Just a little more...

sorrowed-tripto-addict

It had been months since he had escaped his tomb. Jayden - no, Norman - had nursed him back to some semblance of health. He was no longer deathly thin, but eating was taxing. His leg had mended where he had broken it, but when he tried to walk – which was more and more now – the pain was debilitating. His dreams were plagued with the pale fluorescence of the bathroom, with the darkness that hung from his shoulders. His death had been too close. Norman had saved his life, and despite what may have transpired between them before, he trusted Norman completely. The man had given him a new life – a second chance. And for that, he could never thank him enough. Yet even then, Mark was still a monster. Still the murderer. He could still feel rage burning in his gut, and while he trusted and cared for the agent, he couldn’t trust himself. He didn’t deserve the kindness, the understanding.

The day they flicked on the television the trust was tested again. Another Jigsaw murder… another victim. Norman watched him warily, doubted him, questioned him. And it had hurt more than Mark was willing to admit. Norman had left him alone, and he learned of Norman’s vice – ARI. He saw him suffer withdrawal, eyes clouded, skin pale, dying. He saw himself, mirrored in Norman’s pallor and pain. He couldn’t lose Norman – not now. Without him, Mark would die, and while he had begun to welcome the cold of oblivion, Mark had found a reason to live, to try.

Dr. Lawrence Gordon was trying everything in his power to destroy what was left of Mark Hoffman. He continued John’s work, pegging Mark, missing and still at-large to all but the agent across the room, as the murderer. Mark who hadn’t left the room for weeks now. If Mark were to finally escape his name, his past, Gordon had to die. And Norman was more than willing to help.

Mark flipped through the channels, searching for more leads. Norman could use all the help he could get, but Mark refused to put him through his personal hell. Ten minutes in ARI, no more. Nausea built in his gut, reminding him, taunting him. Tremors ran through his hands, but he pushed them back. At night, nightmares had free reign, but in the day, he could be present. Safe. He was always safe with Norman.

“I’ve got something north of here. They’re getting closer. Are we still…?”

A lamentable addict is susceptible to overuse FBI distributions, of substances made available upon deplorable whim, the intent to complete a task, secure locations, save lives quicker than those scouring the field.

Hoffman may have committed atrocious crimes, Jayden will concede the thought alone in an instant, but there’s far more transpiring, what circumvents the unwitting. He doesn’t deserve a sentence such as this, not now... he’s suffered enough.

Frigid appendages trace along the desk, pen swirling in expeditious detail, handwriting subpar, foreign to registering detail upon page in sharp dissimilarities to limitless data. The abysmal detail of another death cajoles his disdain.

Although never quite crossing paths with John Kramer, he’s the idea the patient wasn’t an ideal mentor, he’s not a man to follow, not a man to address in reverence. Why, how could he gain such a following... What provoked Mark to carry out his work following his death.... What pressurizes Gordon? Was it really to fasten a sentence to Mark’s name?

“I could use take a quick look on ARI, see what’s around. Ten minutes should be ‘nough to figure enehtin’ out.”

“Could be the best shot we have, Mark... I’ll give you an exact location. We can stop them there...” Another pause, tantalizingly unhurried in transient thought. “Alternatively, we could visit...I’ll have a bettah chance of finding more.”

oblivious-protean-deactivated20

xcayde6

Oh shit. It’s coming. Triptocaine. All I need is to take some…. and the pain will go away. I should resist. This is gonna kill me.

Visit Original Link

Two Best Friends Play Heavy Rain Part 15

#I'm laughing so much omf #;out of tripto

tombralderarchive

“All those murders just to find a father capable of saving his son?”

“Just to find a father?! Do you have any idea how it feels to be a worthless nothing in your father’s eyes? Believe me, I’ve suffered! Just as much as my victims…”

#;h a l l u c i n a t e

#///I plan on replying to this but omf #-SOBS-

“Happy birthday to the my heart and soul, Norman Hoffman. You saved my life… you’re everything to me and will always be. I’m incredibly proud of how far we’ve come in such little time. You have me forever and always. Thank you for being the best husband, father, and best friend. Σ ‘αγαπώ, το κουτάβι μου, η ζωή μου. Mark”

{But seriously guys, sorrowed-tripto-addict. It’s Norman’s b-day. If you don’t know about this ship - if you’re new or never read the threads - Mark and Norman have been officially together for like… two years now? It’s a long standing thread that has been going on since I met the wonderful writer. They’re one of the reasons Mark is single-ship, and I love their relationship. And the writer. She’s wonderful and you should give her love. She spends most of her time over here -> influencedbyfear. Go give love and be merry.}

As soon as the door slid shut, Mark was on his feet. Or as best he could. He gripped the edge of the bedside table, moaning. Pain shot through his leg, almost sending him reeling. Inhaling sharply, he managed to sit along the window. He drew the curtain across to obscure him from view, trying to track them. His vision swam with pain. “Fucking hell Norman….”

Norman continues his exploration, rapid in analysis, fingers tucked into the confines of his pocket. There was bound to be someone... As if on cue, a man scurries past, shoulder connecting in drag along the surface of adjacent wall for Norman to turn back, gaze softening. “Everythin’ alright?”

Silence.

Ineluctable in approach, Jayden neared, producing his badge. “Nahman Jayden, FBI.” The man stops, eyes producing depth of trauma, stare burrowing. “I... noticed you outside, you seemed a little lost. Is there enethin’ I can do for you?” Hesitant, Norman’s gaze lifted to the man dangerously close to the door, seemingly unknowing of what lurked behind. “You have any information on a Mark Hoffman? I’m having a hard time believing he’s really dead.”

“I…” Mark set his jaw. Persistent as he was, Norman had no idea what he was dealing with. They would stop at nothing to bury him. He sucked in a deep breath, stomach clenching painfully. Slowly, he nodded. “Don’t die.”

“Ah’m goin’ to make sure you have your way out..” Norman is brief in parting word, hand tentatively extending for him and retracting faintly.

“Ah’m gonna help you okay?” Without another word, Norman inches away, guided to exit in calm stride. Gingerly, he parts the door open, sealing it behind and awaiting the gentle click prior to working his way to the front desk to scour for their disgruntled visitor. Although understanding, Norman couldn’t entirely accept the notion of a gun... it couldn’t be the answer for everything.

Mark grimaced. “You have your gun?” He lifted his gaze along his figure, finding nothing. “Norman, they’re not going to wait for you to arrest them. Not for me.” Mark rubbed along his thigh, grunting. He itched to get out of the bed, to deal with this himself.

“Right now, no one’s aware of your exact location.” Norman faces him briefly, gaze set in prolonged stare. “Ah’m not an executioner. I’ll find the best way outta this but a gun isn’t always the answer.” his stare lingers, searching Mark’s gaze.

“Do you trust me?”

“Wait” He straightened, trying to move closer to the young agent. The kid was going to get himself hurt in all this. He groaned. His leg was not willing to cooperate, stiffening at the perceived motion. “You’re not going out there, right? If he’s looking for me, he’ll rip you to pieces.”

Obedient, Norman falls still, brows creasing. “Ah’m sure the circumstances if Ah’m to do othah’wise may not fall in my favor.” Pallid fingers interlace, mild sway catching the former detective in calm stare. “If it’s concern for your own well being, Mark, und’ahstand I’ve got that covered too... You’ll be okay.” he tries, inclining his head to the nearer seat. “I’ll be back...”

svgary-deactivated20150616

maza-dohta

If anyone in California is interested in adopting a dog or a cat, Kerns County Animal Shelter ( one of the most disgraceful shelters in California ) is being shut down. Dogs are being sold for 15$ and cats for 5$ ( all are fixed with shots. )

Every animal will be put down by September 30th.

Go here for more information.

#;Signal boost

rytfujgkuhhgmjgh

get to know me meme [1/10 male characters] ➤ agent norman jayden

#; H A L L U C I N A T E

Can you reblog this if you wouldn’t mind having pre-established relationships? I’m looking for RP partners, but everyone I approach replies as if they were strangers, and my muse needs friends. p(´⌒｀｡q)

vore-goblin

EVIL CHARACTERS GENUINELY CARING FOR SOMEONE

#Norman Jayden #Heavy Rain #Open Starter

Indulgence in Moderation || OPEN

For the man welcoming the luxury of another's company found once more in solitude, familiarity and recognition to the lack of presence all too customary for the devoted agent. Radiant blue, translucent through scintillating illumination splays from beneath dark shades. A tool to locate evidence, to increase rapidity of profiling. Graciously--- Norman's lack of 'indulgence' intertwines with the healthier state, inexorably left to teeter and deplete with every minute that the shades remain activated.

He'd make this quick. The agent’s every motion conveys in rapid blur, fingers curving and extending, arms swiping, guiding information forth- back, aside, digital information at the eager touch. ARI complies, glistening through steadying gaze, focus set, ‘Locate the culprit, report to the appropriate source’. Hushed utterances reverberates through the small encasement of room turned office, a room of which should not have been used for confidential purposes. Norman's intent in locating his culprit leads him into a space unfamiliar- public. A library.

The single right-handed glove hovers delicately above a digitalized box, made visible to only the wearer of the design of technological device concealing peculiarity of ice colored optics. Though visibly out of mind should the curious ever peer through the provided window, Norman's frantic swings had been through reason. A soft grunt through effort, barely audible even through confines of study room.

With effort, Norman slows the erratic swipes and removes the shades, tucking the technological device away. An exhale elicits, brows creasing. The beginnings of a headache blossoms and brightness in once radiant cerulean eyes fades, cultivating grey spiraling from the iris.

The glove slithers from the hand with a delicate tug and it’s rapidly pocketed. Icy fingers rest amongst the right lateral of his skull and another small groan stifles with a forced, gentle cough.

Blinking rapidly through new illumination and quavering image of falsified technology, Norman fell still. A migraine increases by passing intervals. The hand lowers and drops limp, useless at his side with transient glimpse towards any passing by with visible curiosity.

He couldn't draw attention to this.

And with some minor difficulties (prolonged staring at photoshop and coding) I’ve completed a theme that I like to call “Good enough, stop messing with it. It’ll likely explode.” I’ll gradually be returning to this page, please understand the delays.

You will also find me here

#(Out of Tripto)

“I don’t think so. Or at least, not anyone I want to know.” He rubbed along his leg irritably. If anyone was really coming for him, it would be for one thing only. He had a price on his head. Police or criminal, he was wanted for dead. Jayden would only get messed up in this. “See if he leaves.”

The agent gave a soft nod, arm drawn to curve in settling along the window, angling to keep from conspicuous depiction and analyzing the likeness of this man seemingly frantic, but not entranced by disorientation. Seemingly set to eternal tranquil nature, Jayden sporadically turned his attention back, ever-present softness interwoven by perplexity. In unfurling interlude, Norman exhales gently, perturbed at last. “He’s entering the facility,” chances of being found are not as insubstantial, with the stench of death still permeating, locating Mark Hoffman would be significantly easy. Drawing upright, Norman heads to the door, guiding to a pause.

“Ah’m sure he’ll stop if he’s aware of any authorities currently occupying the area.”