⭑ .ᐟ

──── ୨ৎ ────

[0felia]

──── ୨ৎ ──── # 𝟎 𝐅 𝐄 𝐋 𝐈 𝐀​ . . . them that's got shall get , them that's not shall lose . so the bible says , and it still is news . ─ ୨ৎ ─ 𝖆𝖓 𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖓𝖙 , 𝖕𝖗𝖎𝖛𝖆𝖙𝖊 & 𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖚𝖑𝖙𝖎 ─ 𝖒𝖚𝖘𝖊 𝖋𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖆𝖑 & 𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘 . ─ ୨ৎ ─ # 𝑩𝒀 𝑲𝑩 * . . . oh mama she may have , and papa he may have , but god bless the child that's got his own . [ * ²⁵ ˒ ᔆᴴᴱ ]

─── ୨ৎ ─── featuring characters from the worlds of 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖆𝖒 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖐𝖊𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖊 , 𝖒𝖞𝖙𝖍𝖘 of 𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖖𝖚𝖎𝖙𝖞 , 𝖈𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖑𝖊𝖛𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖆 , and 𝖉 . 𝖈 . ─ ୨ৎ ─ exploring themes of religion , grief , violence / crime , power , control , and the costs thereof . ─ ୨ৎ ─ content warnings will be tagged appropriately , but do feel free to ask to tag . ୨ৎ minors pls do not interact !

Visit Original Link

ɪ ᴀᴍ poured out ʟɪᴋᴇ water , ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟʟ my bones ᴀʀᴇ out of joint ─ ୨ৎ ─ my heart ᴀʟsᴏ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴅsᴛ ᴏғ my body ɪs even ʟɪᴋᴇ melting wax . [ ²² : ₁₄ ]

─── ୨ৎ ─── # 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑵𝑬𝑹𝑺 𝑰𝑵 𝑪𝑹𝑰𝑴𝑬 : CONVEXING ୨ৎ CORRODING ୨ৎ CREETUREFEELING ୨ৎ KILLERDAME

𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑵 - 𝑰𝑺𝑯 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺 : ────── ୨ৎ ───────

ANTIGONE : of sophocles' antigone , original verse . buried   alive   friday   afternoon . CORDELIA : of shakespeares' king lear , original verse . love ,   and   be   silent . HAMLET : of shakespeares' hamlet , original verse . oh   to   fucking   sleep .   to    dream . JASON todd : of detective comics , canon divergent . wasn't   deep   enough ,   i'm  crawling   back   out . ROBIN of locklsey : of the western canon , original verse . wanted varily , for cunning & daring do . ROMEO montague : of shakespeares' r & j , original verse . mine own fortune in my misery . ZAGREUS : of greek mythology , original verse . i   am  leaving ,   i   am  leaving .   but ,

𝑶𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑰𝑵𝑨𝑳 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺 : ────── ୨ৎ ───────

BETTY belmont : vampire hunter , original castlevania character . for i am the meanest motherfucker in the valley . CASEY o'connor : private investigator / vigilante , original character . for   you ,   lord ,   have   done   as   you   pleased . CASH : pilot / smuggler , original character . just  might   be   the   one   who   finally   burns   it   down . CHIARA : vampire , original character . i   watch    my   guardian   angel    leave   the    building . DREW  :    unemployed   treasure   hunter ,   original   character  . fortunas   something   something . HUNTER callan : forest ranger , original character . i've    been   meaning   to   tell   you   — JULIET inoue : news anchor / former model , original character . my love as boundless as the sea . LEVI : demigod , original character . dying is an art ; i do it exceptionally well . LISETTE : exotic dancer , original character . standing on a bridge , watching yourself go by . MACKENZIE cameron : retired f1 driver , original character . billboard says : the end is near . SASHA : mutant / psychic , original character . but   what   i   do   have   is   a   gun . SHANNON : changeling / gas station attendant , original character . if the love could have saved you , SHEA walker :   bookie  /  child stardom  escapee ,   original   character . how   can   i   tell   you   the   truth  ? SIOBHÁN : medical practitioner / witch , original grishaverse character . until this fact and i are reconciled ; SLOAN pierce : vigilante / assassin , original character . you   wanna   know   how   i   know   your   mom   drives   a   subaru  ? SELENE scott : witch / charge nurse , original character . the   universe  is   fucking   with   me ,   i  refuse  to   engage . TREY kennedy : vigilante / billionaire , original character . the   groom   in   the   window .

[0felia]

sharing   a   quiet   moment   in   an   elevator / jason & dick

wayne manor . an unwavering gilded testament to gothic revival architecture and circuitous subterranean passageways . labyrinthine and opulent maybe now an edge from pristine , without alfred around . home . a difficult place to make sense of . a whiplash slide wing to wing from austere and haunted to beloved and tended . an old hollywood set , the cover of a tawdry 99c pulp gothic romance , the place where jason learned to shave , how to stand out automatic weapon kickback . all the way out here . in the quiet , no sirens . no roaches . no helicopters . birdsong , cicadas , stars . it churns his stomach . the word magnets on the fridge . the pictures of him in their silver frames along the grand staircase and in the hutch , rosycheeked and beaming and altogether a stranger , sitting on bruce's shoulders , back to back charlie's angels with dick . jason , browneyed and roundfaced and proud : world's finest , and the faraway greeneyed sharpedged deadman that's peering into the cabinet .

bruce is in metropolis , asked dick to check on some things . he's in the study . checking on some things . jason , here for some reason , is wandering the floors . leaning in doorways . checking on himself . he just lets it come , all at once . like fever . doesn't even brace . he watches jason slide down the hardwood in socks , taking a hard corner , busting his face open on a bannister . he sees alfred appear faster than light , then bruce , and dick : who breaks it to him ungently that he's knocked out his first adult tooth . jason leaves them to their saccharine tableau , his adult presence imposing and unwelcome . he finds himself sitting crosslegged on the familiar rug in his familiar room . bruce left it untouched . a monument to his dead emo son . posters and all . it used to freak him out . worse than the robin suit sitting down there , steamed and sterile and pressed and propped up empty . but now it's almost a comfort , something he understands . he imagines bruce looming in this doorway , touching the mezuzah , kissing his hand . worse : he imagines dick . thumbing through his clothes , books . laying on his bed . reading and rereading his journals . he wonders when it stopped smelling like him on the linen . the radioactive grief decaying stale in the air around this place used to anger him . not so anymore on this halflife . he shares in it . he gets it . he misses the kid too . being robin gave him magic . he had his father's eyes and his mother's unruly hair . scrapes on his elbows . he was smiling half the time , puffed up like a little bird . he was angry about the right things , half the time . he prayed for the right things , half the time . and what did it get him .

it's night , like it is half the time . he's flipping a suspiciously dense teddy bear onto its front , gutting the shoddy backseam open with his beltknife . as he suspected , or remembered , or felt tug from somewhere deep in his gut , instead of fluff : there's a vacuum sealed pound of weed . there are blessings that come to us , from time to time . he laughs a little , knife between his teeth . it's always a sinking , scrabbling feeling when that boy comes back into the space between his ribs . a rush of blood . it comes on fast like fever . frenetic and twisting . gasping for air , grasping for purchase . the boy who developed a dewey decimal system for his armory , the boy who wore that cologne on that dresser , the boy who lived here . and under him , the boy who slept on fire escapes . both barely treading , pushing up panicked on the surface . jason thumbs the edges of the bear's torn sutures . thinks about the boy who saw the batmobile parked in his neighborhood and doubledback to the garage to borrow a toolbox . the boy who saw a come up coming . browneyed boy . his useless father's eyes .

it makes him sick . he digs through a shoebox ( clearly tampered with in the last decade , they really did go through his shit ) and finds papers . rolls himself a joint , courtesy of robin . he climbs out onto the roof below his window , perfunctory and automatic . he thinks about alfred , who used to like to catch him out here . bring him tea . they'd admire the view , dazzling to jason . now , alone , he's looking out over the same grounds towards the same city , dots of lights on the horizon , closer than it seems . he lets go of a prayer or two . for alfred . and for clarity . confirmation . someone to tell him he's doing the right thing , someone to give him something to save . to put purpose to . and all at once , he remembers why bruce keeps the curtains open on this side of the building . because there it is . the signal . talk about a feeling that comes on fast . an overwhelming , consuming , instinctual , reflexive , hardwired impulse . few things tighten jason's chest and raise his blood pressure like the batsignal . the city crying out for their knight , arms to the sky , staring up hopeful . waiting . holding their breath . something else jason understands better now . he gets it . but the guy they're asking for is in metropolis for the week . the guy jason's asking for . . . jason's not sure he still exists . another jason , another one of those echoes rattling around in this house , he saw to that . a long time ago . he thinks about the pictures lined up along the staircase . jason on bruce's shoulders . he braces on his knees , balances the joint on his lip , slides back through his window , and goes to find dick .

who's already waiting for him at the grandfather clock . another perfunctory action that was dazzling and spectacular to jason once , turning the hands to midnight and watching the wall open up . dick doesn't say anything about the joint as they climb into the elevator , but jason feels blue eyes on him . hot , like fever . jason slumps against the back wall , finds his head lolling to rest on dick's shoulder . dick , thank god , adjusts accordingly , puts a firm arm around jason's , presses his lips to jason's temple . jason can feel dick working to slow his breathing to match jason's supernaturally slow pace , bets his heartrate's in the stratosphere . he's reminded again , and all at once , that dick can see these echoes skipping in and out too . this haunting is not his alone , not bruce's either . if jason can see the two of them , nightwing and robin , tying their shoelaces in this elevator : flushed and panicked and waiting for bruce to tell them what's happening , what they can do , how they can help , then so can dick . if jason can feel it , the suffocating pressure of everything that's ever happened , he knows at once he is not feeling it alone . something else he's grown to understand . he was never alone , not really . and he's not alone now .

jason holds out the joint , and after a moment's consideration , dick takes it . they're counting down internally , both of them , until they get to the cave . suspended here , underground and in between , there's nothing they can do . nothing to be asked of them at the second before midnight . nobody's nightwing here , nobody's the redhood , nobody's robin . not just now . so they take it . this pocket of time and space where they are all breath . and jason prays , for the right things this time . gives thanks . thanks for the boy matching his breath , shouldering his weight , telling him it will be okay without so many words . for the fact that dick always has , except when he hasn't . and thanks for this : he knows he asked for a purpose , and he knows his city turned on a light for him . a succinct answer that leaves room for nothing else . no space for wallowing in self pity , resentments , vengeance fantasies , trips to the guiltmart . they're here , the two of them , in this elevator , because they know what to do . they know how to do it . they know how they can help . world's finest . jason stomps the roach out under his boot . the doors open .

[0felia]

receiver finds sender in a frenzy maiming a body after they've already killed it / jason & dick

there were no details on the phone call . just a time & place . a request for ammunition . a directive to suit up . but jason doesn't need the details . he's sure they deserve it . as far as he's concerned , they all do . but for dick to call him . . . he knows this is a justice served . it'd have to be . nightwing doesn't call the redhood up in the middle of the night with a ted kaczynski ass grocery list unless someone really needs to fucking die . worse .

so jason hauls his ass out of bed at 4 in the fucking morning and straps on a couple guns . he hits a burger joint on the way . dick was talmbout grenades . so . probably needs a burger . it's a strange thing , this wire they walk . now , adults . brothers is a dirty word . it's salt in his mouth . something bruce would say — a twisted justification . a lie , egobent and radioactive . we're not brothers , because this isn't a family . that wasn't a father , i don't know what that was . brothers is out , and jesus christ are they not friends . but here's jason todd , ordering extra pickles for flying dick grayson . breaking out the fun knives before dawn on a saturday morning .

he finds dick perched atop the dumpsters , watching these goons close down their bar through the kitchen window . they house the burgers & split a bag of fries . jason critiques the dishwasher's mopping technique — see that's the thing , he didn't do a wet mop first . dude , the grout in there has to be , like , ranciiiiid . and now he's backing himself into a corner . how's he gonna make it out of this one ! dick doesn't engage . he's counting . strategizing . jason can see the maps come up behind his eyes .

he doesn't ask , not the obvious question at least . he recognizes these guys , some of them . creeps . well - fortified creeps . enough munitions in those back rooms to wage a sexy little bloodwar . fourteen of them by his count . it doesn't really matter to him what they did to piss dick off . he can tell by the way dick is counting them off on his fingers like a piano player tapping on invisible keys . they deserve it .

they wait for the dishwasher to leave . there's no discussion . they break . dick through the front , jason from the back . for a long time , there's nothing but the smell of blood and the ringing in his ears . an absence of narration here , forgive it : jason didn't see it happen . he was there , yeah , in body . cracking ribcages with the heel of his boot . but jason left the building . with a gun to his head he could not describe one of their faces . maybe it's would not . the line blurs there . he takes out six , easy . briefly considers tying up the one he found cowering in a closet . waste of rope . jason clears his end of the building . looses a bottle of jack from the bev cage . pulls off his hood .

the floor is slick with blood , it sticks tacky to his boots . all that mopping for what . he follows it to dick . he can hear it , dick throwing them around in there . playing with his food . or , he thought . there is no them . when he finds grayson , he's just got one by the collar . up against the wall . the boss . big guy in a three piece suit . left eye gouged , necrotizing out from the socket — all manner of innards pouring down his face . gushing profuse from a forehead gash . right arm pinned backwards , and judging from the angle : broken . in an effort not to choke on it , he's spitting blood at dick , that blue bat splashed across his chest all redbrown .

dick is , jason decides , playing with his food . monologuing at the guy while his organs shut down one by one . he's already dead , at least , his death is a foregone conclusion . but maybe he doesn't know that . doesn't want to act like that . everytime dick throws in , a punch up at the gut , a rough shove from the neck back up the wall , skull bouncing on the brick , he's twisting a smile out . managing a laugh . the bar is littered with all seven of dick's bodies . jason's glad he pulled that bottle from the back , because the speedrack is full of body parts .

speaking of , he necks the lukewarm jack . watches . lets moments go , a lot longer than someone without his long - steeled stomach would . maybe he should've left the hood on . there's a betrayal in his face , he's sure . something towards an edge of concern . he says : " that's enough " . and he doesn't know where the fuck that comes from . it's someone else's voice entirely . something bruce that tugs from his gut . it goes unheard . jason takes this opportunity to pick at the knife wound in his thigh . uppity bruiser got him . it doesn't hurt yet . but it will . he lets another couple moments go . half - listens to dick's condemnations , quarter - listens to his toy's rebuttals . throws in a " nightwing " every once and a while for good measure , just to test if dick's still on this earth . he's not .

he really does let it go a long while before he's up behind dick . saying it now through the lip of the bottle , " nightwing " . not with urgency , though it's nearing dawn , but with a placative tone . the second , though , that he gets close enough , dick reaches behind himself to free a gun from jason's holster . flips it , goes in with the butt . beats the guy down to the floor , caves in his skull . he's not arguing back anymore . not twisting up any bloodsmiles . not laughing . because now he's really dead . been dead .

jason crouches down , thigh blooming with pain at the effort . " nightwing . . . nightwing ? NIGHTWING . " jesus , why is he pretending ? they're all dead . nobody to hear but the rats and roaches . " fucking ── DICK . " he goes unheard , still , something unholy has taken over his not - brother not - friend . his eyes have gone black . jason edges in closer , puts a soft hand on dick's shoulder . " hey , hey . he's dead . okay ? he's dead . it's over . " he's talking to no one . fine . he grabs at dick's arm as it swings in a violent arc . wrestles it back . a struggle here : they end up on the floor , dick pinned , both breathless . jason takes back his gun . dick doesn't fight for it . jason rolls off . they pant up at the ceiling . he pats dick's chest , sighs , props himself back up . " what the fuck was that , grayson ? " he grabs at whiskey , half gone , tips it back before passing it over . " he sabotage a trapeze ? the fuck is wrong with you ? jesus christ . we need to get out of here . "

[ inbox file : prompts . ]

[0felia]

" you're getting blood on the carpet. " : BEA + SHEA

" ──── come here , sheaaaa , let me just ── " shea deftly circumvents all efforts to swipe at his nose with cloth and paper by the glittery girl in his kitchen . it involves some swatting , a slick back - turn around the island . he pulls paper towels for him self , knocks his head back , locates his beer . she's a sweet girl , christina . and she is just trying to help . but it's help that comes with her gingerly touching his face . getting in as close as possible . commenting on his aftershave , fixing his chain . he knows christina , he knows girls like christina . she saw it all happen in blurry sequence : the jackass suckering shea , and shea putting him through the coffee table . now , she's seeing an opportunity in this quiet aftershock .

so christina is seizing her moment , sitting on his counter , leaving glitter on the granitetop , not exactly demure , trying to paw in across the space he's carefully built between them . and shea is trying to swallow down blood . again , she's a nice girl . it's not like she's really done anything to deserve this . nothing but want him . that's more than enough , historically speaking , for shea . and aside from that , there's somewhere else he could be right now . he could politely excuse himself . he doesn't , but he could . he slips out of the room in the space between a question posed to him and the release of the smoke in her mouth . he grabs more paper towels on his way out .

five or six more people appear from the fringes of the party to fuss over him or knock his shoulders approvingly on his surreptitious journey up the stairs . a string is tugging at him , right from the solarplexus , up to the fire escape off his room . that's that somewhere else he could be right now . he doesn't need proof , but there it is : her heels , his bedroom floor . the smack of open july breeze . an empty bottle of champagne on his dresser , label peeled off .

there's a long moment where he says nothing . leans in his doorway , watches her . he'll never get over it , the urge to pluck her down from high places . she's in an effortless balance , sitting all legs on the escape . it can more than support the nothing she weighs and she isn't even tightroping across the metal , and still . the overwhelming urge to pull her back to solid ground . he tips back his beer , tips back his face , trying to staunch multiple bleeds . it's her that breaks this long moment ─── you're getting blood on the carpet .

and that's true , he supposes . and probably the stairs . the kitchen tile . " you're impossible . " he offers by way of a greeting . a heaving sigh . still swallowing blood from time to time . " i'm sorry . . . " decent pause here . or indecent , really . " your boyfriend's face broke my coffee table . " it's nothing but warmth on the tone , but he couldn't just apologize . cop to it . she knows that guy's a fucking prick . she watched it happen in blurring edges too . shea didn't start shit . he was perfectly regular to her latest accessory . he's the one who got suckerpunched . he shouldn't feel the guilt . so why does he .

there's no use in come back to the party . he knows that's over for her . probably for him now , too . " i mean it , i'm really sorry . it was like , a $400 table . " he swings through to join her on the fire escape . she pulls a piece of glass out of his hair and plays with it for a second too long before letting it fall to the street below them . when she gingerly lifts the paper towel he's been pressing to his nose , there's not even the idea of a swat , or a flinch , or a deft maneuver in the other direction . the bleeding's stopped . " bea . " she's touching the raw skin on his knuckles . he finds a serious tone . anchors his eyes on hers . holds her on solid ground , tries , just for a second : " he's an asshole . "

[ inbox file : prompts . ]

[0felia]

" shut up and let me help you. " @ jason

─ and so the rest of that argument is swallowed . unceremoniously reshifted . tim could do that ─ slice a line through the heartcenter of things . turn it out to the light . there's an affect like lightning about him . jason closes his mouth , rebalances the anchoring weight between his elbows . when he speaks again , he speaks slow , levels a laugh around the cigarette : " help ? me ? " an echo , there .

an echo here : one robin falling down the stairs , next . back from the dead , next . it's something funny , the notion to him of this fledgling across him : watching one robin falling down the stairs and throwing a hand out . that's not how this goes . that's now how this has gone . it's something funny , but not funny ha - ha . funny cosmic , funny caught in a loop , funny caught in his throat .

it's the guilt that twists it , jason knows that . he's looking at tim , earnest and serrated , and seeing tim : teenaged . skull cracked in . smirking , bloodspit . and he's looking at tim , geared to the teeth , and seeing dick : throwing a hand out when the elevator cable snapped . jason's boots scraping the wall for purchase and finding no salvation but that latex'd arm with a deathgrip around his own . he's looking at tim , quietly wildeyed and composed of an unsettling discernment , and seeing jason : absent a y - shaped scar . smarter than he ever was , silverspooned & poisonweaned . and he wants to help .

but it's just not how this goes , and it's not how this has gone . jason is backed into a corner , he knows that too . and dick has thrown him down more elevator shafts than he's saved him from , he knows that too . and a sensible argument would be tim's ─ he cannot do this alone , he must accept help . from wherever it's offered . a hand thrown is a hand thrown . and really , deep down , he knows that too . but there is something that happens to you , when you claw your way through a pine box and six feet of rainpacked dirt . something . i couldn't tell you what . but something . it's why jason balks at immobile shadows . why he says :

" you have fucking problems timmy . " to trace back why he says the following , you'd have to unwind all that carefully laid track about distrust and stories where the snake devours it's own tail for eternity . you'd have to acknowledge that there's an impulse here to slice the snake through at the neck . serration . " believe me , " and jason does , " you don't want any part of this shit . worry about your own crazy bullshit . let me worry about my neighborhood . " something about preservation , feedback loop decay , protection . something you couldn't call selfless , but something .

[ inbox file : prompts . ]

[unpr0mpted]

blood, blood, gallons of the stuff ! a collection of icky, bloody prompts for those who like to choose violence. actions are reversible. general warning for blood, violence, murder, death.

𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 :

" that's a lot of blood. "

" it isn't mine. "

" what did you do ? "

[ sigh ] " what did you do ? "

" come on. have a taste. "

" holy shit, are you okay ? "

" it looks worse than it feels. "

" you should see the other guy. "

" it's a good look on you. you should get covered in blood more often. "

" lean on me. "

" oh my god. oh my god, oh my god, what the fuck ? is that what i fucking think it is ? "

" . . . gross. "

[ standing over a body ] " oops. "

" is that a fucking body ? "

" look, i'm sorry, okay ? "

" what the hell happened ? "

" before you say anything, it wasn't me. "

" at least it wasn't me this time. "

" look at me. this is who i am, no matter how much you pretend it isn't. "

" look at me. this is who i am, no matter how much you wish it wasn't. "

" i'm not scared of you. "

" you don't scare me. "

" shut up and let me help you. "

" i got your shirt all bloody. "

" let's get you cleaned up. "

" that looks like it hurts. "

" i'm fine, just. . . give me a minute. "

" we are so fucked. "

" what the fuck is wrong with you ? "

" are you gonna help me clean it up or not ? "

" the fucker deserved it. "

" red looks good on you. "

" what the hell did you do ; tap - dance all over the body with ice - skates ? "

" what, did you run over the body with your car a couple times after ? "

" i. . . i didn't mean to. . . "

" sorry. fuck, i'm sorry. "

" this isn't what it looks like. "

" it was an accident. "

" motherfucker ran right into my knife, i swear. "

" people need to look both ways before crossing. . . bullets. "

" would you believe me if i said wrong place, wrong time ? "

" hey, look at me. i don't care. are you okay ? "

" they deserved it, right ? please tell me they deserved it. "

" you're bleeding. "

" what the fuck happened to you ? "

" you're getting blood on the carpet. "

" sit down before you fall down. "

" that looks like a you problem. "

𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙿𝙾𝙺𝙴𝙽 :

sender spits out a mouthful of blood at receiver's feet

sender spits out a mouthful of blood on receiver

receiver finds sender covered in blood

sender tries desperately to stop receiver's bleeding

sender helps receiver clean up after a kill

sender wipes blood from receiver's face with a washcloth

sender wipes blood from receiver's face with their thumb

sender licks receiver's blood off a knife

sender licks receiver's blood off their thumb

sender lights up a cigarette a foot away from someone they killed before offering one to receiver

receiver finds sender stood over a body

sender stitches up receiver's wound [ optional wound placement ]

sender digs their finger into receiver's wound [ optional wound placement ]

sender frantically checks receiver for injuries under all the blood

sender guides receiver's bloody hands under a faucet / water source and begins washing them clean

sender bites receiver hard enough to draw blood

sender tilts receiver's head back to staunch a nosebleed

sender draws a smiley face out of the blood they spilled :)

receiver finds sender cleaning up a kill in a daze

sender looks receiver in the eye as they shoot / stab / kill someone

sender ruffles receiver's hair, getting blood all over their hand

sender gets some of receiver's blood on them and makes a face

sender flicks blood at receiver to annoy them

sender stomps in a pool of blood to splash it on receiver

sender slips in their victim's blood but receiver steadies them before they can fall

sender steadies receiver when they slip in the blood sender spilled

receiver comes home to sender covered in blood and waiting for them with all the lights off

sender spits out a tooth and it hits receiver

sender tries to wipe blood off receiver but the blood on their hands just makes it worse

sender takes an injury meant for receiver

sender shows up on receiver's doorstep covered in blood

sender sits down quietly next to receiver after receiver kills someone

sender punches receiver in the mouth

receiver watches sender lick the blood off their fingers like its cheeto dust

sender helps receiver bury a body

sender hugs receiver just to get their victim's blood all over them <3

sender hugs receiver just to get their blood all over them <3

sender leans on receiver for support

sender kills someone to protect receiver

receiver finds sender in a frenzy maiming a body after they've already killed it

sender kills someone and the blood spatters on receiver

receiver finds sender desperately trying to wash the blood off of themself

sender kisses receiver to taste the blood on their busted lip

sender shoots / stabs receiver non - fatally as a warning

[ccarygrant]

Light me a cigarette, will you, angel?

The Big Sleep (1946) dir. Howard Hawks

[0felia]

too lazy too make a promo but i am out here <3 new blog <3

[metamorphesque]

green, green is my sister’s house | Mary Oliver

[venacesaur]

screaming crying throwing up thinking about these lines from hamlet. btw

[0felia]

[ INT . WELLS - O'CONNOR PRIVATE INVESTIGATORS . 23 : 11 . neon pours through the blindslats , backlighting a desk unmade and a man edging towards the same . the office is otherwise pitch . instinct pulls the face of a beleaguered " detective " off a pile of papers , there's a clamoring . someone is trying to break in . ]

so at least something interesting is happening . he lets the moment ride . why not . it sounds like a decent lockpicking effort . who is he to begrudge that . from behind him , in a casual leaning - against - the - window - liquored - up sort of way , the ghost in the room addresses the elephant . as it were , as it is .

" g͟͟͟u͟͟͟n͟͟͟ , ͟ ͟ ͟ ͟c͟a͟s͟e͟ ͟ ͟.͟ " oh , if only the dead would shut the fuck up . casey makes no motion for the .44 in his drawer . legs kick up on the desk . he leans back in the chair , testing the joints . nah , he mumbles . big fucking nah to the gun . the ghost comes again , that warm and exhausted fraternal voice .

" s͟h͟e͟'͟s͟ ͟ ͟ ͟ ͟a͟l͟m͟o͟s͟t͟ ͟ ͟ ͟g͟o͟t͟ ͟ ͟ ͟t͟h͟e͟ ͟ ͟ ͟ ͟l͟o͟c͟k͟͟ ͟.͟ " the beleaguered detective looks up then , first towards the origin of the voice , where there is nothing , then to the doorway . where there is 2nd lieutenant anthony wells . and he is that . in uniform . medals and patches they pinned and sewed to his waxstuffed chest just to bury him in . " why are you wearing that ? " casey asks , quiet , affronted , before managing to hone in on the more crucial point : " she ? "

" m͟o͟n͟k͟e͟y͟ ͟ ͟ ͟s͟u͟i͟t͟'͟͟͟s͟͟͟ ͟͟͟ ͟͟͟ ͟͟͟ ͟͟͟a͟͟͟t͟͟͟ ͟͟͟ ͟͟͟ ͟͟͟t͟͟͟h͟͟͟e͟͟͟ ͟͟͟ ͟͟͟ ͟͟͟c͟͟͟͟͟͟͟l͟͟͟͟͟͟͟e͟͟͟͟͟͟͟a͟͟͟͟͟͟͟n͟͟͟͟͟͟͟e͟͟͟͟͟͟͟r͟͟͟͟͟͟͟s͟͟͟͟͟͟͟ ͟͟͟ ͟͟͟,͟͟͟ " says the poor shadow of his best friend . anthony starts to bleed out from the heartcenter , an unfortunate pattern of his . " t͟o͟n͟i͟g͟h͟t͟ ͟,͟ ͟ ͟ ͟w͟e͟ ͟ ͟ ͟s͟e͟t͟t͟l͟e͟ ͟ ͟ ͟a͟l͟l͟ ͟ ͟ ͟h͟o͟m͟e͟t͟o͟w͟n͟ ͟ ͟ ͟b͟u͟s͟i͟n͟e͟s͟s͟ ͟ ͟.͟ ͟ ͟ ͟ ͟a͟n͟d͟ ͟ ͟ ͟y͟o͟u͟'͟r͟e͟ ͟ ͟ ͟ ͟s͟u͟p͟p͟o͟s͟e͟d͟ ͟ ͟ ͟t͟o͟ ͟ ͟ ͟s͟a͟l͟u͟t͟e͟ ͟ ͟ ͟m͟e͟ ͟ ͟.͟ "

" i don't recognize posthumous promotions . i still outrank you . " he points at what was anthony : " sergeant . " and to himself : " first sergeant . the war is over , deadboy , and i don't even salute living officers . who the fuck is at the door ? " he can hear the lock start to click in a cooperative fashion .

" y͟o͟u͟'͟r͟e͟ ͟ ͟ ͟n͟o͟ ͟ ͟ ͟f͟u͟n͟ . " the elaborate hallucination pouts . lights a spectral cigarette . he's dripping blood onto the carpet . it's starting to come out of his mouth . his hands shake around the lighter . the bottom - right drawer on casey's desk silently unjams itself , slides open . " '͟s͟ ͟ ͟ ͟j͟u͟s͟t͟ ͟ ͟ ͟a͟ ͟ ͟ ͟p͟r͟o͟p͟ ͟,͟ ͟ ͟ ͟ ͟c͟a͟s͟e͟ ͟ ͟.͟ "

casey john o'connor balances the feeling of a gun on his palm . confirms a comforting absence of bullets . some fucking prop . the door busts open with a surprising force , unceremoniously cutting through his moral dilemma time with startling action . there's legs that go all the way to the floor , a coat , the collapse of a lamp . now the .44 finds itself sideways , trained . trained on . . .

ENTER : dove .

oh . tonight we settle all hometown business . he'd say she tripped over 2nd lieutenant jackass , as he is writhing in bloodied agony on the floor behind her , playing out his part , but it'd be hard to trip on something that isn't there . even if that something that isn't there appears to be laughing , under the red .

casey holds his gun level . but he has to think about it , which hasn't happened in a very long time . there is a sudden sense of calamity , of something set in motion a long time ago unspooling in earnest . and it's not really a wonder why . because there she is .

" you a'ight , doll ? "

the words leave him slow and genial and pained in a way like fireworks , or a bullet wound , or anthony's own hands driving nail after nail into casey's chest . pinning on posthumous patches . false hopes . he is kindling . again . and already . and without really a wonder why . because .

all this time . all this time and she found him . she broke into his office . on anything , that's why anthony's laughing in his echoing exit . it's why case would be , if that muscle still worked . he is kindling now . god put something he cares about back on the board . he is kindling . now . he knows it immediately , like smoke .

gunsteady : " that lamp was an antique . "

[ @killerdame. ]

[biscuitsofsorcery]

Tangerine and Sergei + punching glass (and looking hot asf while doing it)

[0felia]

[ INT . YOUR BIG BROTHERS APARTMENT . 03 : 43 . post potentially - but - hopefully - not - prophetic dream about your fathers' chickens coming home to roost . and something about an all consuming hellfire - like armageddon . ]

. . . so you have a weird dream , you break into your big brothers' apartment in the middle of the night . it's not like you haven't spoken in [ . . . ] years . who knows — the magister would say time is relative , neil would say it kinder .

sasha was seven once , eight , as all children have been , and she woke up screaming . it happened all the time , the waking up screaming . she never remembered those dreams , not in substance .

she remembers their wake : neil , or nadia , aidan . scared and brave , as all children have been . hushing , lulling her back , crawling under her blankets , tying a string to her ankle and telling jokes up at her until she came laughing back to earth . it hasn't happened in [ . . . ] years .

but it sure is fucking happening now . at least the exorcist show . tonight , she was in a bed , not hers , way downtown in some alphabet city walkup , so close to the highway you could spit in the east river . the barnard phd candidate and her crunchy duvet found the whole thing so un-chic .

maybe sasha would care , if she were an entirely different person . maybe . it's something to think about . what kind of person she could be , would've been . the magister would say that everyone is relative , discard the thought as a meaningless exercise in imagination . neil wouldn't .

she takes barnard girl's lizard . which maybe was un-chic , but the poor thing was dehydrated . desperate . looking up at her with a singularly piercing expression : that of a creature who would rather die than suffer a life in this cage a moment longer . it came with her happily , crawled up into her sleeve and nestled itself neatly into the hood of her sweater .

sasha , twenty eight according to the adoption papers , but looking worse for wear , all streaked mascara and sweatcurling frizz , sits flannel hiked to her knees on the edge of neil's shower . watching the water run down the drain . her and the lizard are splitting a banana . the lizards' being mashed on a plate balanced percarious on the edge of the tub .

somewhat unsurprising , neil did not have any live insects in his fridge . at least not where she'd have intuited a deli of live insects to be housed . maybe he's got an auxiliary fridge in his freaky secret lab he probably definitely has . who fucking knows , he's weird .

she's cooing at the lizard , spitballing name ideas , " aww , are you a susan ? " when neil comes home . reader please , if neil had been home , she'd never have scaled , picked , and wriggled through his fire escape undetected . let alone root around in his fridge and run the shower with the fan off long enough to rehydrate a lizard and slick the tile .

when the foot fall stops at the doorway , she doesn't find it necessary to turn around . sasha sniffs . swallows . adjusts the faucet , softens the rush of noise . " i had a bad fucking dream nathaniel . " and , afterthought , " you got mealworms ? "

[ @convexing . ]