#imagine that fucker turning up in an all white suit that's been splattered with blood
Text
I'm saying like snake eyes could've been saved with a little bit of gore, but nooooo they said we will not be showing any blood despite the literal fucking chance of having a bigger influx of viewers if they just covered andrew koji in blood after dressing him in all white
also the trailer fucking sucked
#snake eyes: g.i. joe origins#tomisaburo arashikage#storm shadow#andrew koji#no cos if he got blood on that mega expensive all white rayskin battlesuit i would've straight up came in my seat#imagine that fucker turning up in an all white suit that's been splattered with blood#i would literally die#they failed the girlies by not adding some blood
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
your blood in my veins
| ao3 |
chapter one – a day of birthdays and odd encounters
Hajime wakes up on the morning of his 20th birthday with the heavy sound of a bass thrumming through his apartment.
Now, Hajime may only get paid minimum wage at his part-time job at the small café around the corner from the university he attends, but god damnit if he is not going to write a strongly worded complaint to the owner of his building about his neighbour’s need to blast their club music at 7am.
He gets up and decides that’s just going to get dressed as quickly as possible for his lecture at midday and just find a bench to read on to waste time, but he can feel vibrations rumbling beneath his feet while he’s brushing his teeth and he can’t take it.
He jerks open his front door and knocks on his neighbour’s door, one shoe on and tied, the other still back by his bed, his shirt untucked at the back and unbelievably tired because life has dealt him a shit hand, but he refuses to have ‘inconsiderate neighbours’ be one of his cards, god damnit –
A man opens the door and Hajime opens his mouth to ask him to turn down the music when he realises that there is no music and the landing he’s standing on his silent except for the loud judgement that is emanating from the man in front of him.
“I,” Hajime starts. “Sorry, I thought, uh. Nevermind.”
He turns and goes back into his apartment where only a few minutes ago he could’ve sworn the wooden flooring had a pulse with the way it shook beneath him.
He shakes his head, grabs his other shoe, tucks his shirt in and chalks it up to lack of sleep and heads out for the day.
Not the best start to his birthday but he’s had worse.
(Across the country, Peko exits the club, her pay-check tucked into the pocket of her leather jacket. She checks the time and almost laughs. It’s been her birthday for a whole seven hours and she hadn’t noticed. Figures.
She hums ‘Happy Birthday’ to herself as she walks home, her key tucked between her fingers, just above her knuckles. It’s bright out and she doesn’t think anyone would try anything with the sun’s harsh glare beating down on them, but she doesn’t want to chance it.
She wonders if her mother has anything for her at home and speeds up.)
//
Chiaki taps her finger on the edge of her laptop and stares at her computer screen. Various windows, all with different codes, stare back at her.
She checks the time. 9:00am. She checks the date. 15th of August. It’s her 20th birthday. And it’s too early to call her grandparents.
She wonders what they’ll do today – her, her grandmother and grandfather. Last year they went to the park and had a picnic while her gran fussed over the bags under her eyes and her grandpa excitedly explained every dish he had made.
They might have a ball this year. She hopes not. The last ball they had for her birthday was when she was eight and she distinctly remembers tripping over the hem of her dress and falling into a punch bowl. Never again.
She sighs and starts to shut down her laptop, saving and double-saving her work before closing the lid. She rises off the cosy armchair she was gifted when she first bought her house and makes a note to get a glass of water before she starts to get ready for the day while she grabs her laptop case.
Just as Chiaki turns to the kitchen, she’s hit with a blind pain, the kind that makes you see white for a moment. She looks down and there are her hands, usually pale with her nails round and smooth, now stained red with her knuckles bust open. One of the bones at the base of her middle finger on her right hand has pierced the skin and she feels the urge to vomit.
She runs to the sink and shoves her hands under the tap, looking around frantically for her phone to get an ambulance over because dear lord bones aren’t meant to do that, are they?
She turns back to the sink just as she remembers her phone is on the armchair and the sink that was once splattered with pink water is now pristine and there are her hands, unblemished if a bit wet.
She blinks and wonders how she could’ve imagined something like that.
Not a great start to her big day. She resolves to not tell her grandparents about this, no matter how much she’d love to get their opinion on it. They’d just worry.
(South of Chiaki’s quiet house, Fuyuhiko on the bed in his dingy hotel room, his belt clenched between his teeth, his right hand a bloody mess but he can’t tell what’s his blood and what’s his associate’s. Associate being a loose term to describe the sneaky asshole who stole fifty grand from his father.
There’s a med kit that’s got bloody finger prints alone the front. A needle and some thread are missing, easily found in Fuyuhiko’s shaky left hand.
The fucker just had to break his right hand, huh.
He takes a deep breath and gets to work. Happy birthday indeed.)
//
“Hey,” Kazuichi says. “Happy birthday.”
Hajime smiles and lifts a hand to rest on Kazuichi’s shoulder. “Thanks, Kaz. So, did you build a robot to sleep for me?”
“No.”
“You’re a terrible friend and I hate you.”
Kazuichi snorts. “I did buy you a coffee though,” he adds, bringing a hot cup out from where he’d been hiding it behind his back.
“You’re the love of my life,” Hajime replies, very seriously.
Kazuichi wrinkles his nose. “Gross.”
Hajime looks at him, offended. “Excuse you.” He lifts the cup to his mouth and is instantly grateful for the heat. At this point he’s ninety percent sure his bloodstream is entirely made up of caffeine.
“So how was your history lecture?” Kazuichi asks, hopping up to sit on the wall next to him, his legs swinging. Hajime doesn’t know how Kaz is able to make his jeans look as though they’re meant to have those holes in the knees, but he doesn’t question it.
“Fine, I guess. Learned some more about Mary, Queen of Scots but I already knew most of the information.”
“Nerd,” Kazuichi says. Hajime elbows him in the ribs.
“What about you?” Hajime asks in return. He lifts his cup to his mouth as he waits for an answer and almost spits out the liquid because that was definitely not coffee. It tasted like herbal tea which Hajime has sworn off because of an incident involving spilling some of it down his front before his high school prom.
“What?” Kazuichi exclaims, leaning away from Hajime’s disgusted expression.
Hajime forces it down his throat only because there is a nice old lady standing just in front of him, waiting on the same bus as them, and he doesn’t think she’d appreciate being spit on. Besides, they’d need to share a bus together and really, he’s looking out for Future-Hajime who would have to bear the aftermath of that particular action.
“That wasn’t coffee,” Hajime chokes out. “That was herbal tea.”
“What, like from prom?” Kazuichi reaches over and takes the cup from Hajime’s hand and takes a swig himself. “No, that’s coffee. And very strong coffee, just like you need it in order to function.” Kazuichi frowns at him. “Are you ok?”
Hajime takes the cup back and drinks from it again. Coffee. He shakes his head to clear it and forces a smile. “Yeah, I’m just tired. Don’t worry about it.”
(Elsewhere, Fuyuhiko takes a sip of his herbal tea and spit it out a mouthful of what tastes like someone dumped lightly watered coffee beans into his mouth. It goes all over his new book and jolts his broken knuckle.
He is having a lousy fucking day. But now he has a weird urge to re-read his worn book on Scottish History, which is very odd considering he just read it but that’s life he supposes. Broken knuckles, tea that tastes like coffee and re-reading old books.)
//
Later that night, Peko sits beside her mother’s bed. She has fallen asleep, but she shivers weakly every so often despite the two blankets Peko has laid over her. Her mother is ill, and she feels useless, just as she does every time she comes home, and her mother has been unable to leave her bed on her own the entire time she was gone. It’s bearable when she has night shifts at least, so there are small mercies.
Peko sighs and grinds the heels of her palms into her eyes until there are little black spots in her vision when she pulls them away. She has been up for almost twenty-four hours and her body is starting to feel it. She glances at her mother again. They say it’s a motor neuron disorder, a disorder which leaves her muscles weak and sore. The doctor had told her that there wasn’t a cure and she had put her fist through a wall.
She stands and goes to get another blanket because her mum is cold because the bloody heating is broken, and her piece of shit landlord won’t let it get fixed until Monday when suddenly she isn’t in her small apartment, she’s in a ball room.
There are people milling around her, carrying flutes of champagne, some wearing sweeping gowns that swish and swirl and others are wearing inky black suits with crisp white shirts underneath them.
She looks down and she’s wearing a dress of her own, all baby pink and cute. She feels shorter than usual, even though she lifts the skirt of her dress and she’s wearing high heels.
Someone touches her arm and she jumps but when she turns, she sees a kind face peering down at her. “Are you alright, dear? I did try to tell your grandmother to tone it down a bit, but you know what she’s like,” the old gentleman says, chuckling slightly.
She opens her mouth to reply but she’s back in her mother’s bedroom, all the blankets in her home piled on top of her mother who has stopped shivering. Peko could cry from relief.
(Back at the gala, Chiaki excuses herself and sits on the patio and cries because that sick woman had looked just like her mother had and suddenly she isn’t Chiaki Nanami, 20-year-old coding genius, with her own house and a good career, she’s just nine again, crying under her duvet because her mother is sick and isn’t going to get better, no matter how many stars she wishes on.)
//
Fuyuhiko lies on his bed and stares at his alarm clock. In two minutes, his birthday will be over, over until next year. He wonders if his father remembers or even cared enough in the first place to make a note of it. Sometimes he likes to think that his mother would have cared but she died too young for him to actually make an informed guess on what their relationship could have been.
He shifts around, trying to find a comfortable position, turns to face away from his clock and comes face to face with a woman.
A very pretty woman. Her eyes are crimson and though he hates the colour, too much of it has stained his skin for him to find a liking for it, he can see the appeal of it now. Her hair is silver and curls lightly over pyjamas which have little Disney logos on them – adorable, he almost snorts.
The woman in his bed is very beautiful. The woman in his bed is cute. There is a woman in his bed.
He jerks back, off his bed and goes to grab the gun under his pillow, wondering if this is some sick joke his uncle is playing on him or if this is going to be the assassination attempt that will finally work because he got distracted by a pretty face but when he aims his gun, he’s pointing it at empty sheets.
He blinks a few times, checks under his bed and in the bathroom but she’s gone. He rubs a hand down his face and begins to pack up all his stuff. He’ll find somewhere else to sleep – someone knew he’s here and already the itch of paranoia ticks inside his skull. Maybe he can steal some of the sheets, the streets would be a lot comfier with them.
(Peko holds her heart and breathes deeply. There had been a man in her bed. A nice-looking man. A dangerous man if the scar above his eye meant anything. And he had been shirtless. Peko feels her face flush and hides the colouring by shoving her face into her pillow. It’s too late at night to be thinking of such things, now is the time for sleep.
(She doesn’t get to sleep for hours, the cold somehow much worse, as though she were outside instead of in her bedroom.))
//
Hajime climbs into bed after he finally finishes his assessment and submits it, and he checks the time and realises his birthday has been over for a few minutes now.
He rolls out of bed because he forgot to brush his teeth but just as he has the toothpaste on his brush, he sticks it in his mouth and looks into the mirror and a pale girl peers back at him.
She’s very lovely, with blonde hair that brushes the top of her shoulders and pale eyes that blink rapidly if a bit sleepily.
She reaches forward and touches the mirror with her hand. He does the same.
She stares at him and leans forward and mouths, “Who are you?”
Hajime smiles and thinks that this is one of the more entertaining dreams he’s had in a while. “I don’t know,” he mouths back because he doesn’t want to be Hajime right now. He wants to be someone else, someone who looks into his mirror and sees pretty girls instead of his own sorry reflection.
She huffs and looks adorable with her cheeks puffed out. “Shut up,” she says out loud and ducks out of sight just to end their conversation, all because of Hajime’s ability to always be a little shit.
His own reflection returns, and he sighs and finishes brushing his teeth and heads to bed, for real this time.
(Chiaki stands back up, but the boy is gone. He had looked tired but good-looking with olive skin and dark, fluffy hair.
It was as good an end to her birthday that she’s ever gotten, and she falls asleep with a smile on her face that no one sees.)
#hajime hinata#fuyuhiko kuzuryuu#peko pekoyama#chiaki namani#kazuichi souda#sdr2#danganronpa#sense8 au#your blood in my veins#kuzupeko#hinanami#kuzupeko fic#hinanami fanfiction#hmmmmmmmmmmmm#idk how i feel about this yet#oh well
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
Karkat stood bravely in front of the transportalizer, the coords set to the vast unknown.
Or well, not-so-unknown. He knew exactly where this would take him: To the Grand Highblood himself. He was going to fuck his shit up, he actually planned on fighting the beast and winning.
He doubted he’d survive. Even if he managed to get a good, clean slice in and manage to come out physically unscathed, his mind would be destroyed. He was well aware of the chucklefucks ability to use voodoos, that’s why he had to come with a plan. He had to finish this fight as fast as he could, his logic was that if he finishes it sooner he wouldn’t be destroyed mid-battle and rendered a helpless sack of red flesh waiting to be busted open. At least, that was what he thought anyway. He tightened the grip on his sickles, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip as he stared hard at the pad.
He’d been feeling like things were wrong here a long, long time now. His existence on the planet never did feel right. Perhaps this was meant to be a doomed timeline? How shitty of fate it would be if it was. He felt like he’d lost his purpose, his existence serving no real value other than just being there. He was never suited to be living a life of luxury, he’d worked hard for his reward but all at the same time, nothing felt rewarding about this. Everything was so... Different. Was he really just meant to fade away now that his usefulness to the timeline had been fulfilled? No, if he was going out, he was going out on his own terms. He’d go out in a grand way, fighting tooth and claw to the very end if needed and taking this tyrannical clown fucker with him. At least then, he could die with some dignity.
With a deep breath, he stepped into the transportalizer, feeling the world around him fade away. It felt like a long journey, longer than usual to get there. Though it took only a few seconds for him to transportilize in, his anticipation had been building the second he decided to do this. The first thing he noticed when he arrived at his destination was the stench. The smell of rotting corpses and stale blood assaulting his senses. It was so strong, strong enough to make him gag. He certainly hadn’t been expecting it to smell like peaches but goddamn, this was almost too much to bare alone. But as if that wasn’t enough, the view was even worse. Bright nocturnal eyes scanning the dark, he felt a pang of fear. There were corpses just about everywhere, some decayed down to the bones, others still fresh enough to see the terror that was on their face when they had met their ends.
Well, some of course, most didn’t even have a face.
This gruesome carnage was, to say the least, off putting. He didn’t know what he’d expected, this was exactly how he imagined it, but it felt so much worse actually seeing it. This was fucked up, this was fucked up bad and he had to put an end to this, one way or another. It was only when he started wondering deeper into the cave when he heard the shuffle of bone. He jumped, whipping around and desperately scanning around him in attempt to pinpoint where the sound had come from. Just then, from his right he heard it again, quickly pivoting with his sickles poised and- Oh. False alarm, it was just a rat, the rather sizable beast leaping from pile of bones and scurrying across the floor.
“COME OUT, FUCKER!! I’M HERE, ISN’T THAT WHAT YOU WANTED?! SO WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK ARE YOU WAITING FOR, NOOKWIFF?!” He shouted into the darkness, his nubbed teeth bared.
GHB had been waiting for his newest prey to arrive. The clown had to give it to him, having the shameglobes to stand up to him like that? Even if this was a foolish mistake on the mutants part, the Grand High Blood had found it extremely amusing. Alright, so he’d humor this little troll, he seemed like good entertainment anyway.
He’d been watching him from the start. Most his day had been wasted sitting in the dark, watching the transportalizer intensely for movements. He had just been starting to get bored waiting when Karkat had arrived. He had to hold back a chuckle- it was the first time he was physically seeing this little shit and damn was he tiny. This was absolutely suicidal, this mutant wouldn’t stand a chance.
He debated how he wanted to do this, quietly stalking his prey further into his lair. He could just get the jump on him, a quick bite to the neck or swing from his club would absolutely destroy the little troll.... But where was the motherfucking fun in that? No, if this tiny motherfucker had the courage to actually come here on his own free will, he deserved confrontation. He waited until Karkat was jumping at every little sound before revealing himself, deciding the troll had been put on edge enough.
“patience motherfucker, you’ll get whats coming to you.” He spoke, the highbloods voice a deep rumble as he stepped out from where he’d been crouched, mindlessly knocking over boned in the process.
The look on the smaller trolls face was priceless, seeing him whip around all wide-eyed and drained of color, Kurloz grinned widely, baring each and every one of his long sharp teeth at the troll. Perhaps now this little troll before him realized just how much he fucked up. Oh well, it was too late for him now. “mm, motherfuckers bein’ lot quieter, somethin’ wrong? highblood got your motherfucking tongue?” He teased, twirling one of his large blood-stained clubs.
The mutants expression contorted from terror, to false rage. Watching him bare his teeth and snarl, Kurloz could smell the fear on him. “SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU KNOW DAMN WELL WHY I’M HERE!” He shouted, raising a sickle accusingly at him. “AND IT CERTAINLY ISN’T TO LISTEN TO THE BULLSHIT SPEWING FROM YOUR MOUTH! YOUR REIGN ENDS TODAY, ASSHOLE!”
The threat made Kurloz chuckle, which soon turned to outright laughing. Feisty motherfucker this one was, and stubborn. Not too different from his ancestor, he realized, though he was certainly more violent. “well now-”
Karkat wasn’t waiting any longer, and frankly, he couldn’t give two fucks about what the Grand High Blood was saying. He didn’t let him finish before he charged. “I SAID SHUT UP!” He shouted as he lunged at the massive troll before him.
In truth, Karkat truly was scared, terrified even. This beast of a troll had a lot of intimidation to him, from the boned armor and broad build, to his deep and threatening voice. But he couldn’t let fear paralyze him, if he did, he’d certainly meet his end. Not without a fight, no, he was determined to do this. He had to do this.
Kurloz seemed to be caught by surprise by his charge, but the elder troll had been in many battles. He swung his club, aiming to knock Karkat back before he could do any damage, but Karkat was faster. He jumped off the ground, using the highbloods club as leverage for a second leap. He poised his sickles high with a loud battle cry, screeching as he brought his arm down, aiming to maim the highbloods eyes. Kurloz quickly responded, making an attempt to dodge and duck out of the way but it wasn’t with complete success. Karkats sickle dragged across the side of his face, leaving a bloody purple gash going across his cheek. Only a few inches away from Karkats original mark.
The small troll landed hard against the floor, rolling with it as to not break his ankles from the fall. He quickly sprung to his feet, whipping around with a snarl, his sickle dripping with thick purple blood.
Kurloz hissed when Karkat made connection with him, this little troll clearly had some battling experience. He raised his hand, touching his cheek lightly and examining his fingers, covered in purple. That little shit got him good. He couldn’t help but grin though, so this motherfucker really wanted to fight? Well, he’d give him one, no more playing around.
{Time skipped for post convenience}
Karkat lay on the ground, bloody and beaten. There was pain, there was so much pain all over his body, his vision clouded with red. He tried to get back up, but bile raised in the back of his throat. Immediately, he collapsed back down, a torrent of blood spilling from his lips.
He was very near death. His right leg was twisted in a unnatural way, and there was a very hard pressure constructing around his lungs. Each breath he took came in a wheezing gasp, his little body shaking as he fought for each breath. Before him stood Kurloz himself.
The highblood had fared a lot better. His lip was split, and he had a few gashes on his legs but nothing that was devastating. Karkat had failed his little mission, his attempts and efforts had been in vain and everything he’d done was for nothing. Now he lay here, lay here dying, the harsh reality dawning over him:
He was going to die, and he was going to die a useless, veined death. There were no great feats accomplished here, no destined achievements reached. He felt guilt wash over him, guilt and regret. What had he done? This whole plan was destined to fail from the very start. He hadn’t been thinking straight, everything he had worked for, everything he’d done, he really had served up his purpose. And now, the very thing he feared was becoming an all too real reality to him: He was going to fade away.
Kurloz looked down upon the tiny, broken troll. He’d definitely put up a worthy fight, but Kurloz had known he’d win from the beginning. This tiny abomination, he was too young and weak to have the experience or power to over take him. He twirled his club a bit, red splattered across the black paint. It was such a pretty color, a pretty stain on the hemospectrum. It was a shame really, he’d of loved to toy with the troll longer but he was feeling he at least earned a quick death.
It was when he stepped forward did he hear it: the faint sniffle. He stopped in his tracks, was he... Was he crying? At first, this irked the highblood. After all that? Now this mutant before him was going to go soft on him, beg for his life like the many before him? His lips twitched back to bare his jagged teeth. Maybe thinking this troll deserved something honorable had been a mistake.
He raised his club, hoisting it high to strike down on the little troll when it hit him.
Karkat looked up and GHB with wide eyes, the candy red Irises of his eyes clouded. He could see it clear, clear that the mutant was doing his damnedest to hold back his tears. That look in his eyes, the deep grief, it reminded him of a certain troll, a long lost friend. It was so long ago, but he still remembered that horrid day.
That day when Signless was to be executed. He couldn’t bring himself to do it then either, he couldn’t even bring himself to attend the rebels execution. He knew it had to be done but, there was something about Signless that sickened him to the core, yet captivated him. The memories he had of that unmirthful abomination were starting to come back, but why? Why now?
This wasn’t him. This troll had no right, no right to bring any of those memories up, and yet why couldn’t he bring down the club? Why couldn’t he end him? This look, a look all too familiar, it made him feel sick. Rage boiled from the bottom of his gut, this was unfair. It had been so many sweeps, so why now of all times?! Why couldn’t he cull him?
{ @malacophonouscocotte }
#//only visible ooc#closed interaction#long post#Gore#Mutilation#Broken bones#Violence#Hemospectrum slurs#Depression#Mentions of internal crisis#GHB is also played by me#TheBeastlyHighblood#Starter#Long starter#Karkats healthbar is tanking#Healthbar at critical
2 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
carrionhand
CLOSE TO ME, CLOSE TO ME
monstahouse
white knuckles
djmurphy
DJMurphy05
blueberrypancakesworld
It's writing time
just-a-draco-girly
Just a Draco Malfoy girly