
CW: child abuse, injuries/hiding injuries, passing out
Read it here on AO3
Most of Katsuki’s weekends were spent at the dorms, but Mitsuki had sent a “special note” requesting his presence over the weekend for family business. ‘Family business’ meaning he had a shoot on Saturday and his mother wanted to make sure he didn’t eat so that he was camera ready.
He didn’t know how things got bad so quickly on Sunday. Maybe it started when he got to his house late after losing track of time while studying with Kirishima. Maybe it was the way he talked back to the photographer for being too touchy. Or maybe his mother thought he closed the car door too harshly on their way back home. But now it was 14:00 on Sunday and Mitsuki was breaking down his door.
She yanked the duvet off of his sleeping body and shook him awake. “What the fuck are you still doing in bed?”
Katsuki took a few seconds to get oriented before Mitsuki impatiently slapped the side of his head. He growled. “It’s a fucking Sunday, hag! I was working all day yesterday.” 
Mitsuki crossed her arms and scoffed. “There are no days off when you’re an adult. There’s shit for you to do around the house! You need to clean the kitchen, take out the trash, and scrub the bathroom.”
“Why the fuck can’t you do it?”
“Because I’m busy! Besides, I paid for this house. You’re just living in it.”
“Actually, you only paid for half. Dad paid for the other half. And since it’s ‘your house’, why don’t you clean it then?” He didn’t know why he was talking back. Katsuki knew it would only make things worse. But Sunday was the only day of the week where he allowed himself to sleep in. Maybe not until 14:00, but the shoot had gone until 21:00 the previous night and being around his mother was exhausting without starving himself and posing for an entire day.
“I’m tired of your shit, Katsuki! I will not be disrespected by you in my own home. Get your shit together, got it?” Mitsuki started towards the door.
“Fucking bitch,” he grumbled under his breath.
Mitsuki whipped around again, her eyes looking as if they were on fire. “What did you just say?”
“I said you’re a fucking bitch!”
In a split second, Katsuki was being dragged out of his beds as he was hit with ringed backhands and fists from his mom. He could barely understand her tirade about respect and responsibility and eventually tuned out the world when she became too tired to use her hands and moved to her feet. All he could do was take it. He couldn’t fight back. Hitting his mom would make him no better than she was. But then again, that’s exactly what I did to Deku, wasn’t it?
Katsuki didn’t know how long it went. He lost count of the amount of hits his mother landed. But by the time he woke up, he had a migraine pounding against his skull and his body was sore as if he had just run a marathon. God, what time is it? He slowly picked himself up off the floor, feeling like he weighed two tons, and checked his phone. It was already 18:00. Shit! How was I out for four hours? He would have to leave for the dorms in about ten minutes if he wanted to make it back to UA before Sunday curfew. His mother avoided his face this time, which meant he got to avoid the prying eyes of Kirishima and Deku. 
His mother was holed up in her office again, allowing him to slip out of the house unnoticed. When his mother got this bad, she tended to avoid him for a while afterwards. At least he got out of his “house work.”
The walk to the train station was not that far, but it felt like an eternity with his aching legs, and every slight jostle on the train only reaggravated the injuries. Every time he felt himself nodding off, a particularly harsh turn would jolt him awake with a hiss. The people around him just averted their eyes at his clear discomfort. Even as he limped pathetically back to UA, he could only hear the whispers about the ‘Sports Festival Kid’, but had no faces to connect them to. They probably thought that he had gotten into a fight with some poor, unassuming kid and got his ass handed to him. They would be right about the second part, but would never guess that he was the unassuming kid this time around.
Katsuki arrived at the dorms at 19:25, five minutes before curfew and too late for his liking. He stopped in front of the door, massaging his temples at the seemingly ever-present migraine. He doesn’t know if she managed to land a hit on his head or if the migraine is from the stress of the weekend. Either way, it hurt like a bitch. But he had to suck it up before he got inside and was inevitably surrounded by idiots.
As soon as he opened the door, he was shoved a few steps back by a streak of blond hair bounding into his chest. He barely held in a hiss of pain before his annoyance took over. “Dunce Face, get the fuck off me.”
“Aw come on, Kacchan! We haven’t seen you all weekend!” Kaminari whined. Katsuki just rolled his eyes before shoving the other boy off him. The rest of the idiots were already making their way over. 
“Did you enjoy your weekend, Bakugou?” Kirishima asked.
“Yeah. You could say that. But now I need to fucking sleep for the next twelve hours,” Katsuki grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. It felt like his migraine was getting worse.
“Sleep? But you promised us you would help us cram for the exam tomorrow!” Ashido cried in a shrill voice. It was as if she wanted his head to explode.
“And didn’t you say last week that you were going to sleep in today so that you could?” Kirishima added.
“You didn’t forget, right?” Sero asked incredulously. Katsuki totally forgot. It must have been obvious on his face because Kaminari was immediately hounding him.
“Holy shit. Bakugou forgot!” Kaminari laughed, slapping Katsuki on the back. This time, he couldn’t suppress his wince. The group immediately stopped laughing, eyes turning towards the sound that sounded unnatural coming from their friend. “Woah, sorry man. I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”
“It’s fucking fine. You didn’t. I just… I just pulled a muscle training… earlier,” he lied. But it didn’t do anything to stop the looks on his friends’ faces. “Don’t fucking look at me like that.” He pushed his was past the group and started towards the elevator. 
Upon realizing that no one was following him, he turned around and called out, “Am I fucking tutoring you guys or not? Let’s fucking go!” Katsuki rolled his eyes when the rest of the squad started scrambling after him. “Idiots,” he mumbled under his breath.
-
Turns out, tutoring a bunch of loud, extroverted teenagers in a class they were absolutely dreadful in was not the best thing to do while nursing several injuries and a possible concussion. Every time they had their focus on anything other than him, he felt like he was going to pass out. But Katsuki promised he would tutor them, and he didn’t go back on his promises.
When his vision started fading in and out again, he dug his fingernails into his palm. He was startled out of his stupor when a light hand touched his shoulder. He turned his head to the source and was met with red eyes dripping with concern. “You okay, bro? You seem kind of out of it.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just tired,” Katsuki mumbled.
“You sure? You’re looking a little pale, Blasty?” Ashido added. Did he look pale? He didn’t know. His whole body felt like it was vibrating, bouncing back and forth between on fire and completely numb. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and his mouth felt the same. He was sure if he was going to throw up or completely black out. Water.
Katsuki slowly pushed his seat out and stood up, stumbling in the process. He felt several hands supporting him, adding to his pain, but he was too out of it to react.
“Woah, man. You don’t look to good,” Sero commented. 
“I- I’m fine. I just need-” Katsuki didn’t finish his sentence before everything went black.
“Holy shit!” Sero screamed as all of them dove to catch him. Kirishima, being the closest, ended up with an awkward armful of dead weight.
“What the fuck just happened?!” Ashido said frantically.
“I don’t know! He just fucking collapsed!” Kaminari panicked.
“Obviously! I was asking why!”
“Well I don’t fucking know why! I know just as much as you do!”
“It was a rhetorical question, Kami!”
“Guys! Stop fighting and help me!” Kirishima bellowed.
“Right. Sorry.”
Kirishima lowered him to the floor, resting his head in his lap. He assessed his friend’s condition, taking in the pale, clammy skin and shallow breaths. “There’s something more going on than just exhaustion.
Sero’s brow furrowed and he kneeled next to Bakugou’s head, pulling out his flashlight and opening Bakugou’s eyes. “He has a concussion. We have to try and wake him up.”
Ashido knelt down and shook his shoulder gently. “Blasty, we need you to wake up.” Bakugou stirred, but didn’t open his eyes.
Ashido shook a little harder while still being as careful as she could. “Come on, Bakugou. You have to wake up.”
Slowly, Bakugou opened his eyes. “Th’ fuck? Why ‘m I on th’ floor?”
Kaminari exhaled in relief. “You passed out, bro. You have a concussion.”
“Shit. I was hoping it was just a migraine.” Bakugou slowly sat himself up, head spinning at the change in position. He shoved off any attempts of help from Kirishima.
“You knew about it and didn’t say anything?” Ashido scolded, slapping his shoulder.
“Jesus Christ, Raccoon Eyes. Go easy.”
Ashido huffed in annoyance. “Do you have any other injuries we don’t know about besides the concussion and supposed ‘pulled muscle’?”
“I think I have a few bruises somewhere. I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Sero exclaimed.
“I didn’t really check.”
Kirishima pinched his nose bridge in annoyance. “God, Bakugou. Take off your shirt.”
“At least take me out to dinner first, Shitty Hair.” Kirishima leveled him with a deadly glare. “Alright, fine!” Bakugou removed his shirt slowly, partly due to the pain and also to delay as long as possible. Bakugou winced at the gasps from his friends. And he understood why. When he looked down, he was surprised himself. It looked like Jackson Pollock entered his blue period and decided to use him as a canvas.
“Dude. What were you even doing for training? Did you throw yourself into a giant washing machine or something?” Kaminari joked.
“Or something,” was all Bakugou could respond with.
Sero raised an eyebrow. “It looks like you got shoved down several flights of stairs.”
“Not this time,” he muttered.
Ashido squawked. “‘Not this time’?!”
“Where did you get these injuries, Bakugou,” Kirishima asked with a hardened voice. Bakugou just looked away. “Bakugou.”
“Pissed off my mom,” he mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.
Kaminari balked. “Your mom did this? God, I’m gonna punch her. I don’t care that she’s hot.”
“Kami!” Ashido scolded with a slap to Kaminari’s shoulder. “But he’s right. She shouldn’t have done this.”
Bakugou waved them off. “It’s fine. It’s not usually this bad.”
“Not usual- scratch that. I’m gonna fucking murder her,” Kirishima growled darkly.
“Do not kill my mom, Shitty Hair.”
“Fine. But we have to tell someone!”
“No! We can’t!”
What? Is his pride that important to him? “Bakugou! Your mom can’t get away with this!”
“She can and she did! Just let it go!”
“But she hurt you! We have to do somethi-”
“Kirishima! Drop it.” Bakugou closed himself off, turning away from Kirishima.
“But…”
“Please,” Bakugou pleaded, his voice on the edge of breaking.
“Okay… Okay. I’ll let it go. But can you at least let us help you right now?”
“Fine.” Bakugou said nothing as his friends helped him onto his bed. They all stayed silent as they applied bruise cream and bandages to his wounds. They stayed silent every time he winced at a particularly painful bruise. They stayed silent even when the tears started. Even when the tears turned to whimpers, and then choked sobs. They just held their friend, hurt because he was hurt, and because they couldn’t do anything more than they already had.
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terrifyingly-bi · 1 year
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Whumptober Day 4: Dead on Your Feet (Eddie Munson)
Can’t pass out
Summary: Eddie stays behind to buy some time for his friends.
Warnings: descriptions of violence, slight gore, cursing, last stand, 
Word Count: 586
A/N: Day 4, here we go! Eddie bby keep going!
『••✎••』
“What are you doing!?” Dustin shouted, staring up at the opening in the ceiling, the odd angle of the Upside Down making him dizzy.
Eddie smiled at him and gripped his makeshift weapons tighter in his hands. “Buying some time,” he said. “Go!” He swung his arm in an ushering gesture before he took a step back and disappeared out of sight.
He could hear Dustin shouting his name as he left, but there was no way back now- not without stalling or stopping the hoard of demobats. They swarmed above him. The sheer mass of them made them look like swirling storm clouds and their slithering tails and sharp teeth glinted in the dim light.
“Come on! Come get me!” He shouted and slammed the hilt of the bat into the back of his makeshift shield. Even with a shitty trash can lid and an old, chipped bat and impossible odds, Eddie felt like a hero. He was a hero. He was defending the lives of his charges, his companions, his friends.
His sneakers slapped against the ground as he ran, making as much noise as he could to lure the beasts further away from the entrance. “Come on!” He roared as he ran - like a raging barbarian.
The creatures screeched and wailed as they swept down toward him. Eddie ducked to avoid them and laughed at the way his body seemed to move on its own as the adrenaline pumped through him. 
He needed to find enough space to take his stand. Perhaps my last, he thought as he looked around for somewhere to take cover. Probably my last, he realized when he looked over his shoulder at the oncoming swarm of beasts charging toward him.
Before he knew it, he stood in the center of a whirlwind of creatures. He was the eye of a storm of wings and fangs. The sounds of screeching and fanning and snarling were deafening, he couldn’t even hear himself scream when he swung his weapon and blocked with his shield.
“I am the fucking hero!” He shouted. “A true fucking hero!”
But the high of adrenaline could only shield him from so much. By the fourth time he got a bite taken out of him, the pain was starting to set in. The demobats easily chewed through the denim and the leather, and his skin was no match for their razor-like claws.
The metallic tang of blood hung in the air around him and drove the creatures into a craze. Like frenzied piranhas in a too-small fish tank.
Eddie wasn’t sure which of his screams were cries of pain and which were roars of anger. Everything hurt, and his weapon was slippery with blood. Fatigue was starting to set in but he was determined to keep going. For every creature he smashed to bits ten more seemed to appear. 
He barely had enough energy to keep the trash can lid raised but it was the only thing that kept the beasts at bay. His limbs felt like rubber and his chest heaved with effort. It was a strain to remain upright and he had more wounds than he dared to count. 
“What are you doing?”
“Buying some time!”
“Fuck,” he sighed when he swung his bat and just barely avoided getting pelted in the face with the remains of the demobat he’d smashed. Eddie wasn’t ready to give up but his body sure was.
A little more time, he told himself. Give them a little more time. 
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lilymoonstars · 2 years
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How Do I love Thee?
Chapter 4 - He's Beauty, he's danger
Note - Thank you all so much for your support so far with this story! I cannot begin to tell you how much I appreciate it all. I was a little disappointed when I heard there wouldn't be a second book, I feel like there are so many missed opportunities to explore this wonderful world and characters they created. So, I decided to funnel that energy into this story and mix in a few of my own ideas too! I hope you continue to enjoy, now on with the story!
As a quick aside, there is a tiny scene of violence towards the end.
“Parker! Hurry up, don’t be late on your first day. I made breakfast.”
That meant you weren’t having an aneurism and that was burning that you smelled drifting upstairs from the kitchen. Rolling out of bed, you walked in to see your mum flitting about the kitchen. Dashing between the stove, the toaster, and the coffee machine.
“Mum, do you need a – “
“I’ve got it!” she shouted, holding up her spatula. Dodging stray egg that was flung your way, you carefully took a seat at the breakfast bar, wary of disturbing the sea of papers laid out om the countertop. Inching to look closer, the clippings were swept away by a plate of scrambled eggs.
“Voila! What’s wrong?”  she asked.
“Just checking for burned bits,” you smirked over at her.
Sticking her tongue out she poured herself some coffee. “I have no idea what you’re talking about they’re chefs’ kisses”
“Keep that up and you’ll be recording my death next. Second hand embarrassment.” Groaning around your mouthful of food.
“Well, we can’t have that. Not on my baby’s first day as a senior!” She squealed, pinching your cheeks in excitement.
A few of the clippings had scattered over the floor beneath your feet. Slowly scanning the article, your suspicions raised as you read the heading, “Bodies found.” The rest of the clippings varied in date, but all covered the recent attacks in the areas. “What’s this?” You asked, pushing it toward her. A wave of silence greeted you as she guiltily fiddled with her jacket sleeves. “Great. Mum, we talked about this! You promised not to go snooping.”
“I just thought, I could be a fresh pair of eyes, you know?” she said abashed
“Mum. You are a med-i-cal examiner, not a detective. We’re not in the city anymore, you can’t afford to upset anyone.” In your best parent voice, you told her, “Terri Rees, look at me. Repeat after me ‘I will not go into the big, scary woods where horrible murders have been happening.” You waited.
Crossing her arm, her features set stubbornly with a pout, she grumbled “I will not go into the big, scary woods where horrible murders have been happening... mum.”
“With great age comes great responsibility.”
“Well, little miss responsible, get that butt in gear or you’ll be late for your first day!” Swooping down, she planted a kiss on your head and hurried out the door.
Nerves swirled in your stomach as you padded up the stairs. The first day jitters were strong as the reality of the day set in. Taking the red crop top and jeans you figured that if you didn’t feel confident, you could at least try to look it. Grabbing your leather jacket and with a last swift nod to the mirror, you braced yourself for the day ahead.
***
“Here you have it, Crimson Beech High in all its glory.”
You and Gabe walked up the entrance stairs, watching the passing students file slowly and steadily through the front doors, trying to cling to the last moments of the summer. Two or three stopped to greet Gabe as you passed through the halls.
“Wow, Mr popular, however did you make time for little old me?”
“AS good student council president makes time for his people,” Gabe said with mock arrogance. “Now, Ms Reese, I must ask that you keep interruptions to an absolute minimum for the duration of the tour. It has been known to take upwards of ten minutes to complete and we have a lot of sights to see. Ah! Take this vending machine, for example. Circa 2010, it’s a rare, vintage model and if you look very carefully, right at the back you’ll see a mouldy chocolate bar still in its original wrapping.”
Stifling your laughter, the two of you walked the central grounds on your way to the admin building.
“This is the main quad or ‘hangout,’ it’s a popular spot for free periods and lunch. We have picnic benches on the South side of campus if you enjoy a quieter spot.” A nearby group of girls chattered excitedly about the latest episode of America’s most Eligible.
“Where the most important topics are discussed too.”
“LOOK OUT!” A boy with glasses cried through the courtyard. Out of the corner of your eye, a football was spiralling through the air on a direct path to your face. This was it. Your worst nightmare. A notorious dropper, public humiliation was 20 metres away. Weighing up your options, you decided to commit to the catch. It was either eating a football to the face or potentially become a hero on the first day. You raised your hands, but long arms snapped around you to make the save.
“Parker! Are you ok!?” Gabe gasped, his face crumpling in concern.
“Apart from going full Stefan on me and stealing my glory, sure”
He didn’t look convinced, but he relented. “Come on then, there’s one more thing I want to show you.” A large, glass cabinet stood outside the principal’s office. A golden statue of a woman donned in a trench coat and a crossbow strapped across her back, encased inside.
“Remember when I said people believe this town was founded by vampire hunters?” Gabe said over your shoulder, “I wasn’t kidding. If you believe the stories, Crimson Beech was overrun by vampires feeding on humans and savaging them.” A forlorn expression you didn’t quite understand settled over his face. “Hunters took it upon themselves to save humans and protect the town, eradicating the vampires within.”
“Neat. Vampires do fit in well with the small-town aesthetic. I’ll be on the lookout for fog and crows too.” You joked, trying to lighten the mood.
It worked as Gabe chuckled back, “duly noted, as long as you stay inside the town limits, you’ll be safe from any blood thirsty vampires.”
Doors ricocheted off the walls, echoing down the corridor as Cas slammed them open. A hush followed him down the corridor. Freshmen and seniors alike were quick to part in droves before him, each eager to avoid his murderous gaze falling upon them. In a futile attempt, Gabe was the only one brave enough to step forward to stop Cas on his warpath. “Cas, take it easy.”
Barely breaking his stride, Cas yanked his arm away sharply. His face contorted in fury, “where is he?”
A chorus of sniggering answered his question, several students pointing in his direction. “See? I told you he was a psycho,” one of them muttered snidely.” In a split second, Cas brutally slammed him into the lockers by the throat.
“Come on man, it was just a joke.” He said hoarsely, the confidence that fuelled him earlier was fading fast. His own hands weakly trying to prise away the fingers on his neck. Malicious glee spread across Cas’s face as he took in the pitiful attempts.
“Does it look like I’m laughing Danny? If it’s a joke, then laugh!” Cas demanded, slamming him backwards a second time for good measure. Danny’s feet were kicking uselessly against thin air, completely at Cas’s mercy. “You keyed ‘psycho’ into my locker, didn’t you? How about I show you what a psycho can do?”
Danny’s eyes widened in fear. Survival instincts kicking in, he swung wildly at Cas’s face, catching him square in the jaw. You gave a sharp gasp whilst Cas stood there unphased. One arm kept Danny pinned in place, he looked directly at you other his shoulder, his eyes never leaving yours as he wiped blood from his mouth. Forgotten, Danny fell to the floor in a heap.
“New Girl, I’ve died and gone to heaven, you look positively delicious. Are you here to kiss me better?”
“If you want to kiss me that badly Cas, just ask next time. No need to be so dramatic.” Whispers grew to a steady buzz, but you ignored it all. Everything from his sparkling brown eyes to the sharp lines of his jaw drew you in. He was beautiful danger.
“Cas Harlow!” An angry voice bellowed. A woman dressed all in black strode in his direction. Whatever had remained of the crowds quickly dispersed in hopes of avoiding her fury.
“Good morning principal Yao!” Cas greeted nonplussed.
“My office now!” She said, spinning on her heel and taking Cas with her.
“Parker, you promised to stay away from the Venandi’s, they’re dangerous.” Gabe said accusatorily.
“I know I did but what does that have to do with Cas?”
“Cas is a Venandi. Scott and the others, those are his siblings.” The morning bell sounded overhead as Gabe walked you to your first class. “Before I forget, are you free tonight? We usually throw a party in the woods to celebrate the start of school, you should come and meet everyone.”
“Oh, um,” you hesitated, “I’m not sure. I promised my mum I’d stay out of there.”
“Those attacks were way outside the town limits. I promise you’ll be safe.” Gabe assured.
Considering for a moment, you nodded, your mum had asked you to enjoy yourself. If everyone else was going it had to be ok, safety in numbers and all.
***
“To be absolutely clear, you aren’t leading me to my impending doom, right?” You asked Gabe, hopping over a particularly large branch.
“Parker, you’ll be fine, we’ve been holding this for 6 years and no one has died yet. Trust me.”
“That would be a lot easier if you hadn’t said yet.” Ignoring Gabe’s eyeroll, you carried on, “I’m just saying that this is textbook slasher flick stuff. The charming class president, the campfire, the deep, dark woods. Then bam, you reveal you’re a serial killer and everyone else is dead.”
“Aww you think I’m charming.” Gabe sang.
Shoving him, you trekked deeper into the forest. Distantly, music echoed through the trees. Fairly lights twined in the branches above, guiding you to a small clearing. Lanterns were placed around a small circle of chairs, emanating a soft glow. Gabe’s friends stood at the drinks table, waving you both over. A girl with shoulder length brown hair met you half-way, encompassing you in a bone crushing hug. “Parker! I’m so glad you made it! I was worried Gabe was going to keep you all to himself.” She smiled brightly. You’d only briefly met everyone at lunch, but you had the feeling that Libby wasn’t the best with personal boundaries. Luckily, Jade was there to rescue you.
“Libby! You’re going to crush her!” Jade said, dislodging her.
“Just because you hate any form of physical contact Jade, it doesn’t mean everyone else does.” Libby sulked.
“Libby’s got a point Jade. We need to make the most of it. Who knows when Gabe will let her out again,” Aiden joked.
A pink blush coloured Gabe’s cheeks “Shut it Aiden. I’m class president, it’s my responsibility to make sure she’s ok.”
“A responsibility you’re taking very seriously.” Aiden sniggered.
Wedging herself between you and Gabe, Libby threw her arms over your “shoulders, come on, we just finished setting up musical chairs.”
“Isn’t that a kid’s game?” You asked unsure,
“Not how we play.” Jade said mischievously, pushing Aiden into a chair, “in our version, the chairs are already occupied.”
“A game? I’m always up for a little friendly competition.” Stepping through the trees, Cas made his way down, someone else hot on his heels. Everyone froze at the sound of his voice, unsure what to do. The warm atmosphere frosting over. He was either completely oblivious or enjoyed this immensely. In the brief time you’d known him, you assumed it was the latter.
“I don’t remember you being invited Cas.” Gabe said. He was usually so warm that the ice in his voice unsettled you.
Cas stretched out in his seat, folding his arms behind his head. “That’s funny, I could have sworn this was a party for the start of school for all students. Now, I’m no straight A, teacher’s pet like you Adalhard but even I know that include me.”
“And I thought to celebrate going back to school, you had to turn up in the first place.” Gabe said through gritted teeth. Cas’s Cheshire cat grin spread even wider before his gaze landed on you.
“As thrilling as I’m sure your monologue on the architectural integrity of the library was, someone, aka me, had to make sure New Girl didn’t die of boredom. What do you say?” He asked, patting his lap.
“Why don’t you bite me instead Cas.”
Surging forward in his seat, he curled his hand behind your neck, drawing you closer. “Is that an invitation?” He spoke softly into your ear. His fingers slowly threaded through your hair, brushing it aside from your neck. Your eyes fluttered shut at his closeness. “I think you’ll find I have more than enough bite.” Snapping his teeth, he relaxed back into his seat.
“Cas, you need to leave,” Gabe barked, fury coating his words. Cas’s playful demeanour extinguished immediately. He’d been angry at Danny this morning but the tension between him and Gabe was palpable.
“Calm down Golden boy, no need to be so protective over your new pet. I promise not to do anything to her, that she doesn’t want me too at least.” He said, winking at you. Aiden caught Gabe before he got any closer to Cas.
“Don’t let him get to you, we want to make sure Parker enjoys the party, remember?” His words eased the tension from Gabe’s shoulders.
The music started up and you felt Libby follow behind you. “Damn Parker! How did you get Cas Harlow’s attention?” She hissed in your ear. “He never gives anyone the time of day! I mean he’s definitely hot if the whole asshole vibe is your thing.” She was doing her best to sound casual, but you caught the lingering look she gave Cas over her shoulder. Her mouth curved into a sly smile, “Gabe’s also pretty popular and he’s definitely interested in you. I don’t know if I feel sorry for you, or I want to be you.”
The music cut out away before you could answer. Gabe was too far behind, and Aiden’s lap was already occupied. He gave you a sympathetic smile as you bit the bullet and made your way over to Cas. Perching on top of his thighs, his hands snaked around your hips, pulling you flush against him. Tingles erupted over your skin where his fingers grazed your waist. “Does this bring back memories for you too?” You tried to laugh him off, but you sounded breathless to your own ears. One look at him told you he noticed. “I was wondering when I’d get me hands on you again, especially with Golden boy stealing most of your time. Don’t tell anyone though, it doesn’t really fit with ‘the whole asshole vibe.’”
“How did you-. “ You wondered as your stomach dropped. She might be Gabe’s friend, but you wanted the ground to swallow her whole.
“I have my ways,” he hummed into neck with faux innocence, twirling his fingers around your curls. Being this close to him made your head spin.
“Looks like you have competition Gabe,” Jade jeered from Aiden’s seat.
“I’m not too worried, the night isn’t over yet,” he replied stonily, tracking Cas’s every move.
“Oh, but you should be,” Cas muttered silkily from your shoulder. His palms gliding over your stomach as you rose to your feet re-joining the circle. Separation helped slow the spinning inside your head, yet as the music slowed for the second time, and you orbited the chairs you found yourself back with Cas.
“We have to stop meeting like this, especially when we have company.” Studying his face, you caught the tiny cut at the corner of his lip. “My offer still stands.” He said, hands squeezing your hips. Curiosity buzzed inside you; he wasn’t expecting you to take the bait. You were just the scared girl who needed saving from the dark. Playing with Cas was going to burn you, but you were prepared to dance in the flames. Carefully tracing his cut, you brushed your lips at the edge of his. For a second his eyes flickered with surprise before quickly darkening to something else entirely. “Don’t look now but I think Golden boy is two seconds away from hulking out.” Sure enough Gabe was glaring daggers into Cas’s back. “Calm down, you can have your toy back,” he carelessly shouted over his shoulder.
Toy? Of course, this was a game to him, well two could play it then. He was using you to get at Gabe, you couldn’t fool yourself about his intentions.
“The night isn’t over yet Cas,” Gabriel snapped.
“You really can’t stand not being first choice for even a second, can you?” Cas snorted derisively.
“For crying out loud, I am here you know. Whatever is going on between the two of you, leave me out of it.” You snapped. Gabe at least had the decency to look embarrassed, Cas just stared at you intrigued but for once didn’t say anything further.
“What did you do to those guys Parker? They’ve always gone back and forth but tonight they’re going for the jugular!” Libby exclaimed.
Unfortunately for Libby, your patience was wearing thin tonight. “So now this is my fault? How am I supposed to know? Cas and Gabe are both big boys Libby, I’m not responsible for them.” Libby was dumbstruck as Gabe pulled you down onto his lap. “I don’t think you understand the rules of this game,” you said.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said forlorn, “I was acting like a total jerk. He just really knows how to get under my skin.”
“Then why do you let him?”
A trouble look clouded his face, “just some old wounds that haven’t healed yet.”
“How pathetic Adalhard. The only way you can get her is to take her hostage.” Cas said, something dark in his tone. Libby looked slightly put out, forgotten in his lap. Slowly and deliberately, you draped yourself over Gabe. Every inch of you pressed against him and Cas watched you liked a hawk.
“Gee Cas, what’s wrong? If you ask nicely, Gabe might let you play with his toys.” You suggested innocently.
“You’ve been in my arms all night long; I don’t need to ask nicely for anything. If you’re real patient though, I’ll show you a good time real soon.” Nodding to his friend, Cass tipped Libby off of him unceremoniously, “let’s go, I’m bored.”
Chatter slowly picked up again after his exit and you excused yourself to warm up by the campfire.
“We all know what’s causing these murders.” A blonde said obnoxiously over the crackling of the fire. “Demons,” he revealed after a long pause. The others shared a look of disbelief but made no move to challenge him.
“Have you actually seen any of these so-called demons?” You asked.
“W-well no,” he stuttered, “but I still wouldn’t want to be in the woods at night.”
Dramatically turning to the left, then the right and back to him, you said, “Don’t look now then but that’s exactly where we are.”
Laughter erupted around you, “she got you there Tyler!” as his face flamed.
“I meant alone. If you’re so brave, I dare you to go for a stroll down that track for five minutes.” There was no light at all along the path, the darkness growing the deeper it stretched. You’d already broke your promise to not go in the woods alone, if your mum found out about that, she’d be worried sick.
“Aww is someone scared?” Tyler mocked.
“I’m not scared. Not of you, your stories or anything else in these woods.” Striding past him you propelled yourself down the path before you could second guess yourself. After the first few minutes, the path was getting narrower and narrower whilst the canopy got denser. Panic began to cloud your brain. Taking several deep breaths, you took out your phone and switched the flashlight on, carrying on further. A loud snap sounded between the trees making you swing the beam wildly before spotting a broken twig under your shoe. Laughing to yourself, there was no need to be scared, it was just the woods. At night…. Where people had been murdered. Oh God, what the hell were you doing?! Getting yourself killed to prove a point! You needed to-
“HELP!! HELP ME, OH GOD PLEASE HEEELLLLPP!” A blood curdling screech tore through the forest. Branches tore at your face and hair as you ran towards it. For a single moment you were alone, eyes darting trying to find whoever caused the commotion. A solitary figure stumbled through the treeline ahead. The sight was enough to make you vomit. A girl swayed on her feet, her front stained heavily in a deep red, a river of blood pouring from her neck. She was trying to stem the flow with her hands, but it was no use. Whatever attacked her had shredded her throat to ribbons. Strands of flesh dangled between her fingertips. She was halfway towards you when a shadow appeared behind her, slamming her into a tree. “Please help me,” she begged, the words gurgling from her throat.
“Shut up!” The shadow growled. Finally, they stepped into the moonlight enough that you could make out bright silver eyes, long fangs, and lilac silver hair. Cas!? No way was this real. What Gabe told you were just stories, right? It had to be a prank because you were the new kid. Stumbling backwards over some tree roots, you hit the dirt with an audible “Ooof!”
Dread curled around you like a vice as Cas whipped his head towards you. His face was unrecognisable, contorted into a visceral snarl, giving you a front row seat to just how sharp those teeth were. Teeth that less than an hour ago had been inches from your own neck. “Goddamn it, what are you doing here?”
“Cas? W-what are you d-doing? We n-need to get her to the hospital,” you stuttered in shock.
“No can-do, I’m gonna need you to come with me.” Clawing yourself back to your feet, you sprinted across the clearing. An inhumane roar blasted your eardrums, “get back here!” You could hear his footsteps getting closer, you weren’t getting out of here. Hopefully, you could buy that girl enough time to find help. Screwing your eyes shut you waited for the inevitable when suddenly he was sent flying backwards.
“Get away from her!” Gabe yelled, cracking a branch against Cas’s ribs. Shoving you ahead, he sprinted with you back up the track.
“Gabe, wait! That girl was hurt, we have to help her.”
“Parker, listen to me,” Gabe said seriously, “there is nothing we can do for that girl, but we can get you to safety. Now you need to come with me and do not stop until we get to your house.”
At your doorstep, Gabe brought a gold chain out of his pocket. A small, jewel encrusted charm hung from it as he clipped it around your wrist. “No matter what DO NOT take this off, please. If it warns you something is here, hide until I can get back to you.”
“But Gabe, what was that back there?”
“There are real vampires in this town Parker. That charm will tell you when one is near who wants to harm you. Now get inside, it isn’t safe.” Shoving you through the door, you watched as he ran back to the forest. Wasting no time, you bolted every door and window, checking in on your mum who was sleeping soundly.
For the last several hours you had been tossing and turning. Everything from the past few hours playing on repeat in your head. Vampires were real and living in Crimson Beech? Did everyone know? A burning sensation interrupted your thoughts as the talisman seared your wrist. Your bedroom door opened softly. “Hello Parker. I wish the circumstances were better, but I am so glad to see you again.” A streak of movement stopped at your side before a sharp whack landed across the base of your skull. The last thing you saw before the world faded to black was a piercing pair of silver eyes.
End note : As always, you can also follow the story on my Ao3 account: How do I Love Thee? - Chapter 1 - MemphisBelle - Choices: Immortal Desires (Visual Novel) [Archive of Or Own]
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viro-lil-goat · 1 month
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I really hope this reaches more people, I'm only reposting this information from Instagram, the least that I can do. (Update: I changed their upbringing as it appears to have been listed wrong) Wiki page
When I just saw this information I couldn't stop crying thinking about it, and now my heart aches. They were the same age as me, I know for a fact like any other teen they dreamt of their future, who they would want to become, what to achieve, create, wondering if they meet those in the future they can call friends, wondeting if it'll get better when they grow up, maybe wished to leave that terrible place or maybe wanted to stay. How could anyone let this happen, why were they discharged from hospital so easily? And the school, we all know why. I hate to think about how, even with all the progress made, these things still happen.
"murdered schoolgirl Brianna Ghey on February 16, 2023. Candlelit vigils are being held across the UK this week for Brianna Ghey, 16, who was stabbed at Linear Park in Culcheth, Cheshire last Saturday. Brianna was a transgender girl and police are now investigating her killing as a hate crime. A boy and girl, both 15, have been charged with her murder"
An article that explains trans hate crime murders as on 2023
I hate everyone who have ever committed such vile hate crimes, I wish them in prison and hell. But i would never go down to their level. But I also blame the government, the school, and even those bigoted online accounts that teach their followers hate. In this case LibsOfTikTok, who targeted the teacher of this school, who supports lgbtq+, so they had to leave their position. It must have been the push for this to happen. I think their tiktok account has been thankfully deleten. But i have no idea about Twitter or any other. Please check and mass report them if it still exists. (Link to Instagram reel that this information is from)
ADDITION, PLEASE MASS REPORT THESE ACCOUNTS
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luciferstit · 10 months
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I truly and genuinely think about this dream I had a few years ago ALL the time. like what the FUCK
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