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eyesthecolorofarson · 3 months

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Three hours ago Damian went MIA.

He was supposed to be on patrol but three hours twenty-six minutes and forty-five seconds ago he veered off route and hasn't answered any texts, calls, or alerts since. Luckily he hadn’t turned off his tracker so they could see he was on the seventh floor of a children’s hospital in the upper west-side.

Tim would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried. Damian had been disappearing more and more often lately, but this was the first time he disappeared on patrol. Behind him Bruce was losing his mind, muttering to himself nonsense Tim didn’t bother trying to understand.

He was at the Batcomputer, hacking into the hospitals seventh floor emission room cameras and flicking through them to try and find Damian. Dick was at his left, scanning the footage for any clue of their brother’s whereabouts. Jason had his feet kicked up on his right, pretending like he didn’t care, but he was watching just as intently.

Case was trying to get Bruce to sit down and actually breath, Steph was still on patrol and Duke was dead to the world. He was pretty sure Alfred knew where Damian was going and probably had a good clue as to where he was now, but if he wasn’t saying anything Tim knew better than to ask.

Finally, they got something. Well, a bit more than something. Ok, a lot more. It was a double room, with a standard bed in front of the door and a crib across up against the wall. To the left of the standard bed were two nightstands. The first one had a light show projector shaped like a UFO, a phone charger, laptop, several fidget toys and a kalimba. The second was empty and the crib had a collapsed gate inside it. Next to the bed was a couch with a few bags sitting next to it.

In the standard bed was Damian, drawing in a sketchbook he knew wasn’t his just from the stickers on the cover. But next to him, cuddled up to him, was a girl. She was African with gold eyes and curly baby blue hair in a bob. The ends of her curls faded into multiple colors, giving the impression of a rainbow and blue sky. She was wearing a hospital gown, and Damian was wearing….a shirt that said ‘cotton candy club’ in pastel blue purple and pink with cartoon cotton candy???

The computer told him her name was Lydia Lippet, who’s family, friends and nurses nicknamed ‘Fireworks’. She was sixteen and suffered from the genetic disorder AIP–Acute Intermittent Porphyria.

He, Dick and Jason stared for a second. “Uh, B? Cass? We found him, but—Well, your not going to believe this.” “O. M. G! A girlfriend! He has a girlfriend! Oh how could we ignore the signs!?” Dick cheered as Bruce and Cass rushed to the batcomputer. They all watched as the girl-Lydia-snuggled closer to Damian, who smiled and pulled her closer by the arm around her waist.

Bruce watched silently, almost gaping. Cass just smiled. Jason took a picture then started texting so fast Tim worried he’d break his fingers. “Tim, rewind the footage and find out when Damian entered.” Bruce said, sounding confused and a little worried. Tim rewinded until he found the moment Damian, as Robin, entered through the large window.

They watched as he stared at Lydia for a minute, his eyes wide and trailing all over her. Now the crib was next to the bed and the gate was open, and the area between the beds had a blanket and all sorts of baby stuff laid out and the couch was under the window. The baby gave a little gurgle and he jumped like he didn’t know it was there. Lydia sat up and looked towards him. “Damian.” She sounded breathless, a little rough with a thick Gotham accent. “Lydia.” He sounded almost heartbroken, rushing to her side.

“What—Is this why you haven’t been answering your phone? Have you been here for two weeks? What happened?” Lydia laughed sadly. She scooted over and patted the bed, making Damian paused. He looked to the door and the nurses window then back at her. “Can I change before we speak? I don’t—“ he stopped and took a deep breath. “I’m not going to leave you.” Dick ruined the moment when he ‘aww’ed. Jason told him to shut up.

Lydia nodded and motioned to a possum-shaped plush backpack on the table across from the cradle. “I ‘ave some shirts and pants in Moonstone. The bathrooms that door.” Damian grabbed the shirt they’d seen him wearing and a pair of pink pajama pants. He was in and out in less than five minutes, which was a new record. Getting out of costume took time.

Lydia giggled softly. “Ya’ look great.” Damian huffed. “I could say the same about you.” She giggled again and hugged him as soon as he got in the bed. He stiffened for a second before relaxing and practically melting into the hug. Damian sighed and whispered, “I missed you.” Lydia hugged him tighter. “Missed you more.” They pulled back and stared at each other—

And Lydia burst into tears.

Unfortunately a nurse walked in right as she threw herself onto him and cried. The nurse stood dumbfounded as she watched Damian Wayne shush and comfort Lydia. He noticed the nurse and leaned forward. “Please leave. And don’t let the press know. For her,” he motioned to Lydia then behind him, “and the infant’s sake.”

The nurse nodded and quickly left, and Tim pulled up another camera. Thankfully the nurse kept to herself and even put a ‘do not disturb’ sign outside of the room and closed the blinds on the door and nurses window. He kept that camera up just in case but focused back on Damian and Lydia.

She was talking as she cried. “I-hic-I wanted to call ya’—“ she choked on her tears and Damian pulled her to his chest. “You don’t need to explain,نجم شمال, just let it out.” She shook her head. “I—Jazz—“ She bit her lip and looked at the cradle. The baby, Jazz, gave a tiny coo and Damian seemed to understand.

“Ok, breath for me, in and out slowly. Just like that.” In five minutes she was calm again, cradled against Damian’s chest as he ran his hand through her hair, lightly pulling a strand on his finger than letting it bounce back. Lydia had her eyes closed, a content expression on her face. “Thank you.” She whispered, opening her eyes and gazing up at him.

“Of course.” He whispered back, continuing to play with her hair. Dick was silently screaming, jumping up and down. Bruce had sat down and was watching intently. Cass was jumping with Dick. Tim was trying to piece together how long this has been going on. Damian started disappearing about two and a half years ago, so they’d definitely had time to get to know one another.

“Five years ago,” Lydia started, “I was diagnosed with AIP—Acute Intermittent Porphyria.” She pressed a button on the side of the bed that made the back end start to raise. “It’s a rare genetic disorder that has a lotta stupid triggers,” she continued, “like infections, hormones, and sunlight. Well, those are my triggers.”

“AIP sucks cause’ it’s not only rare, but symptoms and triggers are so different b’tween every person. Don’help that a lot of them are asymptomatic. It took like, a whole year in this hospital to get diagnosed.” She chuckled sadly and leaned against the bed when it was raised all the way up.

“What are your symptoms?” Damian asked softly. She huffed and put her ear to his chest. “It starts with a lot of vomiting. Like, not like there’s a lot of vomit, more like I vomit everything. Food, applesauce, pills, even water comes up in less than five minutes. Sometimes thirty seconds.”

Even water? That wasn’t good, and he could tell Damian was thinking the same thing from the way his eyes narrowed. “Then the pain starts. Abdominal pain so bad that it hurts ta’ breath. Talkin’ becomes unbearable, much less moving. And—moving.” Lydia stopped and sniffled, raising her hand. Or, trying to. A little below her neck her hand stopped and began shaking, like it was stuck in place.

He was confused for a second, but then he took in the way her hand was curled into a fist, how her fingers twitched but then returned to the same position, the tears filling her eyes. “You can’t move your hands.” Damian realized. He sounded horrified. “And if talking hurts, then singing—your instruments—“ He looked around the room before looking back to her. “Your legs as well?”

Lydia nodded sadly, letting her hand drop. “My body can’t get the nutrients it needs, so it takes it from my muscles.” She tried to open her hand with her other, but that hand was stuck in a fist too. “My body is cannibalizing itself. We’re lucky we caught it early this time. The last time it started attacking my bones.”

“You can’t sing.” Damian said again. “You can’t dance, play your instruments, draw. You’ve lost your music.” Lydia nodded again, biting her bottom lip. She took a shaky breath before continuing. “Another thing that happens is that—well, all this starts ‘cause m’body doesn't have an enzyme that it’s supposed to. And that causes it to produce another, really bad enzyme.”

“All this—we don’t really know why this is happening since it hasn’t happened with many other people with AIP, but—um.” She took another deep breath, looking Damian in the eye. “My kidneys are shutting down.” At Damian’s expression she backtracked. “Well, they were, but now their not! But their in real bad shape and that ain’t even talkin’ about my liver or appendix which by the way? Did’ya know all this could cause my appendix to burst?”

She smiled weakly as Damian immediately began fussing over her. Asking if she was in pain right now, pressing different parts of her stomach and asking if it hurt, if she’d drank any water, if she could. It was honestly really cute. He and Jason shared grins as Dick and Cass began talking about stories they could tell her, how they could introduce themselves. Bruce sat silently, looking stunned but a little pleased.

“This attack isn’t as bad as last time,” She reassured him, “and it’s nowhere near as bad as the first.” There was a story there, a sad one from the way she said it but she didn’t continue and Damian didn’t push. Jazz began babbling loudly and crawling around the crib. Lydia smiled.

“That’s Jasmine, but I call her Jazz. Baby’s ain’t suppose’ to room with anyone older than one but she needed to be emitted badly so they asked if she could stay with me. Obviously I said yes. Hiya lovebug!” Jazz squealed and sat up, clapping her hands. Damian watched as Lydia cooed and played peek-a-boo with her blanket, Jazz babbling like crazy.

“Uh oh,” Jason snorted, “I know that look.” He was right—they'd seen that face more than once. Usually before Damian brought home an animal he realistically shouldn’t have been able to find in New Jersey. Damian stood up and went around the room, putting on bright red shoes and a pastel rainbow puffer jacket and picked up the possum bag. “What’cha doing?” Lydia seemed amused. Probably because her fashion style looked a little ridiculous on Damian.

“Im going to your apartment and collecting things I know you'd like to have. And while you are not capable of using some of them such as your instruments and sketchbooks I’d enjoy practicing your art style and learning a new instrument. Jasmine would also enjoy some entertainment, no?”

Lydia stared for a few seconds before her eyes filled with tears. She used her shoulder to wipe her eyes and motioned Damian forward. When he was within reach she pulled him down by his shirt to hug him. She whispered something in his ear that made him smile and say something back before leaving through the window. Tim sped up the footage until Damian returned, which was an hour later. The bag didn’t look to be full, and thinking about it, how was he supposed to fit instruments and sketchbooks in a backpack that size? He gave the backpack to her, took off the shoes and jacket and got back into the bed, smiling as she gasped.

She reached in and pulled out the kalimba from before which was wider than the bag and a colorful hip-chain with six rainbow stars, each one with a clip on the bottom connected to a ribbon that seemed to be a backwards rainbow. The first three ribbons were wrapped around and holding small poké balls, while the other three were empty.

Lydia positioned her hands on the kalimba before playing. Even with her hands, which took her a minute to get into the right position, she played it beautifully. Damian listened to the upbeat song for a moment. “An Irish jig?” Lydia nodded. “The Butterfly by Tommy Potts.” Jazz squealed at the song, clapping her hands and crawling around her cradle.

Lydia smiled and continued playing, asking Jazz if she liked it when she was done. Jazz screamed and babbled happily, bouncing in place and waving and clapping her hands. Lydia looked in the bag again, this time pulling out a flute longer than the bag?? Tim looked between his siblings and father as they took in the footage.

Jason began laughing, probably at Bruce’s face. “The brats girlfriends a meta! An unknown meta in Gotham!” Bruce, who had unfortunately taken off his cowl while watching the footage, looked simultaneously devastated and confused. “She could be a magician!” Dick said, patting Bruce on the back. “Maybe it’s like Mary Poppins or Hermione Grangers never ending bag!”

Damian gave her a look, but Lydia said she needed to exercise her lungs. He huffed, but helped her raise her hands. The next song she played was very different from the one before, and Tim recognized it immediately. “That’s Isabella’s Lullaby from The Promised Neverland.” Dick and Jason nodded, Cass doing the same from her seat next to Bruce. Bruce looked a little confused before Cass signed to him ‘anime’.

Jazz made a ‘whoaaaaa’ sound and listened intently. Damian was listening as well, and as the first verse ended he began to sing.

‘Let me sing a lullaby

As you close your eyes

And as your drifting off to sleep

How I hope that the dreams that find you

Are bright’

Damians voice was surprisingly nice, slightly deep and his accent a bit more pronounced. He had an arm wrapped around Lydias waist and his eyes closed. He looked calm.

‘Love can we meet again soon in the bluest of skies?

Where a tomorrow waits for you and I

So hold me tight one more time, but don’t say goodbye

‘Cause I know that I’ll see you on the other side’

Lydia had her eyes closed too, swaying slightly to the tune. Jazz looked mesmerized.

‘I will think of our song when the nights are too long’

Damian opened his eyes and gazed at Lydia

‘I’ll dream of you for that’s where I belong

Love, can we meet again soon in the bluest of skies

Only, in my dreams, do we meet again’

Damian’s voice ended on the same tune as the flute, and when the note ended Lydia opened her eyes. They locked eyes and stayed that way until Jazz squealed. Damian blinked rapidly for a few seconds before blushing, Lydia laughing even though her face was turning red as well.

“You’ve gotten better.” She leaned into him as Damian huffed, looking away but pulling her even closer. Damian was going to retort but the door opened again and two people entered. One was a black women shorter than Damian with greying thick curly hair similar to Lydias pulled into a large bun, and the other was a tall heavyset white man with a receding hairline and grey beard. The computer told him they were Laura and Logan Lippet, Lydia’s parents.

They had styrofoam take out boxes and a drink carrier. They stopped when they saw Damian, but then continued on. “Hey Damian!” Mr.Lippet said, putting the boxes on the table. “Was wondering when you’d show up.” Mrs.Lippet and Lydia laughed as Damian smiled, accepting Mrs.Lippets hug. “When’d you get here? Or how’s a better word.” She laughed and handed a box to Lydia and sat a drink on the nightstand.

“Garlic pasta!” She cheered, kissing her moms cheek. “I just came back after, uh. I broke into your apartment again, but only to collect Lydias things.” Mr.Lippet threw his head back and laughed as Mrs.Lippet smiled and shook her head. “As to how, don’t worry about it.” The Lippets laughed again. “Did you see the brownies Liam made?” “Yes, he added pistachios this time.”

“They seem weirdly chill about a billionaires son breaking into their house and getting into their daughters hospital room.” Jason commented, Tim and the others agreeing. Lydias parents had expected Damian to not only show up, but eat their food when entering their house? Either Damian was closer to these people than they thought, or the Lippets were a little crazy. Judging from the records he was seeing, it looked like the latter.

“That’s weird,” Tim hummed, “there’s records of her meta gene, but for some reason we didn’t get an alert.” Usually every time a meta was documented in Gotham they would be sent an alert about it through a not-so-legal chain system Babs set up. But even though Lydias meta gene was reported when she was three, they’d never gotten an alert. Well, now that Tim was looking, they had. But it’d been deleted very recently.

Apparently her ability was ‘Art Manifestation’. Tim didn’t know what that meant, but he had a feeling they’d find out. He brought up the file next to the camera where the Lippets and Damian were talking and laughing. Damian was holding Lydias drink just out of reach, laughing as she tried to grab it with her teeth. “Use your hands,” he taunted her, “it’s physical therapy!” Her parents roared with laughter as Lydia began hitting him as best she could. She was laughing with them.

A little while later Jazz's parents came in with a nurse. They had the normal reaction to seeing Damian Wayne cuddling with Lydia. “Hey Joseph, hey Ariana!” Mr.Lippet called to the stunned couple, “This is Damian, Lydias boyfriend.” Damian greeted them as politely as he could with Lydia teaching him how to use the portable loom she’d apparently forgotten she had in the possum bag.

“Their dating!?” Dick gasped. “Isn’t that what you said?” “I was joking! Oh my god, Damian actually has a girlfriend!” Jason laughed again and Dick began panicking. “Oh we were supposed to spy on their first date! And mess with Damian about it, figure out her favorite things so we could tell Damian, oh my god we missed seeing them on Valentine’s Day!” Cass patted his back. ‘There will still be valentines days to see and things to bully Damian about. I do not think they’ve had sex yet.’

Bruce choked. “Cass!” She gave him a confused expression as Jason laughed harder. Dick continued to sulk. “I don’t wanna know about that stuff…..I hope he at least tells us about their first date.” “I’m more interested in how they met. Lydia seems pretty forward so far.” Jason snorted. “You think she asked him out?” Tim shrugged. “You think Damian would’ve?”

Apparently Jazz was getting moved to Boston Children’s Hospital for further treatment. Damian and the Lippets helped her parents pack up Jazz’s toys while Lydia tried to persuade them to let her help. “I can stand!” She whined. “But you can’t for a long time,” her dad responded, “and while your stretching has helped a lot we don’t want you over exerting yourself and getting hurt.”

“Has she been seen by physical therapy?” Damian asked. Her mom huffed. “She’s supposed to see them every day, but just like last time we’ve only seen them the first day. They come in, tell us she’ll be seen every day and then we never see them again!” Damian gave an unpleased ‘Tt’ as he folded Jazz’s blankets.

In a few minutes they were ready to leave and the Lippets cheerfully said their goodbyes, Damian doing so awkwardly. After they left Lydia reached over and opened her computer. “Now it’s horror movie time!” The Lippets laughed as Damian raised an eyebrow and sat next to her. “You couldn’t watch them before?”

“Not with Jazz in the room,” she muttered, switching between scrolling and typing. “Don’ wanna traumatize the baby. Y’all feeling like a thriller or gore?” Her dad looked over her shoulder from where he was standing. “Damian, you ever seen ‘Someone Marry Barry’?” Mrs.Lippet snorted as Lydia groaned.

“We are not watching a romcom.” “Why not?” Her dad whined. “Netflix just got like seven new more!” Damian smiled as Lydia argued with her dad. He seemed more relaxed with them than he did at the manor. Lydia and her dad got into a slap fight. It felt weird to watch normal people play fighting. Usually when they play fought it’d involve actual weapons and strategies to find the best place to tickle.

But Lydia and her dad were normal people. They slapped each other harmlessly, without worrying if they’d accidentally hurt them. Lydia shrieked with delight as her dad grabbed her and shook her around, chanting ‘Romcom, romcom, romcom!’ “Alright alright alright!” She giggled, “we’ll watch one horror one romcom, how’bout that?” Her dad agreed and pulled the table from across her bed to the foot of the bed. He then moved the crib to the position they’d first seen it in.

While Lydia found a movie Mr.Lippet moved the couch from under the window next to the bed. He and Mrs.Lippet settled on the couch, Mrs.Lippet with crochet and Mr.Lippet with his own computer. “We can watch the Evil Dead series! They just made a new movie!” Lydia said excitedly, showing Damian a movie screen that he’d seen trailers for. Damian tilted his head.

“How will we watch a series when we’re switching genres?” “We watch one, watch one of dad’s shitty romcoms, then the second movie, and so on!” Mr.Lippet snorted, “Just for that I’m going to make your Roblox avatar ugly.” They all laughed. “Hey! Don't do that! I can’t fight back, we’re watching movies!” Her dad playfully rolled his eyes and muttered “hang on,” and began typing very fast.

“Lydia, turn on the TV.” She did. They waited as he typed very fast for a few minutes before the hospital TV glitched, blacked out and then showed Lydias computer screen on Prime. They cheered. “What the fuck?” Jason said, “How the hell’d he do that?” Tim shrugged. “I’m not surprised,” Barbara’s voice came through over comms, “He’s the configuration manager for TSA, and before that he was IT, and before that he was CIA, and before that he was Navy Seal. He’s on the no fly list because he used to be a spy in the CIA.”

Oh. “And he lives in Gotham….why? Does he have any connection with any rogues?” “He was born in Michigan, Laura in Texas, and they married in Virginia and then moved around a lot because of the military. They were in Hawaii before they were deployed here at the harbor, Logan retired, and they had Lydia and her brother Liam. They’re Irish twins, she’s October 15th 2007 and he’s the 17th 2008. No connection to any rouges other than accidentally meeting Scarecrow in civies and telling him to go fuck himself for his bad parking.”

They all laughed as Lydia used the hospital remote to choose the first Evil Dead movie. Then she pulled out another computer and handed it to Damian, and pulled her computer off the table and into her lap. She typed a little, then gasped. “Hey! That’s not nice!” Damian laughed as her dad retorted, “Calling romcoms shitty isn’t nice! Enjoy your skeleton!” Damian snorted. An actual snort.

Was he dead? Hallucinating? Dreaming? Or did he actually hear Damian Wayne snort? “Well, I approve.” Jason laughed as Lydia and Damian began playing Roblox with her dad. “She’s making him laugh, he’s relaxed, he gets along well with her parents and her parents are apparently super cool with all his weirdness. I think we’re looking at the future Mrs. Wayne!” Honestly? He wouldn’t mind having another new and weird addition to this family.

#Damian Wayne x original character #original character #damian wayne #tim drake #jason todd #bruce wayne #cassandra cain #batfam #not me projecting a disorder I have but the character I gave it to initially didn’t #Like I know she’s an original character and I can just give it to her but. Y’know. No I can’t #The baby inspired by a baby I met in the hospital #Different name and illness but the same cutie patootie :3 #Writing this also made me realize that I haven’t really decided what Lydia Lippets main power is even though I thought I had #Like in both the main stories I use her in she’s The Bard and can alter reality and create things by singing #But then I write multiple shorts like this and it’s like ‘oh no everything she draws can be brought off the page and into real life’#It’s like jfc me pick a power #Also implied that those pokeballs hold actual Pokémon she brought to life #if you want to see more of her your going to have to wait because hands no write :’)

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clits-and-clips · 17 days

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Is there like.... anywhere or anyone I can talk to about wanting to die without feeling bad or triggering people

#tw #txt #cause i cant talk to him about it as it would trigger him #i dont want to trigger people here cause i know multiple people who have attempted #if i tell my family ill feel bad and theyll make me do something about it if that makes sense like theyll make me tell my psych or smth #i jjst dont fucking know how to handle it #ive always had slight feelings of wanting to die but its sooooo bad now #how do i handle yhat when i have no friends #etc #idkdidkdksoakdpcjwheic #im going fucking insane man #i just cant handle the thought of life without him as my partner and it feels so pathetic #but 8 years #and its just over with no conversation beforehand #idk i didnt deserve that #here i am repeating myselffffffffffgfg

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oohbuggypie · 1 month

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"and as he wept, he wept and said, 'Oh, my.. Oh, my.. Would to God I had died for He'"

this is fully inspired by @goferwashere 's PO!! Monster Hunter AU 🩷 depicted is Don Flamenco in his monster form being held in his last moments by Joe. the writing that describes their fight, Don's death, and Joe's regret are all below the cut as its very long. but WOW i just could not get this idea out of my head . thank u soo much Gofer for the amazing AU and thank u to the whole community for being my courage to be brave and release something a little less cutesie than usual ! 🥹 additional details i rlly want to be known::

-the tattoo on Don' torso is an altered version of that in the regular PO!! universe; the one depicted reads "COLOSSIANS 3:2" :: the verse's meaning is "Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things". this is meant to reflect his disdain for humans, and how he views them as lesser

-the stab wound placement is below Don's right pectoral; this is in reflection of Jesus Christ's 5th wound he suffered whilst being crucified. additionally, it is said that what seeped from the wound wasn't only blood, but water as well; i found this very fitting for his character for obvious reasons lol

-the lyrics above the drawing are a condensed / altered version from the choral piece "David's Lamentation", one of my favorite songs ever !

phewph okay writing time ! unfortunately i have never written angst, let alone fighting OR death .. this is also being released about half an hour shy of midnight on bad sleep so proofreading is out of the question.. this is prob a hard read but I STAY CONFIDENT ! here we gooo 🩷::

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Don hissed and swung his fist in an aimless direction, hearing the collision's result come in the form of an agonized grunt from the man near him. Blind rage mingled with fear consumed Don's body in a way God himself forbade, yet he continued to batter any flesh that came into contact with his.

Joe's entire being ached, his eye now burning from the knuckles that dug into it just moments ago. He clenched it shut and let the obscurity of his vision drive his instincts to wherever they were necessary. He aimed to return the punch with his own fist plunging to meet Don's stomach, momentarily knocking the air from his lungs. As Don's arms instinctively lowered to gaurd where his sore flesh was struck, Joe snarled and drew his left arm back to slam a fist into Don's cheek. The siren felt a coursing agony not only externally, but through his heart. He knew what would come, yet he continued to bare his teeth. He ripped apart anything which bothered him and felt no haunting ring in his mind. Though this time, he feared that the bells would toll.

Joe took full advantage of the temporary stun he inflicted upon Don and wrapped his hands around the man's throat. Joe kicked Don's ankle in so that he buckled beneath his own weight, dropping them both to meet the floor. Joe felt a shake within his bones, like the structures in his own body didn't want him to do this. He didn't want to. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Yet his body moved now without his mind, pressing his entire weight into the neck of the helpless man below him. Don couldn't stand the desperation that racked his body, and above that distaste, he couldn't bare to look up at the deathly eyes staring into his own. The man who he called a friend held less semblance to a human and now closer to a wraith, some wretched figure distorted by horror. His skin appeared a sickly gray in the darkness of the gym's room, and had his hands always been this coarse and cold? Nonetheless, for the present time Don disregarded the friend he once had and viewed him now as a step above a pet; competition.

Don snarled and thrashed beneath the body of Joe and locked his hands around the arms above. His brain felt like a searing gas within his head, but that lack of consciousness was immediately replaced by instinct. Don slid his hands down to grip Joe's wrists and ripped them outwards with a fell swipe. Joe wasn't spared a second to process the motion before his nose was slammed by Don's forehead. A pained cry was all his voice could manage before his vision flickered black.

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When he awoke, only seconds has passed since he blacked out. With a horrified start, Joe began to thrash his arms through the water engulfing him. His legs kicked in the same motion, his left heel slamming into an excruciating pressure seeming to bind his right ankle. The force released as soon as it felt his bruising strike against it. Joe desperately made strokes with his arms upwards, looking for any form of light to signify what differentiated the surface from the bottom. Joe felt a darkness reigning upon him as another figure trailed close behind, its presence growing heavier with each struggling wave of his arms throughout the pool.

Joe's face broke the surface. Without a second to catch his breath, he began scanning the area with bewildered eyes for the nearest edge. His loafers felt like bricks tied to his ankles, and the turtleneck he donned was quickly becoming suffocating. A short distance behind him, a splash breaking the water's tension drove Joe into fight or flight. His arms clawed in front of him with strokes large enough to leave his arms aching the next day, yet that same pain was his drive to reach the edge quicker. He gripped the ledge of the hard floor and hoisted himself above the edge, rushing into a position where his knees and one arm balanced his body upright. With his unoccupied hand, he reached where the bells tolled and the colors sank. Joe frantically patted his pocket for where the knife's sheath bulged.

Don arose from the water he resided in just seconds after his former partner. Joe ripped the leather from his pocket and reached into it, gripping the handle as if he was warding death itself away. His knuckles were white with pressure, and his wide eyes locked on the man inches from himself. Don's eyes were sickly and no longer passing as human; the bags beneath them were a bruised purple, and where the whites of his eyes should be were replaced by a glassy blue. His brows dug wrinkles into his forehead like malicious scars upon skin. And the worst of it all was the death-like frown that crumpled his entire facial structure; it drew his eyes in a downward spiral, and his lips curled against his flesh like desperate hands digging into anything for hold.

With his chest exposed and either arms beside him as means to lift himself, Joe raised his blade and drudged it into Don's flesh.

Don's eyes fell like the world's light upon an empty room, and the sharp inhale in his throat thrummed akin to the death rattle. Despite the metal lodged deep within his chest, he managed the strength to drag himself from his home's grasp and to lay on the freezing tile below him. Joe's hands left his mouth as he let out some visceral shout that made cherubs above weep. He scurried across the soaked floor to examine the man before him. Joe slammed himself down upon the floor and struggled to lift him, eventually draping Don's being across his own. Don's arms rested against Joe's bent knees, and his head tilted into his chest with slowing breaths beating against his sweater. The remaining warmth of his breath settling on his own shoulder resembled the comfort of a blanket upon a child's cold body. Joe felt static piercing through his brain and throughout his ears.

He slid his trembling hand to grab the hilt of his blade, yanking it from between Don's ribs with a crumbling expression upon his face. Where the stab wound remained open, Joe rested his hand on its opening and let the blood seep onto his skin. He lowered them to graze the rest of Don's torso, creating an up and down rhythm almost as if to comfort him. He felt a dread in his stomach nothing in his life had ever compared to; he had killed numerous times before this, and for pettier reasons. But the understanding of what he had just done settled upon him like the smothering embrace of a rotting being. Joe lost any remaining thoughts in his mind as small, breaking moans passed the pursing lips of Don.

Don's body felt washed by shades of baby blue. His eyed fixated on an empty and quickly fading horizon. The right side of his body held a sensation that reminded him of familiarity; dripping water and warm waves caressing his flesh. Though this time, the sea seemed to be accompanied by rainfall. Don couldn't muster the strength to look up, let alone turn his head, but he felt warm droplets fall upon his hair. The fog that began swallowing his mind didn't allow him to understand where the water's source was coming from. They dropped rapidly now, dripping enough so that they slid across his own cheeks; they made up for the lack of his own tears. The air that was becoming increasingly hard to keep in his grasp now filled with a tune, a rhythm similar to those he practiced when dancing.

"Je suis désolé, je suis vraiment désolé, oh..."

Don couldn't understand the words, couldn't sing along to the beautiful tune that seemed to hail from Heaven itself. It broke his heart a bit, seeing that one of his greatest attributes was his ethereal singing voice. But the words soothed his soul, and held this wonderous ability to make his eyes feel comfortable closing.

"Oh, mon Dieu... Oh, mon Dieu, pardonne-moi... Pardonne-lui aussi..." Joe heaved, his hands clutching the bloodied skin of Don's torso. His body shook with a might that caused Don's own body to tremor along with his.

Don wished he knew what those words meant. Don wished he could hear the voice sing in his ears forever, let the melody echo throughout the chambers of his fading mind every second of every waking moment. Don's face fell cold, and his body felt as if it was losing its occupation; but fear never crossed his mind when his vision finally began to fade. He loved the hands running up and down his body, loved the warmth cascading against his side, loved the song, he loved this moment. He let his breath soften and slip from his mind's priorities, and now focused on shutting his eyes to rest.

The last thing Don truly felt was the slipping of beads across his collar bones.

-----

Joe removed the rosary from around Don's neck and let its wooden roses slide into a pile inside his unused pocket. He vowed that the blade would make no contact with the necklace.

Joe couldn't and didn't think as he laid the body of his sweet friend down to rest away from his own. He looked once more into the drained yet softened features of Don's face; his lips looked soft against his chin, and his brows no longer furrowed in such a dreadful way. Joe stood for moments, spending minutes staring down at the body now devoid of life on the floor. The worst sight of the entire night was the wound beneath the right side of Don's chest. And even upon staring at it, running his eyes over it again and again, Joe just couldn't think deeper about it.

He turned his back from the death that loomed behind him and exited through the double doors of the room. Joe stalked off into the night, letting the world's air solidify the agonizing tears that stained his cheeks, down to his neck.

END !! thanks 4 reading if u did and thank u 2 anybody who sees this !! now im gonna go ahead and pass out it's 11:45 PM and im sick 🩷

#punch out!! wii #punch out wii #punch out #punch out!!#don flamenco #glass joe #punch out monster hunter au #dewdlebug #my writingz #wow this took like multiple years off my life but ill b damned if i didnt say that i am so genuinely proud and in love with the art for thi #i dont want 2 b conceited dont get it wrong but omg .. i captured exactly what i wanted to down to the lighting that i had to fight with ir #but u know how it be !!#anyhow wow i really hope anybody who likes Don likes this but also u all have permission to throw rocks at me cuz this HURT to conceive bro

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maybe-drawing · 1 year

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Posters!

I don't think this is subtle messaging at this point. You know what to do.

-- Click for better quality! --

#freddy draws #hermitcraft fanart #joe hills #joe hills fanart #mcyt sexymen #mcyt sexymen poll #Honestly no matter who wins ill be happy #this has been a blast #it would be really amazing if joe would win #joepaganda #im just having the time of my life with this #i dont even know how many checkmarks he has at this point #its after midnight ive counted multiple time and the numbers keep changing #pretty sure i have one too many but thats okay #sleep time now #tw eyestrain #eyestrain

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faithinlouisfuture · 3 months

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i have been staring at this photo for hours now

#it’s altered my brain chemistry #changed the trajectory of my life #cleared my acne #cured my mental illnesses (while simultaneously giving me multiple new ones)#watered my crops #fired up my loins #etc etc #fitfwt: brisbane #louis photo edit

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wonder-worker · 6 months

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I heard that Edward IV and Elizabeth Widvile were known to be very beautiful. Were there any reports on their appearance at the time?

anon 😂

But yes, contemporaries and post contemporaries in the 16th century were pretty much unanimous in praising their appearance. I'll list some of the ones I could find:

Elizabeth:

'The most beautiful woman in England' ('la plus belle fille d'Engleterre') - Jean de Waurin

'Her very great beauty' ('sa tres grande beaute') - Jean de Waurin

"Her beauty of person and charm of manner" - Dominic Mancini

"None of such constant womanhood, wisdom and beauty" - Hearne's Fragment; its author was one of Edward IV's servants

"A daughter of prodigious beauty' - 1469 Continuator of Monstrelet's Chronicle

"Both faire, of a good favor, moderate of stature, well made and very wise" - Thomas More

Edward IV:

"The beauty of your personage it hath pleased Almighty God to send you" - James Strangways, Speaker of the Commons in Parliament

"The king is a handsome upstanding man" - Gabriel Tretzel, travels of Leo of Rozmital

"A handsome prince and had style" - Oliver De La Marche

"In the flower of his age, tall of stature, elegant of person" - Croyland Chronicle

"One of the handsomest knights of his kingdom" - 1469 Continuator of Monstrelet's Chronicle

"A handsome and worthy prince" - Pietro Alipranto

‘...Tall and strapping as the king’ - John Paston, Paston Letters

"He was young and more handsome than any man then alive" - Philippe de Commynes

"A man so vigorous and handsome that he might have been made for the pleasures of the flesh" - Philippe de Commynes

"The handsomest prince my eyes ever beheld" and "I don't remember ever having seen a man more handsome than he was" - Philippe de Commynes

"A very handsome prince" - Louis XI, from the Memoirs of Commynes

"He being a person of most elegant appearance, and remarkable beyond all others for the attractions of his person" - the Croyland Chronicle, referencing Edward a few months before he died

"He seized any opportunity that the occasion offered of revealing his fine stature more protractedly and more evidently to onlookers" - Dominic Mancini, writing shortly after his death

"He was a goodly personage and very princely to behold...of visage lovely, of body mighty, strong and cleanly made; howbeit in his latter days, with an over liberal diet, somewhat corpulent, but nevertheless noy uncomely" - Thomas More

Etc.

I'm tagging @edwardslovelyelizabeth because I think you got a similar ask?

I hope this answers your question, anon! I don't generally pay a lot of attention to the physical appearance of historical figures (I find it pretty irrelevant), but in this case, it ultimately does play a role in both Edward IV and Elizabeth's historiographies for better and for worse, and seems to have actually been a personal prop of Edward's kingship, so I don't mind discussing it :)

#either anon is making rounds or someone else saw the ask and asked me something similar 🤷🏻‍♀️#edward iv #elizabeth woodville #ask #also (I wanted to make a separate post about this but fuck it I'll just rant in the tags):#Something I find very interesting (read: fucked-up) is how we have multiple independent accounts praising Edward IV as extremely #attractive at the end of his life #Yet for some reason (aka fatphobia) most historians simply assume that he lost his looks over the years because he put on weight #even though his actual contemporaries (sans Commynes who in any case didn't even see him after 1475) certainly didn't seem to think so #as we can see: Croyland Mancini and More all noted the fact that he had put on weight AND emphasized his attractiveness #because the two are not mutually exclusive in the slightest and assuming that they are is not only incorrect it's also deeply problematic #it's similar to how so many historians assume his health was failing towards the end of his life when we KNOW - we are literally TOLD -#that his illness was both unexpected and baffling to contemporaries #(there is a contemporary reference to his supposedly deteriorating health but as Horrox says this is actually an editorial interpolation)#and the thing that's *always* referenced almost synonymously with this alleged non-existent ill-health is his weight #and the thing is - even if both of these were true they still ultimately wouldn't (and SHOULDN'T) matter. But we KNOW they weren't #and so it's incredibly indicative that historians and general histories STILL automatically assume them - and this assumption #is almost always on conjecture with his weight. (I don't think I've framed this coherently but oh well)#I'm still not over Katherine Lewis's deranged and frankly extremely ignorant epilogue in 'Kingship and Masculinity'#she literally framed her entire perspective on him around his weight with some really ridiculous (read: fatphobic) speculations/assumptions #she's even worse than Thomas Penn who is also revolting (and AJ Pollard isn't much better)#though of course they're not the only ones - almost every historian and general history does this

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