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/      :p    starter

/  starter on uhm uhm yeah!  here i think 

lisa lin right hand to colonel rick flag of task force x U will always be famous

aloisia has a face kissed with scars that have accumulated over time, eyes deep in thought— the eyes of a woman who’s looked at death and found it staring right back at her. shoulders once stiff and tense relax and she takes a short sip of the whiskey. finally, she speaks.
            
            “WHAT DO YOU THINK WAITS FOR US HUMANS BEYOND THIS LIFE, HM? creatures of filth and greed. creatures of murder. does god, if there is one, treat us with the same kindness he treats a lamb when we meet him?      ( . . . )     i’ve found myself watching the light leave the eyes of countless men in my time and yet up until now i don’t think i’ve ever wondered where that light goes.”
            
            lisa lin in this very moment wonders two things:
            (1) ALOISIA WONDERS IF A GOD TRULY EXISTS. AND IF SO, SHE WONDERS IF HE’S EVER LOOKED DOWN UPON HIS CREATIONS AND FELT DISGUST FOR WHAT HE’S MADE.        (existence is cruel in and of itself, but existing without those meant to be by your side forever felt even more cruel. ten hundred blades finding their home within the vessel of your heart.)         (2) ALOISIA WONDERS WHAT LIES IN STORE FOR HERSELF WHEN DEATH FINALLY CATCHES UP TO HER IN THIS GAME OF CAT & MOUSE THEY’VE BEEN PLAYING. (2.5) AND SHE WONDERS IF RICK FLAG AND THE MANY OTHERS LOST ON THE WAY WILL BE THERE WHEN DEATH MAKES THAT FINAL STRIDE.          (she hopes death has treated her best friend kinder than how life had treated him. the weight of living and existence lingers in the air even weeks after the death of flag. the silence that hung itself up in the air in his final moments as his heart stopped ring like a held note on a piano. an ache in the ear that eventually becomes apart of our lives like a white noise of sorts. at some point that noise becomes replaced with the sounds of gunshots, sobs, and explosions. perhaps there’s reason for each and every sound that occurs moments after death and beyond that. to subdue the words unspoken and unsaid by the deceased that stay in the air.)

it’s sick. twisted.  the deadeye thinks to herself.
            
            she shifts in her seat when she hears the sound of a stool next to her moving. in an attempt to find scraps of peace to feast upon in the desolate land that is this world, lisa fails to do so in every crevice and inch of earth and soil that she crosses. making her way to gotham city of all places was a spur of the moment decision; something not ideal but still something at the end of the day— even then, she fails to set herself free from the ties of rick flag. lisa finds it’s not exactly easy to wash off over ten-something years of history just like that, no, it’d be much harder. simple things remind the dismayed soldier of what could’ve been had she been faster, better— maybe, just maybe, if she was a second faster she’d find flag sitting next to her at this very moment, cracking a joke and taking a swig from his own pint. a comfortable thought, an impossible reality. it’s like a message from god herself stating that still standing here today was punishment for lisa’s own sins committed in this lifetime (although, perhaps the devil was a more fitting name for someone like waller.). it’s awfully tragic, the woman who was known as the deadeye, feared and renowned across the world, faced by her true enemy; living.
            
            with can of iced coffee in hand (though, a majority of the ice had already melted by then), aloisia glances down, swishing around the final contents of the can one last time before deciding she’s done with the drink. she places the can onto the counter, sighing. it’s only then does she decide to spare her attention to the stranger who sits next to her. when she realizes the whiskey ordered by the man that’s found its way to her side, she takes a mental note to pay him back before she leaves. eyes squint and narrow at the man, as if peering into his soul.

⋆ ͟ ͟ ͟ ͟ ͟diary of a dying christ
            written by:   aloisia martin.
            dedicated to:    @vengcent.
            
            
            entry one:      “blood,” he said. “this country is full of blood. this ███. this is a thirsty country.”   (林带路 & 輝能碓井: a deadeye and a batman walk into a bar...)   “the blood of a thousand christs. nothing.”
            
            
            ITS GRUELING TO BE THE ONE WHO MAKES IT OUT ALIVE. LISA LIN KNOWS THIS EXCEPTIONALLY WELL.    (lisa swears she can still feel the ocean breeze from corto maltese in the air and when she looks down at her hands she finds rick flag’s blood still fresh on her hands)    the television displays a collection of clips and photos one by one, news headline reading, “freedom fighters liberate corto maltese, tyrants dead" the subtitle reads— “remains of unknown american soldier found in remains”     images, censored ones, still images nonetheless, of what remains of flags body are placed in the upper corner of the screen.

hey girl 

hi marlyne

“i did not bow down to you, i bowed down to all the suffering of humanity.”     chapter 24, pg. 279,    Фёдор Достоевский’s Crime and Punishment.

"   gods..   even  i  do  not  know  why  we  allowed  you  to  remain  alive.   tsk,  all  you  dogs  are  all  the  same—   whatever.   listen—   we  already  have  hard  drives  from  your  higher  ups,   alright?   one  of  your  information  holders  ratted  your  locations  out.   if  i  were  you—   "   the  medic  stopped  momentarily  to  grab  a  chair  and  sat  herself  on  it,  having  the  back  part  of  the  chair  act  as  a  resting  prop  for  her  arms  as  she  folded  them  on  top  of  the  wooden  frame.   "   i'd  be  pissed.   your  base  was  outed  by  the  ones  that  funded  you..  tough  shit,  hm?   it's  up  to  you,  if  you  give  us  the  files—   we  can  bring  you  the  rats.   then  you  can  go  off  scotch  free,   we'll  take  the  blame  for  killing  them.   "

@medzint          ✩           like hell i'd ever tell you, [aloisia glares up at the medic through the sniper veil, a sneer hidden on her face. she lets out shallow breaths, chest rising with each inhale, and falling with the exhales that follow. her arms and wrists are itching to throw a punch at requiem, but alas, a rope and handcuffs restrain her from doing so. she keeps her secrets to her chest despite the aggression, lisa /refusing/ to let any reference of the files' location escape her mouth. it was too dangerous to shy from her mission.] you'll never find them.