#details never safe or sound

[ritualwritten]

Helen lists the Distortion’s halls on Zillow

[acemenagerie-a]

(sure, i'll bite) can the distortion cuddle anyone and would it like to

You want splinters?  Cuddling a door is how you get splinters.

In human guise, Distortion could, technically, cuddle.  It would not be a very pleasant experience, I can assure you.  Weird sensations, feeling bones at angles bones Should Not Be, unsure if you’re holding something at all, etc.  It would take considerable effort for it to not feel like holding the physical manifestation of a Horrible, No Good, Very Bad acid trip.

It’s also not at all what the Distortion would want to do, even after being forced to have a human aspect. 

[daringyounggrayson]

I have this headcanon that Dick wanted to be a stunt double as a kid

Bruce had just settled down to read a book in the library when he hears a loud crash come from the hallway, a noise that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Dick!” Bruce shouts, snapping the book shut as he stands from his chair to storm toward the source of the noise.

“I’m okay!” Dick is quick to call back, but Bruce has a hard time believing him. The crash was loud, and he’s pretty sure it was followed by a verbal indicator of pain. That, and the fact that when it comes to crash-like noises, Dick’s track record hasn’t exactly been great lately. Bruce might not know the details of what led to this particular crash, but he’s certain that it was the aftermath of another one of Dick’s so-called practice stunts.

Dick’s been on spring break this past week, and it’s left him with a lot of free time and a lot of pent up energy. So far, the boy has backflipped off of the chandelier (Bruce still isn’t entirely sure how he got up there; there was no sign that his Robin equipment had been used), intentionally fallen from the same chandelier the following morning, attempted to walk across the freshly polished banister in socks, and leapt from his speeding bicycle to roll across the lawn. All of these incidents have tested Bruce’s heart’s ability to remain inside of his chest, but for Dick, they just seemed to be an adrenaline rush that left him smiling as he excitedly explained to Bruce just how great the moves would look on his resume once they were perfected.

This game that Dick’s been playing is getting exhausting, but no matter what Bruce says or threatens, Dick won’t listen. Why can’t the kid just listen?

When Bruce reaches Dick, he’s—just as anticipated—sitting on the floor in a heap by the stairs, presumably right where he landed after jumping off of something that shouldn’t be jumped off of.

“Dick,” Bruce keeps his voice firm and even and low. It’s a warning, a demand for an explanation. He taps his foot twice.

“Heh, hi Bruce,” is Dick’s light, slightly distorted reply. He doesn’t turn around to face Bruce, which he’s sure is a telling sign that something isn’t as “okay” as Dick had previously assured.

Bruce steps in front of Dick, and when he does, he sees that Dick has his hands over his nose, blood dripping down between his fingers.

“What’s happened,” Alfred asks, racing into the stairwell and absently wiping still-wet hands on a kitchen towel.

“Well?” Bruce prompts.

“Glad you asked. You see, I was heading to the kitchen to get a snack, but when I saw the stairs, I realized it would be way faster and way more fun to jump down them all at once instead. So I ran for it and just jumped. It felt so cool, you’ve gotta try it sometime, Bruce!” Dick is smiling again, so Bruce tightens his glare until Dick’s smile vanishes. He averts his eyes as he finishes, “Caught my foot on one of the bottom steps, though. Kind of face planted a little on the landing.”

Bruce lets out a tired sigh, pinches the bridge of his nose. “What did I tell you?”

“That if I keep doing awesome jumps, I’ll break something,” Dick says in a monotone.

“Not how I phrased it.” He kneels down next to Dick and brings a hand up to inspect Dick’s bleeding nose.

Dick lowers his hands, asks, "Do you think it’s broken?”

It’s crooked and looks like it’s already starting to swell; definitely broken.

“Looks like it, chum.” Bruce touches the side, causing Dick to flinch a little. He sighs again, this time more frustrated than anything else. “We have a trampoline, gymnastics equipment, a trapeze rig—so many things that you can use to safely release some of that energy, yet you choose a staircase. What were you thinking?“

"That that jump would’ve looked amazing on camera and the director probably would’ve given me a raise?”

Bruce closes his eyes, counts to ten. “Dick.”

“Sorry.”

“You will be. Come on, we need to go get that nose looked at.”

“Shall I grab some supplies from the cave?”

"Just the car, actually,” Bruce says, pulling Dick to his feet. “And a towel.”

“Bru-uce,” Dick whines, surely already catching on to Bruce’s plan. “Why can’t Alfred just fix it?”

“Dick Grayson was stupid enough to try to leap the staircase in a single bound, so Dick Grayson gets to go sit in an emergency room for a couple of hours and get his nose set.”

“Bruuuce,” Dick whines again, leaning his forehead against Bruce’s side and pulling at his arm.

“I’d recommend grabbing a notebook, that way you can list all of the reasons why your stunt was unnecessarily dangerous and why you’ll never do anything like it again.”

Then Bruce shakes him off and heads to the car, ignoring the whined protests as he goes.

oOo

“Sounds like we have a little daredevil,” the nurse says, smiling a little once Dick finishes telling his story in exuberant detail.

“More of a stunt double, actually,” Dick corrects proudly. “In training.”

“Ah, I see. Well, Dick, I hope that works out for you and we don’t get any more broken bones,” the nurse says, and Dick laughs a little as he nods dutifully. “Keep the ice on it to help with the swelling. The doctor should be in to set it shortly.”

“Thank you,” Bruce says.

She leaves, closing the curtain behind her. When they hear her greeting the next patient, Dick gives Bruce this look and says, “See, she supports my dreams.”

Bruce rubs the crease in his forehead. He has no idea how to deal with this kid sometimes. “I meant to ask for some aspirin, I’ll be right back. Dick, just … just stay still.”

Dick stops kicking his feet, tilts his head. “I thought kids weren’t supposed to have aspirin?”

"It’s not for you.”

On the way home from the ER—with Dick��s nose now numbed, set, packed, splinted, and no longer bleeding—Bruce finds it is much easier to lecture him. No Robin until his nose heals, not that he’s supposed to do any vigorous activity until then anyway. Instead, he can use that time to wash the Batmobile and clean the rest of the cave. Dick pouts and complains, but that’s fine by Bruce. It’s a punishment, he’s not supposed to like it.

But when Dick doesn’t respond after Alfred tells him he can have a popsicle for being such a good patient, Bruce feels a little guilty. Not too guilty because what Dick did—has been doing—was completely reckless, but from Dick’s perspective, it probably feels like Bruce won’t let him have any fun. He knows that the lecture and punishment are necessary, but Bruce doesn’t think he’s overly fond of that aspect of parenting. He knows all parents have to do it at some point, but most parents are dealing with kids who watch too much TV or won’t eat their vegetables. Not Bruce’s kid, though. Nope, that would’ve been too easy. Instead, he picked the one who willingly throws himself down staircases.

(And there’s that anger again, throbbing loudly in his temple.)

He looks over at Dick through the mirror. He’s not really pouting anymore, he’s moved on to tapping his heels against the seat and humming to the music as he looks out the window. Even with the bruises and splint, he looks adorable. And so, so young. He’s Bruce’s whole world, and damn it, no matter how frustrated the kid makes him at times, he loves him more than anything. He doesn’t want to be responsible for crushing his dreams, but is it really asking too much for Dick to pick a different one?

[riyuyami]

A fanfic based on an au of an au of an au, haha.

So I mentioned before that I had an idea based on this idea, where during his travels, Yugi comes across the real Yami, and they join forces. Well, in this spinoff of that idea, crazy shit happens to Yugi and things don’t look well for him or Yami.

So yeah, ink demon!Yugi! :D

Summery: Sometimes you just gotta literally fuse with the man you hate so much in order to kill your doppelgänger.

Warning: body horror, written in detail, lots of… painful sounding events, though are rather short, still, reader discretion is advice

On with the fic!

--

Yugi had lost sight of Yami when they had been swarmed by black dragons and searchers, the little Toon had run to safety, but Yugi hadn’t seen which direction he went into. Gods above, he hoped his friend was safe somewhere. He would call out to Yami, but he needed to keep quiet, it’s been a while since he’s heard whistling and skittering in the pipes…

He quietly walked through the halls, being as careful as possible to not make too much noise, he even avoided stepping in ink puddles to keep from leaving shoe prints. But even with all of his careful efforts, he was spotted.

The walls around him suddenly grew dark with trails of ink, spreading along the old wood. There was shuffling from down the hall, of someone who had a twisted foot. Heavy breathing through clenched teeth sent shivers down Yugi’s spine, and he knew he was screwed, since the hallway he entered led only to a dead end and two locked doors…

Nervously, Yugi turned, holding his axe as he saw the monstrous copy of Yami come around the corner. It turned its head in the direction Yugi was in, and the man swore that fucking grin got bigger.

Your little axe won’t do anything to me, Yugi… “Yami” hissed through those damn teeth and Yugi took a step back. I see you’re alone…

Yugi narrowed his eyes. “He’s safely hidden somewhere you’ll never find him.” He sure hoped so…

“Yami” laughed loudly, with his strange, distorted voice, it sounded like he was laughing into a metal can, and it hurt Yugi’s ears, but at least he wasn’t screaming. I’ll find him, I always find you two. He took a step forward with his good foot, the other one dragging behind him.

“It’s wrong that you can talk…” Shortly after escaping from “Lady” and her demented desires for beauty and perfection, Yugi had found out from a nasty encounter (where he had almost died, luckily “Lady’s” screams from somewhere worked as a distraction and Yugi had escaped) that “Yami” could speak.

Though at the time, all he said was Yugi’s name, but it looks like his vocabulary has improved. Probably from the pendant around his neck, so much like Yami’s own, but so different. He knew Yami could use his, had seen him turn it into a sword and a shield already, but Yugi had always thought that “Yami’s” was a by-product of his creation.

Looks like it might have some powers to it, but this is all just speculation.

I rather like it… The monster grinned still. It’s nice to speak again…

This caught Yugi by surprise, again? Wait, could this bastard talk in the past?! “What are you talking about?” He gasped when he was shoved hard into the wall, shit! He moved so fast!

A wet, inky hand was pressed against his throat, choking him. Yugi struggled, trying swing his axe, but it was slapped out of his hand by the smaller hand “Yami” possessed. You always did ask too many questions, little Yugi…

Orchid eyes widened, wait, when was the last time he was ever called ‘little Yugi’? No… no, it couldn’t be… maybe the monster had overheard him being called that? This couldn’t be what happened to him, oh God…

“Yami” chuckled, pressing a little tighter, making Yugi wheeze painfully. I’ve been thinking… it’s rather hard to catch that little rough draft of a double, he’s eluded me for so long… he’s scared, but he’s stubborn, just like how you made him…

The monster leaned in closer, Yugi could smell the strong scent of rubber ink coming from the monster. He’s difficult to fight and catch, always was in the show… but there was always a strong weakness to him, that would make him break…

The grin was painfully wide. His friends are his biggest weakness…

“No…” Yugi gasped, was the monster going to use him as bait or something?

His dear bird is in a terrible battle with herself, and his mutt is probably dead for good this time… so all that remains is you, Yugi, and you’re perfect… he only has you left, and he’ll do anything to keep you safe, right..?

Yugi started to feel faint as his throat was squeezed tighter.

I think the best way to destroy him… is to make you mine… and have you kill him… an ironic situation, the first to betray me will kill the last to do so... hold still, this is going to hurt a lot…!

Before the animator could react properly to what he heard, his eyes widened in pure horror when “Yami’s” mouth snapped open, revealing terribly, sharp, misshapen teeth. It let out a horrible scream, the vertigo came back tenfold, enough to make Yugi gag as his body reacted terribly to the sound.

The hand released him and Yugi dropped, slumped on the floor, gasping loudly as his body tremored, his ears ringing, his vision a mess. But he still saw “Yami” get down on the floor, pulling him up to his knees. Yugi felt wet, ice cold things touch him, and it took him seconds to realize it was ink, coming from “Yami” as it did on the walls when the monster walked.

It felt horrible, like leeches, especially since it felt like it was biting into his skin. He hissed, trying to pull away from the tightening hold, before a surge of burning hot pain erupted from his shoulder. The Ink Demon had bit down right onto his right shoulder, digging his teeth in hard. Blood mixed with ink as Yugi sat there, frozen from the pain and cold sensations on his skin, staring at the slowly melting creator.

He felt sick, he felt things piercings into his skin from the bite, as if the ink was entering him through the multiple holes produced from the beast’s teeth. The tendrils of ink covered his right arm, and Yugi knew he had to get this thing off, before it did whatever it planned to do to him!

Weakly, Yugi struggled to get his axe, pleased that he was able to grab a hold of it, but his arm felt like it was on fire again as the skin started to bulge. Ink began to pour out of the pores and he screamed, both in fear and in pain.

“Yami”, though smaller now that his ink was in going into Yugi, managed to lift him to his feet, slamming him into a wall. More of the monster was pumped into Yugi, causing more changes, painful changes. If it was going to control Yugi, it might as well make him suffer what it suffered.

Yugi screamed in horribly pain as his left arm felt like it was being twisted wrong, like someone was gonna break it. The pain doubled, and he let out a choked sound when his right foot cracked, snapping backwards, just like how “Yami’s” foot was.

He almost vomited from the pain as more ink came out of him, falling from his hairline, streaking down his face in black lines.

It only took ten or so minutes of agonizing suffering and pain, but it felt like hours to Yugi as the world began to go black and he felt like he was falling.

The body collapsed on the hard, wooden floor, laying there in a puddle of ink. “Yami” was no longer standing there, it was gone, but Yugi remained.

Well…

It wasn’t really gone, it just found a new mode of transportation…

“Hehehehe…” Shifting, the body began to rise, getting to its mix-match feet. It bent down, picking up the pendant that had fallen to the ground during the body modification process.

Yugi… well, what could only be presumed to be ‘Yugi’ looked like a mess. His hair was full of ink, as his face was covered in it, except his left eye was exposed, black in the white, with a small, orchid dot glancing around.

The left arm was twisted wrong, as if someone broke it, just like the right foot. He was covered in spots and streaks of ink, his right arm completely soaked in thick, lumpy ink. What could be assumed to be his hand was wrapped tightly the axe still, soaked in the black liquid.

A shaky, toothy grin pulled at his lips as he stumbled, trying to get his bearings. He laughed as he leaned against a wall, feeling a struggling inside of him. “Oh… try as you might to gain control, little Yugi, you are in for the ride. I hope you don’t mind, but I feel that using our flesh suit is the most perfect way to destroy that treacherous doppelgänger.”

He let out a sharp, harsh laugh, ink and blood dripping out of his mouth as he coughed, limping his way out of the hall to find the little Toon.

Unknown to the creature, Yami was very close, so close that he had seen everything through a ventilation shaft grate.

TBC?

--

I dunno if there is gonna be a part two, but there might be if people want one.

Sorry, this could have been better, but I’m tired, and wanted to get this idea written before I forgot it.

It’s funny, this goes against my normal headcanon that the monster really is the little Toon, but I’m also a fan of the idea that the monster is actually a corrupted human, so in this? Yami is his own character and “Yami” is a ink demon/human hybrid (its Kaiba btw)

[honeylikewords]

(I lied, my mind hijacked itself and made yet another essay-long headcanon. Please 🐻 with me, if you catch my drift)

All the children had been raised not to venture too deep into the forest. You had been no exception. But the reasons as to why one shouldn’t step a toe too far beyond the tree line varied from generation to generation. When it was your grandparents’ day, it was simply due to the woods being regarded as part of the great Unknown. When it was your parent’s day, it was due to the increase of skin-changers and other frightening beasties that begin prowling along the area. By the time your generation came, the reasons had changed yet again: The woods were home to one big, solitary beast. “Big as a church,” they said, “with teeth the size and sharpness of hunting knives.”

How could such a being, therefore, be referred commonly as the Guardian of the Wood?

“Because he guards the woods from everyone and everything,” they would reason. “Doesn’t matter if you’re good or bad – he’ll either chase you off or gobble you up. We’re all too impure to enter too deep into his forest.”

But you still didn’t get it.

In your storybooks growing up, guardians were typically fae-like creatures: Beautiful and grand with hushed but nevertheless powerful voices. You had never seen the Guardian of the Wood itself, but the descriptions offered by the older folk definitely made it harder for you to believe that it was anything like the ones you’d read about. And every so often, a low, frightening roar would rumble from the trees, sending birds into a frenzy and causing the livestock to cry out as the ground beneath them quivered and the grass would flow against a sudden gust of wind.

“That’s the Guardian warding off trespassers,” parents would tell their children as the glasses in their homes would rattle. You had been told the same thing, and in enough times and ways so that in spite of your perplexity of the Guardian’s nature, you, too, found yourself steering clear of the brush.

… For a while, anyway.

You were an adult when you’d first stepped a toe into the forest – as in, the very throat of the thing, and not the mouth where enough villagers and a few daring children felt comfortable enough to venture. However, it was not necessarily out of rebellion: It was out of concern.

It was supposed to be just a simple trip to the forest’s edge to pluck the nuts and berries necessary from the surrounding bushes. Just a simple task you had performed many times before. But in the many times before, there were usually others picking alongside with you. Today, being a dreary, rainy day, was not a time where most would even care to be outside if they could help it.

Also, in the many times before, there generally weren’t noises coming from beyond the trees. Heavy, yet somehow airy noises. Like heavy breathing. Your eyes widened as they dared to look upward toward the incline further in. An icy gasp flew about your mouth: You could’ve sworn that you saw the silhouette of – Of what exactly?

Perhaps your paranoia had influenced what you saw, but when you first laid eyes on what you thought you saw, it was enormous. Beast-like in form, even, with clumps of wild hair noticeable against what dim lighting you could make out.

But upon blinking a few times and rubbing your eyes to clear out anything that might have distorted your vision, you found the suspected silhouette to appear different. It was still large, no doubt about it, but it was certifiably less hirsute and less animalesque. In fact, it appeared to be almost like a man. But this confused you: You’d never seen a man of such size before in your life for one thing. But the other thing, the thing that caused you even more curiosity, was the fact that, if it was a man, he was far deeper into the woods than you’d ever seen anyone but the bravest of hunters go. He also appeared to be wobbling. And in the quiet air, your ears could just pick up the faint sound of labored breathing.

Was he hurt? He needed help!

You were considering the pros and cons on whether or not to try calling for the silhouette when the giant thing collapsed unceremoniously. Immediately a cacophony consisting of branches breaking, twings snapping, dust rumbling, and grunts of pain sounded, causing any nearby birds to flee the scene. You weren’t even thinking when you dropped your basket and began making a run for the area where the figure seemed to have fallen. Initially, you were a bit worried: What consequences may follow you entering such a forbidden area, for one thing? If the man really was as big as he seemed, how would you be able to get him out of the area and into the safer pastures before something came to attack the two of you. Would you even be able to find him in time at all?

As you came to rest by a pile of shattered wood, that last question was promptly answered: There, laying amongst the woodsy rubble left by his own path of destruction, was the biggest man you had ever seen… . In more ways than one.

You squeaked with embarrassment, hands flying to cover your widened eyes and burning face. He was naked! What fool goes wandering into the Unknown naked!? You created a small gap between your fingers as you wearily opened your eyes again. If you played it safe, you could spare your maiden vision some too intimate details and at least determine whether the big idiot was alive or not.

Based on the barely noticeable but still present movements of his broad chest, you determined that he was. But he was also very injured. Scars and scratches, both old and new, smeared his body at random intervals. In fact, you swore you saw a bite mark or two along his shoulder and torso. Just what was this man doing before he fell down?

Was he perhaps banished from a neighboring village? You scanned his features for any clue of his origins but found none. Based on the wild mane of dark curls and facial hair framing his face, you suspected that this man had probably not been an openly accepted member of society. Maybe he was a wild man …

You considered taking a step forward but immediately retracted that consideration. Your face crinkled with disgust: He smelled awful. Definitely a wild man. But should you leave him? Should you run to the village and return with help?

You didn’t notice the wild man’s big nose twitch at first, but you certainly noticed it when his eyes flew open, revealing their dark irises. You didn’t mean to release a yip at the sudden movement but it was too late: He now had his eyes trained on you. They weren’t feral, much to your surprise; instead, they were quite focused on you. Much like a regular human being’s.

…  A little too focused if you had to say anything, though. And after an awkward eternity of this stare, you had to.

“Uh … Are – Can you understa – … Are you okay, sir?”

He blinked once. Then twice. His dark eyes widened before his massive form jolted upright and began scrambling to gather as many leaves as possible. He said nothing but judging by the little noises he made and the fact that every leaf he gathered served the sole purpose of covering his unmentionables, you took it that the wild man was embarrassed. In fact, him having the decency to cover up made you reevaluate whether or not he was truly a wild man at all.

But as his sudden movements caused his surrounding stench to waft up into a cloud, you put that thought on hold. No amount of groinal coverage was going to mute the smell of rotted meat that slide off of this man’s person. He seemed to notice this as his actions slowed, his big brown eyes occasionally glancing up at you as his furry face began to sink in shame like a scolded puppy.

You tucked your lips in to bite at them with thought. He said nothing.

“Soooo …” you attempted. Nothing. “… You got a place to clean yourself up at or …?”

At this, the man slowly raid his head to stare up at you before glancing back into the woods. Thunder rumbled up ahead before releasing a fat drop of water right on the man’s forehead. It cut a clean line down the splatter of mud on his face.

 “Are you okay in there, sir?” you asked from behind the door. He grunted what you thought was a “no.” A small smile graced your features, even though you knew he couldn’t see it. “Okay, well … If you need me, just yell!” As you wandered back down the hallway toward the kitchen, you couldn’t help but mutter, “Or speak at all.” You knew you probably shouldn’t have said it, much less so close to the bathroom, but to be fair he really hadn’t actually said a single word since you’d found him. Not when you offered him your pinafore to wear as you dragged him back into town, not when you scooched him into your house, not even when you ran him a nice, hot bath and gave him a set of nice, fluffy towels to bathe himself and dry off with.

You were beginning to come to one of three conclusions: That he was rude, that he couldn’t talk, or that maybe he just didn’t like talking. You were leaning more towards the latter, given that he didn’t seem to possess any malice towards you, and he at least made the effort of offering you grunts in response to your queries. All except for, of course, who he was. Every time you asked, he would open his mouth by a crack, as if to reward you with the answer. But it was always so fleeting: His mouth would close up, his expression becoming nervous.

But then, he always looked somewhat nervous so far: When you grabbed his hand to lead him around, as he surveyed the streets of village while you ducked corners and took as many scarcely populated routes to your home as possible, as you shoved all his bath things into his arms. You surmised that he may have taken a buster to the head either before or after he fell and that’s why he seemed so scrambled. Maybe if you promised him food in exchange for information, you’d get what you wanted sooner …

You learned the hard way that the man could, in fact, make more than just anxious expressions. The attempt to withhold from him a bowl of stew you’d thrown together fell apart mercilessly when you looked back at him. The expression on his face could have only been worn by the world’s saddest puppy. You could’ve sworn he released a silent “yay” when you gave in and plopped the bowl before him. You sighed through your nose, displeased that your well-thought out plan had failed at the expense of something so pitiful.

Based on the noisy slurping and constant gulping, however, you felt he was pretty pleased with himself. Or your cooking.

Defeated and irritated, you figured the least you could finally do was tend to some of those wounds. Then you gulped: Some of the worst ones lay below the makeshift robe you’d given him. You lived alone, so it wouldn’t make sense for you to own any clothes that would suit him, much less fit him. An old quilt wrapped about his large frame would have to you.

Exhaling quietly, you said, “I’m gonna have to clean some of the wounds a bit better. But some of them are little … beyond what’s typically allowed to be seen. Do you mind, or …?”

At that, the man stopped gobbling up his meal and froze. From what skin you could see encompassed by his hairier features, he was beginning to blush. This, in turn, made you blush.

“Or – or I could not!” you cried, posing your hands in defense. The man, of course, paid you no response but a dark-eyed look over his broad shoulder. You heard the gentleness of his heavy breathing in the moment of silence. Your brows furrowed as you lowered your hands. Was he against it or …?

Turning his attention back to the corner of stew left in his bowl, he raised a hand to the corner of blanket still covering his shoulder before pushing it downward. Soon, his back became bare to you, revealing a host of old white scars and red new ones. Claw marks, bite marks, scrapes and bruises … and a tattoo. A big black cross.

… Maybe he wasn’t as feral as you’d thought.

You gingerly dabbed a cloth covered in alcohol against his back, bracing yourself for the sudden jerks he would likely act upon. To your initial surprise, they never came. You then supposed that, given the extent of his blemishes, he probably experienced far worse than a couple of stings. He seemed far too focused on finishing his bowl, albeit far quieter and more composed than before.

In fact, aside from the occasional grunt of displeasure and the soft hums accompanying his nudging of an empty bowl (clearly asking for a refill), the man didn’t seem to show any signs of true pain. Not even when you had to use a needle to stitch up particularly bad wounds. He kept still and followed whatever instructions you gave. But he still never spoke, even as you asked him if it was okay to be attentive to any of his lower apparent wounds.

No matter where you began cleaning and patching him up, however, any embarrassment you would have had didn’t feel as strong as it normally would have. Your attention kept returning back to the black cross on the man’s back. Maybe he was a monk? Thrown out of the monastery for reasons he could not speak of? Had he been a part of a group of religious zealots before striking them the wrong way and risking banishment?

All these things you wanted to know so dearly. But you asked nothing. You had given up trying to pry an answer from this beaten stranger. Best to just give it a rest. Clean him up, send him on his merry way, and try to get on with life as you had before him.

“D … fd …” It was quiet. Barely qualifiable as a whisper, with only enough strength to just rustle a hair on a mouse. It still startled the bejeezus out of you, causing your much smaller frame to jump back nearly a full foot. It was as your heart calmed down that you realized: He had actually said something! You had to fight the urge to startle him right back by zooming to his side. Composing yourself, you inched closer.

“Excuse me?” you queried quietly. You couldn’t help the excitement tingling within your words. “You said something, yes?” You licked your lips with anticipation. The man said nothing.

You tried not to hide your disappointment, save for a slightly heavy sigh. You returned back to his side in full, once again cleaning the cut against his shoulder than you had been working on. You were about to pluck up the needle to sew this particular cut up when you’d heard it again.

“D…vid …” It was clearer this time. Louder by a fraction. Your breath caught itself in your throat.

Leaning forward, as close to his face as you could get while keeping a semblance of sensibility, you whispered once, “What?” You feared he wouldn’t clam up again. Hoped to the God suggested by the cross on his back that he would, just this once, offer you something to work with.

“M…y … my name … ‘s D… Da…vid …” His voice was low. Deep. Husky from perhaps a lack of use. There probably weren’t very many things to speak to in the wood, especially so far in.

You found yourself finally able to release the breath you had been holding in, causing one of his many stray curls to flutter.

“You … Your name is David?” you asked quietly. The man didn’t speak, but he nodded slowly. You nodded right back. You regained your posture, returning back to your stitching once more, this time with your mind buzzing with a new flurry of questions. But you decided to save them. For now, knowing his name was a good enough start.

i am lost for words and can only publish this as it is because i am. moments from death.

[baronvoltage]

Doppelgänger [drabble]

Headcanon, the aftermath of Severed Ties.

Never let it be said that Caitlyn, Sheriff of Piltover, wasn’t a patient person. One had to be to hold onto the position for as long as she had. Her patience however was not endless and the current case valiantly and relentlessly tried her limits.

One busted ascender, two beaten up thugs, three dead bodyguards, one traumatized lady of high breeding and multiple eyewitness accounts of a woman with blades for legs. It should have been such an easy case.

If only her eyewitnesses stopped lying for two minutes.

She crossed her arms and gave the three a sharp look, two giant augmented bouncers framing the slight form of Lady Arvino as she tried to dry her tears, with no avail.

“Would someone care to tell me what have really happened here?“

“We ‘ready told you ma’am,“ rumbled one of the thugs, his voice oddly distorted by the breathing mask grafted onto his face. “We were sent to pick the missy up and bring ‘er to the boss, usual like. We were in the lift when crazy knife-legs attacked.“

“She busted the cabin open, and cut down the Arvino bodyguards,“ the other chimed in. The lady between them started sobbing once again and he patted her shoulder awkwardly with a shovel-sized hand. “Then she went for the young miss, but we got in the way. We got lucky, big lugs we are, tough to cut down, but she killed poor Eric when he stood between her and miss Arvino.“

“He started up ‘is fancy light show but she deflected it somehow.“ That was an interesting detail, one that Caitlyn was inclined to believe, despite the whole story sounding like a bunch of bull. “Guess he scared her tho, ‘cause she ran away after she killed ‘im.“

“Then we arrived down and called the police and here we are.“ Between the two of them, Lady Sofia managed a weak nod and sobbed into her handkerchief once again.

Caitlyn waited a spell, just in case one of them decided to fess up.

“Let me get this clear. You expect me to believe that someone attacked the ascender with the goal to kill Lady Arvino, but decided to leave the defenceless young lady alive, killed her bodyguards instead and then ran away into the night?“

“'t was in the afternoon,“ said the one on the left helpfully, but otherwise made no attempt to correct her.

“Do you think me completely stupid?“ she snapped, making Sofia start and the two thugs look aside sheepishly.

“No ma’am.“ Caitlyn frowned, pointing a finger at the three bodies covered with a heavy tarpaulin.

“You must think me stupid, or at the very least blind, because one of those is obviously Baron Marko Volkage, dead as a doorknob. It would be hard for him to be otherwise because he’s missing half of his head.“ All three shrinked back, the gorillas moving closer to support Sofia through another torrent of tears. “So, care to revise to fairytale to be closer to the truth?“

“No ma’am. That’s Eric, not the boss.“ Caitlyn stared off to the distance, counting silently to twenty. At the edge of the police barricade a heavily armed carriage rolled up with the Thunder Club’s luminescent flower painted on the door. A lanky man, a thug posing as a valet no doubt, jumped off and marched to the policemen. Cait was momentarily distracted by what had to be the ugliest fur collar she ever had the misfortune to cast her eyes upon. She shook herself and turned back to what had to be the three least reliable eyewitnesses of her entire career.

“Don’t play me. Why would this ‘Eric’ look exactly like your chembaron?“

“He’s a doppelgangster.“

“Doppelgang-... What did I ask about thinking me stupid?“

“He really was,“ Sofia spoke up at last, voice still small and weak. “Eric Weiss was Marko’s body double and secretary. The killer didn’t know... he couldn’t do the voice but he didn’t speak and he taught me some acting, what to say if the worst happens so she thought she was killing Marko.“ Her shoulders shook as she fought her tears.

Caitlyn was astonished. There were rumours of course, the sort that filled up the pages of tabloids, that Baron Volkage could be at more places at once, but she never thought there was any truth to them. It fit more into how she imagined the case, so she decided to play along for now.

“Let’s pretend for a moment that I believe you. If the victim was a body double, where is the genuine article?“ They all looked past her in uncanny unison and she turned to follow their gaze.

The fur collar was even more atrocious up close, sitting oddly around the man’s shoulders. His face was covered by heavy googles and a scarf that no doubt hid his breathing mask. He must have been persistent to get around the policemen.

“Caitlyn sheriff? I am to take Lady Arvino to the tower, for her own safety. I was told to extend an invitation to you too.“ He tilted his head to look up at the two men who rushed to stand at attention. “The oafs are expected at the repair shop, on the double.“

She recalled the delicate tubes and rigging curving around Volkage’s shoulder and resisted the urge to kick someone. They weren’t even subtle.

“Well, I can’t possibly turn down an invitation like that.“

It took surprisingly little to herd the two thugs off to have their eyewitness accounts written down, with a pointed warning from Ugly Fur Collar to tell the truth. Caitlyn found that distinctly funny and she got in the carriage with a smile lurking in the corner of her mouth.

“So,-“ she said, leaning back as they rocked into motion, fixing the man sitting across her with a look. “-is anyone actually deceived by the fur collar?“

Marko Volkage snorted, pulling googles off and tugging the scarf down.

“You’d be surprised.“ She looked him in the eye and held his glare as long as she could before she had to blink - the unfair advantage of mechanical eyes, she supposed.

“They say you are a proud man, Baron. Not someone I expected to use body doubles and disguises.“

“Proud, but not stupid. I have a lot of enemies, as you surely know. Trickery isn���t illegal.“ He gestured with one elegantly crafted hand. His trademark prosthetics were fascinating, if a bit creepy.

“Trickery isn’t.“ She confirmed. “Blackmail is.“ A leap of thought, but seemed like a good enough guess to tell why would the head of clan Arvino would meet up with a chembaron.

He smiled grimly.

“This is not what you think.“

“Then what is it?“ she asked with a provocative smile. She didn’t expect the answer to come from Lady Arvino, sitting quietly to her left.

“Courtship.“ She avoided looking at either of them, hands fisted in her skirt. Volkage's expression softened with hesitance before he gathered his composure again.

“Sheriff, I hope I don’t need to tell you that this is a secret.“ He was visibly tense, his eyes flashing bright for a moment.

“Are you two out of your minds? If this gets out, the Arvino family will be ruined.“ She glared daggers at Volkage who had the decency to look at least a little ashamed.

“We have a plan.“ Miss Arvino hurried to add. “We just need to keep this a secret for a little longer.“

Caitlyn felt a pang of pity for the woman. No doubt Volkage had talked circles around her.

“Miss Sofia, please consider it. Is this plan worth risking your future for?“ She expected Volkage to disapprove, but he seemed relieved to hear her oppose this mystery plan.

“Please talk her out of it, because I couldn’t.” Caitlyn huffed. She didn’t expect the Baron to be the reasonable one.

“Marko, I appreciate that you are trying to protect my virtue, but I have made up my mind and I’m not starting another argument about this.“ Sofia pouted - honest to gods pouted - at the Volkage.

“Hold on a moment, how long have you been dating?“ Caitlyn interrupted before the Baron could retaliate.

“Close to two years,“ Volkage replied courtly. “She started it after she turned eighteen.“

“Is that so, mister flower-scented envelope?“

Caitlyn suddenly felt like she was dropped in a kindergarten.

“Stop, stop, let’s pretend for a moment that we are all sensible adults and not five-year-olds.“ That shut the two of them up, if only for a minute. “Let me get this straight: you have been in a secret relationship for close to two years.“ Nod. “But you have exchanged letter before.“

“It was Lord Arvino’s idea,”  Volkage supplied, his fingers drumming idly on his leg. “He was grooming Sofia to take over after his death and I was a safe enough, interesting business partner to motivate a young girl to do her homework.“

The sheriff had to admit that sounded true enough. Lord Arvino was known to have a prosthetic leg, which was a simple enough tie to Volkage who specialized in prosthetics and other high quality precision gadgets. It was also true that the Baron’s recent reputation was a decent one, as far as chembarons went.

Interesting and dangerous without posing any actual danger. She could see the appeal.

“I feel the need to repeat my question: are you two out of your minds? Business partnerships can be covered up, but a relationship? How long did you expect to keep it a secret?“ It was a small miracle that they managed this long.

“For two more months.” Deciding that there was no more need pretend distance, Sofia slid into the seat across and grabbed one of Volkage’s hands for support. “Father always said that Piltover should be the city of the daring and the visionary and the old nobility is holding it back. That we are wasting opportunities by rejecting Zaun’s potential.” The later Lord Arvino had always been an eccentric man, Caitlyn recalled with some fondness. Nobody else would have donated to much of their money to the modernization of the police force.

“So he pulled a few dozen strings, dumped a lot of money into the academy, convinced some of the more well-off scientists to support his cause and here we are. The details are still all hush-hush, but the first big project is is almost ready to be unveiled; based on Thunder Club innovations, funded by Clan Arvino. The first big step in bringing Zaun and Piltover closer and brining fresh ideas into our stale academy.“

Sofia almost bounced in her seat in excitement. Volkage appeared more pessimistic about the plan, but it was hard to tell with the mechanical eyes.

“I urge you, sheriff, to keep what you heard here a secret. It would nullify years worth of work - not just the projects I’m personally invested in, but several others - and put Sofia in jeopardy.“

Caitlyn pursued her lips and made a show of thinking it through. On one hand, whatever storm the late Lord Arvino was stirring, it will certainly uproot the current status quo, causing untold chaos. On the other hand, even if the plan crashes and burns, the waves will most likely bring a lot of shady garbage to the surface and as someone who had been fighting an uphill battle against the corruption within Piltover for years, she could appreciate anything that made her life easier.

“I will keep this under wraps, on one condition.“ She slowly crossed her legs, drawing out the tense silence. “There is a murderer afoot. The one that earlier today assaulted Lady Arvino and her guards.“ Sofia went pale, remembering the bloodshed and her grip on Volkage’s hand tightened until the metal creaked under the strain. “I want your unconditional help in tracking her down, capturing and incapacitating her, then bringing her to justice so she can rot in prison until the end of her miserable life for every murder she committed. Do you think you can give me that?“

Volkage smiled, dangerous and dark and full of malice.

“Oh, sheriff. It would be my pleasure.“

[acemenagerie-a]

(( i realized that, while i am hot garbage at imagining measurements, i did have a vague idea of t.ma muse heights relative to one another and - since salesa is canonically 6′7 - i could extrapolate heights out from there.  so there’s a fuckin #lifehack for y’all hdgfjdhsfhjgsdjhfgdsf

joshua is the only one shorter than me sjhdfghjdsgjfhgsdjfg

Distortion is not here because it can be whatever height it wants, whenever it wants.  It tends to shift to be taller than whoever it is talking to because that is usually more intimidating.  However, sometimes it likes to change heights when someone looks away - growing either taller or shorter -  so that the person looks in the wrong spot when they turn back around.  I think Helen did that more than Michael.  In life, Michael was taller than Helen. ))

[acemenagerie-a]

(( in case u wanted to know my t.ma muses’ feelings on stabbing

don’t let harriet fool u btw. she will not stab u, but she will throw u out of an airplane into an endless blue sky so.... u’d probably prefer to be stabbed ))

[acemenagerie-a]

what do you wish you could say?

tagged by: compelled to submit my muses to the mortifying ordeal of being known by @praemetuere sahgdhjsdgfhjsdgf tagging: go forth and just... get sad

Distortion -  "i don't know how to accept this fact about me."

you have a secret. be it something going on in your life or a revelation about your personal identity, you've just learned something new about yourself and you feel wrong about it. you should be sure about this, but you're just not! even though you aren't comfortable with it, the secret feels important to you and it wants to break free. with the nature of the secret, though, you couldn't stand telling anyone. 

Elias -  "i'm hurting and help is beyond me."

there's something going on with you mentally. you haven't told anyone because you don't want to drag them down with you. it kills you on the daily and you feel like you're falling apart, however, nobody's noticed. you feel like you should be thankful for that, but it just hurts more. you feel selfish and weak for wanting help, yet something deep and knotted beneath your diaphragm is screaming to let go of the pain and let someone else handle it for awhile. 

[acemenagerie-a]

Distortion Itself, are you a person? What are your strongest feelings about other Entities? Are you fond of novelty-chime doorbells?

3 Questions, 1 Answer || ACCEPTING

Plenty of questions have been asked from within its winding pathways but it had only understood the savory fear lacing them and disregarded the words.  It is a thing of feelings and not built to give names to those feelings, not built to give names to much of anything.  It is and lies and terrifies.

So to be given a question, three in fact, all of which it understands and one of which it needs to answer, is odd.  “This is It Knows You?”  It intones, somehow, through the creaking of doors and shifting of hallways.  What else could stare upon it so and demand answers?  

The novelty chime doorbell manages to be the thing to catch its attention most, presumably because that answer would reveal the least helpful information.  It has never given one of its doors a doorbell before.  There is a lot of ominous creaking, something that sounds like a scream, something else that sounds strangely like a dripping sink, and then, somewhere, a door appears in the hallway of someone’s home with a doorbell placed perfectly beside it.

As a fresh victim presses the doorbell, too curious to do otherwise, It’s A Small World begins to play, reverberating deep into the Distortion’s hallways.  Caught off-guard, the person tests the handle and immediately falls in to be trapped.  The extra layer of confusion did add something to that initial burst of fear, as shallow as it had been since it had not been hunting this person for years.

“Doorbells are fun.”  It decides, pleased to have something else with which it may use to draw more fear.  The hallways twist and shift in color as it considers the other two questions and whether it wants to answer and whether it wants to answer truthfully.  

Doorbells are fun, this being of It Knows You suggested doorbells.  It decides to answer one more of the questions because it now has doorbells.

“It Knows You just watches and knows; lies die if understood.  Humans fear The One Alone and Dark and lie to themselves if left in it long enough, but The One Alone rarely shares and Dark wants all things, even lies, to be unseen.  Death is the ultimate truth, not compatible with lies.  I Do Not Know You almost understands the true delight of lies, almost.”

[acemenagerie-a]

WHICH TAROT ARE YOU?

tagged by stolen from: @baseyra tagging: continue the tradition of thievery my friends 

(( i always do So Many so they’re under a cut

all t.ma muses this time tho, brain has chosen its focus dshjgdsjhgfhdsgfjhsgdfjhsdgf ))

Helen

THE HERMIT

It’s a skill, to look inside yourself, one you have mastered. The endless corridors and shifting thoughts are mapped to very carefully. This all takes time, of course. And those twisting hallways are so very difficult to map. It would be so easy to get lost. You know this space so well. Wouldn’t it be a lovely place to stay? So well-known and comforting. Why go back? How nice, how easy, to dissolve, to hide from the rest of the world and all the people in it. Why bother, when you are so good at looking inside yourself. Like enlightenment, the self. Retreating this far inwards is like retreating just as far out, into the vast ether. So comforting. The thing that was you looks at the thing that was the old woman. There is no you anymore. Goodbye.

Elias

JUSTICE

What would you do to ensure justice? You know full well I don’t speak of lofty ideals and courts and magistrates, dearest. What would you do to those that hurt you? If I dropped them in your lap, what would you do? What kind of pain could you possibly inflict upon them? You are right to do so. You are right to want to do so. Ignore the screaming, dearest, you are the hand of justice now, and they hurt you. Do not look too closely at their faces, dearest. You are within your rights. You spell out your own rights, now. Are you happy about it? Are you certain that this is the right person you hold by the hair? Does your anger hurt less now?

Jonah

THE WORLD

Power is a heady thing. Do you have what it takes to control it? You thought you did, for a long time as you gained more and more. Power only begets more power, after all. Mind your breaking point, mind your load, mind how high you’ve climbed up the ladder; it’s against regulation to stand on the top rung. You could get hurt up there. You could fall. I’m not sure that I could catch you, so high above the rest of us. Don’t look down. Mind the ceiling fan.

Gertrude

DEATH

A cheery woman’s voice chimes from above. "Game over! Please restart and try again." The old woman holds a baby in her arms and makes to pass it to you. Will you take it?

Georgie

THE EMPRESS

You are only independent insofar as you have others to care for. This makes you dependent in your independence. They want your knowledge, your skills, your talents, your affection. What can they give in return? “Teeth” is not an acceptable answer, nor is “keeping the shadows to the corners”, nor is “glory”, nor is “love”. There is no acceptable answer, no gift of a magnitude which can match the thing you know, which is that they are taking from you. They are stealing from you. You should stop them from doing that, darling. You only have so much to give. You are not infinite, and when they have taken their last they will remind you of that. My advice is this: give enough to keep them at bay, but be careful. Their teeth can turn on you too. There is no easier way to make an animal dangerous than by feeding it.

[acemenagerie-a]

(( y’know sometimes u think abt the good hugs of one of ur muses before bed and, as u’re trying to sleep, remember the mortal kombat’s best cuddler unraveled video and have this image beamed straight into ur brain at 2:30am and then have to produce it 12+ hrs later bc u slept past noon

y’all know that feel right? #sorelatable

anyway! commentary under the cut!! ))

Pure Distortion : Bad cuddler for many reasons.  First off, just infinite hallways of doors and mirrors.  How’re you supposed to hold that?  Secondly, it is a being of pure lies and deception and is completely incomprehensible to the human mind so, like, not gonna be there for you when you need it.  Third, will eat you.

Michael Distortion : Adds knife hands to the cuddle experience more than Pure Distortion, however, has chosen to not use knife hands that one time with Sasha, so, is slightly less dangerous overall.  Has also let people out of infinite corridors so.... Unfortunately still not very emotionally available.  Refuses to outright answer questions.  Even if he does finally open up about his deep brimming self-loathing and unimaginable rage, he’ll only do it right before attempting to murder you.

Helen Distortion : Much more emotionally available.  She is here for you if you’re undergoing an existential crisis.  She’s accepted having a self and we love self-acceptance here.  Unfortunately, still got knife hands.  Also still eldritch being of pure lies and deception and infinite hallways so, like, you may get eaten.  And maybe get a real estate pitch while you’re getting eaten.

Elias : Unfathomably touch-starved.  He will cry the second you put a hand on him and it will be A Lot.  If this is after Jonah’s eyes are taken out, his tear ducts are messed up to the point that moisture levels of the cuddle will be unaffected, but like... it’s still A Lot.  Even after, he can be a bit overly attentive, afraid of ending up utterly alone.  He does want you to have a good cuddle and 1000% deserves to be held, but you need to be ready for some emotional baggage before you walk in.

Jonah : Bastard.  Admittedly, the immediate physical risk is pretty low compared to the Knife Hands Squad, but he will not be there for you and is definitely trying to get something out of you in some capacity.  Does he want money?  Is this a powerplay?  Is he and/or his eldritch patron drinking in your paranoia regarding what he could possibly be after in this cuddle sesh?  Yes.  May beam some trauma directly into your brain for the hell of it.  Absolutely terrible man.

Gertrude : Like Jonah, the immediate physical risk is minimal, though if you are spending a lot of time around Gertrude, then you will probably die horrifically sooner rather than later.  Absolutely emotionally unavailable.  Between you and Gertrude is a wall of trust issues a mile thick and she is constantly making it thicker, good luck.

Georgie : Very good cuddle.  She is the right amount of attentive and willing to take initiative in the cuddle.  Bonus points awarded because she also has The Admiral and a big, fluffy, purring kitty instantly elevates a cuddle session.  

Joshua : Very solid and warm and stabilizing.  Very good cuddler and will 100% make it so easy to ignore all your problems even of the spooky eldritch variety.  Is prone to zoning out, though, and that can make him seem a bit distant if you’re trying to vent a little during the cuddle.  But also, again, his cuddles are about ignoring the outside world for a bit so.

Robin : Pretty emotionally available, ready to hear you talk for a long time about something you love if you’re ready to do the same in return.  Can find it hard to sit still, though, so there’s going to be a lot of shifting and moving.  Your arm will never go numb, but also Robin has sharp elbows so you may get grazed while you shift positions.  

[ritualwritten]

DISTORTION TAGS

[acemenagerie-a]

Five of those #JustEnormousHandsThings HC's for various Distortions?

5 HC’s || ACCEPTING

(( Distortion, prior to Gertrude forever fucking up its whole deal, very seldom chose to appear in a humanoid shape.  It didn’t like it, preferring the stalking and mind games of being a random weird door that stole kids’ jump ropes sometimes.  It refused to spend time to comprehend human anatomy and general human fears were such that like big hands were scary so all the “bones” ended up there.  Big boney knife hands.

As seen in canon, Michael can be like ‘no what knife hands? i dont have knife hands. see? hold my hand, look they aren’t knife hands’ but that takes some concerted effort to make the hands not knife hands and can really only be done in short bursts.  If he has to make an effort to feign at humanity, he’d definitely prefer pointedly not shaking someone’s hand over temporarily making even one hand not a Knife Hand.

If offered a handshake, Helen’s previous existence as a real estate agent would likely compel her to want to complete the handshake to be polite and, honestly, she is still slightly offended Michael didn’t shake her hand when they met.  Whether she puts her mind to not having Knife Hands is... it would depend on how she’s feeling that day.  Sometimes you have to stab someone for fun.

For the hands being giant knife hands, they are weirdly curved?  When it points, the finger would curve up as if double jointed, but also seems to curl inward into a spiral but also you can tell where it is pointing.  It’s an off-putting, maddening effect.  The fingers can also curl and be placed in ways physically impossible.  Like making a fist should absolutely not work and yet somehow it could make a fist happen and visually it would simultaneously look fine but also like someone turned no clip on.

Distortion Gertrude is slightly different.  She is, overall, a much sharper, angular Distortion.  Her fingers still do weird impossible spirals, but they’re much sharper spirals, the turns are like 90°. ))

[acemenagerie-a]

(( sdhfgjshdgfjhdsgjfgsdf i just realized that veronica and helen would probably get on like a fucking wildfire ))

[acemenagerie-a]

Does Distortion feel sorry for Michael?

(( Not really.  

It resents Michael more than anything else and most talk of “poor naive Michael” is condescending or an attempt to get a rise out of someone.  Even so, Michael Shelley’s feelings of betrayal and his sense of innocence are still floating in there and it can feel them and, likewise, finds it impossible to entirely divorce those feelings from its own experiences.  Even the sense of resentment is due to Michael’s influence.  It was, on its own, unmistakably malevolent, but also impersonal.

So it feels sorry for Michael in that it feels sorry for itself but also it hates that very notion because it is not Michael and so self pity can’t be directed at Michael and also it shouldn’t be able to feel self pity at all because it shouldn’t have a self.

Distortion Michael is, in short, a mess of a lot of feelings and would very much like to go back to just being a weird door and series of hallways without any of this self business thank you very much. ))