There are really horrific images on Twitter of children killed in the attacks on Gaza.
KISS KISS FALL IN LOVE~
may i request buddie and 23 👀
23: Life-or-death kisses
okay so i know we’ve all probably read ten thousand variations of this concept now but it refused to leave my brain. I also originally had a completely different idea for this prompt but-
“A firefighter is down!”
The words echo in Buck’s ears as his pounding head tries to make sense of the scene around him. Of the screams and cries that sound so far away compared to the ringing beneath his skull; of the cold, hard pavement pressed up against his chest; of the weight on his back, holding him in place as he struggles to move.
“A firefighter is down!”
A trickle of something warm runs down his forehead, into his eyebrows. When he reaches up to touch it, his fingertips come away red. His palms are, too; scraped raw from their impact with the asphalt.
Why is he bleeding?
What is he doing on the ground?
He struggles against the arm thrown over his back, pinning him down. Tries to place those battered hands beneath him and push himself up, but the weight on top of him keeps him in place. The voice that it belongs to speaks to him, but he can’t strain to hear it underneath the chaos in his mind.
“A firefighter is down!”
The phrase slowly starts to register as he mulls it over again and again. Somebody’s hurt -is it him?
No. Other than a scrape on his forehead and an ache behind his eyelids, he feels fine. But when he shifts his head to the left, directs his gaze underneath the truck they’ve sheltered themselves behind, he sees a figure lying there, motionless. That form is so familiar; the hands that lay palm up, twitching, are ones he’s worked with before. Ones that he’s pressed a cool bottle of beer from his own fridge into. Ones that held his in one of the worst moments of his life, and pulled him to safety.
Oh god, it’s Eddie.
It all comes rushing back suddenly, all at once. The call, the kid. His conversation with Eddie being interrupted by the unmistakable sound of shots ringing out. The way the captain of the 133 had grabbed him and pulled him to safety, but not before he caught a glimpse of Eddie falling to the ground as the bullet pierced his chest.
The panic that overtakes him as the memories flash through his mind is all encompassing. It lodges a lump so deep in his throat that he can barely choke out a breath around it, each inhale ragged and painful as it strains to reach his lungs beneath the weight of his body still pressed against the pavement.
But he can’t stay put. He has to get to Eddie.
He finally wrenches himself from the captain’s grasp, rushing towards Eddie on his hands and knees despite the shouts of protest. He all but collapses next to him, frantically reaching out to check his pulse, all the while taking in the sight of him, and Buck can’t help but feel as if he’s had this nightmare before.
Eddie’s skin is pale; eyes glassy as he blinks up at him. His skin is cold to the touch, the warmth seeping out of it with each moment Buck’s fingertips linger on his neck. He looks confused, and distraught, and so damn terrified that Buck would do anything to go back to the moments when an incident like this was nothing but a horrible, far-off possibility.
“Buck?” Eddie chokes out, the sound quiet and wet.
“I’m here, Eddie,” Buck says tearfully. “I’m right here. Just stay still.”
He reaches a hand out to Eddie’s chest, where he saw the bullet make its impact, horrified at the amount of bright red that shines on it when he pulls back. “Oh god,” he sobs. “I have to stop the bleeding, Eddie, I can’t-”
“Bleeding?” Eddie scowls, lifting his head slightly. “Buck, what- I don’t-” His eyes widen, filling with tears as he catches sight of the blood pooling on his chest. “Fuck,” is all he says, dropping his head back down, and Buck might almost find it comical how very Eddie the reaction was had they been in a different situation.
“You’re going to be okay,” he says, and desperately hopes that it’s true. “I just- I have to-” God, he can’t think. Why can’t he think? Years of experience in the field and yet-
Eddie’s right hand twitches again, like he’s trying to reach out but can’t quite muster up the energy. Buck takes it in his free one, pressing the familiar skin to his own torn-up palm, finding that the sting doesn’t matter as long as he gets to keep Eddie in his grasp.
“Listen to me,” Eddie rasps, voice thick. “Chris- I need you to look after him.”
“I will,” Buck promises. “Until you’re all better, Eds, I’ll be there.” And after that, too.
A ghost of a smile crosses over Eddie’s face, and Buck hopes that the gods he’s always been doubtful of don’t hold it against him when he prays he’ll get to see it brighten again.
“What did we ever do to deserve you, huh?” Eddie asks, gazing up from under hooded eyes. “You always- you do...so much.”
Buck's eyes fill with tears as squeezes Eddie’s hand in his, bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss against the back; the only part of his body that Buck can reach without fear of damaging.
“Well,” he says. “You’ll have lots of time to make it up to me.”
Eddie simply smiles again. Doesn’t agree -doesn’t promise. Just stares at him with that familiar, kind gaze until his eyelids slip closed without warning, making Buck’s skin go cold.
“Hey, no. Eddie- Eddie!”
His eyes don’t snap back open like Buck so miserably pleads that they will. He stays still. Unmoving. A stark contrast to the way Buck’s body trembles from where he kneels beside him.
He vaguely registers the shouts being tossed over his head, and the sirens approaching from the distance, but it all feels far, far away.
Right here, right now, all that exists is them; Eddie, lying motionless beneath him as Buck tries to keep the cold, unforgiving concrete from seeping up too much of his blood, and desperately hopes that wasn’t their final goodbye.
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You could eat the foam from the headrest
We could eat the foam from the headrest
You could knock the wind out of my breathe
You could suck the wind out of my breathe
And you could kick the teeth into my head
And you could kiss the teeth into my head
And still, there’s no cause for concern
mmm wanna do a violence
throw a brick through a billionaire's window or smth
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Whumpay 2021: Day 14 - Slammed Into Wall / Forced To Their Feet
Anything for Revenge
read on ao3
graphic depictions of violence, star wars, the clone wars, whump, hurt!ahsoka tano, torture, interrogation, force inhibitor, fighting, collars, biting, force mind probe, broken bones, rescue
“Where is Obi-Wan Kenobi?”
Ahsoka struggled against the grip on her throat. When she managed to get some air in, she spat at Darth Maul, “Like I’d ever tell you.”
He snarled at her, and slammed her into the wall.
“Tell me!” he screeched.
When she looked into his bloodshot eyes with their yellow irises, she didn’t see something entirely sane there. She’d heard about what had happened with Darth Maul. In fact, Obi-Wan had specifically given her training sessions to avoid Darth Maul’s fate. He’d taught her the very move he’d done to slice him in half and what she could do to avoid it.
Yet he was still alive, driven by anger and hate, feeding off of the dark side of the Force. It was no wonder that he wasn’t all there. Part of him was now purely darkness and a brimming need for revenge.
Ahsoka tried to kick at him, but his reach was too long, and she was too short. He dropped her, and then he was the one who kicked her. With the metal of his foot, it was all too easy for two of her ribs to give in and crack. The air slammed out of her in a strangled scream. Before she could barely register the pain, tears blurring her vision, he grabbed her and forced her to her feet.
“Where is he!”
“You… need… to learn… some manners!” she snarked.
“You don’t understand. You don’t understand!” he raved. “I need him. Kenobi, yes. Kenobi. I need Kenobi.”
“So you can… kill him?”
Darth Maul’s madness seemed to go from heated to cool, and his breaths and erratic movements slowed as he met her gaze. She didn’t dare turn her head away, not even as the darkness she saw in those eyes made her shudder.
“Torture him. Torture him. Make him understand!”
“Oh, I think…” Ahsoka coughed, and her chest screamed. “I think he understands enough.”
That was when he threw her, and she landed on her broken ribs. It felt like they jabbed into something inside her, but they didn’t move again, and she supposed it was only the pressure that kept her stable, that didn’t let her start bleeding to death.
“No one understands! No one! Do you know what it was like, living for years amongst rubbish and filth, knowing that you were one and the same? Knowing that the pain you felt would never go away, and it was the fault of one being in the whole universe?”
Ahsoka tried crawling away, and he stepped on her back. She screamed.
“I will make Kenobi understand. Yes, before the end, he will know my pain. But first, I have to find him.”
He rolled her over with a fierce kick and shove of his foot, her side throbbing.
“Where is he!” he screamed, standing over Ahsoka.
She just bared her teeth in a snarl, letting him see her fangs.
“Fine,” he cried. “Fine. I’ll use you as bait. Let him come to you.”
“He’ll… He’ll never fall for it,” she gasped out.
“So you’re saying he and your master would sooner abandon you than offer help?”
“If they were smart.”
“Anakin, why do you always have to do something stupid?” Obi-Wan asked as Anakin locked onto the tracking beacon attached to Ahsoka’s comms. “If she truly is captured by Maul, he’s going to know we’re coming. She’s bait. And you plan on just landing, and walking right in there?”
Anakin eyed his screen, seeing that his fighter was getting closer to Dathomir, where Ahsoka was being held.
“Yep,” he said.
“In all the Sith hells, why do I listen to you?”
Anakin joked, even while he didn’t feel it, worry for Ahsoka clouding all else, “You care about me too much.”
“Yes, and I’m afraid that’s going to get me killed.”
A sensor popped up on Anakin’s screen, and R2 beeped at him.
“We’re within the planet’s gravitational pull.”
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Obi-Wan muttered.
“Nonsense, Master. This is where things get exciting.”
Their ships began to descend, Anakin picking up speed with R2’s help, and Obi-Wan following suit. He heard a mutter of “kriff, I hate flying,” and then he was saying, “Your definition of exciting is problematic.”
Anakin ignored him. He had to save Ahsoka. He knew Darth Maul wasn’t all there. And he could scarcely imagine what he would do to her, what he might already be doing to her.
“You know,” Ahsoka forced out, struggling, “I’m not a fan… of necklaces.”
Darth Maul just grinned at her, and still approached with the collar. “Too bad,” he sighed, seeming genuinely sad for a few moments. “I do like this one. If you try using the Force while this is on you, it’ll simply redirect the energy on the negative plane, cancelling it out.”
Ahsoka rolled her eyes, even as she backed up against the rock wall.
“Oh, so you do have a brain,” she muttered.
Then she couldn’t breathe, and her throat was being crushed. Eyes watering, vision spotting, she managed to make out the image of Darth Maul in front of her, hand reaching out to her, fingers curved with violent intent. She tried to claw at the feeling, at that force choking her, but it was no use. Her next thought was to combat him through the Force, to try and pry him away from her. But his will strengthened, and all her air was cut off entirely.
He approached her, metal collar in hand. Ahsoka tried to struggle, but his grip held her fast, and in no time at all, it was around her neck. Once it was locked, he released her, and she collapsed to the cave floor.
“Let me go,” Ahsoka croaked, ashamed that such words had even left her.
“Not. Just. Yet.”
Despite knowing it was no use, some innate survival instinct gnawed at Ahsoka for her to try and pry the collar off. It was cold against her skin, and heavy. She was only glad it wasn’t a shock collar, but it was still no use trying to get it off. It was impenetrable, it would seem. And with it on, she could reach out for the Force, but it was as if it wasn’t actually there. She tried to use it again, to push and pull the collar off of her.
Her head started to pound and her vision blurred with the effort. Or maybe that was just from the broken ribs.
She let out a weak cry, and collapsed, breathless.
“You’re lucky I didn’t go with the chemical collar,” he told her, back to her now, so he could look out at the dark red sky.
His hands were clasped behind his back, but still within easy reach of his vicious lightsaber.
“That one would’ve done some damage, and would have made you feel cut off from the Force entirely.” He sighed. “I heard it’s quite a... lonely feeling.”
Ahsoka just glared. There was no point in talking to him.
“Do you think they’re coming for you?” he asked her.
She still said nothing.
Another sigh left him, and he turned back to her. “Fine, since you’re being so helpful, let’s try another tactic, just in case they don’t show up.”
“Torture me all you want,” Ahsoka panted out, trying to push herself up and away from him. Pain stabbed her and she bit her bottom lip, wincing. “You’ll… You’ll never get anything out of me.”
“I’m so happy to know that you think that.”
Suddenly, he was kneeling by her. Too close, too close! Her instincts were screaming that she was in danger, that everything was wrong. The adrenaline already running through her system to combat the pain of her injuries increased tenfold. His hand was before her face now. And she felt him. Oh Force!
Her head slammed back against the rock wall, and he started prying into her, looking, looking…
Ahsoka tried to fight him off, both physically, and with the Force. He took a few seconds to grab her wrists and pin them above her head. He straddled her, holding her down. And then he was going after her mind again.
Ahsoka screamed, and she couldn’t stop.
Anakin nearly crashed his fighter in his rush to get to the planet’s surface. Before it stopped sliding against the rocks and nearly crashed into a bare tree, he was leaping up out of the cockpit, lightsaber in hand.
There was suffering, darkness. Ahsoka needed his help.
“Anakin, what in the galaxy are you doing?” Obi-Wan cried as he rushed to get out of his fighter and join Anakin, who was already taking off at a sprint.
“She’s in trouble, master!”
Obi-Wan caught up to him, but didn’t stop him. They ran towards that writhing, screaming darkness. And it wasn’t long before they heard Ahsoka’s voice rent the air.
The sound, and the adrenaline that it sent rushing through Anakin, stopped him in his tracks. He lost all focus and discipline. Oh Force, he couldn’t breathe. What was that monster doing to her? Could he save her? Ahsoka, Ahsoka!
Obi-Wan grabbed his bicep.
“Come on, she needs us.”
They set off again, drawing closer to a cave within the walls of a mountain.
“That’s what I was… trying to tell you,” Anakin got out.
They neared the cave, the sky darkening around them like red poison, and there they saw him. Darth Maul was getting up off of a beaten and collared Ahsoka, looking absolutely delighted.
He went out to meet them. Obi-Wan and Anakin paused, drawing their lightsabers and igniting them.
“What did you do to her!” Anakin demanded.
“She was being very… hmm… obstinate,” Maul said, casually walking back and forth before her like she was some piece of prey he’d caught. He waved his hilt around nonchalantly. But even as he did that, Anakin could practically sense him vibrating, and his crazed eyes kept darting towards Obi-Wan. “But I got what I needed in the end.”
“Oh?” Obi-Wan asked, stepping forward, dropping into one of his forms. “And what’s that?”
Darth Maul’s red lightsaber ignited, and he charged at them.
Ahsoka was barely aware of the fight happening just outside the cave, barely aware of the flashes of dueling light, and the violent hum of energy. She could barely lift her head up, or even keep her eyes open.
But she stayed conscious, her head hurting and feeling all wrong.
The blue lightsabers worked in tandem against the red, and she saw that Darth Maul was being pushed back. And back.
Force, he was right there!
Quick as lightning, he whirled, and grabbed her. She cried out, injuries jarring, stabbing pressure rending her body. He held her close, and had the lightsaber against her neck.
“Kenobi,” he hissed, “surrender yourself, or she dies.”
Ahsoka half expected Obi-Wan’s characteristic snark, but it didn’t come. He lowered his weapon, stepping into a relaxed stance. He switched off his lightsaber.
“No, no!” Ahsoka cried.
“Obi-Wan, what are you doing?” Anakin demanded.
Obi-Wan handed his lightsaber to Anakin, and said, “The right thing. Alright, Maul. You can have me, do what you wish with me. Just keep your promise. Let. Her. Go.”
Tension thickened the humid air, and Ahsoka could barely breathe. Or maybe that was the broken ribs.
She felt vibrations alight in Darth Maul’s chest, vibrations that rose up into his throat, and left his mouth as fierce, deranged laughter.
“Oh, I never said I’d let her go.”
Sensing what was about to happen, not even thinking about it, Ahsoka leaned forward and bit his arm as hard as she could. Blood was drawn, and he dropped his lightsaber that he had been about to use to slice into her, torture her in front of her family.
He screamed, and Ahsoka grimaced against his bitter blood.
He threw her off, and the landed in a heap at Anakin’s feet, blood dribbling from her mouth.
Darth Maul lunged for her, for Obi-Wan, and Anakin tossed Obi-Wan his lightsaber.
The fighting renewed. Ahsoka managed to drag herself away, not wanting to be used in such a way again. Obi-Wan had been about to give himself up for her?
She wasn’t worth it. Not in the sense that her life didn’t have meaning, but in the sense that she was a Padawan, and Obi-Wan was a master. He had far more experience, and training, and wisdom. The lives he could save surely far surpassed hers. Attachment was wrong, yet, despite knowing that, Ahsoka just wanted to be back home on Coruscant, and have Anakin hold her hand.
The fight escalated, Anakin receiving a burn on his thigh, and Obi-Wan across his back. But they kept fighting, despite the blood, and the sweat. They were determined.
Darth Maul fell back, and it wasn’t long before he was retreating.
Anakin was about to clip his lightsaber to his belt, but Obi-Wan said, “No, after him! We need his ship to get Ahsoka out of here.”
The chase began.
Ahsoka, despite all her training, whimpered, and reached out for them as they left.
Long minutes passed before a ship was landing next to her. Obi-Wan was helping her up.
“You’ll be alright, little one.”
Usually she hated anyone talking to her like she was still a child, but she allowed it just this once.
“Artoo? Come in, Artoo!” Anakin said into his commlink. “I need you to pilot a ship back to Coruscant. Ahsoka’s too hurt to fly it herself.”
Beeps sounded from the other end.
Anakin lowered his wrist, saying to them, “He’s on his way.”
Then, he was rushing to Ahsoka, and his hands shook as he held them out, unsure where to touch her.
She let herself fall into his arms, and she began to cry.
“It’s okay, Ahsoka,” he said, voice tight with pain and relief. “Everything’s going to be alright. You’re with us now.”
Ahsoka nodded, and felt Obi-Wan start to disengage the collar on her neck as Anakin held her.
Safe. She was safe.
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Hi, this is kinda of a discussion question. In early seasons of supernatural the Winchesters doesn’t have a permanent residence and is constantly switching between driving on the road and check into in motels. So if any of them is obsessed with someone during that time, then how can they ensure their safety/not leaving them given how constant they are moving from one place to another and has many opportunities to contact with outside world?
I think if they're on the road they'd do their best to hide the car so no one passing by would notice it, and then keep their darling bound and gagged to prevent them from screaming or escaping. When they're in a motel they'd probably issue the ultimatum that their darling can either behave themselves and earn some type of reward but if they give any indication that they're being taken against their will then they'll punish them with something that can be explained away, like broken fingers being caused by an accident. I think this would be fairly effective against a darling that's already considering giving in, but for a more rebellious darling threats of physical harm would probably be more effective in keeping them in line
- Mod Omen
Are you sure Starscream won't just explode from too much shuttle baby?
Skyfire is merely going to grab the nearest vial, inspect it and then toss it at the gray being. It’s acid. Enjoy burning and melting. He’s had enough interaction from others for today.
5/5 — TOMMY INTERROGATION
part four (i think) !! this one was SO close oh my god, there was literally one vote between them: but, with 9 votes over 8, henry is gonna learn about his death !! THIS should be interesting....
Henry’s eyes drift down to the book, and she frowns. “I wanna know how he died,” she admits, and Tommy swallows thickly, “I wanna actually know how he died, not just— you know, the Story. I wanna know the truth.”
“The truth.” Tommy looks away, looks towards the decapitated training dummy on the ground, and leans back on his hands. “Right. Fuckin’— yeah. Yeah, I guess I’m the best person to ask. Doubt any of your pals will get the information outta the others, so...”
Henry sits up eagerly, eyes wide. “You’re really just gonna tell me? Just like that?”
“Just like that,” Tommy agrees with a wry smile, before he sighs. “So— he died a long time ago. Before I found you. Just before I found you, actually. He’d escaped prison, he was on the run, and honestly, a lot of the Story is true. He was... you know, being a fuckin’ dickhead, took a couple lives from people, and...”
He hesitates, keeping his gaze very focused on the straw dummy rather than on Henry, who shuffles forwards in enthusiasm.
“And the thing the Story doesn’t tell you is that he didn’t stand a fuckin’ chance.”
Henry’s face drops. Tommy continues like he’s forgotten she’s there, tucking his legs up to his chest and frowning at the ground.
“He was doing a lot of damage, sure. But— Henry, the whole fucking server was after him, and we were all stacked, you know? We had— Armour and weapons and explosives, we had twenty people or something on our side, and he had... Almost nothing. He was alone. He’s a good fucking fighter, but he’s not that good. Nobody that is.”
Henry can’t interrupt. She stares at her brother in silence, words frozen in her chest, and Tommy drags the next words out like they’re physically painful.
“And we got him in one place— we were both on low health, me and him, fighting like the world was ending. Well,” he mutters, glancing upwards, “it wasn’t far off the mark.”
Henry looks down. The idea of her brother and Dream fighting to the death makes her feel small, hunching up to mimic Tommy’s posture. “And... And then what happened?”
“...And then he pulled out a potion I didn’t know he had and drank it in front of me,” Tommy whispers, “a health potion. And he started laughing, and he told me he was going to kill me, and then kill Tubbo, and kill every last person I’d ever cared about. Everyone else was too far away to do anything, and—”
Tommy scoffs hollowly.
“And I’d watched him kill Sam already, and— and I knew he’d do the exact fucking same if he got near Tubbo or Ranboo. So.... I did what I had to do. I....”
Henry swallows. She doesn’t need to be a genius to figure out what happened. Tommy’s gaze is heavy enough to say what words can’t.
we’re getting into the deep questions now !!! which q should henry ask next ?? asks close at 23:20PM BST (20 minutes) :D
1. “WAS DREAM ACTUALLY ALONE?”
2. “WHAT HAPPENED AFTER?”
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IMPORTANT: I don’t follow anything from grant morrison. If talia has any involvement in a big plot for your character, hmu so we can work something out!
⌜ ⁰⁰¹ golshifteh farahani. she/her. cis woman. ⌟ looks like TALIA AL GHUL has joined the search for the missing mutants. the 38 is known as LEVIATHAN and works alongside THE LEAGUE OF SHADOWS. they were spotted recently in GOTHAM, hopefully they’ll have some luck finding the missing mutants.
name : talia al ghul.
alias(s) : leaviathan, mistress al ghul, miranda tate.
age : 38.
occupation : ceo of tate industries.
affiliation : the league of shadows, damian wayne, batfam (occasionally), ra’s al ghul (formerly) .
skills : trained to physical and mental peak, world-class swordswoman & martial artist, expert markswoman, master of stealth and infiltration, ruthless and brilliant tactician, multilingualism. holds advanced degrees in biology, engineering, and business.
weapons : chinese dao sword, dual kindjals, sniper rifle.
death tw, violence tw
As the daughter of Ra's al Ghul, perfection was not only expected from Talia, it was demanded. Since she gained the ability to walk, Talia was trained in the art of assassination, neither her father nor her instructors going easy on her. She endured the same hell every other recruit of the League of Shadows had to, managing to excel despite her youth, earning a high ranking position by the age of sixteen. She was tasked with managing the League's criminal and legitimate operations, serving as the president of her father's various technological and medical companies.
Despite all of her success, Talia was not considered to be her father's successor. She was expected to marry and give birth to the Heir of the Demon, her father selecting many suitors for her through the years. Talia declined every single one, none of them proving worthy in her eyes. At eighteen, Talia was ordered to track down and dispose of a former League member who had turned on Ra’s. While facing Ebenezer Darrk, Talia encountered the masked vigilante known as Batman, quickly impressed by his skills and tenacity. She killed Darrk and returned to her father, declaring to Ra’s she had found a worthy successor.
From then on, Talia attempted to convince Batman to join the League, their relationship turning from a rivalry to an alliance, and finally into romance. Though she remained loyal to Ra's, Talia began to aid Batman and his efforts, torn between her love for her father and her love for Bruce. But during a duel to the death between the two, Talia did not hesitate to choose the Dark Knight over her father. Bruce and Talia spent that night together, and a month later she discovered she was pregnant.
Coerced by her father, Talia kept the birth of their son a secret from Bruce, the boy being trained to succeed Ra's. But after the League of Shadows was attacked and Ra's fatally wounded, Talia took Damian to Gotham City, leaving him under Bruce's care while she and the League dealt with the threat. Once the enemies were neutralized, Damian chose to stay alongside Bruce, Talia reluctantly agreeing while making it clear she intended to return for her son someday. She retreated to the League's hideout, preparing to follow her father's instructions and bring him back.
However, Talia decided to keep Ra's buried instead, taking full control of the League of Shadows. For the past few years, she's been working tirelessly to remove her father's influence from the League, implementing new ideals and changing many aspects of their operations. The news of the disappearances reached the League early on, but Talia didn’t become involved until meta-human members of the League went missing. Now, the disappearances have the League’s full attention, Talia arriving in Gotham to get answers.
talia adopted the moniker “leaviathan” to distance herself from her father’s legacy.
talia has never used the lazarus pit herself, nor does she have any desire to. she believes her father’s deteriorating mental state was caused by the waters, as every time ra’s emerged from them, he seemed more cruel and crazed.
talia picks and trains her own personal guards, mainly choosing women she believes will benefit from the training. she offers them education as well as combat training, earning their respect and loyalty through treating them as equals.
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AU Segment - “Try” (rewrite)
Frankenfandom is asleep (not really I know but seems p inactive right now lmao), time to post my rewrite of “Try”
Rewrite complete! Finally! I’m actually somewhat (somewhat) happy with how this turned out. I realized that my first version of this scene was so ridiculously out of character, especially on Henry’s part, so I really took the time to focus on making sure I got the characterizations right. That said, I’m not sure how successful I was at making this in any way emotional despite the emotional nature of the topic at hand. My goal was to write this while avoiding potentially triggering territory/language as much as absolutely possible despite the intense subject matter, and I do worry that doing so may have diminished the emotional effect of it all. So! Any insight about how successful I was at still creating an emotional scene without being too in depth would be extremely helpful. Seriously - I will take any info given into account so I can navigate how to better write things like this in the future.
Important Warnings for this one!!!! There is a brief mention of a needle, brief mention of violence, discussion about death/dying in a general sense, and brief implications of talking about (though absolutely no outright mention of or depiction of) potential s*icide.
There is some important background info for this one: This takes place long after ‘What’s in a Name’ and a few months before ‘We’ve Got Work To Do.’ By now, things have really mellowed out between the three of them. Victor and Henry are officially ‘married’ and now husbands (that’s a scene for a different time when I’m writing more happy things instead of angst again), Agape (the creature, for those of you who are new here) is their well-loved son. Not all is entirely well, though. Victor has recently been plagued by nightmares, though he won’t explain what they’re about. On what he swears is a completely unrelated note, he’s been dabbling in science again, and at his request, Agape has built a new section onto the cabin as a laboratory for Victor to work in. Victor spends most of his days in there, Agape usually accompanying him either to learn or to assist, as well as staying there alone well into the night, but recently Victor has been starting to neglect himself for the sake of whatever it is he has going on behind that door...
As always, likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind (including constructive criticism!) are much appreciated!
Rain steadily tapped on the roof, the only sound to be heard other than the scratching of a pen as Henry wrote by the light of the last lit candle in the bedroom. The gentle scratching stopped as he read over what he wrote, followed by one final scratch and the gentle snap of his journal as he shut it and set it on the bed stand closest to him. He stretched with a yawn, absentmindedly reaching over to the other side of the bed before suddenly snapping his gaze over. In his deep concentration of writing, he had failed to notice that Victor had still not yet come to bed. Slipping silently out of bed, grabbing the burning candle on the bed stand and walking out of the room as quietly as possible. He passed through the common area, embers still glowing softly in the fireplace, and walked down the short hallway on the other side. The door to Agape’s room was slightly ajar, and, curious, Henry gently pushed it open further and peaked inside. Sure enough, Agape was there, sleeping soundly in bed. With a sigh of relief, he pulled the door mostly shut and continued down the hall to where the door to Victor’s makeshift laboratory was located.
He pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped in carefully, gently closing the door behind him. “Victor?” he called out softly, walking past the rows of shelves and tables, each covered in a mess of tools, beakers, and jars, weaving through them along the familiar path. Toward the back wall was a softly glowing light emanating from a nearly spent candle upon a messy table covered with beakers that glinted in the light. Sitting slumped over in front of it all was the silhouette of the exact person he was looking for. As he approached, the light from his own candle further illuminated the workbench, revealing various tools he didn’t recognize, a mess of papers, and a large beaker filled with a grimy-looking dark fluid sitting atop what had likely once been a lit burner. “Oh, Victor,” he whispered softly with pity in his voice. He set his candle down and reached out, gently placing a hand on his sleeping husband’s shoulder. Victor awoke with a start, nearly falling off the stool he was sitting on as he jumped at the touch of Henry’s hand. Henry couldn’t help but smile as Victor looked back at him, his brown hair a shaggy mess, his goggles crooked on his face. “I thought you were coming to bed,” he mused quietly as he lifted the goggles up off of Victor’s eyes. Victor squinted as his goggles were lifted, raising his black-gloved hands to rub the sleep from his eyes - only pausing to realize that maybe touching his eyes with gloves he had just been handling dangerous substances with wasn’t the best idea. He yawned as he slipped one glove off and rubbed both eyes before tugging the glove back on.
“I am,” he muttered, speech somewhat slurred as he turned back toward the table. “Justg.. Just gotta, finish- this…” He rolled a hand in the air, then dropped it back down to his lap. “..thing.” Henry chuckled softly - it was amusing, albeit concerning, to see Victor so loopy.
“I think this thing can wait until you get some proper rest, love,” Henry replied, smoothing Victor’s messy hair with his fingers.
“Mm.. nooot really,” Victor answered, sorting through the various tools and beakers strewn about the table as though he were looking for something, then finally settled on one beaker that looked to have once held some kind of dark liquid in it. The scientist picked it up, inspected it closely, took a few long, slow blinks, then tilted his head back to look up at Henry. “...I needm… more coffee,” he mumbled with a sleepy smile. Henry gave him an odd look.
“More? I just brought some back for you two days ago.”
“Well that- that was… that was two days ago and this is now.”
“Please tell me you haven’t finished an entire tin in two days, Victor.” Victor groaned and set the beaker down.
“More like finished half in two days and half in… maybe one night,” he muttered, slowly starting to wake up more. “It’s all a bit of a blur, really.”
“This is why you need sleep,” Henry pointed out, running his hand from Victor’s hair back down to his shoulder.
“No, no. No I don’t need sleep,” Victor replied, starting to sound much more like himself. “I need… I need um…” He glanced around, his eyes falling on the beaker full of dark grimy fluid on the unlit burner. “Gah- nonono- noooo…” he grumbled, nearly knocking over the beaker that once held coffee as he fumbled for the one on the burner. He grabbed it, took one whiff, then unceremoniously dropped his head onto the table. Henry jumped slightly, gently nudging him as he was somewhat concerned that the smell of the concoction had somehow knocked him unconscious.
“I’m fine,” Victor grumbled. “Fine I just. I have to start this over.” He set the beaker down on the floor next to the table and slowly stood, somewhat wobbly at first, before wandering off to grab another one.
“No, I think you need sleep,” Henry called to him, turning and leaning back slightly on the table as he watched Victor grab a new beaker along with various jars filled with substances he couldn’t recognize.
“I am- I am a god, Henry; gods don’t need sleep,” Victor called back to him with a hint of sarcasm in his tone as he plucked the ingredients he needed from the shelves. Henry chuckled and shook his head.
“Oh, silly me. How could I ever forget,” he mused, rolling his eyes. “Of course you’re a god, darling.” He turned out of curiosity to look at what was on the table, his eyes catching sight of something that Victor had been obscuring while he was sitting there. It was an odd thing, or the makings of an odd thing anyways, just barely started. There were gears and a crank connected to them, a tangled mess of wires - some attached to the thing and others lying nearby, various empty vials with tubes dangling from their cork caps, and sitting directly beside it all was a frighteningly large hollow needle. He leaned in closer to inspect the device. “Since when did you start tinkering?” he asked as he looked at how each gear was connected.
“Since I needed to for this project,” Victor answered as he sifted through more jars to find exactly what he was looking for. “Agape has been a big help. You’d never guess it but he’s got a knack for that sort of thing. Tinkering and such, that is. Well… he’s got an interest in all of it but he can be a little careless with the chemicals,” he continued, suddenly realizing he didn’t have enough hands to hold everything he needed and placing the beaker in his mouth to hold it.
“Can’t imagine where he gets that carelessness from,” Henry muttered sarcastically as he glanced back to see Victor on his tip-toes sifting through jars with one hand while holding far too many other jars in his other and a beaker between his teeth.
“I’s a real ‘ys’ery,” Victor answered sincerely with the beaker still in his mouth. Henry smirked and shook his head.
“Sure is.” He turned back toward the table, his eyes catching sight of an open journal, dark-stained pages covered in writing and sketches. Letting his curiosity get the better of him, he picked it up and moved further into the candlelight to read as Victor returned and carefully set everything down on the table. “So is this what the two of you have been working on?” Henry asked as he flipped back a few pages to start reading closer to the beginning.
“Oh good god no,” Victor answered as he refilled the burner with oil and lit it using a match he ignited from his own nearly spent candle. “I’ve just been doing simple things with him. Common chemical reactions, a few lessons in physics, electricity, etcetera.” He began filling the new beaker with some of the ingredients from the jars he had grabbed. “This is more of a… personal project.” As he continued, he paused once he opened one jar, thought for a moment, then began rummaging around the table, searching for something. “Henry, you haven’t happened to see a journal lying around anywhere have y-” He cut himself off as he turned to see Henry standing there, journal in hand, a look of somewhere between shock and horror on his face. He felt his heart skip a beat as he froze.
“You’re…” Henry began, his voice low and quiet. Victor lurched forward suddenly, snatching the journal from his hands, though Henry still held his hands as though the journal still lay between them.
“What did I tell you about touching my things,” Victor snarled, holding the journal behind him. Henry didn’t acknowledge him, instead staring straight ahead almost unnervingly.
“You’re making another one…”
“And you just broke my most important rule,” Victor remarked, eyes narrowed. Henry swallowed hard and took in a deep, shaky breath.
“...You’re right. I apologize - I shouldn’t have taken it without asking but-”
“But nothing, Henry. Go back to bed and let me work,” Victor snapped, flipping the journal back open and scouring the pages to find the correct amount of the ingredient he was working with.
“Victor-” Henry reached out to him, placing his hand on Victor’s arm gently.
“Just-” Victor started, voice raised in anger as he knocked Henry’s hand away. He paused, seeing Henry was clearly emotionally upset, and sighed, returning his eyes to his work, as he muttered, “leave me be.”
“No, Victor. We need to discuss this,” Henry managed to mention softly.
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Victor growled, pulling his goggles back over his eyes as he placed the beaker over the burner and began stirring the contents with a glass rod.
“Then at least talk to me,” Henry suggested, sitting on the floor beside him. Victor ignored him, choosing instead to continue his work. There was silence between them except for the twisting of jar lids and the clinking of scooping tools against glass, only broken as Victor held out a small piece of cloth to Henry.
“Cover your mouth and nose with this until I say so,” he muttered, his voice muffled behind a cloth that he had tied around his own mouth and nose like a bandana. Henry didn’t question him and tied the cloth around his face, peeking up over the table as Victor carefully poured one substance into the heated beaker, which immediately began to furiously boil and bubble while emitting an eerie green light. Even through the cloth Henry could smell something atrocious, and he did his best to hold back a gag while Victor simply sat there observing as though this were something he was entirely accustomed to. After a few minutes the smell dissipated and the light dulled, at which point Victor held his hand back out - which Henry interpreted meant he could remove the cloth, so he did. “I have my reasons, you know,” Victor mumbled, taking the cloth and setting it on the table along with his own.
“I have no doubt about that.”
“Then why is there anything to discuss?” He turned toward Henry, looking down at him though his eyes were masked by his goggles.
“I feel I should have a say in this matter,” Henry replied. “None of this is just about you or me anymore. It’s about us together.”
“I don’t dictate what you do in your own daily life or what choices you make, why should you dictate mine?” Victor countered, turning back to continue to work on the solution he had started.
“There’s a difference between choosing whether to spend my time writing or climbing, and choosing to create an entire living being that we both will be responsible for,” Henry pointed out.
“I never said you would be responsible for it.” Henry sighed, realizing this conversation was getting them nowhere.
“Did he ask you for this?” he asked, changing his direction. “Has he decided that this is still what he wants even after all this time?” Victor didn’t answer, instead paying close attention as he measured out a powdered substance on a small scale. “Victor-”
“No, Henry. He has nothing to do with this,” Victor interrupted with an exasperated tone, scooping the measured substance up and pouring it into the solution, which instantly swirled into a dark red hue as he stirred it in. He tapped his stirring rod on the side of the beaker, then dropped it into a dirty yet empty flask nearby. Resting his elbows on the table, he leaned forward and raked his fingers through his hair, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth before exhaling harshly. “Not directly, that is.” Henry reached up, placing a hand on his back, which Victor responded to with a silent shudder.
“Then why now? Is it…” He paused, wondering if he should press further with his question. “Is this related to your nightmares?” There was no reply, other than that Victor raised one foot slightly off the ground, his leg bouncing - a typical nervous behavior of his.
“It doesn’t concern you.”
“It does concern me. I’m concerned about you, Victor. You’re withdrawing yourself again, and I’m… I’m frightened for you. I want to help you, but I can’t do that unless you let me.”
“I don’t want your help.”
“Then why am I still here?” Silence. Victor put his foot down, suddenly all too still. “If you really didn’t want my help, you would have chased me out by now. I know you, Victor, and you know that.” Henry leaned over, resting his head against Victor’s leg and reaching upward. Victor slowly removed one glove, his hand slipping down from the table and falling into Henry’s outstretched palm.
“I don’t have a choice, Henry,” Victor said quietly, his voice cracking slightly as though he were on the verge of tears. “I have to do this. For his sake- I-” He sucked in a shaky breath, tilting his head upward. “This is all my fault.”
“What is?” Victor squirmed his hand out of Henry’s and began sifting through the clutter on the table until he found a piece of paper covered in messy handwriting, some words smudged and bled as though water had been dropped on the page as it was being written, and handed it down to Henry.
As Henry read the writing on the page, Victor removed his goggles and set them off to the side, taking his ungloved hand up to rub the tears away from his eyes. About halfway through reading, Henry slowly stood, moving behind his husband and wrapping one arm around him while he continued to read. Victor practically collapsed into him, leaning back and nestling his face into Henry’s arm in need of some comfort. “Victor…” Henry whispered his name, tears dripping down his cheeks as he set the paper down and wrapped both arms around him, clinging to him tightly. “I’m so sorry.” All at once, everything made sense. The way Victor would wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of each night in panic - sometimes running out of bed and and returning moments later with a sudden need to be as close to him as possible, his sudden reinterest in science, the way he’d lock himself away in his laboratory for hours on end, his sudden need to spend as much time with Agape as he could and to teach him everything he knew, how he had suddenly insisted on tucking Agape into bed each night even if he himself wouldn’t come to bed until hours later… all of it made sense. Victor removed his other glove, turning in his embrace and holding Henry with as tight a grip as his exhausted body could muster. Henry held him tighter with one arm, lifting his other hand to gently run his fingers through Victor’s hair. “I know it seems so real, and I know the pain it’s causing you is very real, but it’s still just a bad dream, Victor. It’s not going to happen and- and it concerns me that you would go so far as to make such a rash decision like this based on a recurring nightmare,” he explained softly. Victor looked up at him, eyes red from tears and a lack of sleep.
“But it is real, and it is going to happen and I-” He paused, voice breaking. “I can’t let it happen Henry I… I can’t just pretend everything will be ok. Everything isn’t ok. Everything won’t be ok. Not until I fix this.”
“Victor, you can’t fix something that hasn’t even happened yet- or that likely never will happen, for that matter.” Victor pulled back, looking up at him pitifully.
“But it will, Henry. If I don’t do this, it will.” Henry hushed him quietly, holding him tighter.
“How can you be so sure?” he asked sincerely. Victor trembled, clutching tightly at the back of Henry’s shirt.
“Because someday he’s going to be alone.”
“Most children lose their parents someday. He’s just… going to have to learn how to cope, like any other does.”
“No child is alone for eternity, though.” Henry glanced upward, pausing the movement of his fingers through Victor’s hair.
“Eternity?” Victor buried his face into his chest.
“He will never die of old age, Henry.” He heaved a deep, ragged sigh, pulling back and shakily rising to his feet. Henry watched with worry as he began to pace. “All because I was too… too careless to think before I actually made him.” Henry almost wanted to say something, but he kept quiet, realizing that it would probably only make things worse. “I was so caught up in proving to the world that alchemy is a viable science and-” he paused, spinning on his heels and looking at Henry directly, “it is a viable science, I think I have proved that well enough by now.” Henry nodded along with a half shrug, signaling for him to go on, and Victor continued his pacing. “I just- I didn’t stop to consider what actually using it to create an entire new life would fully entail. I mean I- I knew that using the elixir of life on something already dead would never work on its own. It was just a matter of starting the heart. One beat is all it takes, Henry - just one beat and so long as something has the elixir coursing through it veins, it is alive.” He slowed, coming to a stop and standing with slumped shoulders. “What I hadn’t thought about was that the elixir also provides everlasting life, even to something once dead.” Despite his hanging head, he raised his gaze to Henry. “So long as there is blood in his veins, so long as his heart is able to beat, so long as his brain can still function… he will never die.” A crack of thunder sounded from outside, rattling the glasses in the laboratory and causing Victor to jump and cringe with a yelp. He began to shiver, wobbling where he stood as anxiety and exhaustion began to consume him. Henry ran to him and caught him as he collapsed, holding him tightly as he slowly brought him down so they were both sitting on the floor.
“Take it easy, Victor,” he uttered softly, resting his head against Victor’s. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.” Victor clenched his eyes shut as he steadied his ragged breathing, and pressed himself closer to Henry. “I’d like to think that… maybe after all we’ve done with him, all we’ve done for him, it won’t come to that. Maybe he could be content just to be alone,” Henry murmured, trying to be optimistic.
“Not after what I’ve done. Not after what he’s been through. I-” Victor curled up slightly, hiding his face away. “His fear of abandonment, his need for companionship, both far outweigh any of the progress we’ve made. He may survive for a few years and cope with the grief after we are dead and gone, but it won’t last, Henry. He’ll go searching for friendship and only find hatred and violence.”
“Perhaps we could start trying to find him a friend before it’s too late,” Henry suggested, running his fingers along Victor’s back. “Then we could be sure that he won’t be alone without worrying about what may happen if he tries to find one on his own.” Victor shifted and looked up at him, eyes red and puffy with tears.
“And then what? What happens after that friend dies? Who does he turn to then?” Henry went quiet. Although he was ever the optimistic one, Victor was right - this would be a never ending cycle, and who could possibly know how long it would take for poor Agape to finally cave under the pressure of it all. “If I… if I can manage to create a second one like him, perhaps even perfect my original experiment and create one even…” He hesitated. “...Not better, necessarily, but… more like my original concept, I suppose - if I can do that, he will never have to be alone again, and maybe - just maybe - I could prevent him from making such a decision.” Henry sighed softly, moving his hand up and gently wiping away Victor’s tears.
“We can’t even be sure another one would turn out anything like him, though. And there’s no guarantee that they would get along. I know you’ve thought this through and it all seems very reasonable in your own mind but… Victor there’s more to it than what you’re saying. For example… it could turn out to be inherently violent, unlike him, and wind up hurting him, or us, or others as well. Their personalities could clash - there’s no telling that they would even stick together for their entire lives. If anything it’s more likely they would have their own separate hopes and desires, and need to go their own separate ways. And even if they did manage to keep each other eternal company, why would you want to bring another being into such a lonely existence?” Victor sniffled, glancing away from him.
“I… I can’t guarantee that any of that won’t happen but…” He wrapped his arms tightly around Henry. “If there’s even some semblance of a chance that I could ease the pain for him, enough to stop him from causing his own destruction, then I have to take it. I have to try. I’ve sworn responsibility for him, and thus have sworn responsibility for his future regardless of whether I am present for it or not. This is my mistake, all of this is my mistake, and I intend for this to be my greatest solution.” A sudden hiss and pop caused him to snap his attention to the table, where the substance in the beaker over the burner sat smoking, now looking entirely like that which had been in the beaker that was there when Henry had arrived. “No- NO!” Victor shoved Henry away and scrambled to his feet, leaning onto the table and staring at the ruined solution with wide eyes. Henry stood and walked over to him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder as he suddenly broke into sobs.
“Henry this has to work! It has to!” Victor managed to cry between sobs. “It has to…”
“I know, love. I know,” Henry reassured him quietly. “Come on… you can try again tomorrow but… for now, you need rest.” Victor trembled as he tried to calm himself, standing frozen as Henry blew out the flame from the burner as well as the nearly dead flame from the candle Victor had been burning for light. “I’m not going to stop you from making preparations,” he mentioned as he turned Victor away from the table and began helping him unbutton his lab coat. “But you need to promise that you’re going to take care of yourself, and that we-” He paused, lifting Victor’s chin and looking him in the eyes. “-and by we I mean all of us, including Agape-” Victor shakily and slowly nodded as he slipped his coat off and set it to the side. “-will have a very thorough conversation about the actual details of it before you go through with anything. Am I clear?” Victor nodded again, embracing him suddenly and tightly. Henry held him close, gingerly kissing his cheek. “Thank you. I’m here for you, Victor, and I know he’s willing to be there for you too. Just, please - don’t shut us out.”
“I love you,” Victor managed to whisper, shaking as Henry released him and took his hand.
“I love you too, Victor,” Henry breathed in reply, bringing his hand up and kissing his wrist gently. Taking the candle he had brought from their bedroom with his other hand, he began slowly leading the way toward the door, Victor stumbling along with him. Just as they reached the exit, Victor hesitated, glancing back over the laboratory one more time. Another rumble of thunder sent shivers down his spine and he gripped Henry’s hand tighter. “Everything will be ok,” Henry reassured him as he pushed open the heavy door and helped him to step into the hall, being careful to close the door behind them gently. “He’s going to be ok. We’re going to be ok.”
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Narrator: Upstairs there was a loud crash as a window yielded and broke, and two fireballs came crashing through it. Only they weren’t on fire till they got outside…
Narrator: Both vampires were dead before they hit the floor, burned away into black smoke and ash. Sylas stood at the window feeling victorious and pleased with himself that it was he, not that clone that took out the mission target.
Narrator: Apex meanwhile finished Diane off much the same way he finished off his first ever Vampire and he squished her head under his boot. There was a popping noise as her skull yielded to his foot. Only instead of a stomp he pressed down applying more and more pressure till her head yielded…. Gruesome. But that, thankfully was all of the vampires dead, and the fight over.
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My thoughts and wishes for 4x13 Buck and Eddie get both targeted by the shooter
(Sorry this is not beta-read so I apologize for any grammar or spelling mistakes hope you can still enjoy the fic :))
There‘s an annoying ringing in his ears and Buck really needs it to stop. He tries to move his head around but stops when he feels something hard and cold rub against his cheek. He feels cold and it’s dark.
Why was it dark? Wasn‘t it in the middle of the day? Right, his eyes are closed, but why? What has he been doing again?
Suddenly there are loud noises around him and Buck's getting even more annoyed that he can’t get his eyes to open. He wiggles his toes and moves his fingers. It takes a couple of more seconds, but he‘s finally able to open his eyes a bit.
The light is too bright and it blinds his eyes. He blinks again because his vision is still blurry.
He really needs to get up, he feels so cold. He awkwardly tries to shift his body, when a searing pain rips through his side and makes him stop moving. He hears someone groan and realizes it’s himself. His side is throbbing and he feels like throwing up.
What on earth had happened?
He drags his left arm downwards to his side and realizes something wet and sticky on the ground.
He notices the smell now. Is that blood?
He moves again and the pain running through his side snaps his focus back and his eyes fly open. The sun is shining bright in the sky, he can see that now. It's May and it should be warm, but Buck can’t stop shaking.
"Hey, Buck! Don’t - don‘t move ok! Stay still.“
Buck turns his head towards the voice, he can hear clearly now. Still, a bit blurry, Eddie’s face comes into his view.
" Ed- die? What? Where 'r we?“
"Please Buck, don’t move. The shooter is still somewhere out there."
There’s a plopping sound right next to him and Eddie cries out.
Buck looks over to Eddie and only now realizes that Eddie is lying on the floor. Just like him.
Eddie’s breathing hard and he holds his right hand to his shoulder. It’s red and a small river of blood is trickling over his knuckles, down his arm. His sleeve is already tainted in red. Buck follows the red line on Eddie's arm and finds more blood on the floor.
Oh my god, Eddie’s been shot.
"Eddie, you are shot? Eddie!“
Eddie looks at him in pain, then slowly shuffles over to where Buck is lying. Buck tries to move too, but there’s this sharp pain in his side again and it takes his breath away. He starts coughing which causes his side to scream out in pain even more and it's really getting on his nerves.
"Buck, you need to breathe, please breathe. You need to put pressure on your side. Do you understand? Gah, Buck, please.“
Eddie’s got tears in his eyes and his head falls back onto the concrete in frustration.
"What? Why? Eddie, I don’t... I ...“
What does Eddie mean? Why does he need to put pressure on his side, it’s hurting him enough already.
He looks down on his body and almost has to throw up again when he sees his white shirt painted in red. His fingers crawl wander along on the concrete and he can feel the wetness on it. He moves then over to his side and he touches the places where the blood seems to come from.
He screams and doesn’t know how to breathe anymore. Ok, this doesn't look too good. Something's really wrong.
"Buck, calm down, please. Put pressure on your side, I think it’s a through, and through. You need to stop the bleeding. Come on, snap out of it.“
Eddie’s voice fades away and Buck sees dark spots dancing on the edges of his vision.
"I - I can’t, I can’t. Eds I'm sorry.“
He's breathing heavily now, face pressed against the concrete. The ground smells like blood and dirt and Buck gags.
"Please, you need to try. You need to stop the blood flow.“
Buck blinks his eyes open again and looks over to his friend who had rolled onto his side and still holds his own shoulder. His hands are redder than before and Eddie’s face looks pale and sweaty.
They need help. They need help now.
“HELP! PLEASE HELP!”
Buck screams or he thinks he does. His throat hurts and feels dry.
Buck feels himself fading and he knows he needs to put pressure on his wound. He can’t get himself to move around though, so he tries to get his hands under his side, to stop the bleeding.
He can’t get his hand under his hip, it hurts too much and so he just lets it flop down on the ground next to him.
He’s gonna die here, on the street, because he can’t help himself. What a firefighter he is.
He closes his eyes again and drifts for a few seconds.
Suddenly there’s pressure on his side, fingers digging into his wound and the increasing pain makes his eyes fly open again.
Eddie’s face is right in front of him now and he’s got tears running down his cheeks, dripping into the red sea of blood underneath them.
"Don’t you dare check out on me, Buck. Don’t you dare!"
Buck chuckles at that, it’s ironic, that he’s back at being hurt again, back at worrying people. It seems like it’s the only thing he can do.
He doesn’t want Eddie to worry again, doesn’t want to see him sad.
“Come on, Buck stay with me!”
Bucks lips feel numb and he wants to say so many things, but he’s just mumbling incoherent things. He can't think straight.
“-ot gonna leave you, Eds.”
Eddie pushes harder on his wound and he moans out loud again.
“You’re a good friend, Eds. Best friend. I love you.”
He slowly moves his fingers over to Eddie’s face and strokes gently at his cheek, leaving a bloody trail on it.
Buck feels like they’re lying here, on the street, for hours and nothing happens.
Eddie just looks at him with tired eyes. The pressure of Eddie’s hand on his side lessens and his fingers slowly slip away and Buck can see his friend closing his eyes. His hand falls off his own shoulder and comes to rest next to his head.
“Hey, you're not checking out on me either, Eds. You still owe me a revanche at the ps4 game, you cheater.”
“I - I don’t cheat Buckley, you’re just so bad in playing this game.”
They both chuckles, but Buck starts coughing and he tastes blood in his mouth.
“Sorry Buck, I'm sorry I can't - I can't ... anymore..."
Eddie’s hand slips from holding onto Bucks' side completely now and he can feel getting soaked with more blood. He’s not shivering anymore though, and he knows this is not a good sign.
“It’s ok Eddie, it’s ok, thank you for holding on.”
Eddie’s eyes close and his chest barely moves. Buck feels the darkness overcome him too when suddenly there’s movement around them.
“Buck!!!! Eddie !!!!! Wake up?! Come on stay with us!!! COME ON!!!”
Buck's eyes are barely open and he slowly lifts his hand towards Eddie.
Please, please, help him please! Help Eddie.
Someone grabs his arm and rubs a hand over his sternum to rouse him. He feels too heavy and tired though and lets darkness pull him under.
At least they can help Eddie now. They need to help Eddie.
“You know, you could really open your eyes now, kid.”
Buck groans and moves his head around on the pillow. Why can’t he just sleep in for once? He’s not having a shift today, is he?
“You’re scaring us a bit there, Buck. Especially Eddie here is a bit of a nervous wreck, so if you please could open those blue eyes for us.”
Eddie? Why is Eddie worried? Isn’t he with Chris?
Buck becomes restless and tries to shake himself awake. He wiggles his toes which makes his hips move and then there’s this weird dull pain in his side that makes him stop moving.
He grips at the fabric of his bedsheets. They itch and feel cold.
His side throbs in pain again. Ok, something's not right.
He hears a whimper and realizes it’s him. He fights hard and peels his eyes open. It’s too bright and he can feel the sun shining on his face. His eyes roll around and he sees the white lights, white ceiling and the white blanket resting on his chest.
There’s a hand holding his arm.
“There you are, kid. How are you feeling?”
“Not my bed, Cap?!”
Bobby chuckles and squeezes at his arm.
“No Buck, not your bed, unfortunately.”
Buck groans and lets his head flop back onto the too hard pillow. He hates hospitals.
“Why am I in hospital, Bobby?”
Bobby’s face goes serious and Buck can see red lines under his eyes. He must have been worried too then.
“There was a shooter, who targeted LAFD members. Do you remember that?”
Buck swallows hard. He needs something to drink. He nods absently. He does remember the threats someone made. But he never thought they’d actually do this. Who would do this?
“You - you got shot. They hit you in your side. It was a through and through, thankfully no important organs but you lost so much blood because we couldn’t get to you sooner.”
Buck looks at Bobby and he can see the sorrow in his eyes.
Hearing Eddie’s name Buck's mind starts to go into overload, pictures of the incident flashing before his eyes. The cold floor and blood, there was so much blood. Eddie’s bloody hands and tears.
Oh my god, Eddie was shot too.
Buck almost jumps out of his bed, but Bobby stops him. The injury on his side isn’t happy about his sudden movement and the pain increases immensely so he need needs to close his eyes for a bit and tries to steady his breathing. After some seconds Buck feels the pain subsiding a bit again.
Okay. Moving around is not a good idea at the moment. Noted.
He opens his eyes again and grabs at Bobby’s arm.
“Where is Eddie? Is he ok? Bobby, where is he?”
“Calm down, Buck. Eddie is alright. Look.”
Bobby moves his head towards the other side of Buck's bed and Buck's eyes follow it. Slumped, in a way too uncomfortable chair, is sitting Eddie. His head is resting on his chest. His breath comes out steady and he’s got a good color on his face. His shoulder is bandaged and in a sling.
“Also a through and through but the bullet knicked an artery. Thankfully he was able to stop the bleeding for a bit.”
Buck remembers how Eddie crawled over to him and put pressure on both of their wounds.
“He saved me. He - he rolled over to me and pushed on my wound. I wouldn’t be - I ...”
Buck's eyes swell up and tears run down his cheeks.
Bobby gently rubs at his shoulder.
“He did yeah. He didn’t let go.”
Eddie suddenly coughs and his eyes blink open. He looks around and his eyes land on Buck. He straightens his body and shuffles closer to the bed. He puts his hand on Bucks hand.
“Hey, you’re awake. It’s about damn time.”
Bobby lets go of Buck's shoulder and moves towards the door.
“I’m gonna call Maddie and let her know you’re awake. She’s going to want to see you.”
Buck nods and looks back at Eddie.
“Eds your shoulder. Are you ok?”
Eddie smiles and scratches at his head.
“I’ve had worse.”
Buck rolls his eyes but takes Eddie’s hand into his.
“Oh shut up, you been whining like a baby about your shoulder.”
“Says the one who couldn't even stop his own bleeding huh.”
His friend's face turns sad though and tears spill into his eyes.
“I’m glad you’re ok, Buck. I'm so glad.”
Buck squeezes his hand gently.
“I’m glad you’re ok too. Thank you for not letting go, Eddie.”
“Got your back. remember?!”
Buck feels tired again and leans back on his pillow. The movement jostles his wound again and pain flares up.
“Oh, man getting shot sucks.”
“Right? It does. But hey, Chim and Hen are gonna have to do our chores for the next couple of weeks while we can watch and order them around."
Buck laughs out loud.
“Yeah, that we can do.”
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I know I've been after your kneecaps Neko-Kun, but I just wanna send a regular ask this time, so
(TW: stalking) What is your scariest stalker story? As a popular Japanese idol, you're bound to have a lot.
I think my scariest stalker story is everyone trying to steal my kneecaps. Only for the pure audacity of you M Neko-chans and the fact that it’s my KNEECAPS that you guys wanna steal.
☾ Kou, could you please answer the question a little more seriously?
But I was being serious.
☾ You know what I mean. *frowns slightly*
*sigh* Fine. I guess my “scariest” encounter with stalkers is the times where fangirls get very obsessed with me and they try to find the manor. I’ve also gotten some letters written in their blood and other...bodily liquids. *wrinkles nose in disgust* Many of those letters declare their devotion to me and threaten to hurt me if I ever were to find love with someone else.
*chuckles* However, I just find it all kind of funny and simply pathetic. Humans sure do think highly of themselves to declare entitlement towards someone, especially someone like me. They don’t realize just how tightly I have them wrapped around my finger and all the things I could do to them if I seriously wanted to~!
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just go all tangled and throw frying pans at the transphones
HELLLLLLP I THOUGHT YOU WERE SAYING WE SHOULD THROW PANSEXUALS AT THE TRANSPHOBES JDKAFJASD
Any of my pansexual/panromantic followers willing to be thrown?
Anyway it also says transphones but I'm assuming that's a typo, my phone was trans for a while and I don't want a frying pan thrown at my phone :(
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Im not even trans/genderqueer/fluid/etc but I will WHOOP ANYBODYS ASS IF THEY SAY THAT THERE ARE ONLY 2 GENDERS THATS RIGHT BUDDY SQUARE UP!!
Fuck yeah, just make sure you're maintaining social distancing guidelines while you beat them up. Might I recommend a long stick?
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Narrator: Apex plunged the dagger into the other vampires neck. To be fair she tried to fight, but she was dead the moment Apex walked into the building really...
Narrator: As before, when stabbed so square and deep with the blessed dagger, she erupted into a pile of dust and black smoke... as grisly fate indeed, one I hope never befalls me!
Sylas: Nice try. Nice try motherfucker!!
Markus: Unh… please… we just want to live…
Sylas: No room in the world for blood suckers, or any other freaks.
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waiting for the day when ladybug just snaps... i wanna see her punch lila in the eye. i wanna see her kick bob roth in the crotch. i wanna see her get so mad at chat noir she just grabs him by the tail and swings him around like a ragdoll.
but also i want to see her just chop half of lila’s hair off. i think that’d be a fun thing
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Tommy smashed a smiley face with his axe, which raises some questions
yeaaaaahhhhh it sure does: that boy has Some Trauma TM
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Secondary WIP Announcement
Series of short tales that will be up on my Wattpad
“The life of one is strange.”
Title: Tales of Dolorem
Genre: Contemporary fiction - Y/A
Major themes: Inner conflict, death of loved ones, mental fragility, and mental facets, past happenings (fictional)
Trigger warnings: Animal death, trauma, fires, suicide, injury, illness, and violence.
Status: Writing, will be updated as chapters are finished. Free to read.
There are a variety of main characters that the story focuses on, but they all have one thing in common: a single past event that varies among the individual, of which impacts them to this day.
Tags: #ToD #tod #tales of dolorem
*sacrifices you to the ancient gods* sorry its nothing personal :\
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