#[is shaking with rage]

[doloneia]

hector and teucer are the funniest cousin duo ever to me. hector’s ride or die for his family EXCEPT that greek guy who keeps shooting at him. that guy can get hit with fuckass big rock. meanwhile teucer’s so determined to kill hector he shoots like 9 people in the crossfire and when ajax dies teucer immediately sees he used hector’s sword and shakes his fist at the clouds

[starry-bi-sky]

No.

No, no, no, no, NO!

He's shaking. His heart is burning in his chest, pounding like a jackhammer against his ribs, and there's a trembling, aching rage building beneath his tongue and pressing against his teeth.

In his hands, his fingers tense and wrists locked, the article reads in big, black font: JOKER LOCKED IN ARKHAM ASYLUM AGAIN!

Danny shouldn't feel so angry about this, this is a good thing. Gotham doesn't have to deal with him for another few months at the least. He should feel relieved, a little more at peace.

He is not.

He cannot swallow the fury thudding behind his eyes, the burning white heat searing a deeper hole in his chest. A searing green filling static in his ears in the way only the rage of the restless dead can have.

How is he going to kill him now?

Arkham may be the only asylum in America made entirely of tissue paper, but it's still an asylum. There are cameras, guards, other patients resting inside. Danny can think of a million different ways to sneak in and kill Joker, but someone will hear his screaming.

It'd have to be rushed.

He doesn't want it to be rushed.

It's a cruel thought. Cruel and cold and merciless, but Danny doesn't feel an ounce of shame, not an ounce of guilt, for it. He wants to be alone with the Joker when he kills him, that's all he wants. In Arkham, you are never alone.

He forces his anger to bubble back down into his chest, stuffing it between his heartstrings and his ribs like a blanket you're trying to bunch up into a corner. It sizzles and burbles. The static begins to fade out into a high-pitched ringing; it sounds like distant screaming.

Danny is still trembling, but he can think a little clearer now.

He can wait.

He can wait. He can wait. He can wait. He canwait. Hecanwait. Hecanwait.

He can wait.

He's waited five years for this. He can wait one more week. One more month. One more year. However long it takes for the Joker to break back out, Danny can wait.

And when the Joker does, inevitably, break out.

Danny uncrinkles his fingers around the edges of the newspaper, loosens his limbs just enough so he can pay for it.

He'll be waiting.

The dead, after all, have all the time in the world.

[sensitiveheartless]

Part 4 of the "Dazai and Chuuya being competitive, mutually pining disasters" comics!

<- (Previous part) (Next part) ->

Most of this one is under the cut because it got LONG

[jaewritesfic]

Melon!AU Part 5

Part 4

Warning on this one for description of vivisection injuries

Bruce is the first out of the Batmobile when they pull into the cave specifically to raise a finger to his lips and sign to his collected children to be quiet.

Dick, Damian, and Tim all beat them there, and Steph seems to have invited herself back from patrol in order to see what's up with the creature nobody could see over video feed.

Alfred hovers quietly because of the unknown injuries that likely need treating.

The kids all give him varying prompting looks of confusion about the order as he moves to open Cass's door for her.

He turns and signs to them what Cass had carefully signed to him in the car.

She thinks he's asleep.

Everyone's eyes bug out in surprise, Dick and Steph both making faces like they want to coo out an ‘awwwww.’

Damian seems like he would be tempted to do the same if he wasn't still more than a little wary.

Cass climbs out of the car slowly and carefully, trying not to disturb the sinuous shadow who still has his head tucked into her shoulder and tail and arms wrapped around her.

Steph's eyes get wide, the only one of the kids present who hasn't seen him yet. Alfred barely reacts aside from a slight rise of the brows.

Alfred inclines his head towards the medbay, but Cass hesitates and shakes her head.

It's a little difficult when she's trying to make sure the creature stays secure, but she manages to sign awkwardly behind his back.

Very scared when I mentioned doctors. Probably trauma.

Waking up in anything resembling a medical facility probably wouldn't go well, in other words. Alfred hums quietly, mulling that over for a moment before he nods and gestures for the kids to come help him.

Quietly and efficiently, the group pulls a bed and supplies out of the isolated medbay and into the cave at large, closer to the lounge area the kids have slowly built up through the years than anything.

Ideally the change of venue will be unnecessary, but if the creature does wake up it's worth trying to lessen the chances of immediate backlash.

It's really no wonder he passed out, Bruce thinks. Cass had made it clear he was exhausted and on the verge. None of them are under any illusions that that's not why he accepted her help.

She was the least terrifying option and he was running on fumes.

Alfred glances at Cass, and that's all the prompting she needs to come over and very gently lean down to set the creature on his back on the bed.

Alfred is just as gentle when he has to carefully pluck the shadowy claws out of her cape in order to get him to let go, and Cass carefully unwinds the long tail from her waist and legs.

When she straightens back up, Bruce closes his eyes hard for a moment and bites back a wave of nausea.

Jesus Christ. Medical trauma? No fucking wonder.

Bruce forces himself to open his eyes and look.

Whatever this creature is, whoever he is, he must have escaped straight off of an operating table. The green blood is leaking from haphazard stitches just barely holding a massive Y incision on his torso together.

Vivisection.

Distantly, Bruce hears Dick retching. Sees his kids in varying states of distress over the same conclusions Bruce has just come to.

Mostly, he's focusing on trying to breathe through his anger. It's of no use to any of them right now - they need him calm.

It's strange, looking at the creature's face now. With eyes and mouth closed it's a blank slate of black, no features to be found. Like a mannequin head, misty white hair still unbound by gravity.

Parts of him are just barely translucent, mostly the edges of limbs. Bruce has never seen anything like him.

Alfred catches his eye with practiced ease, signing quickly and looking solemn. Bruce can see the pain hidden behind his calm features, his dismay that something horrific has been done to a living creature.

There is not much I can do without opening him back up, especially not knowing what he is or what is normal. Disinfect, stitch and bandage. Then hope for the best.

Bruce sighs slowly through his nose, feeling helpless but nodding. 

Alfred turns to Cass for a moment.

I assume because you are calm that he is not meant to be breathing?

Bruce nearly chokes, eyes darting back to the dark figure on the bed. Indeed, there's no motion.

Cass nods. Her chest is very green.

Hasn't been. Seems fine.

He doesn't breathe - at least not visibly. Is he like a salamander, does he take oxygen in through his skin?

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter right now. This creature - this boy - needs help. He needs his chest disinfected and his scant few stitches redone.

From the looks of them, Bruce would bet money that he did those stitches himself not too long ago.

Masterpost

[izzystizzys]

Half the jobs Fox is sent on are not within his jurisdiction. This certainly isn’t.

Planetary protection unit, they said. Military police. Orbital security force.

And now Fox is being pointed at Count Dooku on some backwater planet and told to fetch. How the mighty have fallen.

He’s pretty sure Kenobi, Skywalker and their units could’ve karked this all up perfectly fine on their lonesome; they don’t need three Guardsmen there to watch them do it. But the Chancellor says jump and Fox surpressed the urge to bash his head in with a durasteel chair. So it goes.

Which is when things start going terribly, terribly wrong, of course.

“Is that Spinder?!”, Skywalker exclaims, arms wheeling out in the air wildly to try and catch his balance. “The Count fucks?!”

Across the room, Cody rips his helmet off, several shades redder than a baseline human should be. “The Count fucks my brother?!”

Two lightsticks hover uselessly in the air, Skywalker’s zig-zagging in a relentless hum with his gesturing. Fox stands stock-still, in the hope that maybe he’ll spontaneously turn invisible if he does. Around them, 501st and 212th troopers gape through helmets. Behind him, Nuisance gasps for air amidst screaming laughter.

Ping, went Fox’s comm unit, in that unmistakeable lascivious jingle sound. Ping, answered Count Dooku’s within a split second. Match found close by.

For a moment, Fox considers what it would be like to run at the Count’s lightsaber at full speed.

…not like that.

“Count”, Kenobi says, with a face like he’s bitten into a rotten fruit. Not that Fox knows what fruit tastes like. “This is a highly… unexpected development.” He fwoosh-es his lightsaber shut, obviously having given up on fighting. “I’d call it a conflict of interest, but I’m not sure that applies?”

“Oh, it’s gonna be a conflict of something, for sure”, Cody hisses, fists clenched at his sides. He looks about ready to boil over, with Crys and Waxer inching closer in preparation. “What have you done to my brother, you monster?!”

“I don’t think you want to know that, Commander”, Nuisance gasps out between barks of laughter, proving why he’s eternally Fox’s least favourite. Cody’s splotchy red complexion slowly fades into ghostly white as a sheen of horror settles over the room. “Thanks for the fancy chocolate bouquet last week, Count!”

Dooku, who has been thus far staring at the floor with an empty thousand-klick stare, looks up at that. Fox has seldom seen a man that defeated outside of the mirror, he has to admit - but shudders when he remembers exactly what the chocolates were for.

Oh Force, he’s sexted Count Dooku into buying him gifts. Does that make him a Seppie spy? Traitor by proxy?

“I feel”, says the Count, gravely, still holding his long red laserknife in a white-knuckled death-grip, “that I have been taken for a fool.”

“Uh”, says Fox, nervously. All eyes snap to him. Oh Force, oh Force, oh Force. They’re going to invent a whole new kind of decommissioning for this and name it after Fox.

“Is it really scamming if you actually get what you pay for?”, asks Grids, considering. Fox slowly pulls off his helmet just for the comforting feeling of burying his head in his gloved palms. The sounds of a struggle ensue, and Kenobi makes a choked-off noise. Maybe if he’s embarrassed enough he’ll give himself an aneurysm.

“Grandmaster, why are you paying people for naked pictures of themselves on the holonet?!” Kenobi asks, despairingly. “Aren’t you a little old for that?”

“Oi, no one said I was naked!”, Fox exclaims, head whipping up.

“So naked”, Nuisance laughs, palm thumping against the floor. He might be crying.

“I’m not decrepit”, the Count blusters, and Skywalker makes a gagging noise. “I have - there are needs, and they are perfectly natural!” It takes three troopers to restrain Cody from launching himself at the Count.

[floofery]

Thinking about Aubrey and Kel... arguing not because they hate each other but because how close they are... besties . sorry

[bi-hop]

having read the manga now... I still think they're t4t but in a new unprecedented fashion. I have no idea what's going on with Laios, but take my hand...

[bijoumikhawal]

something something. Garak privately taking Julian aside after DBIP and sternly offering hand to hand training and sparring because he knows Julian has never actually had combat training for his real strength and dexterity and that's unacceptable with a war on. Pinning Julian again and again. Telling him to hit him like he means it, like he truly might die. Goading him.

Julian snapping and really hitting him. Garak wiping the blood off his face and grinning. The two of them going at until exhaustion- finally, finally, Julian feeling something inside him unspool, all the grief and heartache and rage having an outlet, an outlet with someone who doesn't give a damn, who's invited and incited and encouraged him to this point

[simplyender]

just some gifs of spot making his own solar (spotlar?) flares

[chaosgenasi]

Please describe to me how you regain yourself. How do you wanna subdue this?

[moonrpg]

not too fond of crystal peak

[compressedrage]

Okay so imagine you're Victim. You've escaped your Creator, after a strange dizzying cycle of being created and then dying.

Again and Again and Again–

You find yourself in a bright new world. Full of possibilities and life, away from the hand of your Creator. But you can't enjoy it. Everything you see, everything you touch is tainted by the bitterness simmering in your chest.

Your Creator would have kept this from you. All of this, only to shove you back in a box and kill you. Again and again and again–

You get a job. It starts small; then you rise rapidly. Your company is successful, you're making profits and the people like you. At least, they think they like you.

But you can't enjoy it. You built this company, this empire for a reason. Your Creator thought He could control stick figures, easily keep them under his thumb. Toy with them. Well, this population of stick figures– your customers– are safer now. Because of you and your technology.

Or so you think.

You hear rumors of them. The twin terrorists, burning through websites and leaving nothing but scattered code behind. Refugees flock to the city, and doubt and fear spread like wildfires. It's a virus. You can use that.

The people are terrified, but you offer protection. Safety, guaranteed. You think that will be the end of it; the authorities will catch the hooligans and you will be able to return to your true work.

That is, until you see them yourself.

Until you realize who they are.

A camera caught footage of them far outside the city and something buried deep inside of you shifts. You know who these stick figures are, who look just like you. Who wield such god-like power, who flaunt it at every turn–

It is no longer bitterness simmering in your chest. It is hate, and it burns.

Your Creator didn't stop, didn't learn His lesson, didn't care at all. He got rid of you, then moved on. And He made his next creations More. They didn't deserve His blessings, you had never even done anything–

You will continue your mission, and this time you will not stop. Your company thrives, but you barely pay any attention to it anymore. You pour yourself into research; of codes so complicated they make your head spin, of methods of containment, of weapons. You hire on an entire new department: separate from your original company. You're doing bigger things now. Greater things.

The posters go up. You have faith; you have eyes everywhere now. Nowhere on the Internet is hidden.

Or so you think.

Somehow, somewhere– there is another. It hadn't just been the two terrorists at the bay that day. There is another and he is even more powerful than the other two. Than you.

And he doesn't even know.

You hate him.

You lock him down and leave your prisoners. You are on a path toward everything you ever wanted. Your victory is in reach.

And you can't even enjoy it.

[herejusttosufferalong]

"Now the storm is coming,

The storm is coming in"

[radicrow]

if you had the strength to take another sip, could you do it?

[destinyandcoins]

question: Ryan did you have concerns prior to making the show Mystery Files?

ryan, who less than five minutes ago went down a list of the watcher crew one by one and determined that he wouldn't trust a single person* to be on his heist crew because they'd either rat him out or turn on and kill him: I mean yeah but i have concerns about everything. i'm concerned about what i'm going to have for dinner

*except Shane, who Ryan would trust to rob a bank with him, but fully admits they wouldn't succeed

[justablah56]

every time I see someone type ahh in the place of ass I am fighting the urge to kill