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ᴇʏᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀᴡᴋ{M/L}

11/12/2019 09:45 PM 

the world is made of mud

do not look forlorn, my son your time here has just begun the earth you inherit is mud spin it as you may, it shall be donewe have given you fairy tales disguised as bitter truths with a little bit of wisdom you will realize who is lyin' to you but, baby the world is an oyster everybody's looking for the pearl the ruse of deception arouses youshe's such a pretty girl temptress with an ruby apple so shiny and enticing you will forget what you sacrficin'to enter into her world the finest schools await you guppies and minnows alike but like all fine establishments the sharks circle white large teeth a gleamin'your hope is undone peace means understanding war means shooting a gun violence triggers compliance or more of the same one foot than another we forget who is the blamedo not look forlorn, my son this is your world to change cycles turn like seasonsit takes a strong man to know when to walk away

ᴇʏᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀᴡᴋ{M/L}

11/12/2019 09:26 PM 

Ode to Insanity

i.Abyss.Cocooned within an infinitely bounded vacuumA smile eclipsed by resonating quiescence.                         This emptiness                                    kills.I yearn to sculpt the carvings of camouflaged tearsthrough 3 am poetrybut yellow sheets emptier than my dreamsembraceas I dangle amidst kaleidoscopes of barren yesterdays.Even words have failed me tonight.ii.ChaosTwirling against haemoglobin tilesderanged voices heist the oxygen from my lungsas I gaspagainst a narrowing rib cage.Insanity tattooed within mascara embroidered eyesI hear you over and overscreaming, screaming, screaming,and I explodeinto scarlet fragments of nothingness.iiiAdieuI used to build esoteric constellations withthe stars in my eyesand tuck away the moon underneathmy smileBut now my irises bleed the tales of fallen stars and a widowed sky.Whiskey memories sway against burnt edges of my windowpaneas I spiral into an expanse of toxic ruinsof myself,fallingfallingfallingfallingfallen.A gun gives you the opportunity,A thought pulls the trigger.Rumi Quote: “I am weary of personal worrying, in love with the art of madness”

ᴇʏᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀᴡᴋ{M/L}

11/12/2019 09:15 PM 

Hushed hallelujahs in a havocked heart ~ঔ

Traversing gusty opaque glens      hypnotised with dolor and strife,she trailed adumbrations of death         through the hollowness of her life. Fractured fancies graveled her path;        stitches crocheted maps to her core crimson drops were a lighthouse to        a sanctum s t e r i l i z e d  of goreMasqueraded in sheen spectrums,      veneering the dark of her shades;Echolessly, groans writhed her core      as sorrow streamed on razor blades.Enshrouded in silence, she slinked       while the world fell for her sound tricks.dressed up in rosy blinding blooms      she shriveled as her thorns sowed pricksTill the day she gasped a relief       in the arms of her yearned-for end as one by one, her plucked petals       scattered, spinning in autumn wind.

ᴇʏᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀᴡᴋ{M/L}

11/12/2019 09:06 PM 

bruises on eyelids, bruises on throat

People say that Frank Castle is a war – a hurricane, devastation and death and a raw force of energy channelled down into one human body. That’s one way of putting it. Not entirely true, of course. First and foremost, Frank is a man, no matter how many metaphors you want to attach to him. His black eye is still a bruise even if you call it a flower that blooms beneath the darkness of his eye. It’s still going to hurt him if you press it, even if he doesn’t move away from the pain. Even if he doesn’t know what it is to not feel hurt, a kicked dog kind of living.He’s a man. But he’s lonely in the way that wild flowers feel lonely – it’s almost like he doesn’t know how to be anything else. Deep in the soul of him it burns, and he has no hands to hold, no daughter’s hair to braid. This is what nothing feels like. What does it mean to be a person when you have lost everything you have ever loved? Before Maria, before their kids, Frank had never loved anything in his life. He hasn’t loved anything since.There’s something to be said about that – that kind of steady devotion, that kind of once in a lifetime love. Frank is sick of listening to songs about love – he’s turned the radio off in his truck because it makes him sick to hear these people go on about what they think is love. They don’t know anything, not really. How could you talk about love like a passing trend, like it isn’t the bullet that kills you. Maria didn’t make him happy. She put his world in colour.Christ, he misses Maria. He misses her like a limb, like his heart got torn straight out of his chest, like nothing he knew was possible. He misses the way she used to touch him – hands through his hair and smiling against his mouth. He misses how it felt to have people be gentle with him.It's been so long since the last time he had a hug that when Leo Lieberman latches on to him, shakes so hard he can feel her tremble all the way down to his core and presses her nose into his chest to feel him breath, he doesn’t know how to lift his hands up to hug her back. It’s been so long since these hands were used to for anything but anger and hurting people he’s almost forgotten what it feels like. Leo shivers and says I thought you were dead, and he only just catches himself before he says back me too, sweetheart. Then he thinks, oh. And he hugs her back. Turns out it was like riding a bike – these things have a way of coming back to you. It is human to want to touch and be touched, or to feel intimate and to feel cared for.His body remembers, even if his mind has forgotten anything but grief.Frank Castle knows betrayal like the taste of fire on his tongue – he looks at a man who had his back, a man who held him steady when his bones were shaking apart from the stress, and he thinks of course. Thinks, somewhere in the back of his mind, of course I had to lose this too. His wounds are burning, he’s bleeding in a big way, but he’s never known how to quit, not once in his life.Billy was beautiful in the way that twirling a baseball bat was beautiful – brutal and casually violent, graceful even as he started swinging. He wasn’t so beautiful by the time Frank was done with him, bleeding and crying out, wet gasps and ugly pain writ large across his face. Good, thought Frank. Good. I hope it hurts, a**hole, because that was for my family.He doesn’t kill him, but only because he want’s him to live in pain. There’s a special kind of ugliness in that – it takes a certain kind of person to bring someone to the edge of death and not take them over it because life is going to be more painful.Frank wasn’t ever pretty, not even before he got his nose broken, or even when he was a teen, hands and ear too big, like a puppy still waiting to grow into its skin. Sometimes he still felt like that – like he was just waiting, awkward and lumbering and clumsy. Nobody ever looked at him and thought he was cute. Sure, there were the danger seekers who wanted to take him for a ride just to fell how dangerous he was, but nobody thought he knew how to be gentle. He was a clumsy kid – clumsy, and then deadly with no stopgap in between. Even now, he’d catch sight of a woman watching him in a reflection and be surprised, just for a minute, that she was looking at him.People thought they could own him. But you can’t own a man with hurricanes in his heart and rain in his eyes, not even when all the fires he lights are to protect you.A lot of people have thoughts about Frank – people think they own a part of him just because they played a part in his story. They think they get to play for keeps. Nobody understands that a person can never be known. Not a person like Frank Castle anyway.People don’t get that – they can’t imagine a world in which you can see a man fall to the ground and fall apart and pull himself together and still know nothing about him. There is something personal about grief, personal enough that people think they understand a man just because they’ve seen it.People think about him all the time; nobody thinks about how much it cost him to get to the way he is, not really.They don’t understand, even when they try to.Agent Madani thinks about him in the abstract way that a chess player thinks about the pieces still in play – aware of their potential use and with a goal in mind. Her focus was never about Frank, really. Not first and foremost. For Madani it was about revenge, maybe, or punishment for dirty crimes people have already forgotten, blown away in the sands of deserts nobody cares about.Frank Castle was never a war to her, or a hurricane or death and energy – to her he was a means to an end. He was also a man who pulled her out of a burning car with bloody hands and he was a man who put his forehead to the barrel of her gun and said you do what you gotta do, and he was a man who knew how it felt to die and live and die and live again.She liked that about him – he was honest in his violence, unashamed of the power in his shoulders and the strength of his hands, because he knew what he was. Looking at him, she knows, somehow, that this is a man who thinks of himself as a weapon, and she feels her fingers twitch with the urge to see him go soft, slow and easy onto his knees. Not to control him, really.She wants to see him go down, be easy and relaxed and steady, waiting for an order that wasn’t going to get him hurt.So many people have hurt Frank, have given him orders that have gotten him hurt, have held his blood in their cupped palms and shrugged like they don’t understand what a gift it is. He’s so willing to cut himself open, to bleed and bleed and bleed for people, so good, not in the way that fairy-tale princes are good but in the way that only men who have lost and lost and lost and still struggle onwards can be good.In the end of things, fire still raging around them, she watches through half shut eyes, tired and bleeding but not ready to die, not yet, as Frank drags her out of the fire, calls an ambulance and sits down to wait, palm steady against her bleeding head.Curtis is mostly just afraid for Frank – afraid one day he won’t come into therapy, that Curtis will call and call, track down where Frank was living and find a body waiting, not a person. Christ, it keeps him up at night. Frank, on his own, holding his grief like it wasn’t something that could be lightened by sharing. Like he wanted to hold it all, like it would be disloyal to let any of it go.So Curtis worried, and he waited, didn’t try to force Frank, didn’t try to make him share anything he didn’t want to let go of. It felt like talking to a brick wall, only he knew that somewhere that wall was made of Styrofoam, and behind it was a tsunami of trauma, festering.He thinks about opening that door and finding Frank on the ground. It’s not worth thinking about.He liked to think he knew Frank pretty well – of course, Frank was a closed door, but Curtis had been through boot camp with him, had heard him sing and play guitar and get drunk by a camp fire, had seen him swing Maria into his arms and kiss her like she was the only thing worth living for. He had seen Frank relaxed and with his kids and in every kind of fight there was and under pressure and stressed and tense, trying to talk someone down.Then Frank does go missing, and Curtis does call, doesn’t get an answer, finds Frank’s address and steels himself to walk inside. He’s ready for a body, for Frank to be sitting in the bathtub long dead. He’s ready for blood on the walls, or a hanging body.There isn’t a body, but there is a tableau of grief, right there in every room, on the curtain and the blank, empty walls.There was a bed, a sink, a toilet. There was nothing to indicate that a person had ever lived there.People tend to say that Frank Castle is a war – a hurricane, devastation and death and a raw force of energy channelled down into one human body. Frank is a man. His black eye is still a bruise even if he doesn’t move away from the pain when you touch it. He still hurts. He’s still breathing, still kicking. He’s still somewhere, alive.At least, that’s what people hope.

ᴇʏᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀᴡᴋ{M/L}

11/12/2019 09:01 PM 

Lightning Scars

Sasuke's hurt a lot of people. Mostly strangers, sure, but that doesn't change the fact that almost nobody he's gotten close to has gotten away unscathed.(Suigetsu, maybe. He's willing to admit that. He'd chosen Taka based on who would survive keeping Kisame distracted, so they're all very hard to kill, for one reason or another. Suigetsu may have taken a while to heal once or twice, but the injuries were never from Sasuke's hand directly. He and Juugo are overall basically undamaged from Sasuke's teen angst bullsh*t, inside and out.)(Maybe that's why it's so much easier to spend time with them than anyone else.)And, well, when you hurt that many people, they don't tend to stay close. Naruto insists on sticking around, and Kakashi and Sakura sort of hover closer bit by bit, but most of the people he knew in Konoha stay far away from him, war hero or not. Shinobi from other villages outright make a sign to ward off evil when he passes by sometimes. So do Konoha's civilians.…Basically, a lot of people don't like Sasuke. That's fine. He doesn't like himself much either.Karin stays far away, too, in the beginning. He hears how she's doing from Suigetsu, when he drops by, because Suigetsu is still friends with Juugo, and Juugo is still loyal to Sasuke. Suigetsu might also be friends with Sasuke, but neither of them is going to admit it, because reasons.("That's a sh*t explanation, bastard," Naruto tells him when he haltingly explains Taka's current status. "What do you mean, 'reasons'?")(He makes air quotes with his fingers.)("I mean," Sasuke snaps his chopsticks in half by accident, "reasons.")When he finally sees Karin again, he's left Konoha on a mission and needs a tracker. She greets him with silence, mouth working furiously in an attempt to say something, but indecision muting her until she finally huffs and walks past him, ignoring Suigetsu and Juugo. "Let's go. I know who you're looking for."Sasuke tries not to feel insulted. He's more successful in that than in trying not to feel hurt.Karin has every right to hate him. She had no obligation to accept his request for help. She's here. That should be enough.(He thinks back to Konoha and Sakura's hopeful expression whenever she sees him.)(He thinks he'd be more disturbed if Karin accepted him with open arms again, now that they're no longer children and there's no longer a war raging around them.)(He thinks he's thankful that Karin isn't as endlessly optimistic as Naruto and Sakura. She's more like Kakashi, in that sense.)(He can't hurt her as easily now.)It's almost, almost, like hunting for Itachi again. Team Taka, jumping from hotel to hotel, following Karin's directions as she hones in on a signature any other sensor would have lost to the ether before they ever managed to find it in the first place. Karin and Suigetsu still argue. Juugo still talks to birds. Sasuke still ignores everything unless he needs to mediate an argument or ask for orders when grabbing food or booking rooms.It makes the differences all the more glaring. Karin and Suigetsu actually have moments of quiet understanding. Juugo trusts himself enough to be alone once in a while. And Sasuke feels the phantom presence of Karin at his shoulder when they stop somewhere, because she doesn't hold her old spot next to him, coming as close as he'll let her and backing off when he asks. She doesn't come close at all, and the old spot is filled with Juugo, who looms and fidgets and doesn't quite know what to do with himself.It's not a bad dynamic, but it's different. Sasuke… Sasuke kind of misses the old days, in that sense. He regrets a lot of things, but alienating the one woman who actually understood his pain instead of just seeing it and pitying him is one of the biggest. There are only a handful of people in the world who can actually say "I lost everything" and mean it to the extent that the members of Team Taka can."Karin," He says one morning as they're about to head out. He's standing just outside her hotel door, knocking. "Karin?"There's no answer, just some muffled thuds and cursing. Sasuke waits a few moments, remaining hand hovering over his kunai, and then opens the door and steps inside.Karin is seated on the bed, mostly-clothed. Her characteristic purple jacket is open, revealing a plain black bra and scarred skin. She looks up as he comes in, and rolls her eyes. She huffs and crosses her arms, too."Would it have killed you to wait until I got the zipper unstuck, Sasuke-kun?"He doesn't flinch in surprise when he hears the honorific (never mind that she's barely spoken to him directly since they arrived). He doesn't think on how the girls back home probably would have shrieked and thrown something at him if he'd walked in on them half-dressed (because Orochimaru's experiments have left them all a little immune to the social standards regarding nudity). He doesn't think on how this is his first time seeing a girl basically shirtless (because Naruto's stupid Oiroke no Jutsu doesn't count, dammit.)He's a little distracted, honestly."What?" Karin says, hunching in on herself a little self-consciously. "Seriously, stop staring like that. It's freaking me out.""I…" Sasuke swallows, "I thought you said only the bite marks ever scarred.""Oh," her face clears in understanding, and then immediately sours. She looks down at the white, shiny skin below her collarbone, just to her left of the large patch of unblemished tan that covers the center of her chest. She grimaces. "That."Sasuke takes a hesitant step closer, and then continues once Karin doesn't tell him to stop. He stops in front of her, and dithers. "How…""If I'd bitten myself to heal from your Chidori, it wouldn't have scarred." She doesn't shy away from the fact that he'd nearly killed her. She never has, of course, but the bluntness is refreshing after Konoha. "But I didn't have the energy for that, so your teammate healed me instead. She's good, but… well, even she leaves marks."Sasuke swallows again. "There's nothing left in the middle…"Karin scoffs, and answers the unasked question. "There was… one of those clones, a weird one, in the war. He had some kind of f***ed-up Mokuton. Stabbed me with it. It left a hole bigger than your Chidori, but I was already hyped up on adrenaline, and fast enough to bite myself so that it healed over. Ergo, no scarring."She pauses. "That's about when I got the chains, actually."Sasuke's heard rumors of the chains, though he hasn't seen them. He kind of wants to. They sound impressive."I don't remember that part of the war.""You were dead." Karin says, shifting to the side and patting the bed next to her. Sasuke sits down as she continues. "Or very, very close to it. I… was kind of on a suicide charge to get to you before you passed on completely when all this happened."There's a long, drawn-out silence. It's very awkward. Sasuke wants to leave, but the atmosphere's not right for even him to do something like that in a conversation like this."Your Hokage… the old one, the Senju lady." Karin says, finally, "She mentioned that she'd heard stories about Uzumaki bloodlines, mostly the chains."Sasuke has no idea where she's going with this, but nods to show that he's listening."Apparently," Karin laughs grimly, "They can only be fully awoken while under great duress, trying to protect someone you love."Sasuke, very carefully, does not move.Karin, very carefully, does not say anything else.There's another awkward silence.Hate me, Sasuke begs silently, I deserve it. Don't be like Konoha. Don't forgive those close to you just because they have an excuse. Don't forgive me just because you loved me, once."I… was not aware that your affection for me was that strong." Sasuke finally says. It doesn't sound like enough, but it's all he can think of.(Naruto would be facepalming by now, he thinks. Maybe he is, through that stupid crystal ball.)"You were kind of oblivious, no matter how bad I was at hiding sh*t." Karin says. "Turned out to be a bit of a mistake on my part, to be honest. Can't bring myself to regret it completely, but damn was loving you dangerous.""You wouldn't have said love before." Sasuke comments."I was sixteen and stupid and self-conscious." Karin shrugs. "I've grown up."Sasuke thinks on that for a moment. "I'm sorry."Karin blinks at him. "For… being an oblivious teenage boy? You were sixteen and so obsessed with revenge you wouldn't have noticed if I lounged naked on your bed surrounded in rose petals and candles with a sign saying 'Please f*** me now,' Sasuke."Sasuke makes a face at that image, because that definitely sounds like a fire hazard and a terrible mess to clean up. "No, I meant about… you know…"He gestures vaguely at his own chest, and then finishes the sentence when Karin's face takes on a sort of exasperated understanding. "Stabbing you.""I know. That doesn't make it okay, but I know. Why else do you think I was so quick to forgive you back then?""We were young and there was a war going on, so nobody was making particularly rational decisions?" Sasuke tries, because that's been his assumption so far. "And as soon as you got some time to think about it, you realized that forgiving me was a terrible mistake?"Karin opens her mouth, then closes it and lifts a hand, making a so-so gesture. "I mean, you're not entirely wrong, but a large part of it was that I could sense that you were being truthful. Sincere, even. I'm a chakra sensor. Being able to tell if someone is lying is intermediate level stuff, and I'm the best sensor on the continent. There are ways around it, but your control isn't that good, chakra or emotions.""Ah." Sasuke feels a little embarrassed, now. He'd never considered the idea that Karin actually had proper reasons for forgiving him.He jerks out of his thoughts as Karin's hands take his. He's only got the one, now, but Karin's eyes are on his as she guides it to the pale white skin on her chest.Sasuke's fingers brush against the scar he'd left on her chest, half a decade ago. Karin presses his hand closer, and then lets go. Her gaze still hasn't broken from his, daring him to take his hand away.He swallows again. He seems to be doing a lot of that lately."You did this." Karin says. "I will not forget that. The memory of that day is going to haunt me for the rest of my life, because I came closer to dying that day than I have on any other, even while under Orochimaru's tender mercies."He couldn't breathe."But I do forgive you." One hand comes back up to keep pressing his hand to the scar, while the other reaches up to brush a thumb against his cheek, cradling his jaw. "You're trying to be a better person. I'm not going to fault you for that."You should. Please, let at least one person whose opinion matters actually hate me. The words are stuck in his throat. He's pretty sure his face would be frozen in terror if he hadn't gotten used to wiping emotion from it whenever possible by now.Karin leans in, and for a second, Sasuke's worried she's going to press her lips to his and… and he's not sure why he's so terrified of that level of erasure of the past, but he is.Instead, she kisses his cheek, and then drops the hand on her chest and presses her other to his back, a silent order to get up and leave so she can finish getting dressed.Somehow, that's worse. It isn't just lust or some childish dream of romance pushing her.(It never has been, his mind supplies, entirely unhelpful.)She actually cares and actually forgives, and he hates that.(He hates himself more, of course. He just wishes that someone would acknowledge that and match him.)

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