Danny walked the streets of Gotham
he was hungry.
His steps were slow and I was still in pain, but under his abdominal bandages his wounds were much better.
but he was hungry.
he did not know since when he was in town.
he was hungry.
He didn't know what time it was, but an alarm sounded.
He was hungry.
but it wasn't the noise that woke him up, no, there was… a smell? no, it wasn't caught by his nose, but it made him salivate.
he was hungry.
His gums itched while his teeth took on a ghostly shape despite his human body.
he was hungry.
The smell, for lack of a better term, led him to the center of noise and bright light.
he was hungry.
as he mingled with a tense crowd he began to "see" his target even with his eyes closed. good thing because he was hungry. and his eyes must have glowed in response behind his eyelids.
he was so hungry.
the crowd seemed more than willing to let him pass as he approached his target's voice, it was so loud, it must have been speaking into a megaphone or microphone.
he was hungry, but not for long…
jokers: hoooo, we have a brave volunteer~
His food came down from its perch, probably the roof of a car. it was moving towards him, holding something out with confidence
jokers handing a microphone to Danny: a few words from our volunteer?
Danny: …I'm hungry…
His food seemed destabilized, but he continued to move closer, finally opening his eyes, seeing the reflection of their light in those of his food who had a little reflex of unnecessary recoil. One last big step and he was almost chest to chest.
The crowd didn't really know what they were looking at, the child stretched out his arm towards the jokers chest then when he pulled him back with some gently luminous light in his hands, the jokers collapsed to the ground like a puppet whose string have been cut off. Even before the jokers had finished falling, the child put the light in his mouth and a cracking sound echoed through the shocking crowd.
Danny sighed in relief, not satisfaction because it was one of the worst things he had ever eaten. But he feels SO MUCH BETTER now!
he wasn't hungry anymore
… For now
370 notes
·
View notes
“Arthur lester would be an avatar of the eye” no. Look at me. This guy is so marked by the Desolation it’s not even funny
164 notes
·
View notes
just a thought but like. if akiyama, who’s established as being a bizarrely talented investigator in y5, suspected kiryu’s death to have been faked (or at least “fishy” in his own words) basically on the fucking Spot, i feel like it just makes sense that majima would’ve been just as quick, if not quicker to see where shit wasn’t adding up and become skeptical that the whole thing was a coverup. reason being, in y5 he put shit together and figured out the grand scheme going on so damn early most people didn’t even suspect yet that there was any scheme going on. he then faked his own death well enough to get it in the papers and had masterminded himself all the way to the final boss (with some help of course) before things backfired on him. so he’s got some crazy good skills when it comes to reading people, figuring out their intentions, putting puzzle pieces together, etc– way better than he wants people knowing, generally– and he knows the hallmark signs of a faked death because he’s literally done it before. all that on top of knowing kiryu like the back of his hand and knowing damn well how hard this man is to kill, and how prone to running away from shit for the sake of the safety of people he cares about (for better or for worse) he is. he could absolutely put together that, if given the opportunity by some faction or powerful individual, kiryu would sacrifice his identity and status as a legit living person for the assured safety of others, or for yakuza tensions to diminish, or maybe even as an act of self-flagellation.
tldr: I think the reasons majima didn’t go rogue/apeshit after kiryu’s alleged death are that A) for once he has saejima around to reign him in and make it feel less like Everything has been lost, B) I think he’s legitimately known pretty much all along that kiryu didn’t die that day; nor would he believe it unless he saw it with his own eye.
50 notes
·
View notes
𝟐-𝟓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘
𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 -
—001. Ash gray-- the remains of a bonfire the hint of divination, made from wood or bone.
—002. Black-- like the open night skies or the ink marked upon her skin or used to sketch and composes spells and recipes on parchment.
—003. Silver-- many things. The kiss of first frost, the light of phantasmal candle
trees, the pale flicker of ghostflame, or the glint her silvern gaze.
—004. Sage green-- the expanse of wild foliage that dot the lands between.
—005. Wedgewood-blue (or gray-blue if you will)-- the likeness of hazy winter skies, medicinal powders and glint stones.
𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 -
—001. Wild flowers, freshly harvested or long dried.
—002. The thickness of wood smoke of a lit fire, or the churning of ash--concoctions in the night hours.
—003. The heady scent of mossy soil, earthy and wooden, an inkling of death.
—004. Dried herbs by the fire side. Warming, earthy.
𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍 -
—001. The prisoners garb; aged, formally tattered and mended time and again. Now purged of filth, the age still shows. With a careful hand she carefully readjusted it to sit appropriately at her shoulders and waist.
—002. Loosely fitted tunics that hang wide at the throat or tied tight to the neck that clings limply to her frame, lightly tucked into breeches.
—003. Tarnished armor, the silvery gleam stained with age, forgotten with time-- the metal cut specific to her shape.
—004. Layered hooded cloak, with tufts of feather plumage sat about the shoulders, partially worn with time-- stark black in color and embroidered on the interior hem with pale thread. Along the interior hem, careful and meticulous design of hidden spell work; a phrase that cannot be deciphered. It is a rather weighty garment that can conceal armor if she saw fit.
—005. Ornamental silken robes that hold close to the shape and curve, off-cream in color and singed, bedecked in symbols and meanings that hold no place in the lands between.
𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒 -
—001. A modest hand sickle: used to collect herbs and tinder
—002. A round: flat type of winnowing basket; weaved from various plant fibers. A multitude of uses.
—003. Bone char: constructed from personal recipe formed through the years that she makes active use of with every harvest.
—004. Ornate lantern: pale-silvery hand-lantern. A lantern of fantastical design that she snatched from a stray noble encampment. —005. Hair braid rope: a lengthy cord of woven hair rich black in color and quite durable-- the use is unclear.
𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄 -
—001. A slow cant of the head; an act of inquiry or preformed out of amusement.
—002. An extended arm and open hand, palm offered to those willing to reach back or when she is beckoning.
—003. Shoulders hung lax, head raised and arms part as if in calling. Offering her embrace; a promise of rest.
—004. A narrowed gaze, the faintest crease in her brow, a stare unbroken-- if a gaze could cut it would.
—005. A smile settled upon lush lips that conveys a deep warmth, a gentleness unexpected of her by those who may not know.
𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒 -
—001. The space between the sacred and the profane; of knowledge and blindness, the line between heretical and divine; and to be idolized and damned. A body as sacrificial altar, vessel of worship, and final resting place.
—002. A many headed beast in human shape; the siren-- the hunter--the serpent-- the wanderer-- the witch-- the heretic-- the healer-- the beast. To be as legend of many names, faces, and alleged forms but for very few to ever know a true face and name. To harm; to heal. The uttering of many voices converged into one.
—003. Death and resurrection as rebirth, a cycle. To not die when one should have. A vacant space between life and death.
—004. The vastness of long abandoned battle fields, over grown with lush flowers tangled through the remains. A place no longer occupied by the struggles of long-gone soldiers who come to rest within her embrace. A place that is little more than a silent graveyard. She wanders these lands, eternal and inevitable.
—005. Bejeweled dead, the weighing of the heart, sun bleached bones, tufts of feathers, flowers and singed herbs bound in cloth, cremation pyres, wrapped urns coveted close-- funerary rite and ceremonies from a bygone era. Something old, something ancient, something forgotten. A cacophony of unquiet spirits follow close.
SONGS-
—001. Do You Believe In Witchcraft? - The Green Knight OST
—002. The Witch's Garden (prelude) - Abandoned toys
—003. A Fairytale About Slavery - Miranda Sex Garden
—004. Andras Sodom - Lustmord
—005. Alfadhirhaiti - Heilung
Tagged by: No one, this time. Just moving it over from the old blog
Tagging: @necrophcge @izar-tarazed @renatvvs (Cillian) @illholy @rotten-pest @creatrix-mea (athena) @luckyberet @sihilkaah @wolfbrawn and @prismaiden @casketdweller @wolfofwinchester @knife-edged-dreams @sunpraised @goldenfists @spellbladerogier @miserycorde @bcwblade @despairforme @fulgurantfirstborn @oathloathed and anyone else who would like to.
9 notes
·
View notes
Something that makes reading TOA so devastating is how fucking much Apollo feels about Everything. There’s so MUCH. Like I don’t even know how to describe it to you if you haven’t read the books yourself. He has so many complicated thoughts and emotions about just about everything and he cares about everything so much and there is just SO MUCH going on in his head. And yet none of it ever reaches his mouth!!
He almost never says what he’s feeling. What little comes out of his mouth about his thoughts barely even scratches the surface of what he actually means. Like he’ll be having a long ass monologue about how incredible someone is, showing a deep understanding of them as a person and empathizing with them so hard you’d almost think it’s projection but it’s not he’s legitimately just mind melding with this random person he met like a week ago and he’s thinking the softest, kindest thoughts about them like he knows they’re fucking incredible - and what comes out of his mouth is just like, “you’re a wonderful friend :)” AND ITS LIKE. THERES SO MUCH MORE UNDER THE SURFACE. the sheer admiration and adoration he has for everyone around him……… UGHHH!!! But he never VOICES ANY OF IT!!!!!! He never tells anyone about what Zeus did to him……. He never tells anyone except the reader about his realization that Zeus is abusive…. He never even tells commodus about how much he adored him, not then and not now… he refuses to tell anyone when he’s in pain or tries to justify the things he does when he actually had Decent Reasons for why he did something… I’m. I’M. AUGH. AHHHHH
HE DOESN’T EVEN TELL US ALL OF HIS THOUGHTS IS THE THING. THERES EVEN MORE THAT HE IS NOT TELLING US!!!!! THE FUCKING OCEAN OF FEELINGS AND THOUGHTS HE HAS ABOUT EVERYTHING IS THE CLIFF NOTES VERSION. I AM IN DISTRESS.
And YET…. Even what slips out of his mouth is so fucking devastating it is SO devastating. He’s so fucking kind and gentle with Harley and Meg and and other younger Demis and his kids… he’ll act like an obstinate idiot and then turn around say something that drags the core of the person he’s talking to into the light like nail on the fucking HEAD like he reached into their soul and gave them the words to express something that they were struggling to say aloud or that they didn’t even realize about themself. Around the 2nd book he starts putting voice to some of his feelings and thoughts about others and even that tiny fucking sliver is overwhelming to the people he’s talking to bc he’s SO. AUGHHHH
8 notes
·
View notes