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ofanescapist replied to your post: ofanescapist replied to your post: ...
We totally could….but we both know I’d be cast as like a perky lesbo or something else I really don’t want to be sO
listen
i’ve been working lowkey on a television programme about two monster hunters who are trans for like the last year or so
i will cast you as someone befitting your person dammit
@ofanescapist liked this post for a psychopath/serial killer Lincoln starter
He almost wished he could say with honesty that he hadn’t meant to. That it had been an accident, a drug trip, a matter of brainwashing or mind manipulation by someone else.
But it hadn’t been. Oh no. It had been premeditated, planned, and executed - all of his own volition - and most of him didn’t care in the least. As a matter of fact, all but a tiny part of him was racing with adrenaline and the sheer excitement and satisfaction of what he had done. No remorse or guilty harboured itself inside his heart; only a very faint sliver of concern for his brother.
The moment Michael had told him about his girlfriend - about the cigarette burns and abuse she dealt out to him - Lincoln had started planning. For a few weeks, he had done nothing but trail behind the girl, making notes of where she went and when; what times she was alone and what times she was with other people and what times she was with Michael. The routes she took to get from point A to point B in her daily life. Whether she carried any weapons. He noted it all down.
After that, it had been all too easy to intercept her when no one else could stop him or see him.
At first, he had only planned to rough her up; warn her never to go near Michael again. But things don’t always go according to plan and his mask fell away during one of her struggles, exposing his face.
He couldn’t risk her recognising him and telling Michael the identity of her attacker. So he changed his plans. And felt no remorse for it whatsoever.
It wasn’t difficult at all to face Michael a while later, after everything had gone down - he had done what he did to protect his brother, and besides, it wasn’t as though he knew who had done it. Things could go back to normal. He could live without the fear of Michael ending up in the hospital.
But Michael was an emotional sort, so some time after, Lincoln decided to go make sure the other was doing okay; he couldn’t imagine the death of someone so abusive would hit Michael hard, but then, who knew. It was better to be careful, so he stopped by with takeout, seeming for all the world like a normal, concerned brother - and not the killer everyone was trying to find.
@ofanescapist liked for a started based on this
The younger knew he had a tendency of not being careful ( that’s how he sees it through his perspective ). That’s how he chucks this up to. How he’s carrying wounds that are healing slowly, still bleeding, and what comes out of his mouth is. “It’s fine, I deserved it in the first place,” he shrugs. Out of all the people, he doesn’t really know Michael, perhaps that's why he doesn’t care how he lets the smile slip away. How that spark in his eyes dims, and how his body seemed to be echoing this sense of defeat. The words, ‘it’s nothing, I’m fine’ are tempting to utter, to let them spill out past his lips. Those would probably be preferable compared to the ones that did escape him. Barry wrinkles his nose, and looks away, resting his chin on the back ofhis hand with a small sigh. “I want hot chocolate,” he utters finally after a moment.
[continued from here with @ofanescapist]
Well, the truth to that question just couldn’t be divulged. As much as T-Bag was sure he had the pretty thing wrapped ‘round his finger, he didn’t too much like the idea of telling about any of his less than legal activities just quite yet.
He let his eyes flutter shut at the warmth of Michael’s hand against his face; it sent a twinge through his bruised jaw, but the heat was all too welcome after all the cold rain pouring down. He leaned into the touch with a tired, quiet hum.
“Now, now.” The words were slightly unsteady and a bit weak, but otherwise the same drawl he always used. “Don’t worry your pretty little head over me, now.” He shifted slightly, arms crossed tightly against his chest. “Just got into a bit of a scrap’s all.” He paused, opening his eyes finally and fixing his gaze on the other with a properly sheepish smile. “Know I didn’t say anything ‘forehand or nothin’, but mind if I come in an’ get warm for a spell?”
escape
@ofanescapist
Sara’s head was pounding. It didn’t help that she couldn’t stand straight, and not to mention forgot the way to her apartment. She had been doing so good with going to her meetings and trying to get her life back on track. After the mishap of her stupidity (yes, she realized that now), she needed to do better for herself. Hopefully that guy Brad came through with that job offer at Fox River.
Closing her eyes for a moment, Sara tried to get her bearings, but the entire street was spinning. Going to that party was a BAD idea. Pushing forward she opened a door to a small coffee shop and stumbled in. “Can I get a small espresso?” She asked, her hands shaking as she noticed when she went fishing through her back for some money. Pushing some strands of auburn hair out of her face, Sara quickly yanked out a five and handed it to the cashier who was looking at her - judging silently.
Sara took her espresso and found a booth in the back. She really couldn’t believe that her asshole (of an ex) boyfriend just drugged her. Groaning, Sara lowered herself into the table and closed her eyes.
[continued from here with @ofanescapist]
He wasn’t sure why he had said something so open. He rarely thought of anything that the Time Masters hadn’t beaten into him. He rarely felt the weight on his heart and the shadows creeping through his mind anymore. But sometimes, he would remember the pain - the drive for vengeance couldn’t exist without it - and so sometimes, he would think on it. Sometimes it would make him pensive.
Sometimes, biding his time while waiting for the next command from the Time Masters or waiting for the next chance to go after the Legends, he would speak his thoughts aloud. Sometimes, the man who wasn’t Snart but had Snart’s face - a version from another Earth? Chronos still didn’t know - was around to hear him.
The whisper did not escape his notice, nor did the expression on the other’s face. Chronos studied him for a long moment before looking away again, back to the screen that detailed where they were going - nowhere, right now, simply drifting through time, waiting for orders.
The pain that had brought him to this life...
When he spoke, there wasn’t much emotion in his voice. Only dull casualness. “Dozens of years of it. A few lifetimes at least. I lost count.”
ofanescapist replied to your post: you're privileged enough to even have the means...
I want to fight this anon. I get the jealousy, I do, but I could go off with a counter-argument or two right now oH BOY- not that I think it would actually be good or helpful to argue but……..
pfff i know right
this just
i dunno lol it’s stupid this whole day is stupid people left and right
@ofanescapist
“Hm?” This is what happens when he doesn’t sleep. He gets sloppy eventually. Gets drowsy during the day. Doesn’t notice how his shirt rides up when he dozes on the couch.
“No where.” If that were true they wouldn’t be there at all. He leans on his elbow resting on the arm of the sofa and rubbing his forehead. “Doesn’t matter.”
It’s not like they’re close at all, Barry hardly knew the other man at all. And he wasn’t one to trust others, not in his line of work, that could usually lead into a lot of trouble. Or you know, dead. So really he should just leave him alone, and not care. But from the placed he was lounging on, high enough for him to kick his legs back, and forth. That wasn’t really how he worked. Even if he tried to carve that part of him out when he first started stealing, obviously it never worked. He looks on concerned, nose slightly wrinkled, as he bit his lower lip for a moment.
The young thief’s eyes flickered over him, arching a brow, with an unconvinced look on his face. Barry knew what he saw, and while he felt it wasn’t his place to truly pry into it. Still he suppose he can’t leave well enough alone. Besides he has a few curious questions of his own. No. It’s better to not ask them. “Uh huh,” he uttered, “I doubt that it doesn’t matter, maybe you should get some sleep, or eat.”
“I’m just going to guess, but having to deal with bruises isn’t fun,” had he done it to himself? Was it an accident? “Maybe you should put some ice on it?” was the suggestion, as he continued to look on with that inquisitive spark in his green eyes.
