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1-ker0sene-1 · 3 months

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The Dead Do Talk

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish / Reader

(Wheelchair User Reader)

Chap1, Chap2, Chap3, Chap4

"Hell and High Water P.1"

Word Count: 4.2k

CW: gunfire, corpse description, threats, wheelchair user slur, car wreck

Getting in the city isn't hard. The roads are cluttered with cars, but most have already been pushed to make way. Johnny's brows furrow at the sights. It isn't like the town. It's not just abandoned and run down. No. It's a fucking disaster. Buildings burned, cars piled up and wrecked. He takes a glance your way, finding you unbothered and only focused on the road ahead.

"This wasn't just the dead-"

The blue eyed man mumbles out.

You shake your head. Forcing yourself to look away from the writhing charred bodies that were in a flipped car, looking over to John instead.

"I know getting shot isn't very pleasant and all-"

Johnny snorts at the comment and shakes his head.

"But.. in a way I think you're lucky. First month was a fuck show to put it lightly."

You mutter. Your hand lifting to pinch the bridge of your nose as you recount it all.

"Riots in the first few weeks.. people were already turning on eachother. The town stayed pretty civil, most people just left. But the city? Fuck.. They tore eachother apart before the dead could. Then when the dead overran?.. the horde earlier is a cake walk compared to this."

Johnny listens quietly with a few nods, brows furrowed together tightly. You're both stressed on this. The best idea is to get through fast. In one end of the city, out the other. He held the steering wheel with white knuckles. You hold your rifle in your lap. You're getting to the more dense parts of the city, no longer skirting the outside streets.

"Ye think they would've dropped a bomb on this place.."

John mumbles under his breath. You watch his expression, the creases under his eyes when he narrows them in focus. You shrug at his words.

"They were focused on getting people out.. besides-"

You look around at the burned buildings.

"The damage was already done."

The two of you spent an hour or so navigating the truck through the streets, having to go around several pile ups of cars. It was painstakingly slow. Every inch of progress was due to a mile of runarounds. Doing the best you can to not have to get out of the truck. Not that Johnny wouldn't carry you through. He just didn't want to risk anything happening to either of you. And you would rather not give him that burden for as long as possible. Johnny can't help but stare in slight frustration at the slight tremble in his hands whenever they stop to check directions.

The pencil shakes just as much as he does when it's between his fingertips. Letting out a grunt as he tried to drag a simple straight line across the page. He can feel your eyes on him. The two of you were shacked up in a small bedroom of a house, a week into your travels together. Laying on your side, Johnny just barely a foot away in his own sleeping bag. Despite your disapproval, most of the blankets were wrapped around you.

"You alright?"

You mumble out to him. He nods shortly. Before letting out a tsk and putting the journal and pencil aside next to the lantern between the two of you.

" 'm fine bon.. Just- fuckin' tired of not bein' tha same."

The scott grumbles.

"My aim too."

He scoffs in disappointment with himself.

You raise a brow but smile a little.

"Gunshot to the head and you're mad your hands shake? .. You're gonna be okay John.. you just got back on your feet maybe a week ago. Give your body some time. Besides, you miss a shot? I'll be there to hit the target with you."

You assure. Leaving him to stare softly at you as you reach over to shut off the lantern. Putting you both in darkness.

"Johnny?"

He blinks out of the memory, looking over at you. You, who taps the map on the next street to go down. Raising your brow at him.

"Still with me?"

You joke.

Johnny nods and puts the truck in gear again, starting to pull forward to the road you pointed out. Letting out a hum of acknowledgment.

"Always hen."

He says simply. Continuing the trip forward.

Rain had started pelting down on the truck, washing over the windows and the windshield. It wasn't too hard to drive through, but it was worrying for the night to come. It was going to be cold. They had previously been lucky with weather, no storms or rain, god help you if it snows this winter. Johnny pulls the steering wheel to the right, the main road was cut off by a wreck. The other direction was blocked by a mess of corpses that had been crushed by pieces of a burned building.

The truck screeches to a stop. You're looking at the map when you hear John's breath hitch in his throat. You look to him first, the way his blue eyes widen, a whole storm brewing in those seas. The way his tan skin pales. Lips parted.

"John..?"

You mutter. Your voice breaks him, instantly pulling the shift back into reverse. A string of curses too fast to understand leaving his mouth. He's looking over his shoulder as he violently pulls the truck back, the tires screech on asphalt. You finally look forward.

A building, alight in flames. Your map drops into your lap. Staring at the massive horde of dead that lingers in front of the fire, drawn by the crackling. One turns, hearing the truck, another.. You can't take your eyes off them, but you hear Johnny calling your name. Until his hand takes your shoulder, giving you a light shake.

"Directions-! Where can we go!?"

Hands feebly grasping at the map, your eyes snap down to find a way out of your situation. That horde was bigger than the one on the highway. One that size could flip the truck with ease. Looking at the map you curse in frustration, shoving it in the duffel next to you. Leaning over you look back with John. Your eyes lock on the writhing mass you avoided before.

"We have to ram through- the other way is blocked."

Johnny glances at you with an open mouth, but he can't bring himself to object when he has no plan of his own. He whirls the truck around, flooring it towards the small barricade of rotten flesh. Even though you're wearing a seatbelt, Johnny's arm outstretches across your stomach to keep you in place. Your hand grips his arm with white knuckles.

First you hear the crunching, the sharp breaking of bones under the mass of the tires. The gargled wails of the dead. You pull in a shaky breath as the tires start to spin out on the mixture of cement and corpses, looking to Johnny to what can only be described as pure panic. Once he sees it on your face his hand bunches the fabric of your shirt in a fist. Looking forward as he pulls in reverse just a couple feet.

"Johnny-"

You blurt. Looking back over the seat. The dead are gaining on you, stumbling together in a crowd towards the back of the truck.

"I know- I know bonnie-!"

The man stresses in return, hollering over the revving of the vehicle. He hammers the gas once again, crunching bones, again. The sound has to be burned into your skull by now. This time, the back tires push through. Sending the truck flying forward down the street. You slump into the seat with a shuttered breath of relief. Still squeezing his arm tight to yourself.

Johnny momentarily glances at you, shrinking with relief as you do. Letting out a deep breath as he talks to you softly now, his fist opening to a palm.

"We're ok- I told ye we'd be-"

"Johnny look OUT-"

You barely get to warn him. Before something slams through the windshield from above. Debris from the withering building in front of you. The truck slams to a stop, hitting the breaks hard, the result of Johns instincts. But it's too late. The slam wrenched his head forward, colliding with the steering wheel. Yours hitting the dash.

Fuck. His head hurts. Johnny's eyes barely flitter open. The throbbing ache just above his brows assaults his brain. His limbs feel impossibly heavy. His temple is pressed to the steering wheel, struggling with himself to come to his senses. You're calling for him, yelling his name, he can see it on your lips. He can only mutter yours in return. You have a knife, you swing- but not at him. Surely not at him.

No. You strike the blade down on a corpse trying to crawl through the window. His ears are ringing. He feels you grip the collar of his shirt, trying to pull him from the driver seat. Undoing his seatbelt. His hearing is coming back, so does his common sense.

"John get up-!"

He looks at you, closing his eyes tightly and opening them again. Taking in the true situation.

"Johnny please! You have to get up-"

They're fucked. His ears have stopped ringing, leaving the sounds of it all to rush on him like a tidal wave. The dead groaning, the rain, the distant fire still crackling, your voice. Your voice is calling for him. You're still driving back the corpses, plunging your blade into any head that peeks into the broken window towards him. Hauling him as much as you could towards yourself, which was merely at least his upper half hanging in the passenger seat with you. You pulled the duffel closer, your rifle on your back.

He's still reeling. Johnny's eyes flicker about the car. What are they going to do? They're going to lose the truck. He has to get you out. You. Fuck he has to get you to safety. He can feel blood running down his temple. Your hands cup his face, guiding his head to look away from the mess and just to you. Only you.

"John. Look at me. Alright?"

Your thumbs gently dig into his jaw, grounding him with the action.

"There's a school. Just a couple blocks. Two blocks away and we're safe. John.. I need you. I need you to get up."

The words seem to snap some sort of unseen band inside him. The scott lurches forward, arms wrapping around your midriff. Hauling both you and himself out the passenger door. You grab the strap of the duffel bag over his shoulder as you both fall from the height of the truck. He grunts as his back collides with the wet pavement, you're on top of him. Providing a familiar weight on his chest that would be comforting in any situation but this one.

"I got ye."

John rasps, pulling himself together for the sake of both of you. Pulling himself to stand steady with you, easing you over his shoulder as he scrambled away from the dead clawing at the other side of the truck. Stay with me bon.. He thinks. Stay with me I'll get you there.

"Two rights Johnny. Just down the street."

You tell him quickly. Raising your rifle to cover the both of you. Johnny steel's himself as the rush begins. He moves forward quickly, shoving past any corpse in his way. Doing his best to simply move past or push them down. The dead are brittle really, a hard shove can send them to the ground long enough to make a run for it. But there is so many.

Corpses in front of him are knocked down, the ones gaining behind are shot down by you. Two blocks. Johnny reminds himself. Not much further. Just another block. He can feel you tensed up. Gritting your teeth as you prop up a little to reload the rifle.

"Last right John."

You tell him between heavy breaths. The rain was pouring down on the both of you, Johnny couldn't differentiate the feelings of the water from the blood rushing down his face.

There it is. The double doors of a highschool building. It looks relatively untouched, or at least the building looks stable. He makes a full sprint towards it, eyes narrowing seeing the metal chains looping between the handles.

"Fucks sake-"

He snarls in frustration. Coming closer, he slips you off his shoulder. Letting you slump into his side, arm tight around your hip to hold you up so you don't crumple beneath the weakness of your legs. Using his free hand to wrench at the chains.

You have your rifle reloaded, going right back to shooting down approaching corpses.

"We don't have much time!"

You warn. The crowd of dead is getting thicker, moving together like a looming cloud. Thunderous constant groans, snapping jaws and blank stares. Never quite looking at you. Just forward with milky orbs.

Johnny pulls the last of the chain out of the handles, tossing them aside. Pushing the door open just enough to slip you and himself inside. Once on the other side of the wood, he whirls around. Throwing his forearms to the doors, pressing them closed. Slamming his knee up against it as well, giving you a little space to sit. John never liked sitting you on the floor. He'd rather use himself as a damn human stool than sit his lass on the ground. He lets out deep breaths, looking over for something to block the doors.

"Alright hen we-"

There's just a moment, where the cock of a shotgun and the click of your rifle goes off at the same time.

His back goes rigid, his jaw flexing in frustration. How many things can possibly go wrong today? He presses himself in front of you, despite your hushed mumble of protest. You prop the rifle carefully on the edge of his shoulder, having a steady aim on the threat.

"You were the ones making a fucking mess out there?"

A hoarse voice calls out with a sharpened scowl. You keep the rifle trained on him, staying quiet. Swallowing thickly as Johnny struggles to keep the doors closed against the dead. The older man, with a round face and a five o'clock shadow, has his own gun trained on John. You did not fucking need this right now.

There's movement behind an overturned desk, in an instant you turn your aim towards it. Now having a middle aged woman in sight, dark curls adorn her head, along with a seemingly deep etched frown. Your aim makes the man bristle.

"Put your gun down girl."

"She dinnae take orders from you."

Johnny growls. You keep your aim where it is. The woman shifts uncomfortably, standing slowly and raising her hands. Her voice is shaky, full of anxiety.

"The dead are going to break through- please- shooting eachother does nothing if we just get torn apart anyways."

She tries to reason, your eyes narrow. The old man grunts.

"They need to get out."

You scoff at such a suggestion.

"We're not going anywhere."

John presses his shoulder to the doors, which seem to breathe inwards with the flux of the corpses shoving against the bending wood. Frustration seeps deep in his aching bones, holding the doors shut he can't do much to defend you. He grunted and managed to grit out.

"His first. Drop it."

"Over my dead body!"

The man snaps, his chest shudders as he lets out a wheezy cough. Johnny sees the way your eyes narrow and turn the gun back to the older man.

"We could do it that way-"

You say bluntly. The other woman let's out a sound of stress, moving to the old mans side. Pressing down on the gun to lower it.

"Please! Please don't. We can help eachother. He can't hold the door much longer."

Johnny watches you glance up at him, worry etched deep in your eyes. No. No hen you're doing fine. He wants to console you. I can keep holding. You look over to a bookshelf in the corner, gesturing to it. Lowering your rifle. You speak to the woman, finding her more reasonable.

"The shelf. If you two push it in front he can let go of the doo-"

The sour man scoffs.

"Why don't you get up and do-"

Johnny hasn't wanted to shoot a living person this badly in a long time. His fists clench against the now splintering wood.

"She can't. Just help for fucks sake."

The scott snaps. But it sends the two strangers into action without much thought into his words. Pushing and dragging the shelf towards the set of double doors.

As soon as the bookshelf is pushed closer, Johnny's arms wind around your waist. Holding you securely to him, your back pressed to his chest as he pulls you away. Letting the man and woman push the shelf in front of the doors, effectively holding them closed. How are they supposed to trust these people? How are they supposed to get the fuck out of the building? Feeling your hand rest on his forearm, his thoughts still. He helps you over to a desk, easing you into the chair, humming softly in response to your mumble of appreciation. But you don't let go of him.

"John you're bleeding."

" 'm fine lass. Dinnae matte-"

"It's your stitches. Of course it matters."

You stress at him, looking up at the scott in alarm. Lifting your hand to start wiping away the blood. You worry so much bonnie.. Johnny sighs at you, taking your hand and putting it back on the rifle.

"When we're safe. We can look at it."

He says, to which you nod. John slings the duffel off his shoulder and onto the desk top. Fuck. That was all the supplies they have now. Your bloody hand taking the rifle as the other two people in the room turn back towards you.

"She really can't get up? She bit?"

The old man questioned with a pointed gaze. Johnny was getting tired of his voice real quickly. You however, just chuckle tiredly.

"Not bitten. Just can't walk-"

The man huffs in disdain.

"So you're a crippl-"

"Disabled. She's a disabled vet."

Johnny corrected sharply with a slight curl like snarl of his lip.

The two men seem to stare at eachother for a moment, Johnny's eyes flare in anger. Those usual calm blues that look at you so softly, now sharp and jagged with ice. The woman across the room nervously pulls her dark curls back from her face, coming over to push on the older man's chest.

"Randall that's enough. please."

Despite her face being more angular and sharp than Randalls, her demeanor is much more gentle. She looks at both you and Johnny with nothing but sympathy.

"I'm sorry about him- .. It's just.. people we have run into haven't exactly been.. Kind."

She tries to put it lightly.

"I'm J, can I ask your names?"

The dead are still by the doors, but now that the group is talking quieter they seem to disperse just slightly. Now that they can't see you, only hearing hushed whispers. But still, it was too dangerous to leave through this exit.

"This is John."

You introduce your sargeant, then yourself after. Johnny still stands close to the desk where you sit, still uneasy in general about these people. He speaks up sternly. He doesn't seem interested in small talk.

"Tha building secure? Been here long?"

J sighs and shakes her head, gesturing over to the hall, which was blocked with stacks of desks and chairs.

"We only ran in here a few hours ago.. the horde has been filtering through the city until they stopped at the fire- .. The hallways and classrooms are full of the dead too."

You let out a sigh, running a hand over your face in frustration. Trapped from both ends. The last thing the both of you wanted today. Johnny pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Cannae do anythin' t'night.. Have ta let tha dead stumble off."

The sargeant mutters under his breath, pulling up a chair to sit next to you. His arm instinctively rests on the back of the chair you sit in.

"And whose fault is that?"

Randall grunts, throwing himself down in a chair across the room. The shotgun resting on his leg. J gives him a look, as if begging him to shut up. Johnny opens his mouth to snap back, but you beat him to it.

"I'd say maybe the corpses? Or y'know- the fact that the world went to shit."

Not giving the old man much attention, you turn your eyes back to your trusted companion.

"We need a plan.. to draw them away in the morning-"

You say to Johnny. But it seems he's paying more attention to your rain covered form, the way you shiver once in a few moments, the way your clothes stick to your skin as they're soaked through. His are wet too, but he can't bring himself to care much. But by the way your eyes rake over him with a frown, you do. Worrying again wee hen?

"John?"

"Aye I know.. we'll figure somethin' out."

You watch as Johnny is shrugging off his jacket, wrapping it around your shoulders. You catch his shoulder before he pulls away, your thumb rubs a circle against his skin.

"Let me take a look at your stitches then.. We have to wait till morning anyways-"

The other two seem to be settling as well, they have a couple backpacks in the corner beside them. The woman, J, seems to dig through one, before pulling out medication for the older man. You turn your head away from them to focus on Johnny. Pulling the duffel bag closer.

"I know I put your painkillers in here.. that little med pack from the gas station last week should be too.."

You mutter to yourself.

The slam to the head seems to be catching up to your soldier, he lifts his hand to brush his fingers against the open wound. Definitely ripped a few stitches, he can see you grimace on his behalf. But you pull out the bottle of pills and a small red bag, ready to work on him.

"Shite is too hectic ta be worryin' bout me hen."

You quirk a brow and chuckle at him.

"Stop making me worry then soldier."

Finding a needle and medical thread, your eyes stay down at the bag. But you can feel Johnny looking at you, with those blue eyes. Thinking too much for his own good, you can already tell.

"Don't give me the look."

" 'm worried lass... 'm worried bout tha city..tha dead.. gettin' ye through.."

"Thought we aren't supposed to be worrying John.."

Grabbing a rag from the duffel, you glance up at Johnny. Meeting his softened icy eyes with your own, the way his brows furrow and lift in worry. You sigh, hand outstretching to carefully grasp his jaw. Your other hand wiping away the blood on the side of his head from his temple. Your thumb brushing over the scar on his chin absentmindedly.

"We're okay."

"The last time I told ye that we ended up in a crash bon... now yer soakin' wet an' shiverin'..."

"We're alive. That's what matters.."

Cleaning up his head, you get to stitching. Unsurprisingly, the man sits like an absolute rock. Letting you stitch up his head. You'd think he'd wince, flinch, shift .. Something. But he stays perfectly still for you, not that you don't see his clenching and unclenching fist on the desk in front of you.

"You know it wasn't your fault Johnny."

He sighs quietly hearing your words.

"I should've been payin' attention. If we dinnae crash.. We could've been outta tha city by now."

You frown at him, still focused on carefully moving the needle through his skin.

"I directed you just as much as you drove.. It's no one's fault. And if it is? I'm just as much to blame."

Your words quiet him, he can't think of a response still blaming himself. You pull the stitches together carefully to close the wound again, using your knife to cut the thread at the end. You reach for a bandage in the red bag. John grunts.

"C'mon now. I dinnae need that-"

"Whine later sargeant. I want these stitches to stay and heal."

You huff in return at him, your hand slips around to the nape of his neck to urge him closer. To which he leans down towards you, letting you wrap the bandage over the stitches securely and around his head.

There's a thud against the double doors, most likely a corpse stumbling into it. All four of you jolt. Randall squeezes his gun, J grasps her bag. Your head snaps to the door, trying to listen to the pairs of footsteps. Johnny, his arm shoots out to grab your own, the pad of his thumb nestled gently to the crook of your elbow. He's ready to grab you at any second, just take you away when things get rough.

You take a deep breath, placing your hand over Johnny's. Still staring at the door despite him still staring at you.

".. We're getting out of the city.. We're just.. On a detour."

John grumbles and looks at the other two in the room with narrowed eyes, before looking back to you with a sigh.

"Ye and yer scenic routes lass.."

{WOO this took WAY too long. But I'm excited. Had to split this into a part two, because let's just say things will not calm down. Johnny's so worried about you, so let's give him something to worry about yeah?}

(tag list: @sadstone-s @lolly145 @mangoguy @kaoyamamegami @waiting-so-long @ikohniik @bossva @kaelyn-lobrutto24 )

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chillychive · 11 months

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Having so much brain rot abt teacher Mumscarian so I’m gonna throw it at you lovely citizens of the inter webs:

- Grian is the part time art teacher who subs a lot at the school.

- Mumbo is the tech teacher who everyone is a little afraid of before they get to know him and realize he’s just a tall, intimidating goofball.

- Scar is an architect who is known for 2 things: Amazing architecture and his cat who he manages to mention in every single conversation regardless of topic. You could be talking to him about geothermal heating and he’d find a way to work in Jellie in something that made complete sense in the moment but was utterly bewildering upon reflection.

I accidentally wrote a fic, so here you go!:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Grian sighed, heading to the main office to check his mailbox after a long day. He passed his sister, Pearl’s desk, on the way and paused.

It was utterly wrecked, piles and piles of papers decorating it. She was so stressed out at dinner last night…

He sat down. She could owe him for this one. He sorted through the papers, finishing the easy ones and making neat piles of the rest.

It was nearly 9 now, he was going to be late for dinner, but he knew Mumbo was finishing up some work- a student had wrecked their project in the rain by accident so he was painstakingly assembling a replica for them so they didn’t fail the class- so he wouldn’t be home for a while, either.

Mumbo’s love for his students was a big part of what Grian loved about him- it was hardly the first time Mumbo had gone far, far out of his way to help one of them- once he actually drove all the way to a student’s house to talk them through a project that would make or break their grade after they called him crying.

Partially to distract himself and partially to annoy Mumbo, Grian pressed the button on the intercom. Everyone would be out of the building by now, so he wasn’t worried about annoying anyone.

“Main office to Mumbo Jumbo, how are you, dearest?”

It only took a couple seconds for Mumbo’s reply. “Grian?! How-“ Grian could hear Mumbo’s smile in his voice, “You almost made me drop the whole project! I’d have to start from scratch!”

Grian laughed. “Sorry…”

“No you’re not.”

“Nope!” Grian grinned into the mic, squinting at the page in front of him. “Did you go to the assembly today?”

“Yep… had to go to the first one and the third.”

“The presenter was so hot.”

Mumbo laughed. “Seriously, the man was way too attractive for his own good.”

“And his cat was the cutest.”

“No, the cutest was how much he loved her.”

Grian grinned. “Okay, you’ve got me there. And his eyes, too.”

“What about them? I wasn’t close enough to see.”

“They were like this really vibrant shade of green- I’ve literally never seen someone with that color eyes before- and it perfectly complemented his suit too- I wondered about the maroon until I saw his eyes…”

Grian slowed his ramble, and Mumbo clearly noticed but didn’t say anything.

“Anyway, yeah, he was so hot.”

Mumbo laughed. “I’m nearly done here, but I have a lot of clean up to do, so I’m gonna go for a bit.”

“Okay! I’m just tidying in the office, so I’ll be here when you’re done.”

“Love you, Gri.” Mumbo said over the intercom, and Grian grinned, turning it off with a quick “Love you too.”

—-

Grian had finished cleaning Pearl’s desk and had moved on to his own papers when he was interrupted by the door opening.

“Ready to head home, babe?” He asked, not looking up.

Someone cleared their throat. “Sorry, just wanted to let you know I’m leaving…”

Well that definitely wasn’t Mumbo. Grian looked up.

“Oh.” His face was definitely burning. “I- sorry, can I help you?”

The man in front of him- a taller guy in a wheelchair, wearing a maroon suit with a cat snuggled into his lap. Grian drew his eyes up to his face, which was currently doing it’s best to color match the suit, to meet those startling green eyes.

“I’m Scar.” The man offered, rolling toward the desk. “Do I need to sign anything or can I just go?”

Scar’s voice was smooth, but his red face betrayed how flustered he was.

“Nope!” Grian squeaked.

“Hear that, Jellie? Time to go.”

Grian watched Scar’s rapidly retreating chair, cursing his bravery for what he was about to do. “Wait! There is something I need you to sign.”

Scar’s head turned quickly. In moments, he was in front of the desk again. Grian shoved the paper he had just written at him.

Scar read it, eyebrows raised. “This is a… non-disclosure agreement?”

“So you don’t tell everyone about what you overheard.” Grian explained, blushing.

Scar’s face stretched into a classic salesman smile. “Oh, but what if I want to tell someone?” He rolled closer. “I can think of a few things I’d like to say.”

Grian, stupidly, raised his chin at this. “Oh yeah?”

“How about, ‘Are you single?’” Scar asked, equally confident.

Grian frowned, pretending to ponder the question. He leaned forward, face inches from Scar’s. “I suppose that wouldn’t be a breach of contract…”

“Perfect.” Scar breathed. Grian started to lean in. Scar sat back in his chair, teasingly. “And what about the other fine fellow on the line? Would it be imprudent to ask about him as well?”

“Oh, not at all!” Grian grinned, sitting back in his seat. “In fact, I could call him right now, see if he has any objections to our little contract.”

“I think that would be quite appropriate.”

Grian turned on the intercom. “Mumbo Jumbo to the main office?” He turned it off again, leaving no room for Mumbo to protest.

“And now, would it be a breach of contract to suggest, say, dinner?” Scar asked, eyes gleaming.

“Actually, Mumbo and I are going for dinner soon… any objections to Thai?”

“That sounds amay-zing!”

It was that moment that Mumbo walked into the main office, tugging a backpack on wheels behind him. Mumbo stopped in the doorway seeing Scar. Behind Scar’s back, he mouthed to Grian “He’s been here the whole time?!”

“Ready to go?” Grian replied, standing and gathering his things. “We have a date.”

“Sorry, what?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#after this they all went to go get dinner and then got together for real and then got married yadda yadda #also jimmy was in the school the entire time finishing up some stuff in PE and he heard the entire thing #he hasn’t been able to look at any of them normally since #mumscarian #teacher au #hermitcraft #hermitshipping #Characters not ccs #not rpf #mumbo jumbo #teacher mumbo jumbo #grian #teacher grian #goodtimeswithscar #gtws jellie #architect gtws #architect Goodtimeswithscar #mumbo and grian are NOT immune to the good times #misuse of intercoms

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outfromthesmokestack · 1 year

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Concept #5 (+18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT)

CW: Male Yandere x Gender neutral reader, penetrative sex, love bombing, use of "I love you"s during sex, obsessive behavior, we just jump straight into it, pet names (baby)

The two of you were naked under the covers, his hand was previously toying with your sex, working on getting you ready. You lied right below him, completely at the mercy of his tongue down your throat as he held your hands captive above your head.

"You ready, baby? I'm gonna put it in now." Using one hand, he adjusted himself.

"yeah," you breathed out, "just go slow, okay? It's been a while since we've done this."

"God, it HAS been a while," he rubbed himself over your entrance, teasing himself. "I missed you." He kissed your cheek. "So much.."

He sheathed the entirety of himself inside you in one thrust.

"Ah!" You cried out, the burn surprising you. "I told you to go slow!"

His head fell to your shoulder, still reeling from the new sensation. He groaned, "I'm so sorry, I thought I was going slow." He stilled himself inside to not only give you a chance to adjust, but to ensure he wasn't going to blow his load immediately.

You shifted around, and when you felt comfortable, you squeezed him, "Okay, go ahead."

He never pulled out completely, he made sure to keep at least 2 thirds of himself inside at all times, not wanting to be separated. With discipline, his pace was moderate. Neither of you had the energy for jack hammering but he didn't want to go painstakingly slow. He let go of your hands in favor of wrapping his arms around you, and you did the same, pressing your chests together. The two of you let out moans and sighs, and the room was filled with the sounds of your love making.

"I love you." He whispered into your skin like a prayer.

Without thinking, you told him, "I love you more."

"No.. No you don't.." he raised himself up to face you, his pace showing. "Look at me," he grabbed your face by the jaw and forced eye contact onto you. "The things I would do for you. The things I would do to you," he snapped his hips into yours for emphasis, "The way you occupy my mind.. The way you're my only reason for breathing.. You can say you love me, but you can NEVER say you love me more than I love you because it doesn't even come close. You don't understand.. you don't understand how much you mean to me..."

You were speechless, not really sure what to say to that sudden declaration. You placed a hand on the back of his head and buried your fingers in his hair. "Relax, baby. Kiss me."

And without hesitation, he met your lips and fought your tongue while he continued his pace, more frantic now.

#oc x reader #reader insert #soft yandere #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere x you #gender neutral reader #vague yandere #yandere imagines #male yandere #yandere smut

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snakebites-and-ink · 4 months

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Whumpuary #3: Used as bait / Stumbling / "This is gonna hurt" + #4: "Help me" / Lightheaded / Kneeling

CW: Chase, overexertion, failed escape, manhandling

Whumpee ran through the underbrush, desperately pushing their aching and weakened body to keep going. They couldn’t rest yet.

Whumper was on their tail. Whumpee had a head start, but they weren’t sure how big it was. All they knew was that this was their chance to get away, and they weren’t likely to get another one anytime soon.

Underbrush hit at Whumpee’s legs as they dashed through it. They paid no heed to the sting and pushed on. They panted for breath, their blood pounding in their ears as their feet pounded on the ground. Still they ran. There would be no respite until they were out of Whumper’s reach.

They tripped on a half-exposed root and nearly lost their footing. They managed to keep from falling, and regained their pace.

Whumpee kept running. After a while, they realized they were flagging and sped up again. They couldn’t afford to slow down. Whumper knew this area; they lived in it. Staying ahead was Whumpee’s only advantage.

It didn’t take long before their stride became less steady. They were pushing themself too hard. They grimaced and kept going anyway; they didn’t have a choice.

Their lungs burned and their legs became unstable as they battled with fatigue. Whumpee stumbled, then scraped their hand as they caught themself. It was so tempting to just stay there and rest a moment, but they didn’t have the time. They pushed off of a tree and forced themself onward.

Not long after, they were stumbling again. They lost their footing, well and truly this time, and fell to the ground. They painstakingly stood back up with a groan. As they leaned against a tree, bracing themself to keep going, they heard a sound behind them that definitely wasn’t from the local wildlife.

“Whumpee.”

No. Dread washed through them. They already knew whose voice it was, but Whumpee still turned to look as Whumper emerged from the trees. They were breathing hard, too, but not as hard as Whumpee. It made sense: Whumper was healthier and knew the terrain. The logic didn’t make it any less disheartening, though.

The chase was over. Whumpee was in no condition to get away from Whumper now that they’d caught up. Whumpee looked out into the trees, for a moment entertaining the idea of running anyways, before slumping in defeat. Their knees hit the dirt almost before they knew what they were doing.

The show of submission might earn them a modicum of lenience. Not much, but Whumpee was willing to take any chance to make their impending situation slightly less awful.

Whumper fixed them with a stony glare, looking very displeased. Whumpee cringed and broke eye contact.

“You are in a whole lot of trouble.” Whumper walked over to where Whumpee was kneeling and roughly pulled them to their feet. Whumper held Whumpee in a vice-like grip, fingers digging into them.

Whumpee didn’t say anything back. They knew it would be pointless to ask for mercy.

Whumper kept Whumpee in a painful hold all the way back to Whumper’s house. Back to everything Whumpee had hoped to escape from. Hot tears welled in their eyes as freedom slipped further out of reach.

#Took an extra day on this one because it wasn't one of the ones I'd pre-written and it ended up being my longest whumpuary piece yet #This is not the end of these characters' story #whumpuary2024 #whumpuaryno3 #whumpuaryno4 #stumbling #kneeling #chase #overexertion #failed escape #recapture #I'm kind of unsure where to draw the line between failed escape and recapture so I'm just tagging both to be safe #manhandling #threats #original fic #whump #whump writing #my posts #my writing

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simiansmoke · 1 year

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Slow Burn- DKxMario - 🐒🔧

There were plenty of activities DK enjoyed publicly: racing, bench pressing coconut trees, doing that armpit fart thing around Dad, and kicking Mario's ass. As boisterously insufferable the Kong was at times, he occasionally needed some decompression. Mostly to recharge his insufferable battery points.

Having broken through a thick layer of jungle after he had traversed out of Kong city, DK squinted at the sun in the clearing as it greeted him on his way out of the dark cover of tropical foliage. The sight that awaited him made him grin, and after flattening himself low to the ground, he tore across the field of yellow, red, and orange petals all thrumming with their internal heat.

All of the fire-flowers he disturbed lost their flames like dandelion seeds and proceeded to float away, save for the wisps DK landed on when he stopped abruptly to fall over in a pile of the warm plants. Once the wave of their floating flames passed by, he was left sunken into the remaining stems and flameless petals with a fur coat colored more cherry-mahogany than chestnut, and the tips of his fur tinged snow white.

From up on a brick sky block that sat minding its own business defying gravity, Mario had also been at ease with winding down from a day of platforming practice with the princess. Imagine his surprise when he saw the lovely plot of fire-flowers spread almost as far as the eye could see from the aerial training ground in the tropics.

Hearing the commotion below of plants being demolished like a dog loose in a garden with a bone to bury, Mario rolled over on his sunbathing perch and lowered his sunglasses to observe the scene below. Just DK being unwittingly destructive as usual. Understandable.

Once the Kong had come to a stop to lay in the field, Mario couldn't help but snort at the sight of the big guy (big HEADED mostly) co-existing somewhat peacefully with petals of all things. "You ah...come here often?" The casual remark came with a casual wave.

DK had since closed his eyes to zone out for a bit and get comfy. Too bad he kept hearing something that sounded like an Italian menace. "Sheesh, I feel bad for whatever poor, stupid animal out there that has a voice like Mario's-"

"Hey, now. That'sa fuckin' rude. You know I'm up here, right?"

A sigh escaped DK as he painstakingly opened an eye to scan the sky for Mario's block. "Wish I didn't. I'm trying to chill, dude. And you're the last person that's gonna do that for me."

"...you're in a field of literal fire flowers, DK. I doubt there's any chill down there."

"No, no there's not. Because I have zero chill for you, and you're inconveniently here so - thanks for that."

Eyes rolling, Mario lifted a hand as if to figure out the weight of the simian's unspoken request. "...you want me to leave...?"

"Nah." Positioning his arms behind his head as a cushion, DK took to examining the various platform objects in the sky like a cloud-watcher might. "Stay up there where I don't have to see you."

The glove was the last thing DK would see of the menace for a while, and it was wrapped into a fist with the middle finger extended. A silent remark.

DK chuckled at the sight before settling in for his nap.

Once he had rested his eyes enough to not be in such a pissy mood, DK lurched up after discovering a trail of saliva hanging off his chin that was threatening a trembling fire-flower. With a stretch and a back arch and a shake, he looked up to see if there were any signs of Mario still being up there. "Hey, Mushroom Breath! You still up there?" When no response came, DK cracked his knuckles. "Huhuhu...guess you don't mind if I cheeeeck."

And with that, he fired several beams of fire towards the block above him, heating the bottom of it until it glowed red.

"Mmmhm...whatsa smellin' so good? Mama's cookin'..." Mario mumbled, still blissfully napping. That was until the block started cooking him a little. Once he noticed that unfortunate fact, he was still halfway asleep and twisting around to try and find a nice cold spot on his bed of choice. By the time he woke up, released an Italian-tinted yelp and rolled himself off the block, Mario saw the ground just moments before he hit it-...

...well, his hat hit it. Wide eyed, he spun slowly to observe the upside-down world he woke up to. Yeah, it definitely was not like that before he had nodded off.

"Gettin' too much sun up there, dude? You're lookin' cooked." DK grinned, holding Mario by the foot and dangling him over the ground from a catch well-made. "Wanna cool off? I know this place in town. Serves some decent banana beer." Mostly, he just wanted one himself. He also wouldn't have hated it if Mario came along and got into a barfight for him to watch, so...there was that.

"...suuure? Wait a minute, did you just-"

"Alrightlet'sgo!" He didn't give Mario enough time to put two and two together about the plumber's mysterious tumble.

It didn't take long to arrive at the tiki-style shack; DK didn't want the journey through the monster filled jungle to take long, so he opted to sling a still dazed Mario over his back so he could gallop with all his frontal strength. Doing so also made a fun game of trying to knock Mario off and threatening him with a "if you fall off, I'm not coming back to get you!"

"Whatsa this place?" Mario wondered, glad to have his feet back on the ground (well, wooden planks) after that still half-asleep rodeo. The shack had a sign attached to its reeds with the word Mangoes Go Home painted on it. The g was backwards though.

DK wasted no time in barging in past the beads hanging on strings in the doorway, but he emerged a second later with the aquamarine nodules resting on his shoulders and spilling around him, an inquisitive smile on his face. "You comin'?"

They found their way inside the dimly-lit shack. Ocean-colored lights lit the space and gave it an underwater feel. Now this was a place one could "chill".

Mario followed closely behind DK, not sure where they were headed until the Kong chose a seat at the bar on the far end. There was actually already a glass of piss colored foam on the table in front of DK. Must have been a regular...regular and royally treated.

"One more down here!" DK waved to the bartender, a Kong with too many tattoos of eels on his calves. When the glass slid down, Mario reached out with a fumble to stop it from smashing against the wall, but DK's large goalie of a hand made it come to a stop and he nudged it forward with a snort at his company's lack of finesse when it came to grabbing fresh pours.

"Careful now. You're still all out of sorts from all that sun exposure." DK teased, eagerly knocking back the drink in front of him. Banana beer was just that...wheaty and sweet, and the perfect ending to a day spent slouching any responsibilities.

Mario observed the Kong with a hint of distaste and curiosity, he turned his attention to the perspiring glass in his glove. It wasn't...an ugly tint? Well, the lighting around the bar helped out too. Made it seem like he was sipping the bluest of sea water. Foam soaked the plumber's mustache as he sighed. "...ok. I think I need to come here instead of the mushroom juice bar with Toad." Sorry, Toad. No hard feelings.

"Hah! They suckered you into going there? I'd feel sorry for you, but uh..." DK mused while dipping his tongue in and out of his drink, partaking slowly.

"Yeahyeah. You love when I'm suffering. Tell me something I don't already know."

"OK, well...you're a loser, for one thing..."

Twilight shifted to night time as the two mused back and forth, enjoying one cold banana beer after the other.

As the night progressed (as well as the pints), the stiff conversations between them more than 'just relaxed'. Let's just define 'relaxed' as melt into a pile of goo and then mix together in a incoherent manner. There's a word for that. It's "messy".

"Oh MAN." DK sniggered while swaying a little too far from his seat into Mario's, threatening to knock the pint-sized plumber off his perch mid-sip.

"Ah-aha, whatsa mattuh with you?" With a new fresh stain of banana beer on his collar from the sudden slam of his unusual drinking buddy's flank, Mario decided he had enough liquid courage to butt the simian back in his place even though the bar had mostly emptied and it wasn't like he couldn't have just moved over to the empty seat beside him.

"No like...for REAL." There were words to this admission, but DK seemed to love taking his time finding them at the pace of a snail. At "real", he slammed his hand down on the stretch of table between them and almost caused the stain on Mario's collar to become a drenched shirt. "REAL-LY, REAL-LY, REAL talk, bro." Ignoring how the plumber busied himself with positioning his glass away from the table antics, DK leaned in with a brightness to his gaze that beguiled his current intent to make a mess. "You. Piss me off...SO BAD." Without a hint of venom thanks to the flavor of wheat and banana hops, DK's words linger briefly before he leans over to dip his tongue into Mario's drink.

"Hey-hey-hey!" Once the pink appendage penetrated the fresh beer foam, Mario jerked slightly and half-heartedly swatted the behemoth back with his gloves meeting Kong snout. "That'sa MY foam." With a slurred grumble, Mario slides his companion the side-eye around his flushed cheeks. Beer sweats and a tropical climate...what a combination. "If you don'ta cut that out, I'll remember when you'ah thirsty and send you to dip that into the latrine."

"Aww, you're no ffffun." DK laughed, elbowing Mario's shoulder...or at least what he thought was his shoulder because Kong were a lot taller than Mario was. Instead the shoulder struck the plumber's hat and knocked it off somewhere. "Oh man, though...my FACE."

"Yeaha we know. It'sa ugly." There's foam in his mustache after he finishes a swig. The banana beer... it's pretty good like DK said.

"-nooo...Prick." The Kong cackles, finding some humor in the burn despite also wanting to slap Mario off his chair at the same time, DK spins slightly in his and reaches up to press his knuckles against his own cheek. "My face is so HOT. Yes, literally and figuratively."

Mario glanced over to inspect the Kong's cheeks as they circled by. Indeed, they were fairly red. Almost as red as his get-up. "...congratulations?"

"For REAL..." DK stopped suddenly mid-spin to lean in uncomfortably close to the plumber's face and tilt his head to bare his cheek. "Feel."

"Uhm." With a hair of curiosity buried somewhere in his mustache, Mario entertained his company by placing a hand on the soft peach fuzz that made up the lawn of DK's cheek.

"Huhuhu, you're so stupid, dude." Fingers curled around the plumber's wrist, guiding it up to both their gazes. "You're wearing gloves, idiot." Apparently that was the funniest thing since K. Rool got hit by a go kart, because the Kong has to catch his breath between snorts. "Here." Trying again, DK squeezes the wrist he'd seized and leans in again to press the heat of his face against Mario's. Cheek to cheek, he butts his head forward to roll around and singe all sides of his company's face.

"DK--ah!" With the Kong's softer portion of face fussing over his, Mario wondered if the heat being shared with him had gotten a little warmer than when it had arrived.

"Oh yeah, if you think that's hot..." He grinned crookedly, scratching the hair of his eyebrow against Mario's for a moment. "I had the fireflower salad and now I can't feel my mouth." As if to demenstrate the fact, DK rolls his face forward again to maybe singe Mario on the nose with his lips. Instead, they lock with his bar buddy's mouth and smolder for a quiet moment.

Blue eyes widened and Mario reached up to slap a gloved hand onto the side of the Kong's other cheek to try and shove some space between those actually very spicy lips and his. "Bu-..urns!"

That was all DK need to start playing a game of keeping his jalapeno seed flavored lips in the vicinity of Mario's. The fight began.

With a powerful dash and shove, Mario had slammed the Kong back off of their seating and into a nearby wall decorated with banana peels (courtesy of the Kong owned establishment). "Mm-mmh!" He protested, fingers curling into the wrists of his opponent that also grappled him.

In turn, DK shoved back with a lot more momentum, keeping their lips raging together, he slammed Mario up onto the bar, knocking several bottles of jungle flower liquor helter skelter and smashed to pieces on the floor. Feeling the wet hair of Mario's beer drenched mustache, DK lazily licks to claim his share and doesn't mind when his tongue breeches the Italian-laced parting between Mario's lips, sliding along his front teeth once.

At this point the Kong's lips had begun to cool, but it didn't quite stop Mario from slashing at DK's cheeks as he had with his cat claws. Declawed, his batts went unnoticed as DK broke briefly for air and hovered over his rival's face, a small section of spittle nested in the corner of his mouth like the mirror image of one of his exposed canines. "Hah...had enough?"

It was the smug, half-inebriated taunt that convinced Mario it was much better to deny DK the satisfaction of defeating him in some way. Though defeat might have been a wiser option, given the random assortment of ethanol seeping into his shirt and DK still rocking the cherry-mahogany coat of a fire Kong. "-aha...you callin' that a'spicy?" Maybe the drinks Mario had already partaken in were a balm against insufferability, because he settled in the vapors rising around him in favor of grabbing hold of the red tie dangling above him. Spilled liquor perfumed the humid air with hints of coconut flower and deep grove vine nectar. Heady, Mario yanked the big lug's head closer and patronizingly patted his cheek. "...like a bell pepper." And as if to prove his assessment of the heat spectrum, he presented the Kong's mouth with a petty peck.

The glint of 'oh yea?' was still distinguishable in DK's half glassy gaze, but he was sure that point came across wordlessly anyway when he stubbornly rocked back into the princess-peck with the power and the gaul of an ocean wave eager to dunk a show-off in front of his girl.

Bell pepper, huh? Clearly hadn't given him the full taste of fire Kong. When he felt his tie tug him further forward, DK found little elsewhere to go. Even shoving one of Mario's legs hanging off the bar so that he could settle in with his midriff against the counter-top didn't seem like the distance demanded by the tightening noose. When he thought he might have found more room, his tongue grazed teeth again. So, he did what only a smash monkey could do and with a great hand twisted into the front of his company's shirt, quickly lifted Mario about maybe an inch or two off the table before slamming him back down.

"Pah!?" The protest is met the same thievous tongue that had stolen Mario's beer foam.

Sure that he would impart some real heat to Mario's poor tastebuds, DK enjoyed torturing the warm pocket. His larger canines clacked against Mario's with each roll of his head. A swarm of jungle hornets buzzed around in his chest and grew more and more agitated when Mario found some hair on his head to curl his fingers around and show off a grip strength that could end in a bald spot with any sudden moves.

A sound from within the pinned plumber vibrates along and passes into DK's lips. It's the soft vibration that convinced DK the spice on his lips had finally worn off, and with that realization, he retracted his tongue, but not after answering the unintelligible sound with one of his own to the back of Mario's throat.

A few deep breaths seemed to bring the Kong back to a slightly sobering setting. "I-...uh." Now faced with a newly reddened one that might need another cooling off battle, DK only stumbled back when Mario reached out to lay his glove flat against the simian's pulse. "J-just..." Noting the ravaged scene of broken bottles and overturned chairs, DK glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was actually around before he galloped for the door. "Tell them it's on my tab! All the fucked up shit too!"

Sitting up slowly, Mario watched as DK clambered out into the night, his lips pulsing with the spice of whatever spicy ass food the Kong had used as lip balm. "Mama mia."

#PG - 13 #//ur welcome degenerates #//i wrote my veryfirst fanfic and its marioxdk yIKES #mariokong #donkey kong #mario #monkey wrench #kongario #super marios bros #super mario bros movie #super mario movie #mario movie #mario x dk #dk x mario

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lurkingshan · 10 months

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On the one hand, that ep was a lot of fun until about the last 10 minutes.

On the other hand, I found most of it supremely emotionally unsatisfying and it left me feeling quite unfulfilled. You can’t spend 10 weeks painstakingly building a slow burn with deep emotional complications and then just snap your fingers, say the characters are magically on the same page now, and speed run months of their relationship in 45 minutes so you can get right back to the angst.

Tee Bundit, you and me are gonna have words.

#sigh #at least jeng was finally happy!#step by step #thai bl #shan shouts into the void

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comicaurora · 2 years

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Hello Red! I'm happy to say you've inspired me to start drawing comics, but the biggest issue I've encountered is that it takes actually forever. I'm always really happy I did it when I'm done but it's hard to convince myself to start when I know a couple panels is gonna take me days. So I was wondering if you had any advice regarding streamlining the process for time efficiency or keeping up motivation for long projects, and, if you remember, how long a page took you when you first started vs how long it takes now?

Hoo boy. Yeah, I can help out with that. The very first page of the comic took me, if I'm recalling correctly, a full week. No other projects or pages, just this.

A lot of work went into details that are frankly impossible to see, though I am still glad I did it, both as a learning experience and because I felt like I owed it to Vash to do it some justice before I squished it in twelve pages.

Hell, if you look closely, you can even see the cavalcade of little visual errors I missed because I didn't have it in me to do a seventeenth cleanup pass after a week straight of drawing tiny houses. Getting faster meant I'd have more energy left to polish the pages and get them looking nicer.

The process of getting faster has been kind of a fits-and-starts situation. Drawing that many humanoid figures over and over again eventually means you just get better at the parts you're less sure of, so the process of lining the pages has gotten rather faster since I don't need to burn as much time getting the character poses and lines right. Currently, depending on page complexity, I can fairly consistently get 3-5 pages fully lined in one night. Backgrounds have also gotten faster, and I tend to do those in large batches, sometimes filling out entire chapters with location backgrounds and skyboxes because the scene location isn't going to change and that makes it easier to keep it consistent.

Initially my backgrounds were both more complicated and worse-looking, which is a bad combination.

I ended up deciding between chapters that painstakingly lining a bunch of background trees probably wasn't worth the effort, and worked on finding a shortcut that would work better. I ended up doing something a little more lineless, a shortcut I initially discovered because I didn't want to plug in my drawing tablet and was playing around with things I could do with just my trackpad.

It was simpler, faster, not too jarring, and it meant my clearly-lined foreground figures were more naturally visually separated from the distant background. Win-win-win.

For the style of coloring I do, I tend to shade before I add color, though this is a shortcut I didn't figure out until something like chapter 6. This process is also pretty fast, all things considered, though I've had a lot of practice doing this kind of cel shading which is why I can hammer out a lot of pages' worth of shading quite quickly.

I like working in batches of about one scene, often broken up into subgroups of 4-6 pages at a time, so I can't give a front-to-back turnaround for an individual page - but I also think this kind of assembly-line process has sped up the process overall and makes it more fun for me, because I can storyboard basically as far in advance as I want to, which in turn makes it easier for me to motivate myself to keep going, because I know there's all kinds of good stuff I'm looking forward to drawing down the line. There's some good shit I'm excited for in Chapter 21, and bursts of enthusiasm on the storyboard end of things often translate to enthusiasm on the page-finalizing end which makes it easier to slog through even the tedious bits.

As a bonus, working ahead means the story's got a better chance of making sense and having good pacing when it's read back as an archive. Another win-win.

Overall the greatest optimization tool I can recommend is just working on the project. There's no better way to identify the parts that feel unnecessarily slow and could be changed, or the parts of your art you're unsure of that need polish to get more speedy. If you're planning on publishing the comic anywhere, I recommend building up a buffer beforehand - something like the first chapter (or in my case, first three chapters) will give you a very good sense of what parts need more practice or improvement as you move forward. And it is genuinely easier to motivate yourself to continue if you have an audience giving you positive feedback and/or panicking at what you're doing to their darlings.

#asks #art stuff #writing stuff

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punchdrunkdoc · 1 year

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Chapter 9

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

——————

CHAPTER 9

For the hundredth time since finding the note, Matt brushed his thumb over the bumps, reading the missive again and again:

Thank you Matthew.

Three simple words.

Not the most verbose message he’d ever received. Nor the most life-altering.

But it was written in Braille.

Painstakingly rendered…just for him.

Calina had, once again, taken the time to relate to him on his level. To share his world in a small way.

And as he ‘read’ the words again - appreciating as he did so the effort and skill involved in free-styling such a message - he pondered the mystery of Calina Balashova.

He didn’t know what to make of her.

When he’d first met her, he’d thought her cold. Beautiful…but aloof. Unfriendly.

But then, in a moment of vulnerability on a star-canopied rooftop, she’d given him a glimpse of the hurt that haunted her. On their walk from the library, she’d shown her thoughtfulness. And last night, she’d let down her guard and babbled about physics while sipping on hot chocolate, her face lighting up with each taste of the drink.

He’d started the night so suspicious of her - and with good reason, given the bruises on her body and the smell of a weapon on her hands. But by the end, he’d laid down on his bed less than a dozen feet from her, and slept soundly.

So soundly that he hadn’t heard her leave.

He turned the note over in his hands, playing with the small scrap of paper, the final clue that his initial impression of her had been so completely off-base. With this small but meaningful act of gratitude she had shown herself to be caring. Considerate.

And skilled in Braille.

How the hell did she know Braille?

And where had she really been the past week?

What had she been doing?!

Matt groaned, and flung the note onto his desk.

“You alright”? Foggy called out from his office.

“Yeah,” Matt replied. “Just…”

“What?” Foggy’s voice was closer now. Matt looked up to see him standing in the doorway of his office. “Is it the case?”

“Huh?”

Foggy gestured to Matt’s ear. And Matt realised the transcript of the police interview was still playing through the headphone in his right ear. The droning voice had been easy to tune out as his thoughts had strayed to the woman who confounded him.

Matt yanked out the earpiece and dropped it onto the desk. “No. Sorry. I’m just distracted this morning.”

“Is it Calina? Is she still missing?”

“Actually no. She came home last night.”

“Really?” Foggy sat in the chair opposite Matt’s desk. “Did you speak to her?”

“Yeah. She said she was on vacation.”

Foggy smiled. “Well there you go. I told you it would be something normal like that.” He frowned. “Unless she was lying…”

“She was,” Matt said. “But I couldn’t tell.”

“What do you mean?”

Matt got to his feet and paced the small space between his desk and his window, hands on his hips. “I mean that she can lie to me, Foggy. Her heartbeat doesn’t change, her breathing is steady, there’s nothing. No sign that she’s lying, but she is. I know it.”

“Are you sure, Matt-”

“She was covered in bruises, Fog. She’d been strangled, and stabbed. What kind of a vacation is that?”

“Holy shit, are you serious?”

“Yes. She said she cut herself on some glass, but she’d been stabbed. She lied straight to my face.”

“I repeat: holy shit. What are you gonna do?”

Matt huffed out a laugh. “I have no fucking idea.”

“You could go to the police,” Foggy suggested.

“And tell them what, exactly? My new neighbour is hiding something, just don’t ask me how I know?”

Foggy grimaced. “Yeah, okay. Police are out.” He slouched down in the chair and rested his head on the back, staring up at the ceiling as he thought through the options.

Matt continued his pacing. But he only managed a few steps before the main office door opened, and the scent of leather, denim and whiskey announced an unexpected visitor: Jessica Jones

“Hello?” she called out.

“In here,” Matt answered in surprise.

Foggy sat up straight again. “Who is it?,” he whispered.

Jessica answered herself as she entered the now cramped office. “Hey, Foggy.”

Foggy eyed her warily. “Hey,” he said in return.

Jessica leaned against the wall, and looked around Matt’s office. “I like your new place. Almost as shitty as mine.”

“Did you just come here to insult us, or is there another reason…?” Foggy asked.

“I was out on a job this morning and happened to pass by Matt’s apartment - where I discovered that the prodigal neighbour had returned.” She turned to face Matt. “So I came here to ask, ‘what the hell?’ and ‘why didn’t you tell me?’”

“Sorry. She came back late last night. I was going to call you.”

“Well even though I wasn’t the one to find her, I’m still going to bill you for my hours.”

He smiled. “Understood.”

“Wait,” Foggy said, holding up a hand. “You hired a private investigator?”

Jessica pointed to Matt as she replied. “Your guy over here dresses in a ridiculous costume to go beat up criminals, but hiring a PI is your ethical red line?”

Foggy ignored her. “Its just not your usual style, Matt-”

“My style didn’t work out so well for me in the past. I’m trying something new. We’re swamped with this trial prep, Fog. I thought delegating some grunt work would free me up to help out more. No offence, Jessica.”

She shrugged. “None taken. ‘Grunt’ is my middle name.”

“I’m sorry,” Foggy replied, sounding abashed. “I appreciate that, Matt.”

“There’s also…” Matt began.

“What?” Foggy asked.

Matt glanced at Jessica, unsure about sharing something personal in front of her. But he knew he could trust her, and it wasn’t like she was entirely unaware of his past. “You know I don’t have the best history. With, um, women. I was worried that I couldn’t be impartial when it came to her. To Calina.”

“Because you are attracted to her,” Foggy groaned. "Matt!"

Matt held his hands up. “I’m not going to pursue anything. I’m just being honest. New style, remember?”

“What’s the big deal?” Jessica asked. “I’ve seen this chick. Half of New York would be attracted to her.”

“Like Matt said, his track record sucks. You met Elektra, right?”

“Oh yeah,” she sneered. “I met her. But what makes you think Calina is anywhere on her level? Just because she disappeared for a few days-”

“Its a little more than that,” Matt said. He explained the discrepancies in her story. Her fight training. And the bruises and wounds from last night.

Jessica whistled. “Wow. Girl’s got secrets.” She shook her head. “But I still don’t peg her as shady. I watched her for a while this morning and she didn’t strike me as some criminal in hiding. She grabbed a coffee from that place on 10th, stopped to pet a dog on her way home, then helped one of your neighbours with their shopping. Not exactly nefarious.”

“It could all be an act,” Foggy suggested.

“Even with no one watching? Or at least, no one that she was aware of?” Jessica countered. “I could keep following her,” she offered. “See if she slips up.”

Matt considered the idea. It was the logical option. The prudent thing to do, to allay his suspicions.

But it felt…wrong…somehow.

Because he liked Calina.

Despite all the evidence of her lies and deceit - and the very real possibility that she was involved in something illegal - he liked her. That’s what he’d realised last night. And a part of him knew it was hypocritical to investigate her behind her back, when he knew how he’d feel if she did the same to him.

“No,” he eventually replied. “Thanks, but no. I’ll think of something else.”

“Fair enough,” Jessica said, pushing off from the wall. “But if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

As she left, Foggy got to his feet. “Time to get back to the grind.” But he paused on the threshold, turning back at Matt. “You know, there is one way to find out what she’s hiding.”

“What’s that?” Matt asked.

“Become her friend. Prove to her that she can trust you. Then just…ask her.”

———

The rest of the day passed quickly as they planned the witness list for their upcoming trial. The latter was a parade of people willing to testify that Margaret Posen - the woman who'd snapped and shot a stranger to death - was a kind, gentle soul who taught knitting classes at a halfway home for women fleeing domestic violence.

She'd been a DV victim herself; she still had a restraining order out against her ex-husband and carried a gun in her bag at all times for protection. But she'd never so much as threatened anyone with it, let alone fired it. She was a fine, upstanding citizen, according to everyone who knew her. A paragon of virtue. No one could understand why she had done what she had.

No one...except Matt.

A few weeks ago he had asked Brett to give Nelson, Murdock & Page a heads up if any strange cases came through the precinct - particularly those that involved out-of-character violence that was either self-destructive or just generally destructive. He was looking for more evidence of his mysterious drug - the one that had led a gang of thugs to terrorise a bar, and a young woman to commit suicide.

Margaret Posen’s actions definitely fit the ‘out-of-character’ description, and when Matt had entered the interview room to meet her, mere hours after the murder, he had smelled that same acerbic scent.

Margaret had been dosed with something. Something that had caused her to hallucinate and kill an innocent stranger.

The problem was trying to convince a jury of that fact. Margaret didn't remember taking anything, and no drugs or known compounds had shown up in her blood tests. All she remembered was feeling an overwhelming sense of panic and fear - as if she was about to be attacked. She had seen the vague outline of a hulking, menacing figure bearing down on her, and had reacted by pulling her weapon.

She was claiming self-defence.

A hard sell, when the CCTV footage from the street clearly showed her gunning down the petite female grad student in cold blood.

Matt sighed, as he tidied his desk. He knew Margaret was innocent, but proving it was going to be nearly impossible. Foggy and Karen already thought it was a lost cause - but it didn't stop them from working all hours of the day to fight it anyway.

Matt shoved his laptop in his briefcase and collected together the stack of witness statements and police reports that were strewn about his desk. As he did, he came across the Braille note from Calina, still lying where he’d discarded it earlier. He picked it up, intending to throw it in the trash…but at the last minute he pocketed it, for some reason not willing to let it go.

“Josie’s?” Foggy called from the other room.

“Yeah, I can go for a round,” Matt responded. “What about Karen?”

“I texted her. She’ll meet us there.” She’d been out all day, talking to toxicologists and pharmaceutical experts, trying to find out what kind of drug could produce the combination of hallucinations, anxiety and paranoia that Margaret had experienced.

Foggy appeared in his doorway, his jacket on and his satchel slung over one shoulder. “Why don’t you invite your neighbour again?”

Matt frowned at him. “We spent the morning discussing the fact that she’s a potentially dangerous criminal, and now you want to hang out with her?”

“No, we discussed the fact that she has secrets - like you do - but you like her anyway, and you agreed to try my ‘be her friend’ plan.”

“That’s not exactly how I remember the conversation,” Matt said, dryly.

“I read between the lines,” Foggy shrugged.

“I don’t know, Foggy. I don’t want to put you guys in any danger.”

Foggy folded his arms. “Do you think she’s a danger to us? To you? Honest, answer, Matt. What does your gut say?”

Matt shrugged into his suit jacket as he considered his answer. He thought about the woman who’d geeked out over astrophysics last night. The one who wrote him a note and described the smell of a library for him. The one who apparently helped a struggling neighbour this morning. The one who stood in lonely solitude on a rooftop to escape her nightmares…

“My gut says no,” he eventually replied. “I don’t think she’s a danger to us. But I don’t know if I can trust that instinct. She has this way of making me forget all my suspicions when I’m around her. And she is keeping secrets, Foggy.”

“So are you, Matt.”

Matt nodded, conceding the point. He wanted to believe that her secrets and her lies were like his - a way to keep her safe. Not as a means to hide a criminal agenda. But he just wasn’t sure he could.

“Karen’s got a good bullshit meter,” Foggy said. “Another reason to invite her along tonight. See what her impression of Calina is.”

“I don’t know…,” he repeated.

“She’s seeing that guy from then DA’s office now, if you’re worried about her being jealous-”

“Its not that. I keep telling you - I’m not looking to start anything with Calina.”

“Why not? You’re single. She appears to be single. She’s beautiful, you’re annoyingly handsome. There’s only a 7 year age gap between you, so you’re out of the creepy, gross territory. What’s the problem?”

"Apart from my terrible taste in women?"

"You know I'm just yanking your chain with that stuff. C'mon Matt, what's really the problem here?"

“Me, Foggy. I’m the problem.”

Foggy frowned at him. He let his bag slide to the ground, then sat down, resuming his position from this morning. “Explain.”

Matt echoed his movements, dropping into his chair with a sigh. “Its just…things are finally starting to go right again. In my life. With you guys, and the firm. And with my…nighttime activities. I’ve found a balance-"

Foggy scoffed. "I beg to differ."

Matt frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You're making a real effort with the firm - Karen and I see that - but I wouldn't exactly say you've got the balance right. You're not sleeping."

"Foggy-"

"I know the signs. Matt," Foggy said firmly. "I remember them from College when Elektra left. You're overdosing on coffee, you have bags the size of suitcases under your eyes, and you're banging into things more than normal because you're walking around here like a zombie."

Matt blew out a breath, then nodded. "You're right."

"I always am. So when's the last time you got a decent night's sleep - and I mean more than four hours, on a proper horizontal surface."

"Actually...last night," Matt said, surprised. It hadn't occurred to him before, but he'd gotten a solid six hours of rest while Calina had slept in the other room.

"And before that?"

"A while ago," Matt conceded.

Foggy nodded. "So until you sort out what's causing your insomnia, and decide what you need to do to fix it, don't pretend to me that you've found any sort of balance in your life."

Matt nodded. The wounds of his previous lies, and the damage his skewed prioritises had wrought on their friendship still lurked beneath the surface of their new dynamic. He could hear it in Foggy's tone.

"So you get why now is a bad time to start any sort of new relationship?" Matt asked. "I don't need anything else pulling my focus or distracting me."

Foggy sighed. "Yeah."

“I don’t want to mess things up with us again, Fog. Losing the firm, losing you guys. It was hard. Really hard.”

“Okay, Matt. I get it. I’ll stop pushing. Just…take a break from dating, sure, but don’t go turning into a monk on me, okay?”

Matt laughed. “I don’t think there’s any risk of that.”

“I’m serious, Matt. You deserve to find someone. You deserve to be happy.”

Matt nodded.

But he wasn’t so sure he agreed with his friend.

———

Calina came to his apartment that night.

But he didn’t invite her to Josie’s. He didn't try to initiate Foggy’s ‘be her friend’ plan.

Instead, he went the complete opposite route.

"Hi," she greeted, as he opened the door, her voice holding a smile. "I just wanted to thank you again for helping me last night."

"It was no big deal," Matt said, trying to keep his tone indifferent.

"Well, it was a big deal to me. So...thank you, Matthew."

As she repeated the words of her note, Matt slipped his hand in his pocket, where the now-crumpled scrap of paper resided. He clenched it tightly between his fingers as he responded, his voice a few degrees colder than before. "I would have done the same for anyone."

"Oh, okay. Well, I still have your sweater, I'll wash it and return it-"

"There's no need."

He sensed her smile drop. A frown took its place. "Um, okay. Is there something wrong?"

“Nothing’s wrong. I need to go, Calina. I have work to do. I-I'll see you around."

"Yeah," she said, her voice now flat, the warmth and vitality in it leached away. "I'll see you around."

He closed the door, turned and leaned against it. Then he thumped his head into the wooden panel for good measure, deserving the pain that shot through his skull.

He felt like an asshole.

But he needed to put some distance between himself and Calina. This past week proved that he was too invested in her story. Too intrigued by the mystery of her. Too seduced by her scent.

Too attracted to her.

He needed to pull back. It was better that way. Her secrets could stay hers. He would stop trying to figure her out. He would trust his gut that she wasn’t a danger, and he would help her if she ever came to him again.

But he needed to stay away from her.

He’d been telling Foggy the truth earlier - he was worried that a new relationship would upset the equilibrium of his life - but it hadn’t been the whole truth.

Foggy would never understand the whole truth - because he had never understood Matt’s connection with Elektra.

The woman he had loved…and the one he had failed to save.

Twice.

He’d pushed aside his grief in the immediate aftermath of Elektra’s death - too focused on healing from his wounds, evading the Feds and hunting Fisk - and he’d spent the last few months concentrating on the new practice. All of which meant that he’d never fully processed what had happened in that building, when he had taken Elektra in his arms and lost her for the second time.

It felt like a part of him was still buried there, beneath the rubble. And he would only be whole again when he came to terms with his loss.

And his guilt.

And the knowledge that he would never again find someone who saw the darkness in him…and loved him anyway.

Until he dealt with all that baggage - if he ever managed to - he was no good for anyone.

---------

I thought it was time to address the Elektra-shaped elephant in the room! I was never a Matt/Elektra shipper (their relationship was far too toxic in my eyes!) but Matt loved her, so I needed to explore how he would be feeling after her death. And Matt being Matt...it wasn't going to be good!

CHAPTER 10

Taglist: @hollandorks, @yanna-banana, @stilldreaming666

If you’d like to be added, let me know!

#Daredevil #Daredevil fic #daredevil fanfic #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil x original female character #marvels daredevil #matt murdock #matt murdock x original character #Tabula rasa #matt murdock fic

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suspicious-whumping-egg · 1 year

Text

Low Profile Part 14 — Prisoner

At last, the energy to write has returned to me. Enjoy!

Masterlist here.

~~~

A gentle hand cradled his face as his head swam with the mirage of a swinging pocketwatch. “Come back to me. C’mon, come back to me. Hale… Hale— please— Hale—”

Tears streamed down his face. Why couldn’t he remember their face?

His lover gave him a conspiratory grin as he guided Hale’s fingers through the motions of flipping a butterfly knife. “It’s certain they’ll let you in if you manage to pull this off, you crazy bastard. And any member of the family knows their way around a blade.”

He let go of his hand, and Hale’s grip on the balisong fumbled. The blade swung into a fingertip, blood trickling from the cut.

“Now we just gotta kiss it better, huh?” He winked.

A sob crept up Hale’s throat. Sweat dripped across his brow, even though his cell was frigid.

“Get it, even if you have to torture it out of me. I’m gonna burn the Ellison legacy down, even if I go with it. Just don’t give up on me.” His gaze flicked from the camera to the mirror positioned on his laptop— and the distant shadow that entered the reflection of the hall behind him. Fear clawed at his heart with an icy grasp. “This is it. They’re coming for me— fuck— it’s up to you now.” He slammed the computer shut and yanked the drive from its place, sliding it into the compartment he’d painstakingly built into the desk. “This is it,” he whispered again to himself. He knew it was too late to fight.

Hale bolted awake, the gaping wound on his chest burning with renewed ferocity. His back shot with pain at every twitch of movement, and the bloody mess below his collarbone was raw with agony. His head pounded with a dull ache, and his cheeks were tear stained.

He’d planned to join the mafia. He’d wanted to join the mafia. If only he’d known how he’d be treated. He scoffed bitterly and buried his face in his arms, images flashing through his head.

I need to find that video.

He gingerly rose from the cot, squeezing his eyes shut as his wounds screamed in protest. For once, he was grateful the cell was so small— he could brace himself with the walls on either side of him.

His progress towards the door was painstaking, every step sending new twinges of pain up his back. By the time he reached the door, his breathing was ragged and labored. He made a desperate grab for the knob he knew was locked, jiggling and shoving it when it wouldn’t budge. He slammed against the door, the dull pain in his shoulder barely registering for its tameness compared to the rest of his wounds.

Yet he tried anyway. He kicked at the door until he felt he would collapse, rattled the doorknob until his fingers ached, threw himself at the solid wood over and over until any remaining inch of untouched skin was covered in bruises. He kept his jaw clenched, only letting out the most muffled of grunts and whimpers no matter how horribly his chest throbbed or his back burned. Silent tears streamed down his face, yet he was ceaseless in his efforts.

Ceaseless until the door swung open, sending him crashing to the floor in a heap.

“Hale?” It was Silas.

He flinched, scrambling backwards on instinct as his heart rocketed with sudden panic.

“What do you want from me?” He said, tone edging at the line between terror and rage. He clenched his hands into fists, forcing a slow breath into his lungs. He needed to calm down.

Silas winced. “I— I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For— for earlier. I didn’t want to do it. But if Viper kicked me off and ended up on your case alone…” His voice broke, and he solemnly shook his head.

“I know it doesn’t make it okay. But uh, I brought you something, if you want it. For the pain.”

Hale glanced at him listlessly, and the silence between the two of them settled into a thick tension. It was impossible to forget Silas’s cold, careless words, his knife against his chest, carving its path of agony under his skin. But he truly hadn’t had a choice.

“I lied,” he said suddenly, the words flying from his mouth in a rush before he could stop them. “I just couldn’t remember. And I wanted it to stop… but I know whoever I used to be, they want me to remember. Don’t tell Viper. Just… don’t use those numbers. They’re not gonna work.”

“I figured,” Silas murmured. “Torture doesn’t work like Viper thinks it does. And there’s nothing wrong with doing what you can to survive. The memories’ll come back with time, he doesn’t get that.”

“Then why do you do everything he says? You both have the same boss, right?” Hale shot back. “Not wanting to doesn’t mean it hurts any less.”

Time after time, he told himself not to argue with Silas. And time after time, he failed.

Yet Silas only winced. “I know. I just… I’m sorry.” His gaze was downcast, his face hot with shame. “You don’t have to take it, but it’s the least I can do to offer.” He reached into his pocket and took out two white pills, holding them out tentatively.

And for some reason, Hale’s instinct was to trust the very same person who’d cut him up just hours before. Or maybe it was just the agony radiating through his back, furious enough that he was too desperate to care.

He plucked the pills from Silas’s palm and choked them down, grimacing at the chalky residue they left behind. Was it really necessary to thank him when he’d been the one inflicting the damage in the first place?

“Thanks,” he muttered quietly.

If it was Viper, he wouldn’t have. But Hale was starting to suspect that Silas was nearly as much of a prisoner as he was.

Taglist: @morning-star-whump @whumpkitty @shameless-dumbass @hurtthemgently @gala1981 @avvail-whumps

#blue writes #low profile #viper #hale #hale ellison #whump #mafia whump #whump writing #whump drabble #fun fact: this drabble is exactly 1000 words on the dot! I wasn’t even trying to do that but I’ll take it

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bookswithsalem · 19 days

Text

Soul is going to die today. He can feel it, feel as his body begins to shut down piece by piece, painstakingly slowly. He can tell by the way his ears strain to focus in on his breathing as each inhale becomes harder and harder to achieve. The blood begins to rush into his ears and he’s pretty sure he can hear his own heartbeat slowing. He is going to die. Yet that’s not what flows through his mind at this moment. He’s not thinking about all the things he could’ve done, the chances he could’ve taken, the things he should’ve said that he didn’t. He’s not thinking of all that he regrets or all the things he’s wanted to do that now he’ll never get the chance to. He’s not cursing at the gods or begging for his life to be spared. He’s going to die, but he doesn’t care. Xander, his name coming out as a whisper, slipping past his dry lips. Or at least he was trying, it seems his voice was failing him also, but that was just another thing to add to the list.

Xander, god why couldn’t he speak. He has to talk has to say it but it won’t come out, his mouth won’t work and Xander, poor Xander he’s still trying to find him. What would he do? How would he react when he busted down the door and inevitably saw his broken and bloody body? Xander, you have to stop. How badly he wished he could speak, something even if it was a whisper. He just needed to say something. Xander, you have to turn away, still he was left a failure. The word repeated in his mind like a mantra, failure, failure, failure, he was gonna get Xander killed. How badly he wished he could move, could at least twitch his fingers, anything. Instead, a single tear fell from his eye as he listened to Xander’s desperate cries of his name. Listened as he tore through the building, slamming every door open, trying so hard to find him. Please stop, please go away. Xander just leave. Stubborn, idiotic Alexander. Always the fool, always the one left behind. I can’t keep my promise. I’m sorry. I don’t think I can stay. Poor, lonely Soul. Always the one breaking things in his wake. I’m sorry I hurt you. Another tear falls, another door slammed open. Soul begins to lose his vision. Oh, to die in the dark. I’ll wait for you, if we get the chance to do it again, I’ll look for you. Will you look for me? Another tear falls, but Soul can’t feel it, he’s lost all feeling now. Another door slams open, another cry of his name.

You were good to me, but I was so horrible to you. The next to go was his taste. Maybe a blessing, now he can’t taste that metallic tang in his mouth, now he can’t smell it either. Guess taste and smell are a packaged deal. I think I’ll miss you. The moon to my night. The last to go was his hearing. To go in the dark, in the silence, the quiet. I’m sorry.

Soul stops breathing.

⭐️🌕⭐️🌕⭐️

“Soul!” Xander rips through each room, his chest heaving the more he runs as he continues to come up empty. Another door, another empty room, more time lost. Another door, another empty room, more time lost. Another door, another empty room, more time lost. “Soul!” His name broke on his lips, legs burning as he pumped them forward. Where is he? Focus, you have to focus. Why can’t he focus? Soul needs him, somewhere in this building he’s hurt, trying his hardest to get free and Xander is failing him. Another door, another em- wait… “Soul!” There in the middle of the room laid a body, eyes open, glassy and unseeing. Xander slides to his knees next to him and gently cradles the head close to his chest. “Soul, you’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna- you’re gonna be just fine. Just, just keep your eyes open for me, yeah? Just breathe and stay with me, okay?” What do I do? What do you do? What do you say? How do you make it better?

“Xander, what’s going-“ Amelia’s voice cuts off as she takes in the scene playing out before her. “Oh my god, is that,” scared, she swallows the bile threatening to rise from her throat, “is that Soul?” Blood, so much of it covered his body that it made him unrecognizable, but no matter how much she wished it didn’t mean she could deny the truth. It was him. Her best friend was lying there, so still and quiet, dead. Soul’s dead. We were too late. Slowly, she makes her way over to the pair and puts a soft hand on Xander’s shoulder. “Xander,” the boy in question showed no sign of hearing his name being called. Too distraught to do anything but rock the body in his arms back and forth, pleading for it to show some sign of life, to fucking breathe, anything, “Xander, he’s dead.” What was the point in beating around the bush? It was the truth, the undeniable truth and no matter what they said, they couldn’t reverse time and they couldn’t bring him back to life. “Soul’s dead, we couldn’t save him.”

“Shut up,” he shrugged her hand off his shoulder, “he’s not, we can’t just say that, we can’t give up on him.”

“Xander,”

“He’s not, he’s sleeping and we have to wake him up. We just, we just have to get him to wake up and then we can all leave and pretend that none of this ever happened. It can be like a bad dream.”

“Alexander,”

“Amelia please. I can, I can fix this.” Poor, poor Xander, always so unable to come to terms with death. Amelia kneeled down next to him, and gently pulled Soul out of his tight grasp, laying him back down on the floor. Cold, unfeeling, kind of like her heart right now. ‘Dead’ like she so wished to be.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered. To whom she couldn’t tell you. She leaned forward and slowly closed Soul’s eyes, there, now he looked like he was sleeping, like he was peaceful.

“Do you think he lost his sight first?” A question Xander meant to think. Maybe he didn’t realize he’d even said it aloud. “He hated the dark; couldn't stand it. Do you think he was scared?” Scared? Amelia doesn’t think she’s ever seen a time where Soul was scared, not something he’d ever willingly shown anyone before. He always needed to be in control, needed to know everything. But thinking about his last moments, maybe he realized he didn’t know what would come next. Her eyes blurred as she thought of how he might have reacted. He would have been scared, terrified even, and she wasn’t there to soothe his fears. He needed her, needed them, and they failed. Failure, failure, failure, it mocked her, like a curse. It made her grip the edge of her shirt so hard that her knuckles turned white from the strain. Her head pounding from the effort to hold back her tears. I couldn’t keep my promise, she thought, I wasn’t there like I said I would be. The tears finally began to fall from her eyes as she choked on her sobs, do you hate me? She hoped he didn’t. Was that selfish? She broke her promise, that made her a liar, a betrayer, a snake, and yet she hoped more than anything that he still loved her like she knew he did. That he knew that she tried her hardest, even if it wasn’t good enough, that she loved him. How selfish of her to think of herself at a time like this.

“I’m sorry.” And she was. Because this had all happened because of her. Again. Soul had died once more because of her. Again. Because she had been so jealous, and so hurt at the fact that Xander had chosen Soul over her that she had asked for that curse to be cast. And now, because of her, they were doomed from the very start. Forced to start over again, to fall in love again, to die again. All because of her, and her jealousy, and her anger. God, she was terrible; she is terrible. How could she fix this?

#writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing #writerscommunity #books #writer things #writer stuff #writers and poets

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