#gang violence tw

[morrigan-sims]

broken vows, broken horns

"Leave, and never come back. If you ever set foot in this city again, you're dead, you hear me?" He spits in Val's direction before turning away, muttering under his breath, "Traitorous little devil."

This is a little glimpse into Val's past, back when they were 17.

When I made Val's tattoos, one of the other players said that the snake motif reminded them of gang tattoos where the symbol of the gang is repeated across the body. That planted the seed for Val's backstory in my head. And even more perfectly, I had already decided weeks ago that the reason Val is never seen without their captain's hat is that their horns had been broken many years ago.

But why would breaking of horns matter? Oh, of course. It's an all-tiefling gang! And broken horns is a sign to anyone who knows the gang/criminal underworld that "this person is not to be trusted, do not let them join your crew".

So I ended up with a tiefling gang called the Horned Serpents, and decided to place them in the port city of Xen, where Val will be taking the party after rescuing Rook. This would explain why Val hadn't been there in years (15 to be precise), and thus allow the DM to surprise me with whatever is going on there.

Unbeknownst to me, Xen and the surrounding area has a... complicated history with the Hells, and already is wary of tieflings. So it makes perfect sense that the tieflings there would band together, especially if they were already ostracized. (Yay for accidental mind-reading!)

Val was basically raised by the Serpents, but they are too kind, too good a person to be complicit in gang violence for long. So when they were offered the chance, they became an informer, leading to the gang's dismantling and downfall. But some of the surviving/escaped members discovered Val's treachery and came after them, beating them and breaking off their horns. And, of course, delivering the warning to never return to Xen.

Val fled and never looked back. For 15 years they've sailed all around the continent, but never docked in Xen. But if returning there is what it takes to save the life of one of their passengers, they'll do it.

[positivelybeastly]

Does beast resent the X-Men?

"What a funny question. What's to resent?"

So, funny thing - I'm pretty sure that Hank has never really wanted to be an X-Man. He's found meaning in it, of course; he's made some good friends; he met one of the loves of his life through the X-Men; he's been able to do a massive amount of good in the world by being the right X-Man in the right place at the right time.

But it's not a life that's really good or healthy for him, and this dates all the way back to the 60s, if you can believe it.

This is from Uncanny X-Men #5, in 1964. We haven't even hit double digits yet!

Five issues in, and he already doesn't really want to be there! And it's kind of not hard to see why - his powers are easy to control, he can pass for a human with ease, his genius intellect means he can have his pick of any research project he wants, he has a family that loves him and accepts him, he had a girlfriend before he joined the X-Men. Honestly, Hank's life was pretty good!

But.

He was made a promise that he'd get to change the world in a way that his normal life wouldn't afford him.

It's just that Professor X didn't really tell him that there'd be days like this.

It's one thing to have to fight a magnetic maniac who's going to throw missiles at you and try to nuke a small country. Fine, whatever, that may well have been in the brochure. But did the Professor ever tell them that they were going to be attacked by the people they were trying to save? Because here's the thing, there are universes where Hank isn't so lucky when things like this happen.

But hey, this is all part and parcel of being a superhero, right?

Uh, well.

No. No, this is specifically an X-Men problem.

It fucking sucks being an X-Man, dude. It fucking sucks. You work hard, you nearly get killed, nobody appreciates you, and yeah, you and your friends know that it's unfair and that you deserve better, but that doesn't magically make it change, does it?

So, does Hank resent the X-Men, in so far as the actual concept? Yeah, a little bit. He recognises there's a need for them, of course, but actually having to be one fucking sucks! He can do just as much good with the Avengers or the Defenders as he can with the X-Men, maybe even more, so why should he be with the X-Men?

Well.

Because they need him.

Because without Hank McCoy, the X-Men would have been absolutely fucked in the following situations (list is not exhaustive):

The Dark Phoenix Saga (he stopped the police from answering the Hellfire Club calls for assistance, and created the psionic scrambler that gave them a fighting chance against her in their second fight).

Finishing the cure for the Legacy Virus (other geneticists might well have been closing in on solving it, like Kavita Rao, but how many more mutants would have died in the time it took for them to match Hank's speed?)

Stopping Unus the Untouchable from joining the Brotherhood of Mutants and fucking rolling the X-Men way, way back in the day.

Creating the Skrull Legacy Virus bioweapon, which may well have been morally repugnant, but who knows how many more casualties the world and the remaining X-Men would have sustained in a protracted conflict with the Skrulls?

Negotiating peace with Hydra Cap to create New Tian; giving the X-Men time to regroup and save mutants from the Terrigen Clouds; and hey, do you know what Hank's actual most underrated achievements are?

Oh yeah, that time he saved humanity! Solo!

And that time he saved the Inhumans!

Like. The X-Men need Hank. They always need him. Hell, you know what I find really fucking funny? Krakoa's very happy to shit all over him, but guess what?

The flowers that create those lovely miracle drugs that gives Krakoa economic bargaining power? Hank's creation.

Not Sinister's.

Not Moira's. Not Xavier's, not Magneto's, not Storm's, not Cyclops'.

Hank.

They need him.

Hell, they can't even kill Hank without Hank!

But at least they treat him right, yeah?

Right?

"Hey, Hank, I know we got you fired from Harvard University because we turned up to your place of work for your help and shit went down, like, instantly, but . . . uhh, not gonna say sorry!"

"Hey, so, I know that we made you move to Attilan to try and come up with a solution to M-Pox, but since you can't deliver, we're just going to thunderbolt you in the back and lock you in a cage, mmkay?"

"Have you just tried not having PTSD, Hank? Can you do that for us? I know you're upset that your claws and fur fell out, but, like, the whining's getting to just be a bit much."

"Hey, so, like, we know you recently lost a finger, got telepathically fucked in the head by Charles' evil twin, and are basically dealing with the mother of all body dysmorphia episodes right now, but have you considered fuck you, we need a poster boy that says it's okay to be a mutant? Because the rest of us are all really pretty supermodels with easily hidden powers and that kinda sends the wrong message, you know?"

There's a moment, that I'm not going to cap, because it comes from Uncanny X-Men #600, during the intervention, where Hank turns around, sees the time displaced X-Men, his fellow teaching staff, his friends (allegedly), and they're all telling him that he's unstable. That he's causing them problems.

Ororo tells him, either you listen to us, or we call SHIELD and have them put you in a box for crimes against nature and science.

And he says, verbatim, "After everything I've done for you - "

The narrative paints him as furious. Obstinate. An asshole.

Except, he's right. He's given them everything he has. And it's not enough for them. He's in obvious pain, he's lashing out, he's emotionally unstable, he's acting irrationally. But they can't even do this right, because this is not how you help Hank. Hank doesn't respond to this, and you'd know that if you fucking cared.

What does Hank respond to?

Care.

Concern.

Love.

Even if you don't read this moment romantically, is it not just fucking startling the difference in Hank's character? All of his 'friends' in a room, he walks out, he leaves, he's furious, because fuck you all, you want to humiliate me like this?

But Simon just. Asks him out for drinks, and he talks, and he talks, and he talks, and he smiles.

Your question was, does Beast resent the X-Men?

I ask you in return - how could he not?

His life would be better if he'd never joined them. And he knows that.

[bensonmichaels]

Who: Benson, Victoria, Baby Theo and Bailey @bailcyrhodes Where: Napa Valley Hospital - Maternity Ward When: October 31st, 2023 - Just after 7PM Notes: Trigger Warnings for - car accident, parental death, gang violence, premature birth, nicu stay

Clouds filled the night sky as thunder bellowed in the distance. It was storming, but that was nothing abnormal for Napa Valley, nor was it abnormal for this time of year. Fall in California was a lot less dry than a lot of the other places in America, but something about Halloween and the rain seemed to go hand in hand. This was the time of year that raincoats sales were the highest, water bills were dropping in price, and everything just seemed so much colder. Kids could be seen walking up and down sidewalks, scoping out the neighborhoods for the most decorated houses to visit on Halloween because those were the ones with the best candy. But for Benson, unlike most people that adored Halloween, it had never been a day he enjoyed. The day had always brought a bunch of harsh memories to him, and it was a day he tried to graze by without making a big deal out of it. Because something about remembering the day your life changed forever wasn’t something you wanted to remember. It wasn’t that he was a superstitious person, in fact, it was nearly the opposite. He knew that things happened by pure coincidence, and for him and those around him Halloween had always been one where more unfortunate things happened. From the death of his mom in the car crash when he was thirteen that had rocked his family to their core, to the gang-associated death of his best friend at the age of 22, it was never full of great memories. So when his fiancé Victoria Hastings went into early labor nearly a week prior, only to give birth to their beautiful baby boy - Theo - on Halloween, Benson was less than ecstatic; he was filled with nerves, because nothing good happened on Halloween. 

“You’re baby seems to be having some problems with his heart.” Were the words that echoed into his ears as his fiance’s tears fell. Thirty two hours of gruesome labor after a week of stopping the contractions had ended in a c-section, and to make matters worse, the couple hadn’t even gotten to hold their baby yet as he was immediately rushed to the NICU moments after delivery. They’d been sent to Victoria’s room after surgery, and were told to wait, despite the fact that Benson had so many questions. Was Theo alive? Was he going to make it? And How would they emotionally navigate taking care of a sick child? He didn’t want to sound ungrateful; they’d just welcomed a new life into this world. But their baby boy was sick, and Benson didn't know the first thing about taking care of a healthy newborn, much less a sick one. Though, they waited, and man, did the waiting feel like forever. Nearly thirty hours of recovery and some tests later and they were able to go see him - Benson had refused to go without Victoria, and they needed to make sure she was healthy so she didn’t risk giving her baby an infection - and hand in hand the two made their way towards the NICU floor, where they began navigating this life with a baby who had already brought them so much pain and happiness in his short little life. Theodore Alexander Michaels was the name that read on his little incubator bassinet that the nurses so carefully placed him in, keeping his body temperature regulated as he fought to stay with them. He was tiny. Benson’s finger was nearly the size of his whole hand, but he already adored that baby more than anything else in this world. His attention was fully on their son, sharing stories, laughs and tears about how much they already adored him that neither of them had even noticed the brunette that came over to check his vitals. That was until Benson’s eyes met hers and he felt the color in his face drain just slightly. Swallowing the knot that formed in his throat, he whispered a faint “Bailey..”

[dubulgeandtaebooty]

Tw vent and death (and a little bit of family business)

I was 10 years old when my brother was fatally killed by gang members. Even 8 years later, I could still vividly recall the while entire event like a videotape. The cries of help, the blood pouring out of his body that would drip all over the floor, the knife that killed him, the laughter of his killers as they run away hoping that they wouldn’t be found, the sound of ambulance coming to take him to the hospital as I told him that I loved him as police officers took me away from him. His last words to me was “Takashi, I’m going to be fine. Don’t worry about me. Go home.”

He died on his way to the hospital at just aged 14. He was sending drugs to Manchester, Liverpool, all over the UK, just to make some ends meet. My dad was abusive to us and our mom and so she turned into an alcoholic and he would leave us for another woman. This would be how we would have food into the table. He would earn some money so he would pay the rent that mom would purposely forget to do so. However, one of those days he was caught and had to go to prison for few months. Because he didn’t do his job, they tracked him down and killed him. I saw it all.

A month after he passed away, my mom went along too. Guess who found her body? Me. I saw her lifeless body in the living room when I came home and remembered shaking her in hopes she would wake up, but she never did. Just seeing her pale body haunts me as well as my brother screaming. I will never get those images out of my head and they’ll be with me for the rest of my life.

I couldn’t even listen to drill music knowing that this is the kind of shit my brother’s killers listen to. Seeing those people in masks and holding some sort of weapon gives me flashbacks and makes me wanna throw up on the spot. I hate seeing people die for the same reason, especially if it’s someone around the same age as my brother. I hate seeing this shit going all over the news. I get terrible anxiety attacks whenever I even think about something as simple as a knife. But what can I do? Every single day, I have to deal with my triggers being around me 24/7. I’m seeing drill music and remixes getting popular on Tiktok, knives are basically everywhere and those films that depict gang violence, they’re everywhere.

This is why I find it so funny that here on Tumblr I’m seeing people in their 20s crying about people using the wrong hashtag when there are serious shit happening in this world such as their family members or friends dying and they have to watch that shit whilst you are able to view the censored version online. Consider yourself privileged. I didn’t get to see a “TW” before my brother died or even saw it pixelated. I saw it raw. I could even hear the squelching sounds of the knife going in and out of him. Trust me, I could hear everything and it’s very uncomfortable for me to sit through this every single fucking day of my life. It was so bad that I even resorted to drugs and taking my own life. Trust me, it fucking sucks. I don’t even wish this upon my worst enemy.

How can you be so lost in your head that you think the internet can help you with your first world problems? Life doesn’t have a trigger warning, it just happened. If god knew that my brother was going to die today, he would just put a “TW” before my day started. It was just a normal day just like any other day. I got out of bed and I did my morning routine. That very day, I went home from my friend’s house and saw him running across the street. I thought he was trying to catch the bus, but I was dead wrong. He was running for his life.

As someone with extreme PTSD, the fanfics in the #ptsdrecovery does affect me. I find it so damn stupid if they do so, especially if they showcase the actual scene of the gang violence in vague detail. However, the only people I could let them off are newbies to this app. I understand how different the app it is to an app like Instagram or something. I do it too when I go on Instagram and I would under tag because I don’t know how their algorithm works. It’s all human error and they could learn not to do it again, but for those that deliberately do it, especially for many years, they piss me the fuck off.

But here’s the thing, Tumblr isn’t your free therapy session. There are full of people with different coping mechanisms and strategies. If Tumblr was to cater only to those who get triggered over fanfictions showing up on recovery tag, then is it even a freedom of speech app? Tell me if that’s fair to ban anyone who has reading or making fanfictions as a coping mechanism just because one person feels entitled to their problems and puts the blame on others. Although it is super frustrating that we have to deal with this, there’s nothing we could do. We could tell people to make another hashtags to be specific which is #ptsdrecoveryfanfics but what would you do if you see one anyways?

See the problem isn’t the users, it’s your mindset. It’s not our responsibility to stop you from getting triggered, it’s you. People are just living their lives the way they do and so they shouldn’t be obligated to follow by your rules only. I mean, do you think I tell my friends not to play drill music when I’m around? Do I tell stores to not sell knives just because I get triggered by it. No. Unfortunately, I have to move on. No matter how hard it is, I do need to continue with my life. Trust me, this is not an easy task. Having to move on like it was a small inconvenience in my life was difficult, which is why I had go to cognitive behavioural therapy, take some meds and so much shit just so I could live my normal life.

Even now, I could still imagine the scene one and on again, and it makes me want to live in the past. It’s not just I want to see him again, I just wished I stayed at my friend’s house for much longer. Maybe if I was there for few more minutes, I would only have the memory of him going to the hospital. If I went back to get my charger for my phone, I wouldn’t be aching to have this image in my head.

But what could I do? It has already happened. This just taught me a valuable lesson. If you are able to watch things with a trigger warning and a blur hiding the horrifying scene, then you’re privileged. There are people dying in wars, most notably, in Ukraine. Families are dying, friends are getting lost, people losing strangers they had met just few hours ago. You could meet someone and not know if this is the last time you’ll see them or not. They don’t get to have their deaths blurred. Sone people would see their loved ones in brutal conditions that their bodies are fully mutated that it doesn’t even look like them anymore. Even if they weren’t there, that image would stay with them for the rest of their lives.

There are SERIOUS things that are happening in this world and the only thing those, mind I tell you, ADULTS harassing literal newbies in this app just because they used the wrong tag for their fanfiction posts. And for them to be so entitled to think that Tumblr is all about them and them only because they’re right and they know everything. NO THE FUCK YOU DON’T. This is a first world problem that YOU’RE dealing with. There are millions of people starving to death because they cannot afford to bring food into their plates. There are women and girls getting raped into this day because there are asshole men that wants to take advantage of them and that pisses me the fuck up seeing the fucked up things they do to these people, and your only problem are people using the wrong tags whether it’s an accident or not?

I’ve fucking seen everything. I watched my parents fight, my brother’s unlawful death, I saw my mother’s lifeless body on the couch at the living room, my dad left me meaning that me and my sisters had to go move with my grandparents. I bullied at school for being Asian, gay and fat. I was once beaten up to the point where I was hospitalised. It happened in 2020 too during the pandemic. Everyone called me “ching-chong” and told me to go back to where I came from. In the pandemic version, they also told me to kill myself. Then, my sister got raped. That got me sick to my stomach seeing how differently she acted. I also saw her get abused by her boyfriend and I had to step in and beat him up. I was stabbed on the arm by the one thing I was scared of, a knife. He happily called me faggot and chink as I was in excruciating pain. I don’t know how I could explain it, but it was not good.

At this point, I had a big hatred towards the world. However, you only have one life and you gotta live it. I could of chose to be chronically online just like the rest of us on Tumblr, or I could continue fighting and living my life. I chose to be in the real world, because once it’s gone, there’s no going back. I have my friends with me and a crush in my class. I chose to live my life because that was the only thing I could do. I don’t like being online as much, but this is why I only go there to protect my friends.

To give you a summary because some Tumblr users are retarded, I agree with said post and I had stated clearly how I felt about fanfictions going into recovery tags. The only thing I said was that I would understand if it was a newbie. If it was someone who casually does it despite knowing that they shouldn’t do that, then they should know what’s coming. Newbies are NEW to this app. They probably came from an app like Instagram. As someone with extreme PTSD, I’ll forgive them, especially if it’s their first time overtagging because they simply didn’t know how this app works. If it’s someone who has been doing it for years and hasn’t changed ever since, then yes I could understand why you can get mad at them. Unless if you’re mentally retarded, everyone should agree with this whether you hate people overtagging or not. No newbies are going to search up “how to tag on tumblr.” It’s just not realistic. What’s really going to happen is that they’re going to overtag or use the wrong tags and if someone can nicely explain it to them that they shouldn’t be tagging like that, then they’ll take it seriously and quit it. They’re human too and they’ll understand it. They aren’t going to listen to a crazy looking blogger screaming in dms because they aren’t going to take it seriously. This is just facts. But also, I feel like the people who are triggered, they kinda have to do their part as well. Like I said earlier, people aren’t obligated to give a trigger warning or help you when you get triggered. If they do however, it’s out of luck. Most people (especially in the real world) doesn’t give a shit about you. You wanna know why? They’re too busy into their own lives that they aren’t going to censor every word you are triggered over just so they could protect your precious feelings. This is life and you have to live by its rules. If you see something triggering, it’s up to you with how you go about it. If I was to see knives, I’ll just use filtered tags or words. Of course, you’ll still gonna see some regardless. This is because you cannot run away from reality. You’ll have to face it one day.

I know for some people it’s hard to digest, so I made an even dumber version of the summary. Crosstagging is bad. However, newbies can be forgiven because they didn’t know. not to. Of course newbies could search on google “how to tag posts” but it’s not realistic. Realistically, they will post and then figure out when someone tells them. If you do, it is better for you to explain it nicely and clearly so they would know for the next time not to overtag. But, if it’s someone who has been in this app for many years and wouldn’t stop, then yes, it is bad and they should be banned. But nonetheless, you need to help yourself too. Go to settings and put filter tags or words so you can hide certain posts you don’t want to see. There are very little things you could do in this situation, which means that you’ll need to face the harsh reality one day that not everything is censored and so you’ll see things that are uncensored.

Sorry for the language. I just had been so stressed lately. I think I’m gonna take a break from using this app.

[tabletopwhumper]

Whumptober Day 26

Things may get a little smutty at the end. My first time writing anything like this so please don't judge too harshly... *hides*

Separated

John Miller thinks he is living in a fugue state. Early mornings and late nights blur together to the point that daylight is daylight and darkness is darkness. Time has no meaning and sleep has become scarce. And there’s only so much SoyCaf in the world.

Standing up, he stretches with a groan. His injured knee howls in protest at the abrupt weight shift but it’s almost an afterthought now. Aimlessly wandering through the garage for the hundredth time, he notices an errant socket has rolled off the workbench. It’s easy enough to return it to the designated space and Aces takes a moment to check the rest of his tools. They’re perfectly organized and arranged. Of course they are. He’s sorted and cleaned and re-sorted the myriad of tools a dozen times in the last few hours alone. The bench, the pain in his knee, tweaks to the bikes… anything to keep his mind off his lover’s absence. 

A simple run, she’d said. A day at most…

“Relax, these gangers just got lucky with this drop. They don’t even know what they’ve got!” Throwing a few supplies into her pack, Ali moved through the garage with an ease that felt wrong. John sighed. This whole damn thing feels wrong. “I’ll be in and out,” she offered, reaching for her helmet. “Reid has my back. And, push come to shove, I’m sure I can bargain with them for it.”

His unease must have been apparent because she stopped to give him what the thought was supposed to be a reassuring smile. But his girl always was a terrible liar and Aces found that he was far from reassured. 

“Reid is green, he doesn’t know the streets. Not exactly the kind of backup I’d rely on. Besides, we aren’t sure if it WAS luck. You know this shit could go deeper than that. Stay and let me help with the legwork first.” Subconsciously he picked up the keys to her Harley to hang them back on the hook.

But Ali would have none of it and snatched them back. She kissed him, the kind of kiss that never failed to make his stomach flip. And as she pulled away a gentle hand tapped his cheek. “If we wait, those parts are gonna get lost in the black market. Or worse: parted out to the competition.”

“At least let me come with you.”

Throwing a leg over the seat of her bike, Ali looked at him sadly as she secured her jacket. “We’ve been over this. Your knee is still borked from the coast race.” Both eyebrows rose as he hobbled toward her, his limping gait evidence enough. “Walls aren’t meant to be driven into, babe.”

Johnny leaned across for one last kiss. “Love you,” he called over the sound of her Harley roaring to life. “I’ll see you later."

But it’s been three days. And she still hasn’t replied to his messages or missed calls.

“Fuck this.” 

Grabbing his jacket and slapping a stim patch on his leg, Aces marches toward the garage. The oversized door begins to rise at his approach and with an easy flip of a switch the outer floodlights engage and cut through the pitch black night.

Somehow, despite the stim patch flooding his system with meds that make his pulse race, his heart almost stops. 

Ali lays on the concrete. There’s no sign of her bike, but there’s no way she rode it here. Not in the condition she’s in. As he scrambles closer he can see the blood paints her face and jacket both. A piece of cloth is wrapped tightly around her arm and it’s not until he kneels beside her that John can see it’s a piece of Reid’s race team jacket.

Aces’ fingers tap across his commlink’s display as he frantically sends a series of messages: chop shops, fixers, friends… anyone he thinks might be able to help.

“Ali?” His voice is trembling nearly as much as his hands as he tries to get some response from the girl he loves. “C’mon sweetheart, wake up for me.” But there’s nothing. No fluttering eyes or change to the shallow breaths that he can just barely detect.

His commlink pings. Help is coming. It’s a small comfort next to the fear gnashing at his heart. Trying to get a better sense of her injuries, Aces examines her more closely. There’s a bullet wound in her shoulder. He can see a myriad of scuffs and a few grazes. But it’s not until he reaches for her hand that the severity of her condition hits him.

Because there is no hand for him to hold.

Now the mornings and nights are indistinguishable for an altogether different reason: endless days spent in a clinic beside his lover as she sleeps. His world has shrunk to the four walls of this room and the quiet swish click sounds of medical equipment. Though the quiet beeps and occasional groans that fill the air now are far preferable to those first few days…

A shrill alert from the heart monitor drew Johnny to his feet as his gaze swung from the display to Ali’s face. Still pale, still motionless. But it was with a delayed sort of horror that he realized the slow rise and fall of her chest had stopped completely. "Alison? Hey, c’mon,” he begged, cupping her face in his hands. “C’mon baby, don’t-”

“Move!” A number of nurses and doctors flooded the room and John was shoved toward the door. He couldn’t see what they were doing, couldn’t see Ali. And all he could hear in those seconds that felt like an eternity was the screaming of medical equipment reminding him that her heart wasn’t beating and he wasn’t… he couldn’t…

The screaming stopped. And in its place, instead of silence, was a beautiful steady rhythm. The relief that cascaded through Johnny was nearly enough to double him over.

It’s days before she’s stable. The MageDoc is a blunt woman with kind eyes, but even she isn’t sure about the prognosis. “We’ll just have to wait and see.” 

And so John Miller waits. Days spill into each other. Jordan and Tim alternate sitting with him so one of her brothers is always there, but during the night it’s just him and Ali. Just Johnny and the girl he loves fighting for her life in a bed two feet away. “Still unresponsive” is something he’s heard repeated by the docs and nurses and he’s not sure what it means. But it’s not a good thing. Because even after the cyberware is grafted onto the stump of her right arm and the MageDoc has done her work Ali still won’t wake up. 

“Hey girl,” he murmurs, one calloused thumb running across the knuckles of her remaining hand. “I know you’re still in there. You gotta wake up for me. Please? I’m…” John feels his voice break around the lump in his throat. “I... I love you... so fucking much. Please…”

But his pleas go unanswered.

Dozing in and out of sleep, Aces dreams. Ali is home and they’re tangled together on the couch watching some horrible trid about street racing. She keeps making comments about the shit quality of the cars. He laughs and a bittersweet note sounds in his chest. All he wants is to live in this moment forever as she nuzzles her head against his shoulder-

Movement from the bed brings John hurtling back to wakefulness. Even through his sleep filled haze he can see changes in Alison’s breaths as she struggles toward consciousness. He jumps to his feet, nearly falling on his injured leg, before bending over the bedrail. “Ali? You with me?”

She groans. Not an unconscious sound from an unresponsive body but a distinct and deliberate sound from the woman he loves. Slowly she brings her hands to her face. “Holy shit,” she rasps. “Those are gooooood meds!” 

A strangled laugh pulls from him as John pulls her into his arms. His hands are trembling but he doesn’t care, can’t bring himself to care about anything except the exquisite relief sweeping through him. “It’s okay,” Ali says as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. “Go easy, I feel like a giant bruise.”

John eases his grip, but only far enough to pull back and look at her. “Heh. Yeah, sorry. It’s just…” Tears sting his eyes and he wipes them away. “I didn’t… I didn’t know if…”

She doesn’t let him finish, instead pulling him back against her. “Yeah,” she whispers. “Me too.”

Something hot and angry bubbles up from Aces' chest. “Fucking hell. Why didn’t you just…” But he bites back the words. Now isn’t the time. She’s awake. That’s all he cares about. 

It's days before Ali is vertical again. What had been endless hours of desperate fear are replaced with the comfortable familiarity he shares with his girl. She fills him in on what led them here: the gang wasn't such a small outfit of thugs, backed by a much larger syndicate that hadn't looked fondly on two strangers with too much intel. Reid had been killed right off and Ali had managed to escape, but only just. It was only her familiarity with the area and a sidearm that had saved her life. She had dragged herself back using everything she had left. 

Ali shrugs and insists she's been through worse, though he can't imagine what. And despite her nonchalance Johnny can see the troubled set to her shoulders, her eyes a little more distant, and the frustration at her new cybernetic. He makes it a point to see that her new arm is tuned to her personal preferences, even after they return home. He doesn't want this to be a daily reminder of what she’d endured or seen as a loss.

But returning home is not a return to normal. Not right away. There's work to catch up on, a slew of commission projects waiting for them. And simmering beneath John finds that he's still so damn angry. Angry that Ali’s stubborn nature had led to yet another near-tragedy. Angry that she doesn't seem to have any regard for her own god damned life. 

He can't bring himself to say the words aloud. Not when she’s still getting acclimated. Not when the shadows haven't left her eyes. So John funnels his frustration into the work that needs doing. The engine of a new auto-drone is nearly finished as Aces picks up his discarded t-shirt and wipes the sweat beading across his brow. He takes a sip from the open can of SynthAle on the desk, stopping to examine his work before he hears the door open behind him. 

Before he can turn to greet her Ali does it for him, spinning the chair and straddling him in a single motion and Johnny is surprised to find that she's wearing one of his work shirts…. and nothing else. The shit hangs off her slender shoulders, wide open and revealing everything. She burrows her arms behind his bare back and lays against him.

After days of distance, after days of uncertainty and fear, the reaction to her skin against his is instant and violent; an oil soaked rag dropped onto a smoldering ember. Every synapse is alright and Johnny feels tears flood his eyes even as his jeans tighten.

"I thought I'd never get to feel you in my arms again," he confesses, his voice thick as a shuddering breath heaves from his chest. But he drinks in the sight of her, savoring every second as his hands ghost up her ribs and over her shoulders. Eagerly, John rains deep kisses along her neck, the curve of her collar, up her chin.

Ali pulls back, his face cupped in her hands, as her shuttered gaze bores into his. "Never again," she swears. Reaching down and freeing the hardness in his jeans, she runs her new hand along its length, feeling every familiar inch as she positions herself… and sinks down as the slick walls pull him inside. Aces gasps as she settles against him, pressing her forehead against his. "Never again without you."

The fire between them grows to an inferno, burning away all the fear, the sadness, the anger. Rhythmic rocking leads to a deep pulsing within her and the release is simultaneous and explosive. 

Both lovers collapse back against the chair, Ali's face resting on his shoulder as Johnny cocoons her in his arms. Still inside her, he mirrors her oath. "Never again."

[cotl-flower-crown]

Even if Nari isn’t a very good father figure, it seems he at the very least cares enough about the twins as to not willingly risk endangering them. Wonder what that’s all about?

Guess he's got some kind of sense of responsibility over them, who knows 9u9

Content Warning for Pages 6-12: violence, blood, gore

[pixiefeatherkw3]

TW:// Blood, Knives and Suggestive Stuff??? (not really, but can be seen as that so just a heads-up)

See, this is what happent when @buubonita and I talk too much.

[nojaloart]

teenage superheroes and father/son relationships that are sooo so normal i promise

[countrycrackheads]

Run for Your Life

Bowers Gang x Reader

Summary: fem!reader is being hunted down after discovering who’s been making the kids in town go missing

TW: Murder, blood, implied rape, violence, weapons, death, some small gore I suck at writing. Don't expect this to be amazing. note: as I finish writing this I realize how much I despise dark themes. oh well, I already wrote it. Also, yeah the title is stupid. It's okay.

“: ̗̀➛did you really think we would just let you off the hook so easily?‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ”

Seeing them shove that body into the quarry was the beginning of the end.

Perhaps it wouldn't have been if you had simply made a break for it as soon as you saw it, but how could you? Seeing the mutilated body of Chase Foreman was quite the sight to see, a sight so mesmerizing that your feet had cemented themselves to the ground. Any will to run or scream was paralyzed as your mind screamed at you to escape.

It was only after Belch Huggins had thrown Chase’s body off the edge of the cliff that you found the strength to turn around. But when you did, you were immediately slammed to the ground by Patrick Hockstetter’s hard chest.

"Didn't your parents teach you it's rude to spy?"

Patrick's sarcastic, shrill laughter of joy rang through your ears as he kneeled down beside your body, his knee pressing between your thighs. A large rotting Cheshire grin was on display before your very eyes, the smell of cigarettes assaulting your senses.

Your mouth opened pathetically, ready to sputter out any excuse to spare your life as tears threatened to spill out. Patrick, however, wordlessly put his fingers to your lips, softly shushing you in an oddly soothing way—as soothing as someone like him could sound.

"Don't fret, little bitch. I'll make sure to finish you off quickly. But what's the harm in a little fun?"

His dimly lit face turned up, looking behind her. The moonlight revealed the dirt and blood smeared across his face, casting a sinister glow on the deranged psychopath. Panicked footsteps crunched against dirt and gravel. A shadow came over Patrick and his grin vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

"Just make this quick, Hockstetter." It was Belch Huggins' worried voice coming from behind her. The crunching of dirt and gravel signaled a third presence.

"What's the fun in making this one quick?" Victor Criss mused as he knelt down behind you. He leaned over your shoulder before abruptly gripping your neck, pulling you back into his chest as he observed your face. A choked sob escaped your lips as you gasped for air, while his fingers tightened around you. "She's a looker. Got a pretty mouth too..." Victor trailed off, his tone filled with dark intent. Another shrill giggle came from Patrick as he climbed on top of your body, watching your eyes roll back into your skull.

"I like the way you're thinking, Vic." Patrick suddenly tore Victor's hand off of you, making the blonde grunt in irritation "But if I'm gonna fuck her, I want her to be awake." He looked down at you with that same grin, grabbing your jaw as you pathetically gasped for air. "Isn't that right, little bitch? You better look me in my eyes when I'm inside you."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Henry stood over the boys, watching with disinterest as Patrick eye-fucked the witness to their crime.

"Yeah, yeah." Patrick brushed off Henry's comment. "You're one to talk, Bowers. All high mighty 'cause you never stick it into our girls, huh?"

Henry's eyes trained on Patrick as his nostrils flared. His hands jutted out, lifting Patrick off of you by his collar. "Don't fucking talk to me that way, you goddamn pervert. One more word and I'm making you the next kid on a poster."

Patrick only grinned at Henry's empty threats. "You wouldn't dare get your pretty little hands dirty. That's my job." He had made it a point to get in Henry's face, enjoying how Henry's eyebrow would twitch in irritation. If there was one thing Patrick was good at, it was getting under Henry's skin. His comments had challenged Henry's masculinity, and for this crime, Patrick would pay the price.

It had all happened in mere seconds. Patrick’s body was slammed down, his head violently bouncing off the ground before hitting cold earth. Gasping sharply, he tried to recover the breath Henry had knocked out of him. Henry loomed over Patrick, straddling him with clenched fists. Patrick’s defiant laughter rang in the tense silence, his breath ragged as he laughed at Henry’s pathetic attempt.

Without hesitation, Belch lunged forward, ripping Henry off, while Victor rushed to Patrick’s side. Despite their lack of genuine concern for each other, the gang all understood their unspoken rule: no turning on each other.

Henry kicked and flailed like an enraged toddler as Belch manhandled him. "Get off of me! I ain't gonna hurt 'em!" He shouted, shoving Belch away and kicking dirt in Patrick's direction. The dirt hit Victor in the face, causing the blonde to sputter, spitting out any dirt that got into his mouth.

"What the fuck?" Victor complained, wiping his mouth repeatedly. The blood on his long-sleeve had now smeared across his lips, a stark contrast between his pale skin and the crimson streaks. Henry's rage had moved from Patrick to Victor, sneering at the smaller blonde.

On that cold earth, you laid there motionless, watching the boys through your peripherals. You felt a strange sense of joy when Patrick was thrown to the floor, and an even greater relief washed over you when the boys left you behind to break up the cat-fight. Your body was flooded with fear and adrenaline, and your mind went into overdrive, thrust into a survival mode you had never felt before.

Without a second thought, you pushed yourself off the ground, sprinting into the woods surrounding the quarry. Your absence hadn't gone unnoticed, and as soon as you made it into the woods, shouting ensued. Twigs and leaves crunched under your feet, drowning out the sounds of the boys chasing after you.

The boys you had known since childhood—whom you watched grow up as you went from playing with toys together to wanting to play together—were now hounding you like rabid wolves.

As you ran, a gunshot went off. You flinched violently, causing the bullet to only graze your flesh. Instinctively, your hand shot up to grasp your barely bleeding cheek in shock. "What the fuck!?" you screamed, your legs pumping faster.

Glancing over your shoulder, you noticed the distance in between you and the boys widened, giving you the advantage momentarily. Ducking under thick foliage, you followed a mini trail that would lead you to the barrens. With limited light, you ran blindly through dense woods. Branches and logs snapped against your face, pulling at your clothes, and threatening to trip you as you raced forward.

The shouting continued to follow you, except now it had split. Wicked voices bellowed at you from the surrounding trees, and with the dim light you could hardly tell what was coming from where. Your head tilted up, trying to gauge the sky from the trees, but it was entirely pitch black aside from the twinkling of stars and a melancholy moon.

"I'm coming to get you, little bitch!"

This time the voice was right beside you. Whipping your head to the right, you saw Patrick Hockstetter running, a wild grin on his face as he tried to swoop in closer, weaving through trees to get on your path. You swerved to the left, only to be greeted once more.

"You can't run forever, slut!"

It was Victor Criss this time, his baggy clothing whipping through the wind as he grasped a knife tightly in his right hand. He was weaving in towards you, both boys working together to trap you in between them. Your legs were aching and sweat drenched every inch of your body, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

Victor swiped his knife at you, nicking you in the stomach. A gut-wrenching scream followed as you felt the blade run across your tender flesh. Your hand immediately pressed itself against the bleeding wound, trying to stem the flow. Patrick's laughter drowned out your screams, his voice filled with eagerness as he closed in on you. His arms reached out, desperately trying to latch on.

“Fucking grab her already!” Henry’s voice roared from behind Patrick, filled with a frenzied intensity. His eyes locked onto you like a mad bull. He drew the pistol from his belt, aiming it in your direction. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, your cramping legs pushed harder, desperately propelling you forward.

The bullet darted out, intent on killing. You instinctively shut your eyes but it never came. Victor's body collapsed on your left, abandoned as the group continued the chase.

"Fuck!" Belch wailed, maneuvering past Victor's corpse.

"Nice aim, moron!" Patrick taunted Henry with another shrill giggle. Henry only roared out in frustration. Your eyes were wide, body racked with fear and oddly enough, guilt. But you kept on going anyway, better Victor than you.

With ringing ears, you weaved through dense foliage and never-ending trees, feeling as though you were in a relentless loop. The constant barrage of Patrick’s taunts and Henry’s angry roars only added to your despair. You wanted to give up. To just collapse like Victor had on the cold earth and rest. God, death just seemed so tempting.

Something you feared for years suddenly seemed so desirable. And wrapped up in these thoughts of sweet death, you had hardly taken notice that Belch Huggins had swung his axe at you, lodging itself into your shoulder blade.

"Fuck!" You bellowed as the blade was pulled back. Your left arm dangled pathetically, blood oozing out as tendons strung your arm to your body. Immense pain took over and you collapsed, screaming as you cradled your arm.

The three boys stalked towards you, watching you intensely. Your sobs echoed through the trees, birds scattering out of trees hearing your screams of agony.

"Fuck, just kill me already!" You pleaded, tears streaming down your face. Belch solemnly crouched down beside you, a look of guilt on his face.

"Don’t take this personally…" he mumbled, glancing down at your bloody arm. Your eyes locked onto his, and you whimpered softly. Despite the situation, you couldn’t help but remember Belch’s kindness from long ago—how he had always been a big sweetheart, even back in kindergarten when you’d share a nap blanket. What happened to that kind soul?

Your eyes lowered to your arm, bile creeping up your throat until you couldn't help but pathetically keel over and vomit. Henry scowled, letting out an annoyed scoff while he panted heavily.

"Good going, tubby." Patrick sneered at Belch. "I can't enjoy her rockin' body when her arm is all fucked up. That's why we wait to cut them up after I've already dumped my load." The psychopath scoffed at this inconvenience, disregarding your dying body as just another dumpsite.

"Shut the fuck up," Belch mumbled, shooting a glare at Patrick. His attention moved back towards you, noticing how you were starting to fade away. He removed his flannel, gingerly put it over your body. He especially was trying to cover your arm. "I really didn't mean for this to happen," he whispered as he covered you.

Henry scoffed, "Don't tell me you're sweet on a dying girl."

Patrick snickered, nudging Belch. "The guilt getting you again, big guy?" His taunting laughter filled your ears.

Your eyes slowly rolled up to stare at the burly axe-wielding bully. With a small scoff, you groaned softly again. "Just fucking kill me..."

"If it's what you want," Henry grumbled, beyond annoyed that he had to run for so long. "Fuck, that's what we've been trying to do this entire time. Dumb bitch." He cocked his gun, aiming it at your head.

"Any last words?" Patrick cooed, his eyes glinting with a twisted excitement. His gaze darted back and forth between you and the gun, a dark smile stretching across his face. The anticipation in his voice was almost palpable.

You forced a sneer, even as your vision blurred to white.

"Yeah, fuck you," you rasped, your voice trembling.

The gunshot rang out, its echo a brutal punctuation to the silence that followed.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

When I revisit the fight Killer and Ink+Cross comic Rahafwabas made and see how Killer single handedly punched Ink to the ground in a swift move. This made me wonder if Killer holds in most of his strength in battles for it to become more interesting. (like when Killer uses his bone attacks, it doesn't send a strong force into the air basically minimizing his attack) Killer might have targeted Ink intentionally, knowing Inks powerful because of his role of protecting the AU's. Completely ignore Cross's existence altogether, only using a weak attack by throwing bones at Cross upon noticing Cross's eye glow red, anticipating Cross would attack at that moment. Perhaps perceiving Cross as pathetic, likely due to Cross being a relatively new sans at the time, lacking detailed knowledge about him.

It made me think that Killer's more physically stronger with his fists instead of his magic and would target the ones he views as stronger before going for the weaker threats.

Thank you for sending this ask anon I was actually drafting up something similar last night but I’ll just say it here.

I think people underplay killer’s skill and strength far too often. This is guy that single-handedly took all three of the Stars by himself canonically without a single injury or pause, man was bored out of his mind, and all he wanted was for dream to give him a better fight. anything.

and all of that was just a ploy by nightmare. a deliberate choice because he wanted to show dream how easily he could have him killed before he called off his attack dog. killer is literally a killing machine. imagine bro with cross’ Royal guard training.

I honestly imagine that killer is completely capable of doing shit like punching straight through walls and yanking his next victim straight through. I can perfectly see him pulling a Winter Soldier move and doing this shit, pulling bro right out the window and tossing him into traffic before punching straight through the roof and yanking out the steering wheel.

He definitely does that shit and also punches straight through people’s chests and crushes souls and hearts with his bare hands in Stage 4.

I imagine the only reason he restrains himself in Stage 2 is because it’s not that fun. He doesn’t waste his time with those he finds weak or boring—often just resorting to using his Gaster Blaster if he just wants to get it over with or (in the case of Killer vs Swap), he is breaking down and switching into Stage 1.

I’m not surprised at all if he first identifies the strongest opponent—the one who could be a challenge—and targets them first. Not only because it’s logical, but because it’s fun.

Literally fighting to near death is more like a game for Stage 2. It’s fun and it’s exhilarating. I’d imagine he’s been waiting quite awhile for someone who could be an actual challenge to his strength and abilities, and is willing to hold himself back and prolong a fight if that means it’ll be more entertaining.

Of course this comes with the flaw that he tends not to take the fight or his opponents too seriously. Most aren’t any genuine threat to him, especially if he can still Save, Load, and Reset while out in the rest of the Multiverse.

There’s a reason Nightmare only really needs Killer to get shit done. He is literally a killing machine, and his mind is just as sharp and lethal. (Which is why I personally like to hc that Dust and Horror’s additions were more for Killer than for Nightmare, although the big boss certainly has to gain some use out of them.)

His Determination means he’s not going to quit a fight until one of them is dead (and maybe not even then if he can still Reset) or until he’s called off. This is the guy that canonically had an arm cut off once, barely had any visible reaction (buddy is dissociated asf bruh), and claimed to be “absolutely fine” when questioned if he was okay by Nightmare.

I’d imagine one reason why Stage 4 is so dangerous for Killer himself and likely leaves him extremely disoriented and exhausted after is because Stage 4 does not have Stage 2’s logical reasonings or restraint and cannot be called off.

Stage 4 will likely be so Determined to kill anyone and anything nearby that’d it’d completely tear the body to shreds and run it into the ground to complete the task.

Stage 4 is fighting to kill. Stage 2 is fighting for entertainment, and to entertain.

[a-whispering-echo]

do you think the bad guys play russian roulette with each other?

in my mind, with how weapons in the undertale universe work, a bullet might not KILL instantly, like it would for a human, but would shave off HP right?

So, with all the LV in that group, theyd all have enough HP to take a hit right? and for the more fanon versions of LV giving you bloodlust and frenzies and spike, do ya think its actually HELP? that the adrenaline of doing it would actually burn them out quicker?

I feel like Killer and Dust would 100% play it together, i think Cross could very easily be manipulated into doing it. i think Horror would think theyre all fucking idiots to put a gun to their damn skulls, and would tell them to shove the damn gun where the sun dont shine everything they ask him. i think Nightmare would just sigh in disappointment.

imagine the one who get the bullet going all loopy, as they bleed and drop like a sack of potatoes. imagine the others laughing at them, doing things with their half conscious body - maybe in a poly situation, licking up the blood and mana that leaks from the wound in joy and bloodlust. imagine them mocking and cackling, and making them look like a fucking idiot until Horror takes the poor victim to bed with a healing item.

imagine them doing it all again the next day.

[forgettingcrowbin]

Haha here's an excerpt on the first draft of the Unclemare au I'm working on! It gets worse before it gets better haha :) (tw: violence, blood)

(Palette is running away from Nightmare's gang in a forest and just tripped.)

Before Palette could even think about running away again, sharp bones ripped through his clothing. It pinned his arm and scarf against the tree. He screamed out in pain when he felt one bone pierce next to his femur. His mind was racing too fast. He almost felt sick. Nausea circled his ribcage as his skull spun and he slammed into the trunk of the tree behind him.

Blue attacks slipped through his bones and he gasped at the feeling of the magic attack. He couldn’t move an inch lest he hurt himself any further. His panic surely could not have spiked any further until he heard a voice call out through the trees.

“We got him boss! Little sucker was all alone~!” a voice sang out with what Palette assumed was malicious intent. He noticed the skeletons come into view, all versions of Sans that held an air of negativity around them. Piercing spikes of fear lanced through his body as he looked around at the Sans'.

The one throwing knives had a smiling face with pitch black tears that consistently dripped from his skull, he recalled what his father had told him and narrowed him down to Killer. He could tell the giant skeleton was Horror, from the giant red eye light and gaping hole in his head. Colorful paint was splashed on his face from the attack that Palette had done while running, and it made the monster look a little less intimidating than he expected. The last one was in a hoodie that completely covered any indicators to what his face looked like, except for an eye light that glowed red and blue. It mixed into a cacophony of swirls that created dark indigo and dull purple spikes of magic. He assumed this monster was the last of the gang, Dust. Tears ran down his face when he faced reality. He was totally caught now.

Although nothing could have prepared him to come face to face with the Lord of negativity lurking beyond the trees. His breath locked up when a branch got snapped away with a sharp tentacle. It cut through the young tree like butter, leaving the branches and leaves beginning to crumble away in darkness. He felt something awful and suffocating circle around them all and knew it was the negative aura he had sensed.

The calamitous figure was tall and covered by an oily tar that dragged down every surface of his body. His one eye light held an eerie cyan glow that illuminated the shadows of the sludge that clung to the dying wildlife around him. His cloak draped around him which showed his impeccable posture, and the silver circlet that spiked upwards in the middle gleamed with the cyan glow of his eye. In all his negative glory was his uncle, Nightmare.

“Well, well, well… What do we have here? Little Palette, was it? The little pest I've been searching for all these years. My, look how tall you've grown since the last I've seen you!" His uncle crouched down to his level, his tentacles that once were waving around predatorial were carefully lowered to the ground. His smile was wicked, a grin that stretched across his skull showing off his bright canines. His sharp phalanges reached out and Palette flinched away in fear of what his uncle had in store. The hand reached out again and was confused when he was met with the frigid hand softly landing on his cranium.

Palette was shivering in confusion when he stuttered out any response that he could get out. “U-uncle Nightmare! This was a huge mistake, I didn’t mean to get in your... uh... way! I just came here to take a little breather and then I was going to return home.” 

Nightmare smiled, his grin causing shivers to rise up Palette’s vertebrae. “Well great job on choosing the au we were planning to attack next-!” Killer sang out in joy as Dust slapped the back of his skull to shut him up. Nightmare chose to ignore his lackeys behind him and began to slowly turn Palette's skull to observe every inch of his face.

“Well, dearest Nephew, we were hoping to seize some good subsistence from this au, but it seems like we’ve caught something even more refreshing.” Nightmare’s tentacles suddenly snapped up and grabbed Palette at any inch they could. They ripped him up through the blue attacks causing a scream to escape from Palette’s mouth. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks and he tried to breathe and failed. “Let’s have some fun dear nephew, that incompetent father of yours kept you from me for far too long.” The last thing that Palette managed to see before he slipped into unconsciousness was the cruel expression that graced upon his kin’s face.

[tabletopwhumper]

Another Whumptober entry, though this time it's not my typical Whumpee.

TW: Gun violence, gang violence, fictional racism, and profanity as always

Rescue

Ali sighs as she makes another corner. One more stop to check in at The Last Round then she’s free. Free to sleep until doomsday if she feels like it. Their last job hadn’t been the ‘milk run’ that had been promised and she’s sure their fixer is getting a Stop-Gap sized scolding this very moment.

But her daydreams of actual dreams are dashed as she turns the last corner into the bar’s parking lot… only to see nearly every bike she's worked on in the last year. A virtual tag adorns the front doors, big, bright, and clear as day: BAR CLOSED.

Oh fuck.

She has never in her life known Fergal to close the bar for anything short of security lockdown. And those don’t just happen; a lockdown is preceded by some sort of catastrophe that often involves an explosion or two. Dread curls around her spine. Something is wrong.

Ali parks not far from the doors and starts to head inside, the cool night air and distinct sense of foreboding banishing any lingering fatigue. But before she reaches the entrance a parade of leather clad bikers begin making their way out. Fergal and Fatback are in the lead while both Steves, Weaver, Jens, and White Eyes follow. And they’re strapped. Chains, shotguns, axes, pistols. Ali is sure the armory at the back of the loading area is empty because each of the guys is carrying enough armaments for two. The last to exit is Jordan…

Dread bursts through her as unfiltered adrenaline. “What’s wrong?” she blurts out. “What happened?” Because whatever it is she’s reading in Jordan’s face is not even close to okay. It's worse than Dad, worse than the Ancients. Loathing and wrath and fear. Fear like she has never seen from him.

But for a moment he looks relieved when his eyes meet hers. “You armed?” Ali doesn’t know what broadcasts across her face, but it must reflect the ludicrous nature of his question because he only nods. “Get in the van and follow us. Tim’s in trouble.” Before she can ask any of the questions burning their way through her brain Jordan presses an RFID chip into her hand and gets on his Harley.

Ali examines the only a moment before she double checks her ammo. Hrm. Pistol ammo low. She gave hers to Bean on the last run. Oh well, she thinks loading the Defiance. I’m shit with pistols anyway. As they fly through the late night abandoned streets Ali reads the note attached to the chip Jordan had given her.

Timothy Merrick is being held at 6347 Jefferson Drive in a tenement just west of the Ares compound. Those responsible are ignorant thugs seeking to earn ‘favor’ with Humanis. They do not know how things work and hold no endorsement of ours. Those responsible have no idea they have been outed.

Do as you will.

The reason for Jordan’s fear is now clear as Ali finds herself teetering at the edge of a similar abyss. Some racist redneck sons of bitches have Tim. They have Tim and she has no idea what they would want with him besides…

No.

The possibilities springing to life in her mind are too unbearable to allow in any existence, no matter how theoretical. Rage like she has never felt burns white hot in her center and the need to move, to act, sends tremors down her limbs as she pushes the van a little harder around the next corner.

The fuckers had picked up Tim. Why? Because he’s meta? Because he’s a troll? She can’t fathom any other reason. And she can’t understand why that matters. The Timmy before and Timmy after are no different.

Ali has only vague memories of the years when both of her brothers had been human. The mental image of a slim soft spoken teenager had long been overshadowed by an equally soft spoken troll. Always quiet, always reasonable. Steve had once asked her how two people so completely opposite one another could be twins.

“It’s okay Ali. It’s still me. Please don’t be scared.”

He’d been afraid after he changed that she would reject him because of what he’d become, that things would be different. But even after all these years Ali can’t imagine that ever happening. Because Tim is her big brother. And he is so good. And the thought of him in the hands of vicious people who want to hurt him? Or worse?

The feral thing in her chest made of fear and wrath rises up and Ali embraces it, allowing the righteous fury to break over her. She will slowly cut the heart from any bastard who had touched her brother. He is good. And decent. And reasonable.

She is not.

**************************************************

It’s a slog through a bunch of badly armed ill prepared Humanis wannabe trash to reach Tim. Ali reloads her shotgun as Jordan takes down another racist cocksucker. “We gotta be close,” he says, peering around the corner. It’s true, the numbers have become more dense the higher up in the tenement they push. But the second floor is only partially finished, leaving far less places to hide. And, unfortunately, far less cover.

“I’ll move up first. Cover me.” Ali nods and the two move forward as they have been, clearing area after area until something catches her attention on infrared: a very big, very troll shaped heat signature in a room ahead of them to the left. The relief that hits her almost drives all the air from her lungs.

He’s alive.

“Take the next left,” she calls to Jordan. “Big door at the end. Heat sig might be Tim.”

The possibility that their brother is within reach adds speed to their steps as they proceed as quickly as they dare, eyes scanning for hostiles as Ali keeps an eye on the troll shaped form. She can see two more people in the room, both armed, pacing the space and watching the door. “Two inside,” she whispers when they reach the door. “They know we’re comin.”

“I take one, you take the other?”

Ali nods. “You go left.”

A loud crash and artificial wood bursting into the room heralds their entrance as Jordan kicks the door in. A single blast from her shotgun sends Ali’s target to the floor as she turns… in time to see a third hostile taking aim at Jordan from the end of a hallway.

Oh no you don’t motherfucker!

With Jordan good and squarely planted between her and this new threat Ali does the only thing she can think of… and tackles her brother to the ground. His shouts of surprised outrage combine with hers as a bullet rips through her shoulder. Sitting up, separating their tangled limbs, Jordan drops the last hostile with two well aimed shots from his pistol.

Ali sits up and grits her teeth against the burning pain in her right shoulder. “Shit,” Jordan mutters, kneeling in front of her. “How bad is it?”

“Nothing vital. Let’s keep moving.” Jordan reaches down to help her up and the two move into the next room… and finally lay eyes on Tim.

Their brother is tied to a table barely able to support his size, ropes digging into his skin leaving angry marks peeking out from beneath. The gnashing rage in her chest roars at the sight of blood running down one side of his head and deep swollen bruises on his face, one eye completely obscured.

“We’ve got Tim,” Jordan barks into his comm. “He’s alive. Get a couple bodies up here.”

Ali begins cutting the ropes loose while Jordan inspects his twin, murmuring comforting words she can’t hear. It sounds like Timmy is struggling toward consciousness as low moans and muffled syllables escape him. Weaver and Steve 2 round the corner, guns still drawn. "The path down is clear," Steve offers as he starts helping Ali with the bindings.

"Good. You guys get Tim out of here. Chuck is ready and waiting at the bar to patch him up."

"Take my van," Ali adds and tosses the keys to Steve before turning to Weaver and nodding toward his pistol. "Trade you for the Defiance?"

The dwarf nods, swapping weapons without argument, before it occurs to Jordan why the trade is even needed.

"You're going with them. Have Chuck take care of that shoulder."

"The fuck I am," Ali grinds out through clenched teeth as she slaps a stim patch under her jacket and reloads the Predator. "I am not letting a single one of these fucks walk outta here to do this to somebody else." At any other point in her life Ali knows Jordan would argue, get pissy, insist she leave… but something is different now because her brother only offers a nod, despite the worried expression he wears.

Once Tim and the others are out of harm’s way Jordan and Ali make their way onward, clearing room after room of the homebrew Humanis wannabes that populate the derelict tenement. They’re nearly to the third floor when Fergal, Fatback, and Jens meet them and confirm that the building is clear. Ali can admit, if only to herself, that she’s glad it’s done. Despite the stim patch numbing the wound in her shoulder her head is beginning to swim a little.

"Alright," Fergal growls as they make their way down. "Let's head back before the bloody law-"

But the sound of sirens in the distance stops his prediction. By the time their group is back on the ground floor the building is surrounded, Lone Star patrols encircling the tenement and establishing a perimeter going out.

Jordan turns toward Ali, eyeing her crimson stained shoulder as his voice drops. "Don't resist," he mutters. "And don't say anything. Fergal will work it out."

"Not my first rodeo," she bites back. Lone star files in, quickly and efficiently restraining the lot of them. Ali can’t help her yelp of pain as the officer puts a ruff hand on her injured shoulder. Her vision begins to swim and it’s only around the ringing in her ears that she hears Jordan’s angry objections. Then pain, even worse than the initial bullet, steals all the air from her lungs…. only to be replaced with blissful medicating numbness that spreads from the point of entry. For a moment she’s afraid she’ll tip over in her newfound bliss and can’t help an amused snort that she’s relieved when the cops tuck her into the back of a vehicle.

**************************************************

Lying back in the cell bunk, shoulder braced against the cinderblock wall, Ali finds herself recapping the last day. Lone Star’s uncannily swift and formidable response, a derelict apartment near destroyed, Timmy recovered alive, his captors slaughtered...

Distantly she knows the sight of dozens of young ignorant street thugs turned to bloody pulp by her own weapon should unsettle her. But remembering the bruises on her big brother’s cheeks, the dazed look in his eyes...

No.

There is no grief, no compassion, no disgust at what their group had done... Only a marked sense of conviction. For the first time in her life a crisis had arisen and instead of fears steeped in helplessness she was able to contribute, to help.

**************************************************

“...aaaand that’s how I learned what ‘sex’ REALLY is.” Aces laughs and Ali finds that the sound warms something in her chest more than the drink in her hand ever could. Sitting closely together from an out of the way booth a lot The Last Round, they've managed to find a modicum of privacy. The booming game of combat biker blaring from the bars' various displays generates a plethora of shouts and jeering from the small collection of Red Knights gathered to watch. The whole scene imbues her with a sense of comfortable familiarity she's only known with her brothers.

Thinking of the twins draws her gaze to where Tim sits near the pool table. His wounds are healing, the doc having patched him up beautifully. But Fergal had still insisted on some time off for the bigger twin. A request Jordan has been wholly enforcing. It's as if the human twin's center of gravity has shifted. Since reuniting the day before Jordan hasn't left his brother for anything more dramatic than bathroom breaks. Even sleep finds the twins bunking together, reminding Ali of years long passed.

Aces notices something change in her face, causing his brows to furrow. “Hey, what’s up? You alright?"

"Yeah! Of course! Just…" Ali sighs and runs a heavy hand down her face. "It's been a long couple days, ya know?"

"Jesus, I can only imagine."

“You mind if I ask you something?”

"Course not."

“Why’d you join up with the Warlords? I mean... you already had the thing in Vegas going for you, it’s not like you needed the creds.”

Johnny leans back from the table, thinking for a moment. “Well… first was protection. Less people wanna mess with you when they know you’ve got back-up.”

“Makes sense.”

“But I guess mostly I was tired of running around by myself. Me and my brother don’t exactly get along and I’d known Hunter a few years...” He shrugs. “Just seemed like a good fit.”

Ali nods, frowning at her drink while considering his words. Its a tale not unlike others she's heard. Hell, even Jordan’s story starts in a similar fashion. But the familiar circumstances offer no guidance for her. What's her goal working for as a merc? Is it worth the risks? Where does it end?

“Hey.” She looks back up to note the concerned furrow was back between his brows. “What’s goin on?”

“Just... something Fergal said the other night. Got me thinking.”

“Is this something I should be worried about?”

“He said I should plan an out. Ya know, an end for my running career. Said he didn’t want to see me get caught up in it for the sake of the run.”

“Smart man.”

“But that shit with Tim…. Afterward Jordan tried talking me out of the shadows again. It all just... got me thinking.”

This time Aces brows shoot up in surprise. “You actually considering retirement?” he asks before taking another drink.

“I don’t know. I mean... I started the work to get away from my brothers. It's really the first time I've had a life away from here, without one of the guys standing behind me. So in a way, mission accomplished. But after yesterday...” She shakes her head and feels her lips press into a firm line. “I think I understand Jordan’s worry a little better.”

“So I guess the question is: what do you want to do?”

Ali sighs. "Joining the Knights would undo everything I’ve worked for. It’d put me right back up Jordan's ass. And the merc shit... I’m good at it! But Fergal’s right. There’s really no end in sight. I really don’t have a goal.”

Johnny slides his beer aside. Surprising her, he gently clasps her hand. “What do you want?”

“I just want to help. I want to be able to protect the people I care about.” She squeezes his hand gently as she studies the table between them. Slowly she can feel certainty building in her chest. “And for the first time I feel like I can.”

“Then I guess you’ve got your answer.”

[athenaxharris]

hi lovelies! i’ve finally updated Athena’s bio and everything is below! with updated thena. i hope you love her as i’ve grown to love the new her in two days!

was that [ MADISON BAILEY ] spotted down at the shoreline of east hamptons main beach? must just be, [ ATHENA HARRIS ] the [ TWENTY THREE ] year old [ FIGURE SKATER ]. whenever i hear [ FIRST CLASS BY JACK HARLOW ] it reminds me of them. they are known for being [ CLOSED OFF ] but they make up for that by being [ COMPASSIONATE ]. they have been living in the hamptons for [ THREE WEEKS ].

tw: gun mention, murder, gang violence, drug mention, concussion mentioned, broken bone mentioned 

STATISTICS ;

Basic Information

Full Name: Athena Mae Harris Nickname(s): Thena, Age: 23 DOB: october 29th, 1999 Hometown: raleigh, nc (until she was 7). NYC from 7-now Gender: cisfemale Pronouns: She/Her Orientation: bisexual Occupation: figure skater

Physical Appearance

Face Claim: madison bailey Hair Color: brown Eye Color: brown Height: 5’8 Tattoos: moon, sun, and saturn on three fingers , small flower tattoo behind ear Piercings: both ears are pierced four times

Personality

Positive Traits: dependable, curious, friendly, encouraging, patient Negative Traits: melodramatic, secretive, gullible, stubborn Fears: not reconnecting with her family again, heights, thunderstorms Hobbies: yoga, drawing, figure skating, napping

Family

Father: Isaac Harris Mother: Olivia Harris 1st Oldest Brother: Marcus Harris 2nd Oldest Brother: Trevor Harris (deceased)

About

- athena mae harris never wanted the life she was given but being born october 29th, 1999, into a family of one of the most fearful and powerful businessmen/women in new york she had been kept in the dark by her family, her parents tried one last time for a girl and luckily enough when they got pregnant this time around Athena was a girl. By the time she was born her two older brothers were six and eight years old, making her the youngest of three and also the only girl of the family, so growing up with just brothers was very rough for her.

- For a small part of her childhood she grew up in Raliegh, NC and then when she was seven her family without warning had upped and moved the entire family to New York where she then grew up and she wouldn’t find out why until she about seventeen years old.

- Growing up she was very shielded away from her family’s lifestyle, and kept in the dark about family secrets for her own good. Since she was the youngest and the only girl her parents didn’t want her to get too involved at first, they thought if she was kept in the dark longer the more of a chance she would join them so instead of telling her family secrets they put her in skating lessons and soon that became her whole life. She no longer asked questions her parents hating her asked instead she asked if she could compete and soon she was training as a figure skater. She began to put in hours that took away her focus from asking about why her parents were always talking around her in hushed tones or asking why she’d rarely see her older brothers.

- Now the secrets her family has aren’t the type of secrets you’d think, like dad had an affair with the company’s secretary, or mom slept with dad’s best friend, their secrets involve why her parents say they own an oil company by the name Harris Inc. but in reality that company is just a front of what really is going on behind closed doors. Harris Inc is just a codename for her family to hide behind the fact that they run a pretty big drug / fake stock / illegal gun sales business in New York (think wolf of wall street). Since Athena had a new interest that seemed to make her happy at the moment they had never wanted to tell her anything until the right moment when she said she was truly done with figure skating but as she got older she just seemed to continue to push herself to make a career out of it.

- These secret’s spilled out when the death of athena’s 2nd oldest brother was murdered in cold blood in attempt to get back at the Harris family four years ago while Athena was competing in a figure skating competition in another country, her eldest brother accompanying her during this time, for protection that she didn’t know that it was at the time, while her the other stayed back to help their parents but because he was back home he was the easy target with all eyes on Athena. She hadn’t found out until after she won her first gold medal in the competition and touched back down in New York. To say she was heartbroken was an understatement and when she asked why she wasn’t told right away all she was met with was, “it wasn’t a need for you to know” and she lost absolutely everything having yelled at her entire family until she was met with answers she didn’t know at the time she didn’t want to know.  

- When she found out why her brothers murder had happened she was appalled asking why she wasn’t told from the beginning what kind of family hers was and only became more and more saddened. It was the last time she talked to her family and the first time she ran away. After finding out everything Athena ran from her house and went to the first place she could think of, the ice rink and skated until she felt entirely numb. She hadn’t returned home until the next morning having stayed with a friend that night but told her parents and older brother that she’d never speak to them again or show up to any competition she’d ever did again. 

- Because figure skating is expensive she saved every dime she received before she found out about the family business and got a job as soon as she could so she could pay for everything herself rather than take another dime from her family. When she got to college she received a full scholarship based on her grades in high school to SUNY but also had been recruited because of her figure skating , don’t get her wrong she may do some stupid shit but she is insanely smart she just chooses to keep that part of her quiet. with figure skating, school, and her job she rarely had time to make any new friends but she always visited the Hamptons whenever her family wasn’t there because they had a vacation home there she also grew up in during the summers.

- During her time as a figure skater she’s won 3 gold medals, competed in the Winter Olympics placing third for her overall short program, has one silver medal, and was on the way to hopefully get a fourth gold medal. She’s also had small trophies from smaller competitions she’d done when she was younger. She also torn muscles, broken a couple of bones, had multiple hairline fractures and multiple concussions but she continues to push herself to her fullest because now she rents her own vacation home in the Hamptons not wanting to see her family again. 

- The reason she happens to be in the Hamptons now instead of continuing to train is simple. Athena is telling everyone who asks that she just decided to take a small break while she plans her next move in her career. The reality of that is Athena truly hasn’t seen her friends in months/years that she misses seeing them for more than just a few minutes at anything they do or if they come to her competitions. She also suffered yet another major concussion after failing a move between her and her partner and was told by her team’s doctor that this time she should consider retiring because the next time it won’t be as simple as its been.

- she’s also generally really sweet but that’s because she uses that as an advantage to get people to join in on all her plans and fun.she’s really loyal to her friends but to her enemies she’s a snake, she will do anything to ruin their life try to find their deepest secret and expose them only because that’s the kind of person she is but this is a rare moment as she tries to not be like her family. its in instances where the other person has hurt someone she truly cares about. 

[ontarom]

A bloodied Stephen Lang in "Gang In Blue" (1996)

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was kidnapped by a blonde girl who was in a gang and in a fully leather outfit, and we both were hanging out in a large warehouse filled with thousands of bags of ice. Both of us sat on top of a very tall steel shelf calmly as people ran through the warehouse fighting each other.

Then the shelf fell over and I died.