THE END IS NIGH

" And I'm up while the dawn is breaking, even though my heart is aching, I should be drinking a toast to absent friends instead of these comedians. " independent rorschach of watchmen by;tobi

[scarestress-a]

👫

send 👫 and I’ll write some headcanons I have about our muse’s relationship

it took her at least a month to realize that rorschach and the question were two completely different people. there are too many vigilantes in this goddamn city

virgil is Extremely Freaked Out by the fact that rorschach’s mask moves and every time he sees it he does the thing and hisses louder than one would think physically possible

she becomes 300% more amicable once she finds out he’s ginger

i feel like he’d get a kick out of the spiderdome but i also feel like he’d take one look at it and be like “all those bugs will die eventually and none of them are able to understand what you are doing for them” so ????????????

one of these days he’s gonna say something about her and jon and she’s gonna punch him right in the face

[niteowlling-blog]

@endeistnah ♡’d.

                    Daniel – NITE OWL – frowned down at the body on the floor, the man beaten to within an inch of his life, unconscious and covered in his own blood, before looking up at Rorschach with a similarly bemused expression. ❝ … Did you try just … ASKING … if he knew where the money was? ❞

[endeistnah-blog]

  “What else would I ask about?”

  Stupid question, short answer, it was as simple as that.  Niteowl would always get an answer in the attempt to make the impossible work; the partnership was good.  At least enough to give an effort.  Rorschach looked from just to right of meeting Niteowl’s gaze to the body at his feet.

  “He didn’t know.”

[ashesofcaptivity-a-deactivated2]

Your father didn’t love you, so you assume no one else would either.

Caroline Forbes.  (via berserkerage)

[endeistnah-blog]

"21st Century Schizoid Man" is a pretty good song for Rorschach imo. Just thought i'd share this information.

agreed

[scarestress-a]

“You’re damn right I’m offended.”

“I’m offended that you came in here and cornered me when no one else is around. I’m offended that you assume I’m up to something because I know a couple rich guys and have a stalker. I’m offended that you think my life is somehow any of your business. What right do you have to come up and interrogate me, huh? What grand manifesto says you can do this? Huh? Sure as Hell isn’t Batman. Sure as Hell isn’t the law. What are you even trying to do here? Detective work? Blackmail? Just adding another layer on the pile of stupid shit I have to deal with? Because it seems to me you don’t know jack shit about anything you’re talking about. It seems to me you are in over your head.”

[endeistnah-blog]

  “Masked freaks here just like anywhere else.  Lots of crossover, too arrogant to crosscheck with one another.  Treading water is a good day.  There hasn’t been a good day in a long time.  Even the big bat-man could probably agree with that.”

  It was too casual, sitting across in chairs, too equal and open.  Rorschach spun to the side as he stood, talk was getting nowhere, he didn’t want to sit and chat.  Rebecca Albright was all confrontation and undue transparency, she almost came off honest.

  “I don’t like gray areas.  You’re a big one.”

  Not like his face, that was beautiful in its own way.  Swirling black on pure white without mixing or bleeding gray into either; pleasing to watch to a young Kovacs, necessary to Rorschach.  He headed to the window.

[scarestress-a]

The shift in his posture was small– passable as him simply trying to get out of her way. Rorschach, the man with no face who thinks her life is his business, wouldn’t try to get out of her way. The movement reeks of history.

It’s the kind of movement Jonathan would make.

She hooks her fingers around the purse strap and holds onto it as she straightens up, stares right at him as she pulls up another rolling chair from the next computer over, stares right at him as she sits and sets her bag in her lap across from him. It’s not a friendly stare.

“Fuck if I know. But the Zoloft and Clozapine sure helps.”

[endeistnah-blog]

  Drugs.  The names ring familiar at the back of his mind, television (in color now?) helped know the prejudice attached, the real uses were vague and terrifying. There was some respect in someone that would admit to them and wonder at why she used them like comedians shielded with a joke.

  He stared back, face to face with the girl.  Hostility, Rorschach could take.  He snorted, at her frank deadpan, and at the idea she would assume she was seeing the disguise. 

  “Never believed much in them, mass-produced little pills.  Too easy to get wrong.  Too easy to force down your throat.

  “You’re offended I came.”

[scarestress-a]

Her jaw clenches until the sound of her teeth grinding together is audible. Men like that don’t usually wait for a lady’s permission. And what about men like him? What about men like Bruce? What about the men who are so utterly convinced that what they’re doing is right? What about the men who don’t stop to think about whose lives they’re trampling on when they go out to save the day?

She walks back to him, lowering the keyboard, and then she leans over to prod the power button on the monitor, like he isn’t even there. The screen goes black. The power button flashes green intermittently.

“That’s confidential.”

[endeistnah-blog]

  He isn’t there.  He couldn’t be there, with her so close he caught a whiff of her hair, because that would be unbearable.  Rorschach was powerful, resourceful, he could handle himself, but just then he was as invisible as Walter Kovacs.  Straightening his back and sitting properly like a good boy should, he tried to lean away as imperceptibly as he could.

  He stilled in a huff, a small sound, and watched.

  And found the voice again, that his mother hated.

  “How.”

  That didn’t make any sense in or out of context, Rorschach cleared his throat.

  “In the papers.  You got the worst of it.  You look normal enough to pass.  How.”

[scarestress-a]

Hang on. That’s not his face, that’s… something else entirely. Some kind of mask. It’s all she can look at, once she realizes that. It’s weird. It’s not– not right. It’s beautiful, but in a way that kind of makes her sick to her stomach? Whatever it is, it’s giving her the creeps. And she doesn’t like it.

“– It’s none of your fucking business.”

What is he supposed to be? A vigilante? An investigator? She’s not entirely sure she wants to find out. He sounds like Batman.

She doesn’t like Batman.

“I’m not a criminal, if that’s what you’re trying to say.” Her heart is beating fast, her hands are sweating. She has to adjust her grip on the ruined keyboard. Doesn’t want to run– he might catch her, he might follow her home. Her cell phone and anything that could be used to fight him off are in her purse next to the computer. He’s closer to it than she is. She adjusts her grip on the keyboard again and raises it a fraction of an inch.

“Why do you care? How do you know me?”

[endeistnah-blog]

  “Known on paper, only followed Scarecrow at a distance.  He mentions you too often for comfort.  They say you’re different, something special, but the man you live with isn’t clean either.  Followed that crow-man to your penthouse.  He lingered outside.  Didn’t dare snoop or go in.  Why?

  “Learned a long time ago men like that don’t usually wait for a lady’s permission.”

  He kept his distance and plopped down in the chair slowly spinning against the wall.  In one kick off, he rolled over to her desk without the keyboard and glanced over the backlit screen.  “Hurm.”  Nothing at first skim, but it did not mean it was nothing more than busy work keeping her late.  

[fakevirtue]

[gothspider-man-blog]

Watchmen No. 6 “The Abyss Gazes Also”

[imnotjohnnycash-blog]

[angsty-askboxmemes]

Come nag my muse with questions on a sensitive topic.

[aesthetic-supernatural]

[twcfaced-blog]

     Is it yours? Funny, how the people society rejected and pushed to the fringes - ill-fed homeless man with a grubby sign on a street corner - had a way of seeing things more clearly than the ‘normal’ rank and file ever could. Might be why they didn’t fit in; it made people uncomfortable, cutting to the heart of an issue, seeing things with unveiled eyes, and more than truth, more than clarity, the masses wanted comfort.

     He couldn’t blame them.

     He also couldn’t rejoin them. Not anymore. Once your eyes had been opened you could never bring yourself to close them again, no matter how hard you tried.

     “…only one I’ve got.” As if the man knew. Knew that he ran his hands over smooth skin he couldn’t feel every day and told himself this is me, this is me, this is me. Face molded to resemble D.A. Dent as closely as possible, to try to recapture the old him, a man long dead - grafts covering up the gnarled and twisted ugly, another dead man, another person he wasn’t anymore. And what was left was…what? Trying so hard to define himself, and nevermind the fact that both of the people he’d tried so hard to be for the last twenty years had turned out to be caricatures, lies he told himself until they started to sound true, fake it til you make it. Realizing that he didn’t think he’d ever actually known who he was. Not for certain. “Guess it’ll have to be.” Maybe a day would come when he could look in a mirror and not feel a queer and nauseating sense of unreality, of looking at a man that was and wasn’t himself. Maybe one day he’d find the answer to that question. But it wasn’t today.

     “—What’s your name?” Odd, off-putting, this frankness occurring between perfect strangers who would, in all likelihood, never meet again. Maybe the spell would be broken if he had a name to put to the gaunt, surly face. Maybe he just wanted to know. Names were important - more than most people would ever appreciate.

[endeistnah-blog]

  “Walter Kovacs.”

  A curl of humor pulled at his split lip but he let it die as quick as it came.  One mask to another, unless the man felt like going up against a peeler or a knife he wouldn’t see the real face underneath.  Rorschach held no reservations in telling him the lie.  It wasn’t even a full lie, legally, it was correct somewhere else.  

  It was a hop, skip and a jump away, but the effort was just enough to sit at the opposite end of the bus station bench.  

  He wanted to tell a story.  The last time he did a friend got nauseous.  That one there, frowning as best he could into a gas station sandwich, he might have taken it better.  He understood so well, better than Dreiberg about what wearing a halloween getup could do to the right kind of person; Rorschach no longer bothered with the other side of the street, he watched the man with a plastic face.

  Picket sign tucked between his knees, Walter palmed a sugar cube half disintegrated in his pocket liner.

[soracities]

But to be furious, murderously furious, is to be alive. No longer young, no longer pretty, no longer loved, or sweet, or loveable, unmasked, writhing on the ground for all to see in my utter ingloriousness… there’s no telling what I might do.

Claire Messud, The Woman Upstairs (via martyriium)

[bad-jew-jew]

“Oh, wow, oh-kay.  What is your superpower, pray tell?  Being the human personification of that friggin’ Grumpy Cat meme?”  For every step back he takes, she takes a step forward.  How interesting–he’s already uncomfortable, and she hasn’t even tried anything, yet.

Awesome.

[endeistnah-blog]

  “No super powers.  No cats.”

  No, no no...  She was too much, and close.  Something like pride insisted he stand his ground eventually but if he stayed the first contact would be mid-chest and his skin already crawled under all his layers.

  Shoulders tense, his fists balled up and ready to bite back.

[metuspes]

psa for all my blogs I guess;  

im not feeling well and until i sort myself out i won’t be very efficient with asks or drafts or anything i just want to disappear for a while out of the real world that’s why i’ve only been active with a select few friends elsewhere i’m sorry.

i feel like i can’t focus and my writing’s gone downhill since i don’t even know how far back idk peeps i don’t know sorry just wanted to tell you guys.  between trying to finish my degree this year (trying being the key word) and my great grandma being in and out of the hospital and all of my family needing me to keep up on their house hold stuff gosh i just feel out of it

(we live on the edge of the suburbs we’ve got big properties they’re hard to maintain by aging grandparents and I, the good granddaughter/great granddaughter have been doing stuff since i got for the summer.)

so bear with me if you’d like, but im gunna be flaky as hell