Discover Top Posts Tagged with #cw attack

I don't really know how to talk/write about something like this, but I haven't seen people talking about it and I feel like something should be said. The attack in Jerusalem this past Friday night was one of the most tragic that has happened in the last few years. I wanted to say I'm sorry to anyone who has been affected by it and that I hope the Jewish community will recover from this loss. All my love to anyone who needs it right now ❤️❤️.

#cw death #cw attack

True crime show: The victim, Screeblibini S was graphically stabbed to death by their assailan- Funky town by Lipps Inc, constantly playing my head: TAKE ME DOOWWWWWWWWN TO FUNKY TOOOOOWNN

#tw murder #tw attack #cw murder #cw attack

cont. with @protectiveforce, whom i sometimes resent, if not hate. ( do i, though? do i really? yes. )

It’s a nice evening, one of the noisily quiet, chaotically cosy, messily peaceful sort --- all things considered, they’ve REALLY outdone themselves to deserve it. After a case like that, stringing their nerves more tightly than the threads of a quivering spiderweb, Dirk is surprised they’re still on their feet. Well, one of them is, to be precise, because of course, their coffee machine was just recently made to melt by an, er, unknown intruder who was quick to flee the scene. How fortunate that he doesn’t have to bother sorting out such trite details! Investing in a personal assistant might just have been the most emotionally and tactically rewarding decision of Dirk’s life ( not that he has a particularly outstanding number of those to pride himself on ). It allows him to sit quite comfortably on their shabby little sofa, legs tucked across one of the armrests, cheeks bulging with a mouthful of ketchup-flavoured Monster Munch and eyes partially closed in beautiful, careless relaxation. Lazily, his half-slumbering gaze wanders to the digits flashing up on the screen of his phone. Twenty-five more minutes to go, then it’s time to wash out the minuscule droplets of jojoba oil that are SURE to give his hair exactly the kind of effortlessly elegant gloss he has always been aiming for. The endeavour went dreadfully wrong the first time, but he is a marginally older and wiser Dirk now, extremely well-versed in handling natural oils and a little more familiar with the concept of temperance. He’s rather hoping that Todd { wonderful, gorgeous Todd } will be back in time for a joint shower: putting his assis-boyfriend skills to the purpose of getting them both coffee cannot take THAT long.

The thought of said shower alone spurs Dirk’s heartbeat into an electrified little gallop. The pleasant kind, of course, not the one that comes with torturous high-voltage experiments, which is an unexpectedly benevolent change. He squirms excitedly in his resting spot between the innumerable layers of blankets. Oh, he does miss this dumb sky-eyed man already, and resolves to spend a few tensely concentrated minutes attempting to lure Todd back home by force of will alone. But to no avail: Todd will have to walk all the way to the coffee place first, and try not to get flirted at while he’s adorably fumbling for his wallet, and remember the rather complicated drinks order Dirk entrusted him with, and then make his way back without spilling anything on those new jeans that look so ravishing on him, and ... how terribly opportune to have someone around to do the tiresome assisting, particularly when it involves so much walking! Almost without noticing it, the detective slips into an easy little nap. A smile plucks away at the corners of his lips as he nestles deeper into the blankets. Everything is ... GOOD. So soft. So warm, downy-sweet, free of any worry beyond the immediate choice of body wash when pulling Todd into the shower. The miniature sphere of dreams that sucks Dirk into its centre is full of sunsets and bed sheets and steam curling above coffee cups and heart-shaped dots of crimson that dissolve into splatters of something dark and smudgy and ...

... TODD! By the time Dirk yanks open his eyelids, the room has gone cold and stony-grey. He’s sitting on the floor, catapulted off the edge of the sofa, spine straight as an exclamation mark, every last muscle fibre rigid with alarm. TODD! What is happening?! This is not the usual jolt of love-struck thrill that courses through him whenever his boyfriend comes home late at night and rouses Dirk from his bored snoozing. Something --- something is different. TODD! It’s ... it’s not only different, it’s ... more than that. It’s bad. This is bad. TODD! He’s on his feet before he can make any conscious effort to move. TODD! Snacks and duvets and towels and comic books and mugs of what was once tea spring apart every which way when Dirk makes a panicked beeline for the door. TODD! He barely has the time to grab his jacket and wiggle into it, blindly bowing to the suspicion that he will need it. TODD! Okay, okay, okay --- he’s racing down the stairs, best not to think too closely about the pace at which he’s going, and every single step is a drumbeat of TODD, TODD, TODD, TODD -!! But of course ( be faster! ) it’s all going to be just fine. Naturally ( he stumbles outside beneath a sky that, though soothingly sleep-coloured just a few minutes ago, now looks broody and suffocating ), naturally it’ll turn out that Todd is merely ... mildly distressed because the shop’s closed, or because he’s short on cash, or because ( run! quick! hurry! turn the corner! nearly bump into a man! don’t mind, don’t even apologise, keep running! run! run! run! ) --- or because --- because --- it could be any other old reason, really, ANY reason at all, it doesn’t have to ... doesn’t ... --- Dirk’s phone is at his ear, pressed against the side of his head desperately enough to hurt while his free arm is pumping for speed. Todd’s not picking up. There’s only the toot-toot-toot of a dead connection, only the Todd-Todd-Todd of Dirk’s pulse, but ------ doesn’t matter, doesn’t MATTER, call again, just do it, don’t think, because if you think about the endless possibilities your hunch could theoretically entail you’ll never be able to move again, you’ll freeze into an empty shell and sink to the ground and no no no, none of this can happen! None of this WILL happen! It’s clearly just the anxiety speaking, obviously Todd is perfectly fine and well and okay and safe and sound and healthy, silly Dirk! Stupid, panicky Dirk! It’s okay! It’s okay! It’s okay!

That’s when he hears the scream. And after that, blankness. The only thing that prevails is the rush of blood in his ears, the fire in his lungs, the heaviness of his idiotically pudding-like legs. And the alley. That alley. Even as Dirk tumbles closer, even as he spots the unshapely lump on the concrete that is the stranger, even as his eyes fall on the crumbled silhouette of his boyfriend, he knows that he is NEVER going to be able to forget this. He breaks his fall on his knees. Awareness is battering him to a pulp; the sudden, startling, icy awareness that it’s not okay. That, once again, the hunches don’t help him. Don’t help anyone he cares about. Don’t help the ones he loves. The one he loves. If only he had woken up sooner, if he had accompanied Todd, if he hadn’t destroyed their coffee machine in the most brainless manner possible, if he had --- if he had ...

“ Todd. Todd. ” He never knew his own voice to be such a small thing. Dirk’s hands are like birds fluttering helplessly across his boyfriend’s chest and the gash in his stomach, where his shirt is pooling with crimson. Dark, smudged splatters. His palms come back sticky. “ Todd! Todd, are you listening? Todd, you --- silly man, this is hardly the time for cheap theatrics, Todd, Todd! I’m SURE this isn’t as bad as you think it is, we --- we’ll get you help! Todd! Look at me! Listen to my voice! You HAVE to say something! I can’t ... here! Here, hold this. Hold it! I’ll call help! Help is practically already on its way, Todd, trust me, I know! I’m --- I’m a detective, after all! ” When exactly he has scooped his boyfriend’s limp body against his chest or struggled out of his clingy, cramped jacket, he has no idea. But he clasps Todd’s hand { so weak, so cold! } and presses it feverishly against the incessant well of blood, begging against all hope that the yellow leather will be any good at fixing the leakage. Because that’s what it is: not a wound, but a leak in reality, an impossibility that is bound to sort itself out as soon as the universe realises just how preposterous a mistake it’s made. This cannot be happening. This IS not happening! Nothing about that stupid, shallow scratch is quite as ghastly as Todd’s making it out to be. It ... it merely happens to bleed very indecently so as to make them BELIEVE it’s an emergency, for some inexplicable, utterly absurd reason. If they can just keep in the blood, it’ll be fine! Once Todd is patched up, he’ll be right as rain, sunshine, and snow combined. Dirk is so determined to maintain this unwavering certainty he doesn’t even notice he’s startig to cry as he fights to unlock his phone.