#greatfailure

[brutalmasks]

“ it’s over. ”

shadows, which seemed to almost resemble dogs in appearance, but with sharp teeth and the same blaring white eyes that bunny mask herself possessed stopped in their tracks. she was on her way to punishing yet another person with the sickness in gotham before she was met with the sight of this red hood character once more. they were a man whom was guilty of running an underground dog fighting ring, and was going to (rather appropriately, she deemed) be ripped to shreds by her dog-like shadows for his crimes. it was a bit confusing to her at first that the red hood would want to stop her, but she supposed she could see the reason behind it being that the red hood didn't like her encroaching on his territory, or something along those lines. because now, bunny mask was being threatened with the business end of one of his weapons. a light sigh left her lips as she turned to meet the vigilante's gaze. the scent of iron was fragrant throughout the alleyway, most likely because she'd had to sever both of the man's achilles tendon's to prevent him from running with her claws: and thus, they were soaked with blood.

that was a common occurrence for bunny mask, however, so it didn't bother her any. she looked to the sick man and took note of his condition before speaking up. his eyes were starting to glaze over, like he was about to pass out. good. if he couldn't fight bunny mask back whatsoever, then this would be over quickly, ❝ mm — i am afraid there must have been some kind of been a misunderstanding here. i am helping to cleanse your city of the sickness, red hood, and yet you wish to condemn me to death? i could list numerous reasons as to why that would be hypocritical of you... seeing as you've been known to kill to protect people as well. and that is what i am doing here, save for that i am protecting animals from him. ❞ bunny mask stared the other dead-in-the-eye even as she pulled out a photo from one of the pockets of her dress. it was a polaroid of an injured dog that just came out of the dog-fighting ring they had, and what they'd done to that poor animal was hard for even an ancient spirit like her to look at.

❝ this is what that man was doing in his free-time. training and coercing these innocent creatures into fighting each other, for entertainment. is this not one of the most horrible thing's you've ever seen? ❞

[brutalmasks]

“ don’t get in my way. ”

it was raining whenever she first ran into this man. THE RED HOOD, they called him — or so she'd heard. bunny mask had heard whispers of him being a fearsome fighter, as well as a good detective; but they seemed to have left out the part that he liked to use deadly weapons. which, complicated thing's a bit, she thought... considering she was seemingly here to dispatch the same man that he was. bunny mask knew all about him because of the snitch: the man's name was andre rochefort, a man who was a member of what was once a small-town gang, but now had grown into a full scale operation that participated in both theft and murder. this city was filled with people who had been consumed by the sickness, however, so this failed to shock her. bunny mask supposed she should follow his lead after she'd held her (clawed) hands up to signal to him that she meant no harm.

as much as she wanted to do this on her own, forcing the red hood into abandoning his mission was something she didn't wish to do. bunny mask only uttered a few words in response to his demand, ❝ if that is what you wish, i won't bother you. i am not here to stop you, but rather, mister rochefort. my shadows tell me he is in the back room, ❞ bunny mask saw no harm in helping him while she was here. perhaps they could even work together, instead of against each other. it would be at least a worthy thing to consider if all of the information she'd gotten out of one of his fellow members with her claws at his throat were true. they could very well kill the man beside her, as he was made of mortal flesh. though she was not.

[ruingod]

            ˚            ᵗʰᵉ   ᵛᵒⁱᶜᵉ   ᶠʳᵒᵐ   ᵗʰᵉ   ᵒᵘᵗᵉʳʷᵒʳˡᵈ   ʷʰⁱˢᵖᵉʳᵉᵈ        :             "       𝚜𝚘,   𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝   𝚍𝚘   𝚒   𝚘𝚠𝚎   𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜   𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎   ?    "

             [     ...     ]               𝐇𝐄   𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒   𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓,    as   if   @greatfailure   knew   that   he   only   comes   when   a   purpose   hinges   between   his   teeth,    when   he   has   a   need   to   be   fulfilled    ...    mission   to   be   met   in   his   unholy   legacy   that   he   can't   carry   out   himself    —    no   second   coming   would   ever   sully   his   own   hands,    right    ?    he's   more   than   just   a   missionary   of   the   holy   word,    but   the   leader   of   the   revolutionary   order    :    far   from   a   foot   soldier   running   face-first   into   battle   to   carry   his   bloodied   will   and   wisdom.    "    must   you   always   assume   that   i   come   here   bearing   a   deeper   purpose    ?    i   can't   just   wonder   how   you're   doing    ?    "    the   thought   alone   is   ludicrous,    unsupported   by   the   way   azurian   carries   a   darkness   within   the   depths   of   its   bright   blues.    "    maybe   i   just   wanted   to   make   sure   you're   still   alive   and   kicking,    "

[yuanwang]

@greatfailure, jason todd ; ❝ you know, for all the sense of dread and horror seeping through this place, i really feel quite at home here. ❞

“ that's being gotham-born for you. ” with those words she still hesitates to step forward, lunging a boot over a rotten piece of wood that’d surely sink her into god knows what that's resting beneath the floorboards. call it trepidation, but it’s more accurate to call it familiarity. zatanna’s been down this road plenty—well, hallway—and there’s more of a chance the ground will eat you up at the first opportunity and spit you out in a place where the skies the ocean than maintain its menial purpose of being a place to walk. knowing to be on her toes proves her point though: this is home. not in a warm, comforting way despite the haunting atmosphere like shadowcrest. but a belonging, cognizant way. this is where she’s supposed to be, diving head first in what she hopes (but evidently does not believe) to be an innocent, excessively long hallway after her lead. “ say the word and i'll have you pull some extra weight in the supernatural more often. ”

[preluded]

@greatfailure, never drink. it just makes things worse.

“well, it's a little too late for that, isn't that?” her words tumble into the dim light of the dive bar, blending with the neon glow that bathes her in a spectrum of escapism. her form slouches against the barstool, her head cradling in the curve of her hand, brows furrowing. they sketch a map of her turmoil. the world has carved its narrative into the lines of her face— each one a story of dreams deferred, of a spotlight dimmed too soon. in the neon-soaked refuge of the bar, she'd hoped to find a kindred spirit in jason. (after all, he'd been one of the witnesses of the eclipsed shadows opening show.) he's a man marked by his own battles, his own shadows that dance just beneath the exterior. his words, though few, are heavy with a realism that contrasts shelby's once vibrant aspirations. the debacle of her debut looms over her like a specter, its shadow long and unyielding. the thought alone is a weight she can barely shoulder, a grim reminder of dreams shattered on the unforgiving altar of broadway's expectations. the whispers of tomorrow's headlines already echo in her mind, a chorus of disappointment and mockery.

a scoff escapes her, a brief rebellion against the narrative being penned for her. her fingers, slender and poised, find solace in the cold embrace of the glass before her. the whiskey, a rare companion reserved for nights of forced amnesia, kisses her lips with a promise of oblivion. it's an empty comfort, yet she clings to it, letting the liquid warmth cascade down her throat. a fleeting reprieve from the symphony of her thoughts. with a gesture almost too casual, she signals for another round as she places the empty glass back on the counter. gaze settling back on jason, there's a flicker of something— perhaps a recognition of shared defeat, or the faintest glimmer of opposition. the show, after all, must go on. “when you offered to come with me, i expected to have a drinking buddy. maybe feed me some bullshit about how the show isn't nearly as bad as i think it is. not someone trying to be my dad.”

[quinfamy]

*      incoming      /      @greatfailure    .  .  .    (    different  types  of  kiss   )      —      status    :    accepting  .      a  kiss  that  leaves  lipstick  stains .

             ❝        was  that  a  smile  i  just  saw  ?      ❞           like  the  cat  that  got  the  cream   .  .  .   she’s  looking  awfully  pleased  with  herself  right  now  .     who  would  have  thought  that  of  all  things   ,   a  cheesy  knock-knock  joke  would  be  the  one  to  finally  crack  stony  facade  ?     lips  split  apart   ,   pearly  whites  exposed  in  a  beaming  grin   ,   and  hands  will  clasp  together  excitedly   ,   nestled  just  beneath  her  chin  .

it’s  an  overreaction  for  sure   ,   almost  cartoonish   ,   the  jester  laying  it  on  thick  in  that  trademark  harley  way      —      yet  still  there’s  an  earnestness  to  it   ,   a  sweet  sincerity  .     slowly  but  surely   ,   she’s  dismantling  some  of  the  outermost  barriers  he  protects  himself  with  .   (    what  better  way  to  celebrate  this  exciting  new  development  than  with  a  kiss  ?    )    —      weight  shifts  t’wards  the  balls  of  her  feet  as  heels  rise  from  the  ground   ,   one  hand  moving  to  rest  ‘pon  broad  shoulder  as  lips  press  firmly  ‘gainst  his  cheek  .

             smile  only  grows  when  she  pulls  away   ,   a  smear  of  crimson  left  in  her  wake  .     (     good  thing  red’s  his  colour  .  .  .     ) .    elbow  nudges  his  ribs   ,   a  playful  wink  thrown  his  way  as  she  teases   ,           ❝        admit  it      —      i’m  growin’  on  ya  .      ❞       

[dyavolvich]

( . . . ) @greatfailure : " i'll sleep when i'm dead. "

he remembers when his mouth used to bark a variant of that philosophy, back when he was younger, cockier beyond his awareness when anger had forced its way into the stomach &. made itself a parasite starving for abominable volumes of bloodshed; back when death seemed as though it would not be enough to stop the unstoppable devastation in his hands . . . but this has nothing to do with himself. this was not some reflection of a more youthful self bearing an intense ire at this back-stabbing world. after all, john believes it was always an imprudent mistake to hand out advices as if people were talking to the past, trying to stitch back together something within themselves ( to be forgiven by ghosts ) rather than relieving the pain ripping apart the person in front of them.

" you're good. but you're human. " a cup of chamomile tea rests on top of a napkin to not stain the wooden bedside table. the serene earthly smell takes over the space without any haste. unhurriedly reaching his side of the room, where he sat by the desk, putting away the remnants of items in the first aid kit. " what good will exhaustion do to you ? "

[aliasinvestigate]

@greatfailure said: it’s just like riding a gross, really fucked up bike.

SENTENCE PROMPTS FROM VARIOUS TV SHOWS

jessica's laugh is a backfire, abrupt, spluttering its exhaust in the aftermath. she's bent at the middle with all her angles rendered awkward ; her forearm is a tense cluster around her ribs. there, fist closed & grappling, her white knuckles are freckled through with splits & dappling blood. some of it is her own, worrying through the fabric of her shirt at a densely concerning rate. & some of it matches the spray pattern cast across her blanched brow.

she & this red-hooded guy are a PAIR in that respect, matched together in shades of crimson & black.

❝ i hope that means you're as good with a needle & thread as you are with an uppercut. ❞ clots on the grimace-staunching cull of her tongue before it stops at her gritted teeth.

her chin spikes up, pointing at a few places where gunpowder blooms against armor. ❝ those assholes got you, too. ❞