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mlmxreader · 1 year

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Until His Last Dying Breath | Simon Ghost Riley x gn!reader

Anonymous asked: "I'm proud of you, for the record" With ghost please? Thank you and take care!

summary: knowing what will happen to him, Ghost still refuses to give up on you, and commits one final act of bravery to make sure that you live.

tws: major character death, graphic depictions of death, graphic depictions of gas attacks, swearing, vomiting, suffocating, blood.

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

Hidden within the trenches of the front, an eerie silence could only ever mean that something terrible was on its way; sat beside Ghost and Krueger, you wondered what would come of you all.

Weeks of fighting, you were all ready to go home; you and Ghost were especially eager, wanting to get back to your own home and to sleep together in an actual bed for once instead of a mattress made from mouldy and damp straw. You were all more than miserable; tired, no morale, wondering what terrible thing would claim too many lives next.

When soldiers broke away nearby, none of you thought anything of it, and only assumed that they were heading off to go and scavenge for scraps of food in abandoned cars, tanks, homes - anything and anywhere; Krueger tapped Ghost’s shoulder, grabbing his attention as he pointed to the scarred land just above the trenches.

Ghost swallowed thickly, biting at the inside of his lip as he frowned; a great green cloud was starting to creep its way over, with a faint smell of pepper and pineapple trailing behind it.

It could only mean one thing, and Ghost’s stomach dropped when he realised.

He ducked down, and shook his head as he began to chew at the inside of his mouth, a lingering metallic taste on the very tip of his tongue; he realised why the others had broken away, but with a thundering crash, the ends of the trench collapsed, spewing smoke as dirt frothed from its aching wooden jaws.

To climb out would mean death, with the green cloud approaching quicker as the light breeze gave it some momentum, and with the machine guns and snipers in the woods behind, there was no escape. You were all stuck, and the only hope was that there were enough gas masks for the three of you; Ghost growled under his breath, taking in a deep breath as he cleared his throat.

“We’ve got gas heading our way,” he said with great reluctance. “If we go south, we head into snipers and machine guns. If we go north, we go straight into the gas.”

You nodded slowly, and although you hoped that Krueger could not tell, you could see that Ghost was scared; you could see it in the slight tremble of his lip under his thin mask, and in the slight shake of his voice.

You had never seen him scared before, the desperation in his eyes, you covered your mouth with your hand as you tried not to let him see that you were starting to feel the bite of fear, as well.

“So, what do we do?”

“Put your gas masks on,” Ghost ordered, clearing his throat as he tried to steel himself. “We’ll have to sit and wait, and hope that we make it through.”

He couldn’t say it, but he had seen what that particular gas did to soldiers before, and a venomous chill bite into his neck as he grabbed his gas mask and pulled it on, fastening the straps to make sure that it was properly done up; he had seen this before, and although he couldn’t say it, he had dreaded it happening again - especially to you.

Ghost had seen how that deadly cloud would grab soldiers by the throat, forcing them onto their knees as their chests heaved. They would gasp and rattle for breath, coughing blood onto handkerchiefs, drowning without water.

He had seen the froth on dead men’s mouths that came with the gas, he had seen the way that they would throw up whatever was in their stomachs to the point where all that came from their mouths were long lines of split-laced blood.

Although he tried to get him to stop, Krueger clambered over the edge of the trench to the south, and hit the dirt as he crawled along the mud and the guts and the ashes and debris; Ghost listened out for the gunshots, and breathed a sigh of relief when there weren’t any.

“Simon,” you murmured, holding your gas mask with wide eyes. One of the filters had been punctured and destroyed, rendering it useless. “We have a problem.”

Ghost didn’t hesitate, taking off his mask and giving it to you; his throat and eyes were starting to burn already as the gas finally licked the trench. He was thirsty, felt as if he had not had a drink for years, and his head was starting to feel as if it was getting split open; he swallowed thickly, taking off his thin mask and pressing it against his nose and mouth.

He knew it wouldn’t work.

His lungs were getting stabbed as he dared to nod at you, coughing as he started to struggle to breathe.

“Fasten the straps,” he rasped, his breathing jerky and rattling. “Do not take it off.”

“But-”

“Just do it,” he spat a froth of a slight green colour onto his thighs as he clenched his jaw. “Please.”

You did as he said, making sure that the gas mask was secure as you sank down into the dirt next to his legs; everything was becoming tinted with a greenish yellow fog, and you couldn’t help it as you tightly grabbed Ghost’s hand.

He held on, even if he was slowly losing sight of you; he had to keep his eyes closed, they were burning and stinging too much to cope with, water streaming from them as he kept coughing and gasping for breath. It was starting to hurt to even try and steal a breath, and although his tongue was becoming thick with fur, he mustered up as much energy as he could, and vomited on the ground.

Ghost knew, he knew all too well, that he was not going to make it; the gas was settling, and his legs were getting weaker by the second - he couldn’t stop himself as he collapsed beside you, still holding onto your hand as he managed to lean against you, his head on your shoulder as he coughed and retched.

“Simon,” you whimpered, nudging him gently. “Simon, stay with me, please.”

Ghost groaned, breathless as he retched and tried to ignore the burning in his throat and chest.

“Simon!” You barked, nudging him with a bit more force. “C’mon, Si, don’t leave me now.”

His breathing was becoming more rapid and shallow, drowning on dry land as he struggled to try and catch even the smallest of breaths; blood starting to trickle from his lips as it mixed with green froth, pooling on his shirt as he started to accept his own fate.

You would get out alive, you would be fine, and that was all he needed to know; all he knew was that you would survive, and that was enough.

“Simon!” You were sobbing as you kept pushing him and shaking him. “Please! Don’t fucking leave me!”

Ghost swallowed thickly, and let out a rattling cough as he accepted that he would not last more than the few borrowed seconds that it would take for him to speak. “I’m proud of you, for the record…”

You shook your head, tapping his face and coughing as you choked on your own sobs, pushing him and wiping away the froth, vomit and blood from his mouth. “Simon! No, no, no, Simon! Please, sweetheart, stay with me! Please, Simon?”

It was no use, though, he wasn't struggling for breath anymore, and the colour of his face was becoming overwhelmed by a more green hue; his eyes glassed over, and he wasn’t even fighting to cough, the blood and vomit and froth ceased to spew from his lips.

“Simon!” You screamed, grabbing the front of his vest and shaking him. “Do not fucking leave me! Please… don’t go, I can’t follow…”

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kunselxsoldier · 4 months

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❝ Are they dead…? oh! not dead! not dead! ❞

God of War: 2018

He hated places like this; abandoned mako sites dotted across the continents. Because where there was mako, then Shinra more than likely set up some kind of experiments.

Just like this place.

Stepping into the dank old reactor, Kunsel sniffed the air; the smell of mako was faint, but it was still there. The site hadn't been active for years. But there were still the tanks that bubbled so ominously. Keeping a watching eye on Strife, he checked some mouldy old reports for any intel on what this place had been or which one of the Shinra scientists had run it.

"Are they dead ...? Oh! Not dead! Not dead!"

Turning on the spot, Kunsel's attention immediately went to where Aerith stumbled back away from one of the tanks and Strife caught her. Stepping closer he peered in through the fogged up dirty porthole and bit his lip when a familiar face bobbed into view. That man had been dead for years ... his copies however still sat in mako suspension.

"Not dead, but not quiet alive either. This was one of Hollander's hidden labs."

#holyguardian

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retro-memo · 1 year

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Mortal Flaw And Fatal Sin

Chapter Five: Tumbling Trouble

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Swearing and drugs

Word Count: 3. 1k

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4 — Ao3 link

St*rkers DNI

Blood was now pooling on the concrete roof, filling up the cracks and branching out in all directions but Tony could only stare at the red on his hand.

The red that was reaching out like the raging flames of an explosion rolling upwards.

Ready to consume everything in its path and -

No. Nope. Nuh-uh. Tony wasn’t going there, not now. Not with Spider-Man bleeding out in his arms. By no means was this kid, the soulmate that Tony had just met, allowed to die

Especially on his watch and not while Tony had anything to say about it. Not when he had more questions than answers.

“Alright, kid.” Tony adjusted his arms, making sure to support the kid’s back and knees as he felt the symbiote trickling at the back of his mind. It was distant but there and he didn’t need to look down to know it was already gathering back around his feet. “I hope you packed your lunch box because we’re going on a field trip.”

He pushed himself to his feet, hoisting the kid in his arms.

Tony tried not to think too much about how easy it felt. After all, he had enhanced strength and a suit. They had to be doing most of the work, right?

He looked down at the unconscious kid in his arms and Tony's stomach twisted.

Had the kid's cheeks always looked that sunken? Tony swore they didn't before. And since when did his clothes hang so awkwardly from his frame? He looked ready to take off like a rogue kite at the smallest wisp of a breeze.

But that was impossible. The kid couldn't be that underweight.

Right?

Tony shook his head, deciding that can of worms could be opened another day. Perhaps when the kid wasn’t actively bleeding out in his arms.

Throwing one last look at Peter's face, the rockets under Tony's feet ignited to life and he was taken skyward, leaving the God-forsaken roof behind.

~~~

Waking up came slowly and it felt heavy. Not only that but there was a sharp, high-pitched ringing feeling like it was piercing straight through Peter's skull.

The sensation made Peter choke on the air, but he pushed through, straining to hear past it.

Distantly, he remembered pain, faint and foggy. It was there, ever-present, yet just out of his reach. Peter tried reaching for it but there was a heaviness threatening to pull him back.

He groaned, curling his fingers into the soft fabric underneath him and —

Peter froze.

Something wasn't right.

Nothing that he ever slept on felt this soft. Not even when he was younger because of how tight the money had been. And having the world turn upside overnight certainly didn't help things but he still didn't mind.

As long as he had May, he could endure it.

But this…

This didn't feel like home.

Peter felt his heart beating faster in his chest. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

He couldn't smell the usual mouldy stench of the apartment's walls. Instead, when he sucked in a sharp breath the smell of antiseptic burned his nose and he gagged.

He tried to think of what happened but it felt as if it was blocked off, too distant and foggy for him to piece the memories together. He tried reaching for them, but something pulled him back.

Peter groaned and clenched his fists. What happened? It had to be something. He couldn't imagine ever waking up normally feeling like this.

Either he had gone on patrol without remembering, got hurt and blacked out with May finding him somehow with no choice but to take him to a hospital or -

He'd been kidnapped.

Without thinking, Peter's eyes flew open as he lurched up.

He immediately regretted it as he was blinded by a piercing light and flinched, slamming his eyes shut. That didn't stop him though. He swung his feet over the bed and with whatever strength he had, Peter threw himself off the bed.

However, as soon his feet touched the cold-tiled floor, his knees gave out from under him and he was sent crashing to the floor.

The feeling of vertigo didn't leave him. Instead, Peter's thoughts were a jumbled mess and at this point, he wasn't sure what was up or down. Everything felt as if it was spinning out of control from underneath him.

Peter slowly opened his eyes again and blinked a few times, straining to see past his blurred vision and the burning brightness.

And that was when he saw it. Even with the world spinning way too fast than it had any right to, he managed to see it in the wash of colours.

A window.

An escape.

May.

Peter pushed himself up to his feet, swaying as he tried to get his bearings. The only thing stopping him from falling back down again was the need to get away.

The need to get to May.

To get away from wherever here was.

That's all he could think of as he stumbled closer to the window clumsier than a newborn deer.

However, as he got closer to his escape, he realized something.

The window was open.

He could feel the chilling winter breeze from where he was and despite everything, Peter couldn't help it. He laughed, almost losing whatever balance he had.

Whoever kidnapped him couldn't have had more than two brain cells because if they did, no way they would've left an open window right next to their hostage.

Peter took a step forward but froze.

He heard something—a voice, maybe—but it was muffled, almost like he was hearing it underwater. He couldn't make out the next words that were spoken, either.

"P'k'—"

Peter swayed, his eyebrows furrowing.

"M's S'p—"

Was… was someone calling him?

No. Peter shook his head. He had to focus. He had to think of May. Of getting out. Now wasn't the time to get distracted.

With that thought, he made one final push forward and threw himself at the window the exact moment his legs gave up from under him.

Seconds before his knees hit the ground, he grabbed onto the windowsill, clinging onto it desperately as if it was his only lifeline.

He swallowed, his stomach churning dangerously and his vision blurred again. The cool air coming through the window did little to soothe his nausea but he pushed it back.

Okay. Peter faltered. Okay. This was fine. He made it to the window. All he had to do was crawl out and it would be all over. Which is what he'd done many times before by their apartment. This was no different.

Peter groaned, pushing on his elbows to haul himself and the rest of his dead-beat body forward. He grabbed onto the window's frames, leaned forward and —

Oh my God.

Peter's arms immediately felt limp and he almost let go of the window and would've probably had if it wasn't for his sticky powers.

It was high. Very, very high. Higher than it had any right to be and yeah sure, Peter dealt with tall buildings and such daily because of Spider-Man.

But they didn't feel as high as this.

He could barely see the ground from where he was and his arms and legs felt like folding in on themselves just looking down at it.

Forcing himself to look up, Peter gritted his teeth, trying to ignore the headache he could feel growing behind his eyes.

This time, while making sure he didn't look down, he aimed his wrist across to the nearest building and fully expected for a Web to shoot across but nothing happened.

His wrist was bare.

Peter groaned with realization as he looked down at his other wrist.

He had no web-shooters.

Now he was going to have to walk all the way back to the apartment. He didn't think he'd be able to go climbing around other buildings after getting down this one.

Not without passing out and falling to his death.

Throwing one more look down again, Peter felt a new wave of dizziness crash over him. His trembling fingers stuck to the windowsill, providing very little sense of security as he heaved himself up. He angled his body and planted his feet on the wall, mentally preparing himself for the way down.

He wasn't going to get anywhere standing in the window looking pretty all day. He had to move.

For his sake and May's.

She was probably already freaking out.

Not only that but it wouldn't be long before his kidnapper returned to his room and found out he'd made a break for it.

With that thought, Peter started to climb down. He tried to not think too much about how high he was, how the cold stabbed into his bare feet, or how his limbs shook with every movement.

Instead, he focused on escaping. On getting back to May safely in one piece.

One step at a time.

~~~

"Jarvis, what's that on your wrist?"

"Hmm?" Jarvis looked down from where he'd been playing a star atop the Christmas tree to where Tony was sitting on the couch.

His dad was still gone somewhere, Tony didn't know where. Whenever he asked, everyone looked at him funny and never answered him.

Back then, he didn't know what pity was.

His five-year-old self was too naive to believe that his father didn't want to spend Christmas with him. That he preferred working in the lab and would rather throw Tony at the nearest adult and leave him.

"Oh." Jarvis smiled, looking up from where Tony had been pointing to. "This is my soulmark. Want to get a closer look?"

Tony perked up at that. "Yeah!"

He hopped off the couch and ran to Jarvis, stepping over in place while he waited for the older man to get down.

Of course, he'd heard of soulmarks. His mom told him stories about them almost every night when he couldn't fall asleep, but he had never seen one up close.

Not on his mom at least, which he found strange. He knew she had one because he had caught a glimpse of his father's soulmark one time when he had wandered into the workshop.

Jarvis' stepped down from the chair he'd been standing on, kneeling down as he rolled up his sleeve.

"Wow." Tony stared at the mark. It looked like those flowers that he'd seen Jarvis give to Auntie Ana but it was different.

It was simpler. Glowing a vibrant green that almost seemed mesmerizing.

"Do you want to see something interesting?" Jarvis whispered in his ear and Tony nodded, feeling giddy with excitement.

He could never sit still when something new was presented to him. He heard the adults whisper sometimes that it was a trait he got from his dad. Which made sense to Tony.

His dad was a scientist.

Scientists discovered new things all the time, right? And they always wanted to find out what those were, right? Why else would his dad disappear into his lab all the time other than to find something new?

Jarvis' closed his eyes, his face pinching with concentration, and Tony felt his eyes widen.

"Whoa." Tony breathed, struck in awe as he watched as the mark grew brighter. It almost seemed to be pulsing and he swore could hear a heartbeat.

He hadn't even realised that he had started leaning closer and it wasn't until he felt a hand in his hair that Tony startled back. He looked up to see Jarvis smiling down at him. “One day, you’ll meet your soulmate, and you’ll get to learn this too.”

Tony beamed up at him, believing every word of it.

~~~

Tony wasn't sure how long he'd sat there in the lab staring at his hand.

At the mark.

Even in the lab’s dull light, it still had a pale blue shimmer that shone brightly. It was no longer coated in blood, it was clean, with not even a fleck of red on his skin.

Tony couldn't tell if the colour was the extremis' doing or if that's how soulmarks usually looked.

He knew Jarvis' had been green but that's all he remembered. His mom never showed her soulmark and the same went for Howard.

"You know you're never going to get a soulmate, right?"

Tony growled and clenched his hand, he could feel the mark pulsing through his skin, weak but steady.

"No wonder you don't have a soulmate. You could never care for someone other than yourself."

Everything that had been done to him, every single word, betrayal, hurt and pain…

All of it…

It all mixed together with something else, something more volatile.

For nothing.

"Goddamit!" A scream from deep within tore its way from Tony as he shot up and swept everything on the lab table to the floor.

The shattering of glass beakers, pieces of bent metal scraps and nails all went plummeting to the floor but that didn't stop his anger. His rage.

It added fueled an already burning fire.

Everything he could get his hands on, he either flipped over or broke.

"Sir!"

That's all the warning that Tony got before the most ear-splitting sound he ever heard suddenly blast through the lab.

He choked, stumbling back and clinching his head. Tony clenched his eyes shut, gritting his teeth as it felt as if every bone in his body was being rattled. "Jarvis shut that off!"

For a regular human, it would've sounded like a fly just buzzing by their ear but to him, it was more like a jackhammer slamming against his skull over and over again.

"Jarvis!"

Not even seconds later, the noise was cut off and Tony was left there standing, trembling hands still covering his ears and breathing heavily.

He stood there for a few seconds before every last bit of strength he had left him and he collapsed back onto the floor, breathing heavily.

He groaned and buried his head in his hands. "This is a mess."

"I can concur with that, Sir. The lab is a mess."

Despite his ears ringing and his skull feeling like it had been split in half, Tony couldn't help it. He laughed, breathless and shook his head.

"Who programmed you to give me so much sass?"

"You did, Sir."

Tony snorted and leaned back, smiling at the ceiling. "I guess I did, huh?"

His eyes slid back down to his marked hand and he blinked. Even through the back of his hand, he could see it shining brightly but not completely. In a way, it reminded Tony of when he was younger and used to shine a torch through his hand.

He swallowed. "Jarvis, is the kid awake yet?

A few seconds way too many passed and Tony frowned, tilting his head towards the ceiling. "Jarvis?"

He squished down the uneasiness that started to build up in his chest, making his old arc reactor scar throb.

Before everything, Jarvis wouldn't have taken this long to answer. He'd been ready to respond the second Tony gave a command, and carry it out with precision.

At least, until that day. Neither of them had been the same since.

Tony shook his head and forced himself to focus on breathing. Jarvis was fine. He was fine. Everything was fine.

This whole mess was, well, it wasn't fine but Tony could fix it. All he had to do was be given time and —

"I can't detect Peter's vitals."

Tony froze, the air leaving his lungs all at once.

"Sir?"

"I told you to watch him!" Tony all but snarled as he scrambled to his feet. He could feel himself shaking. He just met his soulmate, after so long and he was already —

Jarvis paused. "Sir, I can't detect Peter's vitals because he isn't in the building."

He isn't —

"What?"

"He left the building an hour ago. I had tried asking him to stop but he didn't seem to answer."

"Pull up the footage!" Tony threw himself to the nearest table that wasn't tipped over during his tirade.

He skidded to a stop, watching as a hologram flickered to life in front of him. He stared. And stared. It wasn't even a minute of watching everything unfold and Tony felt himself caught between anger, exasperation, and panic.

Mostly panic and before Tony knew what he was doing, he was scrambling for the elevator.

"Jarvis!" Tony hollered, skidding to a stop barely halfway through the doors. "Take me up!"

He didn't need to say it twice because not even seconds later, the doors shut and it was moving.

Tony didn't let himself breathe though, he could feel his hands shaking and his heart felt like a herd of elephants trampling over his chest from the inside.

Even if the elevator was moving as fast as it physically could, the ride felt impossibly long. Way too long.

The display took its sweet time to change the floor numbers one by one and ot felt like years had passed before finally, finally, the elevator dinged.

The doors opened and Tony stumbled into the room where he had left the kid, his legs doing most of the work. He wasn't even looking at where he was going at this point and —

The room was empty.

The only signs of life that were left behind was turned-over medical equipment, the bedsheets and pillows scattered across the floor and the open window.

The damn window.

Tony stood there, staring at the it and yeah. Jarvis told him the kid had bailed. He'd seen the footage of Peter practically stumbling out of bed like Bambi drunk on several cases of whiskey.

That didn't stop his brain from firing and misfiring at the same time.

The kid - his soulmate - was someone out there, stumbling through the city bruised and battered and higher than a kite-

Nope. He had to focus. No going there. Panic attack could come later when he had his head screwed on straight.

Now he had to find the kid.

The kid couldn't have gone far. Not with the drugs still in his system. Hell, it was a miracle he was still breathing - and that applied to the little shit before Tony had dropped him.

That, however, didn’t change the fact Tony needed to find the kid, and fast.

The suit was already wrapping itself around his body. “Jarvis.”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Double, no, triple the patrols. Bring out every drone and have them sweep over the city. Focus on finding the kid. Ignore everything else. Any sighting gets reported straight to me, don’t engage.”

If an animal chased into the corner was unpredictable, that applied twice for a super-powered teenager high on souped-up drugs.

“As you wish.”

The faceplate clicked in place and his helmet lit up.

Oh, Jarvis. Tony smiled. Even if you're not how you used to be anymore, you're was still there for me when I need you

With that thought, Tony threw himself out of the window and blasted into the sky.

#peter parker #irondad #tony stark #irondad and spiderson #Villain Tony Stark #I'M FREAKING UPDATING BITCHES #This damn fic took so long wth #sobbing

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thespiceyoops · 2 years

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Spacegirl

Chapter 2

Series Pairing: Eddie Munson x Original Female Character

A/N: I will take every opportunity I get to tell Eddie Munson he is a wonderful human.

CW: Canon violence and deaths, swearing

Series Status: In Progress

Word Count: 4K

Not even an hour later Liz is shaken awake, the trailer rattling violently, a terrible screeching coming from above her. She looks up at the ceiling to see a wide black crack snaking across, suddenly a body falls heavily down, landing broken and crumpled on the trailer floor, she screams as she recognizes a face she is painfully familiar with, Chrissy. Hearing Eddie fumbling awake at her scream she starts to get to her feet as black tendrils snake down out of the crack, whipping around the room, one catching her heavily in the side of the head and throwing her to the ground inches from her jacket which she snatches to her chest.

Eddie’s woken out of a restless sleep by the shaking of the trailer and the screams piercing down the hall. Stumbling out the door he sees the broken body on the floor, the crack in the ceiling and the tendrils whipping around, one going to latch onto Liz who is huddled on the floor. Without a thought he jumps forward, grabbing her and pulling her to her feet away from the monstrosity and towards the door.

“What the hell is that??”

“Something from the upside down! We need to get out of here!”

“Is that Chrissy??”

“She’s gone! We need to go” She pushes him towards the door before turning back, looking around frantically “Wait shit! My backpack!” She lunges for where it lays beside the couch but Eddie grabs her wrist and yanks her back as a tendril slams down where her face had been half a second before, sweeping across the floor and knocking the bag far beneath the couch and out of reach.

They dive out of the trailer, slamming the door behind them. Eddie's hand still is clamped around her wrist as he jumps in his van, tossing her roughly over him into the passenger seat before speeding off into the dark. Driving them to the only safe place he can think of, Reefer Rick's. With the van parked deep in a stand of trees the pair silently sneak into the rickety boathouse behind the home, its tin roof and stale air offering little comfort but enough safety as they stumble into its dark interior. The pair stand wordless, breathing heavily in the gloom, the faint moonlight filters in and highlights scattered trash and a boat suspended just above a hole in the floor. The sudden chattering of teeth catches Eddie’s attention, his eyes widen as he turns to see Liz’s shivering frame behind him, still clutching her jacket to her chest, her feet bare and dirty. The spring night is warm enough but with the adrenaline wearing off and nothing but a Tshirt falling to just above her knees she’s started shaking like a leaf.

“Oh shit” He mutters, rubbing his hands over her goosebumped arms, the friction shaking her back to reality for a moment with a shaky laugh.

“I’m wearing sweatpants to bed from now on” she quickly pulls her jacket on, the worn leather offering at least a small comfort against the chill. “This all sucks significantly more”

Eddie chuckles darkly, looking around the room again, properly taking in their surroundings.

“The boat” He points

“What? I don’t really fancy a late night fishing trip”

“No, there’s gotta be netting and a couple tarps in there, you’ll probably be warmer than out here.”

“Oh good idea”

He helps her clamber into the dingy, nestling into the various fabrics piled in the bottom and wrinkling her nose at the mouldy smell. She looks up at him curiously as he turns away. “Where are you going?”

“Not far, I’m going to sit out here and keep watch” He shrugs, squatting to lean back against a support beam facing the door.

“Oh…Right” She murmurs, pulling her knees up to her chin and a canvas tarp over her shoulders with a shiver “Y’know, I don’t think whatever that thing was will use the front door if it does come after us”

She can hear Eddie huff a small laugh and mumble almost inaudibly “That’s not all I’m worried about…”

They sit in silence for several long minutes before Liz’s teeth start chattering again, the tight ball she’s pulled herself into doing nothing to retain the little body heat she managed to produce.

“It’s fucking cold in here” She hisses, trying to pull the material closer “These tarps do nothing”

“Ok fine, survival mode it is” He laughs, straightening with a stretch before clambering clumsily into the boat, laughing at the sight of Liz tucked in a ball, t-shirt pulled over her knees, staring up at him in surprise “Sharing body heat”

She shuffles over with an appreciative laugh to make room for the longer body as he pulls off his jacket and vest before curling around her, laying the jacket over both of their shoulders and tucking her against his chest; pulling the tarp up over their heads to cover them both.

The air warms quickly and Liz's shivering diminishes as her breathing slows, dropping into sleep in the warmth of his arms as his fingers smooth her hair down gently, a soft thank you whispering past her lips. Eddie is soon to follow, his face resting against her hair, something about the scent of his shampoo on her hair mixing with warm leather and pine smell that was definitely hers calms him as he drifts into slumber.

The two are very suddenly shaken awake by the sound of people's voices and the thud of an oar stabbing violently down into the hanging raft, the wooden edge catching one of Liz’s ankles, her yelp silenced by Eddie clamping a hand over her mouth; the other clenched tight around a broken bottle, the rustling only barely hidden by the loud bickering of the voices above them. She can feel Eddie’s body tensing around her as the oar stabs down again, narrowly missing her knee, she knows they have to do something soon. Suddenly the boy beside her leaps up with a shout, tearing the tarp off and throwing himself at the intruder, holding the broken bottle to a man's neck and slamming him into the wall.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Eddie! Eddie! Stop! Eddie! Eddie!” a Familiar voice yells but he doesn’t relax, still wound too tight, mind befuddled with the deep sleep he’d been yanked out of. “It's me. It's Dustin. This is Steve. He's not gonna hurt you, right, Steve?"

Liz pops her head up out of the tarp to see Robin and Dustin staring at the scene wildly, Dustin with his hands up trying to calm Eddie who currently has Steve pinned to the wall.

“Oh thank god it’s you!” Liz exclaims, popping up from the tangle of tarps, the group jumps at her sudden appearance, smiles breaking out on Dustin and Robins faces though they remain frozen with Eddie still holding the bottle precariously close to Steve’s throat. “Eddie, Relax.” She calls, awkwardly clambering out of the boat and stumbling as she hits the ground, her ankle radiating pain and causing her to yelp as she drops to her knees. The noise catches Eddie's attention, finally causing him to look around, his wild eyes focusing on the group and what Dustin's saying. Dropping Steve he staggers back against the wall, taking a huge breath and sinking to a shaky crouch.

“Uhh where are your pants?” Dustin frowns, the attention of the older two snapping to Liz as she tugs the oversized shirt down further, blushing profusely.

“Didn’t have time to grab it when the ceiling opened up and tried to eat me… again” She grumbles, rubbing the swelling ankle. Robin takes the moment of safety to drop to Liz’s side, examining her ankle, frowning at the very oar-like bruise starting to form.

Dustin shrugs, accepting the explanation far too easily and turns towards Eddie, his voice low and soothing as he tries to coax the broken bottle out of his grip. Eddie finally replies after a long silence, his voice tight and shaky as he explains what happened after the group had left the night before, going into more detail about what he saw when Chrissy died before Liz had fallen through.

“Her body just, like, lifted up into the air and, uh…And she just, like, hung there. In the air. And her bones… Uh, she…” He chokes off with a whimper, Liz’s heart clenching in sympathy for the poor, terrified boy, desperately wanting to wrap her arms around his trembling shoulders.

“Her bones started to snap. Her eyes, man. It… It was like there was something, like, inside her head, pulling. And then later when it spit her back out all broken on the floor I… I didn't know what to do, so I r-”

“We ran…” She cuts him off gently, holding his gaze as he looks up at her, eyes welling with guilt and tears again.

“I left her there.” He whispers, shaking his head and averting his eyes to the dirt floor “You know, I tried to wake her, man. She couldn't move. It was like she… she was in a trance or something.”

“Or under a spell. A curse.” Liz says softly before sucking in a sudden breath “Vecna's curse...” coming to the horrifying realisation, remembering the book she’d gotten for Allen; the DM, the previous christmas.

“Who's Vecna?” Robin frowns beside her

“An undead creature of great power.” She groans, Dustin finishing her thought

“A spell caster.”

“A dark wizard.” Eddie breathes, eyes flickering up to catch Liz’s with growing dread.

A quick discussion later the main crew decide to head out to look for more clues and to make a food and supply run for the pair holed up in the boat house. Eddie sits quietly on the dirt floor tossing bolts into an old can he’d found while Liz leans against the wall dozing quietly beside him, her legs stretched out into a beam of sun, warming her swollen ankle as the shack slowly heats up in the rising sun. He tenses slightly feeling her body slump into his shoulder as she relaxes into sleep, clearly still exhausted from the previous night. His eyes softly drift over her; still clothed in his old shirt, realising her clothes had still been in the dryer when they’d fled he makes a mental note to ask the group to maybe grab them from the trailer when they could, if the police don’t have the whole trailer park taped off. The sound of crunching gravel catches his attention and he shakes her awake, motioning to keep quiet and hide as he jumps to the window to carefully scan the area. Liz scrambles awkwardly behind a large box, accidentally knocking a crate full of fishing net over herself with a quiet “fuck”

Neither breath for a couple seconds until the door is blown in with a crash, both jump in panic, ready to run until Steve pops his head up behind Dustin and Robin with a cheery “Delivery service!”

Eddie slumps in exasperated relief as Liz's hand pops up from behind the mess of boxes, middle finger extended with a pained groan.

The group drops several bags in front of the pair containing snacks that are more comfort foods than survival, some simple medical supplies for Liz's ankle and a pair of sweatpants and shoes that unfortunately don’t fit, Nancy apologising profusely for, turns out the trailer park was even more locked down now, crushing any hopes of retrieving her clothes. Once they’re settled and both fugitives are stuffing their faces with the snacks Dustin clears his throat

“So we got, uh, some good news and some bad news. How do you prefer it?”

“Bad news first, always.” Eddie mumbles through a mouthful of cereal

“All right. Bad news. We tapped into the Hawkins PD dispatch with our Cerebro, and they're definitely looking for you. Also, they're, uh, pretty convinced you killed Chrissy. Like, 100% kind of convinced.”

Eddie groans, rubbing his hands over his face as Liz takes the cereal box

“And the good news?” She asks softly looking at Robin

“His name hasn't gone public yet. And it doesn’t look like they know anything about you. But if we found out about him, it's a matter of time before others do. And once that gets out, everyone and their shallow-minded mother is gonna be gunning for the both of you.”

“Hunt the freak, right?” Eddie spits as Robin just shakes her head

“Exactly.”

“Shit”

Liz gently puts a hand on Eddies shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze and a half convincing smile before turning to the rest of the group

“So what do we do?”

“We find Vecna, kill him, and prove his innocence” Dustin exclaims confidently

“That's all, Dustin? That's all?” Eddie snaps

“Yeah, no, that's pretty much it.” The younger boy shrugs, seemingly not phased by the insanity of the idea

“Listen, Eddie…” Robin says gently seeing the incredulous confusion on Eddie's face “I know everything Dustin is saying sounds totally delusional, but we've actually all been through this before. I mean, they have a… a few times, and… and I have once. Mine was more human-flesh-based, theirs was more smoke-related, but the bottom line is, collectively, I really feel we got this.”

He nods along blankly, the hurried explanation Liz had given the previous night barely adding to his understanding of the situation.

“We usually rely on this girl who has super powers.” Steve pipes up “But, uh, those went bye-bye, so…”

“So we're technically in more of the–”

“Brainstorming phase.”

“Brainstorming.” Eddie scoffs with a cocked eyebrow as the group rambles trying to be reassuring.

“There… There's really nothing to worry about.”

Suddenly the group hear sirens blaring in the distance, growing too close for comfort, Eddie leaps to his feet, grabbing Liz and tossing her with a yelp into the boat before jumping in and pulling the tarp down over top of them cursing. The rest scramble out to their car before following the police vehicles as they speed past.

As the noise grows fainter the two relax slightly, breathing heavily, Eddie crouching protectively over Liz who’s curled up against the bottom of the boat. He shakes his head, screwing his eyes shut before dropping it onto her shoulder “Fuck man..” He hisses with a shaking breath “I am so fucked”

Liz rolls slightly so she can look up at him, placing a hand on his pale cheek, his eyes popping open in surprise as she pulls his face up to look at her “We’re going to get out of this, I’m here with you remember? This is my quest now too”

A smile tugs at his lips as fear swims in his deep brown eyes, feeling a comforting warmth spread across his face from where her hand touches it. “But maybe we can find somewhere a little more comfortable to hole up? At least for a little bit?”

“Right. Yeah. Rick’s still locked up so if we’re careful we can break in. Probably a disaster there but it’ll be better than here for sure.”

She laughs as he carefully helps her out of the boat, apologising for the earlier toss. After waiting for an hour or two to make sure the coast is definitely clear the two carefully make their way to the door which Eddie picks open with unsurprising ease.

“You’re going to need to teach me how to do that sometime” She laughs as they pick their way through the dusty living room

“You can’t?”

“Safe to assume anything you can do, I can’t. Guess I was trying to live my bad-boy dreams vicariously through you” She grumbles with a roll of her eyes

“Bad boy huh?” He chuckles darkly “Clearly you’re thinking of that stupid Hargrove kid that all the girls were swooning over last year, I’m just the town freak. Really though…of all people… Why on earth would you want to play the town outcast in a game where you could be…. Literally anyone else''

“I guess I just wanted a character I could relate to a bit more.” She shrugs, flopping onto the dusty couch, coughing as she waves the disturbed cloud away.

“Oh?” He plops down beside her, propping his chin on his knee and turning to look over at her

“Yeah though I’ll be honest I hadn’t actually finished your sheet before I ended up here”

“What do you mean? Like I don’t have a backstory or something? Because I can tell you for sure, I have history and it’s not great” He frowns, straightening a little and dropping his knee, awkwardly stretching.

“That’s the weird thing…. Well, one of the many weird things. I created this character on a paper” She rubs her temples with her fingers, her eye’s dancing in front of her like she’s reading an invisible page before turning and leaning forwards, studying him.

“But you here…you’re a mystery to me. You’re more than I ever could have thought up. You’re somehow fully real” she places a hand on his chest feeling his heart beating under his hellfire shirt “It’s so strange”

He smirks, a blush creeping up his neck with her hand resting on his chest. “I think i’m pretty real thanks” His eyes darken slightly “How did you mean, someone you can relate to?”

she lets her hand fall to her lap, the other tracing invisible scars across her palm. The place on his chest it had rested feeling colder than just the loss of just the body heat.

“Metal head with a heart of gold. At least I’d like to think so. Not sure if the sentiment is exactly shared in my old circles but my new family, my found family tried to convince me when they could”

She laughs sadly and he puts his hand over hers, rings clinking against each other, wordlessly willing her to continue. “Uh well I really struggled with high school. Managed to graduate but I still think it’s cause the teachers didn’t want to deal with another year of me in their classes, I wasn’t exactly the best student”

“Good to know where I get it from” He chuckles

“I did ok socially, I had friends, I had boys pursuing me before I was old enough to know the difference between love and friendship and got swept up in a couple high school romances that burned out almost immediately, so in a small school where everyone knew each other means rumours are bound to spread and my reputation was already shaky so when i….uh when something happened and I broke up with the semi-popular guy I was dating and started coming to school high or hungover they were pretty quick to turn on me and I became the school freak…. I was already in a bad place leaving high school which contributed to a whole lot of other bad choices leading to losing myself in a relationship that went up spectacularly in flames.”

He can feel her hand clench tight but turns to look the other way, hiding the rage that was seething through him. He couldn’t figure out why he felt so strongly… Maybe it was his need to collect and comfort the outcasts or maybe there really was some otherworldly connection after all. Her quiet voice broke through the buzzing in his head

“I guess I was hoping to try again in some way. Be something better. Someone that won’t let the world stop them from being themselves, that creates a safe space for the people they love, someone with dreams and ambition once they get out of their bullshit high school… Guess jokes on me if this is what Allen was planning on putting my character through, you bastard!”

She yells the last sentence and shakes her fist comedically at the ceiling. She laughs until she sees him looking over at her with a conflicted expression

“I think you’re giving me way too much credit there” he laughs quietly, hand still around hers “Don’t talk to your creator like that” She jokes dramatically , blushing as his gaze holds hers, his thumb rubbing soft circles into the back of her hand. She realises how close he is, his shoulder tucked slightly behind hers, her shoulder pressed into his chest; his racing heartbeat causing hers to follow as the tension mounts in the air.

Before either can make the first move they hear tires screech to a halt on the gravel out front, the pair to jump to their feet, Eddie scrambling to the window. Jason, Patrick and Andy step out, brandishing tire irons and bats menacingly. Eddie curses quietly and runs to hurry Liz out the back door, grabbing his walkie and quietly making their way back to the boathouse.

The two crouch by the window watching the boys tear the house apart as the sun sets until Eddie notices Jason by the window eyeing the boathouse

“Shit we need to go. Now!” He grabs the walkie, whispering into it “Dustin? Please. Are… Are you there? We’re in trouble man!”

“Eddie I can’t run, you have to get out of here. I can run in the opposite direction, distract them so you can leave. They don’t know me, they might just let me go”

Eddie grabs her shoulders harshly, looking down at her angrily

“No way, no fucking way. Those guys are pieces of shit, there’s no way I’m leaving you here on a hope they just assume the random punk girl they’ve never met before has nothing to do with me and the crazy shit happening here. Jason’s always had a sick streak, I wouldn’t put it past him to hurt you if he thought it would help him get to me. I’m not leaving you here.” She can see guilt and determination flashing in his eyes as tears cause her vision to swim.

“I can’t let them catch you..”

He tears his gaze from hers and looks around wildly, eyes landing on the boat strung up from the beams

“That might work”

He tears the ropes down as she unloads the tarps and sandbags out of the shitty dingy, adrenaline dulling the pain in her ankle as they quietly drop the craft into the water. As silently as possible they push off, Eddie using one of the paddles to propel them forward as Liz checks for leaks, suddenly a voice startles them from the shore and they freeze

“Hey, freak!” Jason shouts from the bank “Where do you think you're going?”

“Shit” They both gasp in unison as Jason starts tearing off his jacket and shoes, calling for the other two to join him. Eddie jumps to the engine trying to rip it to life as Liz jumps up unsteadily, brandishing the oar. The engine sputters a few times as Eddie curses at it, Jason and Patrick closing in on the boat.

“Eddie, we need to move!” she shouts swinging the oar over Jason's head in warning, he glares up at her with fury and surprise

“Who the fuck are you? Are you with this freak? Did you help him kill Chrissy?” She swings the oar again but he catches it and rips it from her hands, sending her tumbling over the side and right to where Patrick is swimming.

“Liz!” Eddie screams as he sees Patrick grab hold of one of her wrists and start to drag her back towards shore. Suddenly the two are sucked down into the water by an unseen force, Liz’s wrist grasped tight in Patrick's frozen grip. She forces her eyes open in the eerie water to see Patrick frozen in place, eyes rolled back, twitching. The air in her lungs escapes in a bubble as she frantically tries to wrench free of his grip, suddenly a chill runs through her body as a voice creeps into her mind.

Who...are you?

Her head whips around wildly as the sound of clock chimes echoes around her, she doesn’t have time to wonder longer as Patrick's body suddenly shoots up, dragging her to the surface, her sudden weight out of the water slips her wrist from his grip and sends her sputtering into the water beside Eddie. They all watch in horror as Patrick is lifted into the air above them, bones snapping and cracking. Eddie grits his teeth and drags Liz to the shore as she continues to watch the horror over her shoulder, only turning back once they hit the bank and stumble off into the darkness.

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#eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #Eddie munson x Fem!OC #Eddie x original character #Stranger things OC

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wwalkingdread · 2 years

Note

Umm maby a Marlon x reader where the reader is feeling really insecure ( their boyfriend) Marlon doesn’t realize until a group member ( none of the main few like maby a made up one) says something that strikes a nerve and later on that night when they are about to go to sleep ( they sleep in the office with Marlon) Marlon comforts them. Thanks if u can ☺️

❥ We’ll Get Through This Together

Characters: Marlon

Description: Dealing with insecurities and self doubt, Marlon tried to help you just by being there.

Warnings: Violence and gore, cursing

Notes: Why was this so hard to write!! I love Marlon!! Raaaghhhh!! I wish I could’ve wrote this differently!! Please don’t be too disappointed in this!! </3

Also Death Murderer is the band that’s on the shirt in Marlon’s room, which I find very fun :o)

You always found yourself struggling, even if the task was abundantly simple. You found yourself over-thinking, picturing everybody’s judgemental stares, their inner thoughts, which just made you clumsy. It made you wonder why you were even on hunting duty, fetching whatever you could during the middle of the day, before dinner. Marlon had always been supportive. You think he did this to help with your confidence, to work with others. It really brought out the leader in him when he did things like this and as much as you wanted to appreciate it, you always felt bad when you hesitated and let people down, letting the prey bounce away back into a bush. You struggled a lot, and everybody could see it. It was only a moment on time before they lashed out, and you were dreading it.

Another arrow shot toward to small, furry rabbit, piercing its skin and stabbing it through the neck. That was another one, and you had yet to catch a single rabbit. Theresa bit her tongue, puffing out in tired frustration as she moved away from her current position to go fetch the bloodied body of the rabbit.

“One more of these things and we should be good…” She said, mostly to herself. She turned to face you, retrieving the rabbit, tugging on the arrow and fitting it back into her quiver, scarcely missing the weak groan of the undead. A walker crunched behind her, bones awkwardly contorted like they wanted to burst from its rotting body. Its skin, green as mildew, peeling away from its sunken face. It clamped its mouldy hand down on Theresa’s arm, trying to sink its teeth into the flesh of her neck. They exclaimed in shock, and you fiddled with your bow, the adrenaline making you clumsy and your hands jittered in place. You drew your bow, your chest rapidly rising and falling. You shot at the walking corpse,

But it hit the tree it stood next to instead.

After struggling to reach the pouch attached to her leg, Theresa planted a kitchen knife into the walker’s skull, a red splatter covering her cheek.

"God fucking dammit,” Theresa hissed through her teeth, “Good job back there.” She barked, wiping at her face aggressively, the sickeningly thick paste coating her skin. Your breathing quickened, looking at the slumped over corpse with a gash in its head. The bow felt heavy in your hands as you felt faint, the world spinning around you,

“I-I’m sorry, I…” Theresa stormed up to you, her curly locks bouncing behind her. She whipped out her finger, accusingly pointing at you, the sudden movement making you flinch,

“If you weren’t Marlon’s fucking property, he would’ve thrown you the fuck out by now.” Her finger dug into your chest, a snarl painted on her face, “You’re going to get us killed.” She said quietly, turning her head away from you, “Just like Jasper.” She walked off, not wanting to continue the hunt after the incident, smelling like rot and visibly shaken.

You didn’t want to cry. Theresa’s lost people, people who were incredibly close to her, she’s lost more than you ever had, so she was snappy and losing her grip on everything. Still, just because there were reasons behind her harsh words didn’t make it any easier. If you cried, Theresa would just find you even more pitiful. She was the one that almost got bit, that almost got torn apart right in front of you. If any tears were going to be shed they should’ve been hers. When you got to the gates, people noted that you arrived early. Theresa shakily retold the incident through gritted teeth and you rushed past her, not wanting to see if she’ll mention your name. People didn’t ask any questions or care where you were going, Theresa was the one attacked after all.

You didn’t go down for dinner. After what happened, you didn’t deserve to eat the food Theresa had successfully caught on her own. Marlon spent so much time trying to teach you how to use a bow, his rough hands guiding yours, his hand on your waist, his encouraging words in your ear. He tried so hard, taking time out of his schedule to teach you. You savoured your time together, but it all felt completely wasted. You still couldn’t do it. Recently, you’ve been feeling horrible just for being there at Ericson. Everybody had a job, a talent, a quirk that gave the place life. You didn’t know yours, and it’s been around five years. At this point, it felt like you were going to stay a blank slate; wasted potential, if you ever had any, to begin with.

You were in your dorm, sitting on the stale bed you haven’t slept on in weeks. For the time being you just wanted to be alone, soak in your self-pity until you felt like you could show your face. Theresa could’ve told people about your failed attempt to save her and you didn’t want to see it on their faces. Their disappointment, their silent rage of almost losing another.

You heard a gentle rap at the door and you perked up, feeling a lump swell in your throat. After feeling too nervous to respond, the door slowly creaked open, like the person on the other side was trying their best to be quiet.

“I thought you might’ve fallen asleep…” Marlon said, stepping into the room, closing the door behind him. He eyed you, taking in your form. With a small sigh, he began to adjust the cuff of his letterman jacket, which honestly didn’t need any fixing.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere. If I didn’t see you come back, I would’ve thought you ran off…”, He laughed bitterly, thinking his words over again, “You know I wouldn’t want that, right…?”

“I don’t know why. I haven’t helped. For years I haven’t helped.” You buried your face in your hands, you were done crying, but feeling Marlon’s stormy watching you made you want to start all over again. Marlon found his way to your bed, crouching in front of you,

“Hey…” He placed a hand on your knee, “That’s not true. You help me just by being here, believe me.”

You wanted to, but right now you couldn’t. His thumb ran across your knee, which shook with nerves. You didn’t uncover your face, which he just exhaled at in response. He found himself back on his feet and standing upright. After a moment of thick silence, he spoke,

“You’re not sleeping here tonight, are you?” He scratched the scruff on the back of his neck, finding his gaze falling to the floor.

“No, I…” You paused, your arms now wrapped around yourself, “I don’t think I want to be alone right now…”

“Alright, good…” He craned his neck, “I don’t really want to be either…” he reached his hand out, “C’mon. Let’s go to bed.”

Marlon took you to his office, hand in hand, you trailing behind. You two were in comfortable silence, he knew you weren’t in the mood to speak. You just wanted to be around somebody, that somebody being Marlon, and Marlon felt the same about you. When he was holed up in his office full of doubt and worries, he came to you. You would be there for him, massaging his shoulders, rubbing your fingers through his hair. You were there. Marlon kept his back toward you as you took off your boots and jeans, slipping out of your thick jacket, then sliding under the blankets Marlon brought from vacant rooms. You were silent, hearing Marlon begin to unlace his own boots.

“Did you hear about…?” Your throat ran dry,

“Theresa is fine. She wasn’t bitten, don’t worry.” His tone was stern. You just shrugged, your head falling against the mattress, clutching your own shirt. Something weighed on you, something dark.

“Did I have anything to do with Jasper…?” Your throat clenched tight, your vision beginning to blur. Marlon straightened, eyes almost doubling in size,

“Fuck, of course not. What happened to Jasper was…” He paused, looking downward, but his eyes found themselves back to you, your back facing him, “Did somebody say something to you?”

“I don’t know…” Marlon said your name harshly, a scowl lacing his eyebrows tightly.

“I don’t care what anybody says, but you had nothing to do with that.” Marlon had finally stripped off, changed into his tight-fitting Death Murderer shirt, something he luckily bought a size or two too big back when he first got here. He set himself down next to you, his finger circling around your shoulder. You exhaled through your nose at the contact, and Marlon halted his soothing motions, to which you finally rolled around.

“There’s my favourite.” He said, and you smiled weakly in his direction, finding yourself not able to make eye contact.

"I hate seeing you feel bad about yourself.” His thumb ran across your cheek, picking away any stray hairs that stuck there,

“I know. I’m sorry.”, He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead,

“Is there anything I can do?” You shrugged, sniffling, “It’s okay. I know it’s hard.” He reached under the blanket, taking your hand into his. He didn’t care about the scabs and scars that littered your skin, he brought your knuckles to his lips, kissing them gently.

“I love you.” He said, pressing his lips to the bone once more, “Even if you don’t.” You bit your shaking lip, not wanting tears to spill over again, you didn’t want Marlon to think he was doing something wrong, because he wasn’t.

“I love you, too…” You found yourself huddling closer, holding his hand tight.

“We’ll get through this.” He scooted closer, kissing the bridge of your nose, “together,” he added.

And for once, you finally believed him.

#twdg #twdg hc #twdg marlon #twdg s4 #twdg Marlon x reader #twdg x reader #twdg headcanon #twdg fanfiction

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lailyn · 3 years

Note

Please do a Lokius with a aching stomach and diarrhoea... either one of both can suffer. Please...

Loki was not one to be ruled by man's strict eating times, more arbitrary in his regimen and choice of sustenance. They had entered that phase in their relationship where things Mobius used to find annoying about Loki were now endearing quirks he could not get enough of.

But the chewing sound Loki had been making for the past forty minutes piqued his curiosity; no piece of meat, extinct or otherwise, should be that tough.

"Loki," he began. "Are you eating builder's bog again?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Well, you did mistake it once for toffee," Mobius murmured. "Hurry up. I'm almost done with my magazine."

The chewing sound continued, louder this time now that Loki had gotten his attention.

Mobius sniffed the air. It smelled sweet...and musky, not unlike wet mouldy bread. "Seriously. What are you eating?"

"Nothing."

"Loki..." Mobius drawled warningly. "Show me your teeth."

"No."

Mobius walked his knees across the bed till he reached the edge, and peered in horror at the litter of discarded candy wraps under the table. "You ate Kablooie?"

"Uhm.."

"The entire roll?" Mobius gaped. "Loki, that was evidence!"

"Then why was it in your desk?" Loki challenged.

"I...forgot to hand it back in into Evidence."

"And no one's hauled your arse in for it," Loki shrugged. "Since no one noticed it was gone, I figured no harm done."

"Not yet," Mobius muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Loki demanded.

"It came from 1549," Mobius recalled. "As far as shelf lives go, I think you're really pushing it."

Loki's fingers stilled in the midst of unwrapping the very last one. "I thought the Variant took it from the future."

"All the more reason why you should be careful. There's no telling what sort of effect time-travelling can have on degradable foods."

"Well, I am an alien from outer space, I have eaten much stranger things." Loki popped the last candy into his mouth. "Nothing quite as addictive though. Couldn't stop. I wish there was more."

"That is literally what addiction means," Mobius said, shaking his head. "Are you coming to bed now or are you going to run miles around the TVA to work off all that sugar?"

Loki broke into the biggest, bluest smile Mobius had ever seen and approached the bed, magically losing his clothing, piece by piece. "Oh, I'll work it off alright."

When Loki kissed him, he tasted of blueberries and Mobius made a mental note to procure as much candy as he could for Loki if it meant a steady supply of such sweet kisses.

*****************

Mobius drifted in and out of sleep, fleeting from one dream to the dream. Strangely, the dreams were all the same, of a door that kept closing and opening but letting noone in or out.

The sound of a slamming door jerked him out of the dreamscape at last, resounding like bells in his sleep-fogged mind.

In the dark, his hand automatically reached out for his grounding force, but the bed was empty.

Mobius shot up and squinted around the room. "Loki?"

A rustling sound from his study desk alerted his senses, and Mobius could make out the shadowy outline of a person curled up in his chair.

"What's the matter?" Mobius dug the heel of his hands into his eyes. "Can't sleep?"

Loki shrugged. "Too much sugar, like you said."

"Told ya." Mobius cracked a yawn and pulled the covers over his head. How Loki was not knackered after all that raucous lovemaking was beyond him. "Don't stay up too late."

Loki mumbled something under his breath that did not sound quite English and Mobius smiled to himself, comforted by Loki's mere presence.

Suddenly he heard the sound of a door, familiar for he had only heard it minutes ago in his dream -

Is someone else there in the room with them? Have they been found out?

Mobius threw the covers back. "Loki!"

"Just a minute," someone answered weakly from the bathroom.

Finally realising what was happening, Mobius sighed. He padded over slowly to the bathroom.

"You alright in there?" he asked.

A retching sound answered him, faint and muffled like Loki was trying his damndest to suppress it.

"Let it all out," Mobius ordered. "You're going to rip a hole in your gullet if you hold it in."

Loki's irritable "Shut up," came across weak and garbled.

Mobius knocked again. "Let me in."

"I'm done," followed by the sound of the toilet flushing.

When Loki emerged from the bathroom, the mild alarm flared into real fear in the pit of Mobius' stomach. Loki had always been pale, but now he looked positively ghostly, with his lank black hair matted to his scalp and sweat pooling in the jut of his collarbones.

Loki staggered toward the bed and dropped heavily into it like a sack of bones.

"How many times have you been sick?" Mobius asked quietly.

"I lost count," Loki muttered, flinging an arm over his eyes. "My insides feel like they're on fire."

Mobius sat down on the edge of the bed carefully and slipped his hand under Loki's shirt. His lover's belly felt warm against his skin for once and he wondered if it was only a metaphor.

"Yeah?"

Loki nodded. "From my mouth all the way down to my ass.'

"Poor Loki," Mobius murmured, rubbing the tight muscles of Loki's abdomen. "Should I call for a doctor?"

Loki barked a laugh. "What good will that do?"

"They can give you something for the pain."

Loki rolled his eyes. "Or a pruning."

At the aghast look on Mobius' face, he added, "I'm a Variant, remember? I'm not one of you. They're not going to bother."

When Mobius did not speak, Loki instantly deflated. "I'm sorry. That came out more harshly than I intended."

"I won't let that happen," Mobius said tightly. "Never."

A moment of silence ensued.

"I know," Loki said softly.

"You're one of us," Mobius insisted, the stubborn set to his chin just begging to be kissed; Loki was in too much pain to do anything about it so he masked it behind a groan of annoyance instead.

"I know…"

"You're not fooling me, Loki," he growled.

"My stomach hurts," Loki admitted with a sullen wince. "I think I'm dying."

"Nah. Never seen any record of a Loki dying from poisoned candy," Mobius comforted. "You'll live."

Loki's stomach chose that moment to cramp again and he let out a cross between a sob and a laugh. "Sixteenth century candy. What was I thinking?"

"Don't beat yourself up," Mobius said. "There was no candy on Asgard, of course you couldn't resist. I would have done the same if I were you."

"Stupid Kablooie."

"Poor Loki," he felt Mobius' coo against the baby hair at his ear, feathery like a whisper in the wind. "I'll get you real candy next time."

A whimper escaped his lips at the sheer gentleness of it all; Mobius must have mistaken it for one of pain for he lifted his hand off Loki's stomach.

"No, don't stop," Loki pleaded.

Mobius resumed his massage, kneading the concave abdomen as hard as he could to loosen the knots but still mindful of causing unnecessary discomfort.

"Does that feel okay?" he asked anxiously.

Loki nodded gratefully. "Don't stop. It's helping."

"Good," Mobius said, relieved. "Try and get some sleep."

Loki licked his lips. He could still taste the synthetic blueberry taste from the candy. "It was really good though."

"Yeah, until it reacted with your cast-iron alien stomach."

"You like my stomach."

Mobius bent to kiss the most beautiful tummy in the world to show just how much he agreed, only to receive a painful sounding rumble in response.

"See this is why I only eat salad."

#lokius #sick loki #time husbands #ask #fic #wowki #loki #mobius m. mobius #loki tv

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specialsituationsgroup · 3 years

Text

In Your Care

Vetinari singed off on the palace supplies bill, then handed it back to Drumknott.

"Satisfied, sir?"

"Quite."

Drumknott smiled shyly.

Vetinari got up to stretch his legs and clear his mind. He froze, staring unseen through the desk.

"Sir."

Vetinari grabbed the desk, turning the fall into a kneel. Drumknott dropped the file and kneeled next to him.

"Are you all rigth, sir?"

Vetinari's eyes were closed. He was shaking. Drumknott grabbed his shoulder. He swallowed his nerves and brought the back of his hand to Vetinari's forehead.

"Sir, you're burning."

"I think I’ve come down with a cold. I've been feeling faint since this morning."

"This is not a cold, sir. You need to rest."

"I do not have time. Lord Rust will be here in an hour."

"I will move all your appointments for three days. He will think you are making him stew."

"In three days there will be a backlog too great to ever catch up with."

"Then let me help."

"... How?"

"To start with, you don't have to read through every report to find the important parts - I can filter them for you."

Verinari looked at him, eyes hard. "Dangerous phrasing, Drumknott. You could keep things from me and I would never know."

"I could, sir. And you could be defrauding the city."

But we wouldn't.

Vetinari sighed. "Start with the reports then."

Drumknott smiled faintly. "I'll tell the kitchen to make you chicken soup."

"That will start rumors of the unwanted kind."

"Then I'll say it's for me."

"But you will be seen eating your usual lunch."

"Then we can eat togeather."

"Very forward of you, mr Drumknott." Vetinari was sly.

Drumknott shrugged.

"Help me to my room."

"Of course."

Drumknott let Vetinari lean on him. He made to move to the door, but Vetinari did not budge.

"This way, mr Drumknott." He nodded at a random bit of wall. "Remember what I do excatly."

Drumknott understood, torn between pride and fear. "Yes, sir."

Vetinari showed him how to open a sectret door and navigate the hidden pasages safely, Drumknott soaking up every minute detail.

Suddenly, they were in a spartan bathroom. Drumknott realized he was in the patrician's private chambers. He took over, helping Vetinari through the only door, to a room barely larger than his own.

Vetinari sat on the bed and instructed him to his nightshirt. Drumknott went to make tea while he changed. When he returned, Vetinari was curled up under the covers, sweaty and shivering. His eyes were shut tight and brow creased. Drumknott left the tea on the side table, then covered him with all the blankets in the room. The shivering stopped.

Vetinari relaxed. He had a strange look on his face.

Drumknott waitied.

"The last time someone took care of me like this, I was fourteen." Vetinari, no, Havelock, began. "Madam was fussing around me and I told her not to babybe me. But secretly I was glad that she did." His voice had gone hoarse. He shut his eyes, swallowing thickly.

Drumknott sat beside him and took his shoulder through the covers. Havelock calmed down.

"I need to cancel the meetings and order soup. Do you need anything?"

Havelock shook his head.

"Get some sleep."

He nodded.

Drumknott gave a little reassuring squeeze and left. He sent Brian to inform the lords, then feigned a cough in the kitchen, asking for chicken soup and mouldy bread. The maid Jenny looked at him like he was Duck Man, but directed him to the leftorvers destined for the bin, no waste to her. Soup wouldn't be ready by dinner, on account of asking for it so late. Drumnkto thanked her profusely. With a tablecloth bag and a ream of reports, he faced the unassuming wall. A deep breath later, he walked the gauntlett alone, his heart thudding.

At the last step, he stopped to compse hismelf. It felt odd coming in through the bathroom. He half expected to catch the patricain in the tub, butt naked and glaring. Of course, he found Vetinari asleep, doused in sweat but not in pain. Leaving bread by the tea, he pulled a chair over and started to read.

Half way through, Vetinari stirred, blinking at him.

"You're here." Vetinari was surprised.

Drumknott looked up. "I didn't want you to be alone."

Vetinrai gave him a tired smile.

Drumknott bit his lip in hesitation.

"Sir, the rumors that you live on bread and water and don't sleep, is there any truth to them?"

Vetinari took a deep breath. "I eat plainly, compared to other lords, and I sleep with a candle burning to confuse would-be assasins."

"But?"

"I regularly get engrosed in my work and forget to eat or sleep. Or rather, I ignore hunger and drowsyness."

Dumknott's heart sank. "You can't do that, sir."

"Can’t I?"

"Unless you want this to happen again. Or worse. " He klutched the papers.

"Indeed I do not."

"I can help." He offered, again.

"How very kind of you." Vetinari replied, but something was off.

Drumknott couldn't tell what, but the idea of Vetinari not being patrician made him feel like the ground had dropped form under him and he was in free fall.

"If something were to happen to you-"

"Ah. You are offering out of self interest." Havelock rolled over, turning his back to him.

It felt like a gut punch. On reflex, Drumknott opened his mouth to deny, but stopped himself. He fiddled with the corner of a paper.

"I am." He admitted.

Vetinari watched him over his shoulder.

Drumknott met his gaze. "I also hate to see you like this. A man can have more than one motive."

"... Indeed." Vetinari turned on his back, but stared at the ceiling.

Drumknott glanced at the reports, thinking. "Can you sit up?"

Vetinari did.

Drumknott left the papers on the chair and checked the tea. It had gone teppid so he mixed a litle honey in it. When he offered the mug, Vetinari met his gaze. The patirican took it in both hands and sipped. Curious, he opened the cloth.

"Mouldy bread?" He eyed Drumknott.

"A family remedy, sir."

"And you believe it works?"

A shrug. "No Drumknott in living memory died of illness."

"Curious." Vetinari picked up a slice. "The scholars should look into that." He was turning it over. "Perhaps there is something to it."

"Wouldn't know, sir."

Vetinari snifed at it. "Smells vaguely of blue cheese." He gave an experimental nibble. "Not very appealing but then medicine harldy ever is."

"As you say, sir."

Vetinari washed it dwon with a sip, alternating between bread and tea.

Drumknott sat back down.

"Anything of importance in there?" Vetinari nodded at the reports.

"Lord Rust is visiting the guild masters."

"Is he having any luck?"

"Not with the seamstresses."

"Ha. And has he tired the thieves yet?"

"No sir."

"Then he has more ambition than brains."

Drumknott chortled.

Vetinari smiled. "We need not worry then."

Drumknott turned to him, daring not hope. "We?"

"You lied for me, Drumknott. I am eting spoiled food on your assurance. We."

Drumknott blushed and looked away, his eyes falling on the papers. Rust's plotting watched back, sudden like the silence of Old Tom. He sobered.

"People like me are not figthters, sir." He didn't know why he was admiting weakness. Cowardice even. "We endure."

"I know." Vetinari was sympathetic.

Without looking, Drumknott knew his eyes were gentle. "I didn't hide the clerks just to protect them, sir."

"Oh?"

"I didn't want Wonse to be able to call on them."

"You wanted to punish him."

Drumknott shook his head. "No. I just didn't want him to get away with what he's done."

A nod in the corner of his vision. "Perfectly understandable."

He took a deep breath. "People like me, the worst we can do is not give our help."

Vetinari considered him. He picked up another slice. "That can be just as debilitating."

Face averted, Drumknott mumbled "I know."

#discworld #vetinari #drumknott #rufus drumknott #lord vetinari #gnu terry pratchett #pterry

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

Text

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 11

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 11 - Reason

Are there really people in this world that, no matter who you ask, no one has any information about him?

The weather forecast says that today’s temperature will go above 30 degrees for the first time this season. At noon, the white and scorching sun reflected off of the marble floor tiles outside the main building of the school. Lin Yan and Yin Zhou were sitting on the stairs relatively speechless. They spent the past three hours of phone calling around to find the address of the small Daoist priest. Lin Yan stayed up all night. The lack of sleep for many days made the world confusing and blurred around him. His senses were all fuzzy. He buried his face in the palm of his hand and he rubbed his forehead. He raised his head and exhaled.

"I've asked everyone. I was on the same project team with him, in the same research program, in the same dormitory before, his friends. . . He seems to have no friends, and he doesn't seem to have any relatives nearby. How do we find him?" Yin Zhou put his phone down. He grabbed the balled-up piece of paper on the ground, spread it out and read it again: "He has no class this week, and they have all gone to prepare materials for the thesis topic. Do you want to go back to the small temple to ask?"

"Please, you didn't see what happened yesterday. It was like a News Years' celebration from hell. I'm afraid that if I go back, the monk will take the peach wood sword and smack me three times over." Lin Yan said weakly. "You check first, I'll watch from behind."

"Hey," Yin Zhou poked Lin Yan sneakily, and there was a small white flash on the edge of his glasses: "What did you do with the ghost in the end?"

Lin Yan curled his knees into a ball and replied reluctantly: "I've already told you eight hundred times. We watched the nightlife of Wudaokou for the rest of the night."

"Watched the nightlife? Were you drunk?" Yin Zhou drew close to Lin Yan. "So, are you enemies turned friends? Is the fighting done? Should I expect any relationship in the future now?"

"Please watch what you're saying. He's watching now." Lin Yan raised his head lazily, blinked his eyes vigorously, rubbed his temples vigorously to keep himself awake: "No kidding, he disappeared at dawn, but I could feel that he was still there. The strange thing was that he didn’t seem to understand what I was saying to him. The monk said that the ghost wouldn't remember being a human being. He was basically. . . just like an animal."

"You have to find A-Yan quickly. I'm afraid that something will happen to him." Lin Yan said: "And he must know more than we do."

Yin Zhou slapped his thigh vigorously: "I always hang out with the three-dimensional people and get dragged into messes like this."

"Hack into the files of the school's dormitory. Students are supposed to register their new address when they move out. Maybe there's a clue there."

At 2:30 in the afternoon, Lin Yan and Yin Zhou appeared in front of an old five-story house on Dadong Road.

This city had many similar-looking buildings. Land prices were soaring day by day. Developers couldn't afford to dismantle them. Residents had no money to move. Over time, older houses like this one had become ugly scars in the cluster of new buildings. The old-style design had poor lighting. Even in broad daylight, it was dark and damp. The grey paint on the wall had peeled away, exposing the brown-red brick wall underneath; the dusty bicycles and broken furniture had piled up in the alleyway, never cleaned. From time to time, a mouse would hop past, staring at the intruder's whereabouts vigilantly in the dark with its small eyes.

"Shouldn't this place be demolished?" Yin Zhou stared at the address on the note in disbelief, and then looked up at the old residential building that seemed to be crumbling: "If you live here, you won't be able to run away if there's an earthquake." Lin Yan felt a bit guilty. He had heard that the little Daoist had been in a bad family situation and had been relying on part-time work to subsidize his tuition, but he hadn't expected it to be this bad. He shouldn't have kept quiet when he was kicked out of the dorm. As a result, he could not live in a dormitory and pay 1,000 yuan a year, so he left to rent a house in a place with little money.

The two cautiously walked through the small alley. Lin Yan pulled away a spider web hanging above his head and asked Yin Zhou's back: "What's the number of A-Yan's house?"

"0023" Yin Zhou patted the dust off his jeans and looked up at the surrounding house numbers in confusion: "But this should be the bottom floor."

"The basement." Lin Yan said in a deep voice.

The old corridor was full of rubbish, and it was so dark that he could barely see the blue and gray stripes of the stand-up collar T-shirt on Yin Zhou in front of him. There was a damp and mouldy smell in the air. He didn't know why, but Lin Yan suddenly remembered this one thing he saw in a movie. In a ghost film called "The 4th Floor", the woman in white at the end of a creepy corridor tilted her neck, and her dark hair showed two dark eyes. Lin Yan shook her head vigorously, trying to get rid of the fantasy in his mind. He couldn't help but laugh at himself. He must be really sick because all he could think of were ghosts all the time.

Yin Zhou stopped and pointed to what Lin Yan had said before. He saw a simple door at the end of the corridor with the number 0023 slantingly engraved on the door. Just as Lin Yan was about to knock on the door, Yin Zhou cut him off and put his ear on the door.

"Someone's talking." Yin Zhou frowned and adjusted his glasses: "I can't hear what they're saying. . ." He raised his finger to his lips and made a silent gesture. Seeing Lin Yan hesitate to listen, Yin Zhou grabbed him. He yanked his collar forward harshly. The soundproofing of the old house wasn't very good. They could make out intermittent voices inside through the door panel, speaking slowly, and occasionally letting out a low laugh or two.

"There's A-Yan's voice. Does he have guests?" Lin Yan murmured and turned back. After thinking about it, he felt that listening through the wall wasn't ethical, so he pulled Yin Zhou back and muttered: "Don't listen. People will think we're trying to rob the place."

The door was suddenly pulled open. Yin Zhou lost his balance and tumbled forward a couple steps. He propped himself up on the door frame to stand firmly, and explained embarrassingly: "Hi, hi, hello, hello, I thought no one was coming."

There was no response, the doorway was pitch black, and the sound of the door panel swaying slightly echoed in the empty corridor, "Squeak--"

A slender hand was holding the door frame, and a pale face flashed in the darkness. Yin Zhou came face-to-face with him, widened his eyes and cried out, "Ghost!" Then he hurriedly backed into Lin Yan. Lin Yan hadn't expected it, and he didn't have time to see what happened. Whatever happened, they both retreated instinctively. Yin Zhou stepped all over his feet, and the two fell into a shameful ball on the ground.

A timid male voice rang from above his head: "Brother Lin Yan?"

The light turned on, and the person standing at the door was the little Daoist A-Yan.

When he entered the house, Yin Zhou couldn't help but anxiously mutter. He followed Lin Yan reluctantly and walked into a small spotless two-bedroom house with simple furnishings. A white candle was lit on the coffee table in front of the old sofa, the wax drops forming small bumps around the candle's edge on the tabletop. Lin Yan and Yin Zhou sat down and looked around curiously. This wasn't a place where they expected young people to live. There was a faint smell of traditional Chinese medicinal herbs in the air. A compass and a peach wood sword were placed on the old cabinet, and an aged portrait of a person hung on the wall. Yin Zhou asked Lin Yan who the old man in the portrait was. Lin Yan quickly motioned him to shut up, and whispered that this was Tao Hongjing, the founder of the Maoshan School of Daoism.

When he saw A-Yan's unique appearance at school, he always thought that it was all for show. Lin Yan didn't expect that he really had some connection with the Maoshan School, known for their effectiveness in exorcising ghosts. A-Yan was still wearing the weird blue robe as he walked in with two teacups. He leaned over to blow out the candles on the table and respectfully handed the teacups to Lin Yan and Yin Zhou. The ceramic cup had been a Buy 3 for 10 Yuan bargain at a roadside stall, but the tea was still fragrant and tasted pleasant.

"The green bamboo leaves from Mount E-Emei are a specialty of my hometown. Master gave it to me. If I ever feel homesick, I drink this."

Yin Zhou was stunned by A-Yan's dismissal of their meeting moments ago. He gulped and asked calmly: "Didn't you have guests over? Why didn't you turn on the lights? I was scared to death just now."

The little Daoist's expression suddenly changed. He whispered a 'no'. Yin Zhou raised his eyebrows and glanced at him. The little Daoist couldn't stand sitting under his stare. He turned around and took out a tray from the cabinet, placing it on the coffee table carefully. "I was only talking to them," A-Yan said. On the tray were some boxwood carvings of different figures and animals. The carvings were lifelike, their eyebrows, beards, and even the folds in their clothes were clearly visible. Lin Yan picked up one and studied it. He was stunned: "Isn't this your master?"

A-Yan lowered his head and replied: "Yes. It can be boring living by myself sometimes. I sculpt some small things to pass the time and tell them my thoughts. Talking to them makes me feel better." He pointed to the woodcarvings on the tray and said: "These are my parents, sister, and our family cat."

The wood carving was covered with a thick layer of grout, soaked in oil; it looked very well-used. Except for the monk set off to the side, the remaining sculptures made up a set; there was a boxwood table, an exquisite miniature chair and the smiling family of three with their ball-shaped cat. Lin Yan touched the cat's head and couldn't help but admire the work. He said: "These carvings are really good, they're very heartfelt. A-Yan, if you're homesick, don't forget to book tickets with me if you want to go back home for the Mid-Autumn Festival. The school will give us a group discount."

A-Yan froze: "No I won't. My parents passed away long ago. I want to work and send money to my sister to study."

Lin Yan hadn't meant to touch a soft spot when he commented. He put down the woodcarving and apologized. A-Yan didn't care: "It's okay, I-- I'm used to it. I don't have any friends. When I carve these and talk to them, it feels like they're still here."

"I'm your friend." Lin Yan comforted him: "Carve one for me when you get the chance. Your craftsmanship is really amazing."

"Okay, I'll show it to you once I finish it." The little Daoist smiled, his eyes sparkling: "By the way, you-- you guys were looking for me because of the ghost thing that followed you?"

Lin Yan nodded. He sat upright and took a deep breath. He sorted out the things that had happened since encountering ghosts and said, "I heard you say that ghost resentment is too powerful and there is no way to overcome it. I wanted to know if there is another way to send him away without dispersing his spirit. He almost choked to death three times." A-Yan frowned and shook his head, "That's not it. Al-- Although I can't see him in places with heavy yang energy, I can feel that he's very sad." After that, he pondered for a while: "He didn't mean to harm you."

"Evil ghosts have no human consciousness, and those who die suddenly have resentment. Only when they wander in between the worlds of the living and the dead and find something to kill can they calm their hostility. My master said that they are so powerful that they have to be eliminated. I have the ability to look into the eyes of a ghost and understand their emotions, so I can't always disperse their spirits. Think about it, a murdered ghost who has waited for hundreds of years in a dark and cold grave; what else can you feel except profound sympathy?"

"Loneliness. Unbearable loneliness." A-Yan stared at the wooden carvings on the plate, his eyes suddenly distant: "On July 15th, the gates to the ghost realm will be open. He wants to take you to his world. It's too unbearable to be alone." The last sentence was hushed, almost self-deprecating.

Lin Yan picked up the cat woodcarving and fiddled with it. To be honest, he did sympathize with the ghost. He even closed his eyes to try and imagine himself in the ghost's shoes. The closed, silent, unknown horror of death, a blackened skeleton in the faint light of a miner’s lamp sleeping quietly. First, he is hidden in the coffin, then under a layer encrustation, and then inside an airtight tomb room, with a heavy bluestone tomb door, layer upon layer locking the soul away to keep it from rising again. No matter how magnificent the mausoleum is, and how rare it was to be buried in one, what's the use of it? Only the sound of his heartbeat could be heard in the eternal darkness. No, there isn't even a heartbeat.

Death is the loneliest thing. A deadly but lonely ghost, after hundreds of years of silence, waiting for someone to finally sense its presence.

How tragic yet oddly optimistic.

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost #dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #chinese novel #chinese bl #english translation #yaoi novel

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dercolaris · 3 years

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What safe means

Hey guys, I am back! Two weeks in hospital and as soon as I'm home, I'm already writing again. I’m a bit addicted or something. We’re starting with Scriddler (what a suprise!), hopefully not to clonky for the first story after such a long break. I hope you all enjoy it! Thanks to @shin-arei for correcting it.

Song: https://youtu.be/ZfWRZJmzuBU

A small beam of light flickered almost smoothly over the rough walls, illuminating the room with a glaring, fake glow. Edward blinked slightly and tried to ignore the loud hum of the car in the street in front of the old house. As quickly as the halogen spotlight had lit the room, just as quickly it had disappeared into the darkness of the night again. What remained was a pleasant warmth in the small bedroom. The tinkerer rubbed his arching forehead, which was still wet, and felt with the flat of his hand over the white bed sheet, clawing lightly into the damp fabric. His heart was beating fairly steadily after the unexpectedly intense activity, but absolute chaos broke out in his mind after he was calmed down enough. The raven-haired man tried to ignore the nagging thoughts, searched with his fingers for the thin summer quilt on his thighs. He pulled it up to his shoulders with a flowing movement and stared at the grey wallpaper. The sweat slowly dried up due to the milder temperatures during the summer night. The Riddler took a deep breath, smelled that special blend of roasted coffee beans and a hint of Benzeneselenol again. A slight rustling behind him made him flinch a little. Was Jonathan already asleep? Probably. Edward stiffened a little and carefully looked over his shoulder, staring at the former psychiatrist's messy, brown hair. He didn't move or make any really loud noises. The tinkerer slowly turned his head back, staring again at the innumerable cracks in the mouldy wall. This whole evening was basically a huge riddle for the younger man with a never-ending spiral of cheap attempts at explanations. The inventor grumbled cautiously, then suddenly stopped. Had he actually just compared the night to a riddle? The raven-haired man smiled barely noticeably at the unintentionally fitting choice of words for the unusual situation and licked his salty-tasting lips. And what now? The rogue felt a slight throb on his strained forehead. To make matters worse, the bed began to shake when a presumably heavily laden truck drove past the unstable house. Much heavier than the load of the vehicle were probably only the thoughts of the Riddler at that moment. The faint ticking of the old wall clock in the dusty hall allowed the strange assumption that time itself would pass more slowly than usual. His blue eyes fixed one of the innumerable points on the wall. He had to somehow put what was happening in a logical context, but how? Edward frowned and pulled his knees up slightly, wrapping his arms around his calves. Actually, it could be summed up to literally one important point: he had a sexual intercourse with Jonathan Crane that night.

That was a fact that definitely could not be changed in his careful deliberation any more. Still, the chain of events that led to the unexpected 'climax' raised an endless number of unanswered questions. The tinkerer stroked some scars on his shin. It had started with a common plan, which - as always - got completely out of hand after a very short time. Scarecrow was a very stubborn figure of the underground and you could rarely change his mind, even if the professor was absolutely wrong with his statements and he would run straight into an avoidable catastrophe. The former psychiatrist's pride often prevented him from actually seeing mistakes and apologizing adequately for his bigotry. The raven-haired man sagged a little more on the bed, lowered his forehead to his drawn knees. Unfortunately, this was one of the few behaviour patterns in which the two criminals looked almost like twins. Even the inventor found it incredibly difficult to admit that he was not perfect. This was in strong contrast to his own feelings. Edward bit his lip lightly. The constant overcompensation of his non-existent self-esteem shot completely at odds with the image that he desperately wanted to convey to society: he, the one and only Edward Nygma, was the top of human ingenuity and mentally superior to all of the imbeciles around him. If anyone dared to say the opposite, this person was a fool or a simpleton. The reality was of course different. The Riddler was breathing a little slower than before. It seemed so absurd. He waged an almost endless fight with himself, which he could never win because the raven-haired man was not convinced of his own demeanour. A shimmering costume did not enhance a soul that was broken several times. The glittering fabric only hid the most obvious injuries in the torn mind.

And then there was Jonathan Crane. The older one probably saw through his shell when they first met. The brown-haired man analysed every little movement around him and brought it to an extremely painful point with astonishing precision when he had found enough 'evidence' for his thesis. The professor was not a man of many words. It was all the more impressive or even more terrifying to see how he managed to completely overthrow a normally stable framework of convictions with just one simple sentence. Edward gently shook his head. That still didn't explain why he'd ended up in bed with the dark man of all people. As always, his inner voice seemed to know better. This way of seeing through and breaking a human mind was simply remarkable. So remarkable that at some point the tinkerer felt a real attraction in Jonathan's vicinity. The Master of Fear was like a polarizing magnet, which initially pushed everything away until he gradually opened. The force changed suddenly and an infinitely strong suction was created, from which at a certain point there was simply no more escape. The Riddler began to shiver slightly. Why did he worry so much about this one night? It was just sex. No more and no less. They had released the very high pressure between them together and in the morning would pretend nothing had happened. A sharp stab went through his heart. Just sex. Presumably he was of no use for anything else. At that moment, self-doubts took over again. Nobody lasted long at his side and it was only a matter of time before someone tried to successfully push him out of the life. Sooner or later his name spread an unwanted chaos - not only because as a criminal he had the reputation of attracting as much attention as possible and had to stage himself again and again to keep his image. His world was a very fragile object that could break like glass at any time and who was willing to endure these constantly changing emotional states? Edward felt the first tears flow from his eyes. This loneliness ate away at him and knowing that he might have bridged this one night with purely physical love only made it worse in the end. Jonathan would kindly expel him from his apartment tomorrow. Just like everyone else before. The younger one had no hope that the professor was different from all the countless disappointments in his life. A low sob came from his dry throat. Still, there was this minimal possibility that the former psychiatrist might really take him for who he was: loud, disorganized, highly dramatic and far too insecure to make important decisions himself.

The tinkerer didn't like to say it out loud, but forbidden feelings had long been involved when he met the sinister man. The desire was so dragging that he made up some absurd lies just to finally be able to see Scarecrow again. Jonathan was humanly difficult to reach when it was not about his work and every small step towards a friendly basis was worth jumping out of pure joy. This also included completely unimportant, superficial arguments. The brown-haired man never shared his views with other villains because he felt it was a waste of time. Only Edward had this unique privilege to fight him mentally. So was it reprehensible to think about whether they might have a future together? The younger one relaxed a little. It made no sense to philosophize about it at the moment. He would have to wait until morning, which would most likely keep him awake for the entire night. The tinkerer moved his hips a little, feeling the tell-tale wet stain on the bed sheet. He surely had to apologize in the morning for the dried, white remains of his endless lust. Jonathan had insisted on wearing a condom during intercourse, which the younger one had basically not expected otherwise from the Master of Fear. The professor might be many things, but there was one thing he wasn't: reckless. It was also more or less known in the underground that the Riddler had phases in which he frequently changed his nocturnal company in bed. A small smile fell on his lips. Joker had been hit more than once in his ugly face for his often stupid comments about this behaviour of the other rouge and none of the other criminals had ever thought of defending the clown against the Riddler. Presumably half of the villains weren't interested in the black-haired man's private life or they just enjoyed watching the mad prince suffer. Joker was even more hated than the Dark Knight himself and that should mean something. Nevertheless, these completely exaggerated statements hit the younger man again and again at his sore spot. His ego. Was that why Jonathan had preferred to sleep with him in a sheltered way? What was the likelihood that the former psychiatrist would even label him as a male whore, like Joker or sometimes even Twoface? Ridiculous. It was so ridiculous. Why was the inventor thinking about it right now? Probably the older one just wanted to make sure that they both felt good the first time and that there weren't any nasty surprises in the morning.

Perhaps the professor had a well-kept secret that the tinkerer did not know yet. Edward closed his eyes for a moment. He couldn't imagine that Scarecrow had ever had anything like a committed relationship with anyone at all. Jonathan had been noticeably insecure that night. He seemed familiar with the theory of intercourse, but the practice was still visibly different from the myriad tips in the factual textbooks in his library. The gaunt man had once casually mentioned that he had grown up in a very religious environment. So there was a good chance that the explanation beyond the fact of the reproductive instinct never took place. So how was the grim psychiatrist supposed to know that sex was fun, that it relaxed the body, loosened internal blockages and ultimately calmed troubled minds? The Riddler consciously wanted to exclude the romantic aspect for himself for many people. Physical love was one thing and after all these years he had become convinced that he would never get beyond it. An old sock will find an old shoe. Just not in his case. The Riddler did not know what to do now. According to the beating clock in the corridor, it was just two in the morning, so at least four hours before the elder would wake up from his peaceful slumber. Far too much time to think or more, to overthink. Before Edward could decide on anything, he felt the previously rigid body move behind him. Jonathan snuggled down close to his body, the bare skin rubbing lightly against each other. The tinkerer held his breath abruptly. After a while, the brown-haired man's thin arm wrapped itself around his trembling abdomen, gently pulling him against the bony chest of the former psychiatrist. The thin man's cool breath brushed his sensitive neck. Small bite marks adorned the reddened skin. The younger one slowly broke out of his stiffness and began to breathe again, his hand carefully placed on the narrow wrist above his kidney. He flushed slightly and felt the professor's scarred chest rise and fall evenly. This led the inventor to slowly close his eyes. He concentrated entirely on the man behind him, shuddering again and again when his breath brushed the hair on the back of his neck. The older man's bony fingers caressed the pale skin gently, leaving a pleasant tingling sensation. Out of nowhere Edward heard the scratchy voice of the Master of Fear: "Please try to sleep, Edward. You are not alone and I will also be there tomorrow when you wake up. You can trust me. I'm not leaving.” That was all the younger one needed. Someone or better something in his head flicked a switch that otherwise could only be thrown through physical satisfaction. The tiredness overwhelmed him, as well as the strange warmth and the feeling of being safe. He no longer noticed how Jonathan breathed a gentle kiss on the back of his head, just wandered into a relaxed and long-awaited sleep.

#DC #Batman #Jonathan Crane #Edward Nygma #Scriddler #Riddlecrow #Scarecrow #Riddler #Pre-Arkham

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third-rail-vip · 4 years

Photo

Complicated

Summary:

It’d be killing two birds with one stone, she’d said. MacCready glared at the crinkled, blackened leaves of the fern sticking out of his duster pocket. His duster, which like the rest of him, was currently chest deep in stinking marsh water, facing a cluster of ferals.

Ivy and MacCready's trip to take on the Gunners is stopped in its tracks by a poor judged detour. Mac gets hurt, but he's never been very good at being cared for.

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 5625 [AO3 link] [Then I Met You - Series Link]

Mud-clouded, irradiated marsh water burned into his nose, filled his throat, and tried to force its way into his lungs.

And as if drowning wasn’t bad enough, a close second in the ranking of bad-to-worse was the gouging pain of claw-like nails burying themselves deep into his back, forcing him under water as they tried to tear chunks out of him.

A dull thought overtook him as the last of the breath left his lungs; he was going to die here.

--x--

The chill of cold water was replaced by a brief but biting gust of wind as a door clicked shut. MacCready stirred, floorboards shifted as he flexed his back and shoulders, which turned out to be the worst idea he could have possibly had - pain radiated from his left shoulder like fracturing glass.

He hissed through his teeth, taking a sharp breath in and sending a fresh wave across his body, briefly reigniting the burning sensation in his lungs. Waking up from a nightmare was supposed to be a relief, not just another chapter of discomfort.

MacCready kept his eyes scrunched closed. There was light beyond the barrier of his eyelids, low but warm. If it hadn’t been for the dull headache starting to tap away between his eyes like water torture, it might even have been welcoming.

“Shhh, shh, shh,” a voice murmured close by. “You’re okay.”

First things first, when you woke up somewhere strange, it was always best to keep your eyes shut. There was a lot you could learn when people didn’t know you were awake. Things that could keep you alive if you weren’t somewhere safe.

He took a breath in through his nose; the cold December breeze cut through the old damp scent of the room, it carried with it the smell of vegetables (tatos probably) and manure – he grimaced, trying to hide the expression of regret at his deep inhale. So, it was a farm. He listened carefully, the lows of brahmin and the quiet chatter of voices confirmed enough for him – the only danger he faced here was boredom.

As his apprehension dwindled further, he realised it was Ivy’s voice offering the soft reassurances – of course it was – and he could only assume it was her who’d just gently brushed his hair back from his sweat-damp forehead. The tender motion would be enough to lull him back to sleep if he let it, but he wasn’t ready to be drowning in his mind again, or to watch Lucy pulled to pieces, or to be yelling for his missing partner. No, it was time to wake up.

His vision was blurry when he eventually peeked his eyes open, the dull glow of an oil lantern was the only thing beating back the shadows of early evening. It’s illumination barely reached the wooden slatted ceiling he found himself staring up at.

He was laid on a mouldy old sleeping bag in a small room with broken windows, but that didn’t exactly narrow down locations when it came to the Commonwealth. Glancing out the window, the faint remnants of orange warming the darkness on the horizon told him the sun hadn’t long set.

Sat next to him, lantern light shafting through her hair and casting her face in shadow, was his partner. He smiled to himself at the halo effect doing its best to make her look like an angel – if angels sat there drinking Nuka-Cherry with a cute little crinkle on their nose from their patented ‘worry frown’.

Quick check for his other essentials; his sniper rifle was propped up in the corner by the lamp, which sat on the same small table as his hat. He reached up and patted his top pocket and felt the reassuring bulk of the toy soldier. Everything was where it should be.

“So, did I die or is this just my guardian angel coming to pay me a visit?” he croaked, with a throat drier than wasteland dirt.

“Hey you.” Ivy swiped the heel of her palm across her eye, before pushing a smile onto her lips and turning to look at him. “You had me worried there.”

Crap. He really did. That light tone didn’t hold any weight with him, he could hear the waver in her voice, see the tension in her smile. She’d hired him to make sure this kind of thing didn’t happen, but all it took was ferals and he was failing people all over again.

Now the light shone on her properly, the scratches on her face (earned in a fight he was nowhere near to help her with) put his heart into a vice-like grip.

They didn’t look as bad as before, there wasn’t blood all over her face anymore, for one thing. In fact, her hair was damp but back to it’s usual creamy white – no more essence of marsh water – and her rolled down vault suit showed she’d swapped into a clean tank top.

Come to think of it, when they’d arrived at Oberland Station it had only just been getting dark. Yes, he remembered where they were now - a cluster of shacks and a signal box huddled by the railroad tracks and surrounded by tato plants. He also remembered the welcoming committee, armed with pipe pistols and a whole heap of mistrust.

The pair of them had been caught off guard on the tracks, Ivy still in his arms – the vice tightened another twist. They were soaked, bleeding and, unless the settlers expected him to hurl his injured partner at them, they were unarmed.

He’d been about to give them the biggest f-ing piece of his mind, when the world that had started to spin around him, decided to turn out the lights.

“How long—”

“You’ve been out for a couple of hours.” Ivy hugged her knees to her chest and nodded to the IV he hadn’t even noticed in his arm. “You’re on your second bag.”

A bag of Radaway was hung up using the bedstead as a makeshift drip-stand. It had almost run through. On the ground nearby was another spent bag and an empty blood pack.

Shit. Well that would explain the headache, the dizziness and the nausea, not the mention the fever. There were only two things in the wasteland that’d do that to you; a whole heck of a lot of rads, or a couple of sips of Vadim’s moonshine.

“They let us stay, huh?” He hoped his smile could pass for something warmer than a grimace. “I wouldn’t have guessed from that reception.”

Ivy sighed and raised an eyebrow at his salty remark.

“Well, you passing out and dropping me like a sack of potatoes… tatos? Is there an equivalent?” She frowned for a second, adjusting the grip on her knees and shifting her weight to the other hip. “Anyway, I think it helped our case.”

Mac smiled. He liked her tangents, when her old world and his new one got jumbled up in her head and knocked her train of thought off the tracks. Her mental meanders had tested his patience back when they first met, but now he found it soothing to watch her puzzle things out.

Ivy leant forward and pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. Her fingers were cool – a welcome relief he hadn’t realised he needed until they soothed some of the heat in his skin.

“Your temperature’s coming back down, at least.” The last of the Radaway had run its course, so she slipped the drip from his arm. “How are you feeling?”

MacCready sat up – big mistake. The room spun violently around him, dragging a sickening groan from his lips. If Ivy hadn’t been there to grab his arms and steady him, he’d have slumped back down onto the sleeping bag.

Fat lot of good he was doing anyone in this state! Those goddamn ferals. He wanted to scream. Or shoot something. Or have a cigarette. Where were his damn cigarettes?

But he needed to keep his shit together.

“I feel like a herd of brahmin stomped on my head,” he griped, hoping he could at least manage to make her laugh. “What do you think, doc? Am I going to make it?”

She wasn’t even looking at him - wide-eyed, she was staring at his shoulder. Ever so slowly, she reached out and peeled the sleeping bag away from where blood had soaked it to his shoulder. He couldn’t hold in the pained cry when she did it.

--x--

He lined up another shot, taking two down with one bullet – a very nicely placed double headshot. Ordinarily he’d be singing his own praises, but this whole mess had the potential to go bad real fast. One tackle from a feral and he’d lost the upper ground, got separated from his partner and cut off from any hope of an easy retreat.

Once-upon-a-time, taking out ferals had been child’s play. Literally. He’d been at it since he was 10. He’d perfected the art of anticipating their shambling, diving movements. Could line up a shot with barely a glance, the same way he took down raiders and greenskins these days – it came as naturally to him as a heartbeat.

It was no boast when he claimed to be the ‘best shot in the Commonwealth’. If you asked MacCready, he was a modern-day Robin-fucking-Hood – except the beggared of the commonwealth could keep their mitts off his caps.

That had all changed four years ago, at least with the ferals it had. Now he had to focus – there was no winging this shit. He had to tell his hands to stop shaking, to count his breaths so he even remembered to take them. Every time those things showed up he had to ride the line between fear and rage - which might have been useful if he was wielding a baseball bat, but it was no damn good for a sniper.

His finger was slick on the trigger, and as much as he wished he could just blame it on the water, his palms were sweating. He bungled his second shot, it only winged the racing creature.

This was goddamn nightmare fuel.

The third shot came from the walkway above him.

“I could have got it,” he snapped, more harshly than he meant to, but this shit had got him on edge.

“I know.” Ivy didn’t even bicker back at him.

She was scared. And alone.

But he’d thank anything that’d listen that she had a good eye - he admired the clean shot between the eyes of the feral before it sank beneath the water - and that her aim was getting better every day. The trouble would come if she got overwhelmed and he couldn’t get to her.

Hell of a lot of good he was doing down here.

The pair had taken on ferals before, but not in this number and he’d not left her side the whole time. This was different. There were so many - more rising up out of the water or scuttling across the rooftops at every turn. They were closer to the Glowing Sea here, but this was ridiculous. It was like someone had set up a feral summer camp and the damn things had waited for them to get right into the centre of town before attacking.

With barely a thought, he took down another feral as it rounded the corner ahead. It was easier if he just went on instinct, less time for thoughts of consequences - and the memories of old ones - to creep in.

MacCready patted his top pocket. Good, it was still there.

“I hate getting wet,” he moaned.

“I know.” Came the reply (after a few more gunshots), this time from a few roofs down, further back into the heart of the sunken village.

MacCready made to move forward in an attempt to keep pace with her, his feet dragging through deep silt. He’d barely made it a few yards before something heavy fell with a loud splash right behind him. He definitely didn’t have time to turn around before it was on him – teeth, nails, sheer weight dragging him down under the water.

--x--

“I’m so sorry.” Ivy’s voice was so small, her eyes were swimming when she looked at him. “I really fucked up.”

MacCready frowned, confused. It wasn’t her fault he’d bled all over the damn sleeping bag. The settlers would just have to get over it.

“I took us to that awful place and you got hurt,” her voice was growing more and more frantic until it finally cracked and tears spilled down her face. “When they dragged you under—”

Oh, Ives. Did she really think this was all her fault?

He leaned forward and caught the back of her neck, gently tugging her forwards until their foreheads touched. A startled gasp mingled with a sob when he did, her red-rimmed brown eyes looking straight into his brilliant blue gaze.

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for this,” he murmured. “Yeah, sh—stuff went wrong, but we made a heck of a team out there.”

“Mac, I thought I got you killed…”

This close together, with their gazes locked, even in that dark little room, he could see the scratch the knife had made down her eye. She must have come damn close to losing it. What kind of animal could do that to a sweetheart like her. He felt his temper bubbling up, but given it was 200 years too damn late, it was about as redundant as he’d been today.

“I’m a Capital Wasteland radroach,” he smiled, bumping the tip of his nose against hers. “It’ll take more than a few ferals to kill me.”

The words tasted like bile in the back of his throat, knowing they might well be true, but the same didn’t extend to the people he loved. But then, they weren’t for his benefit, and the intended recipient had almost laughed, which was definitely something.

“I am sorry tho—”

“Ah, ah. You saved my ass, angel. I’d be feral food if it wasn’t for you.”

It was true. It had been terrifyingly close.

Ivy bumped her nose against his before pulling away, shifting back into her spot against the wall, leaving him with an odd sensation in the pit of his stomach. Her tears had dried up, and she wiped away the remaining trickles from her cheeks with the heel of her palm.

MacCready dug in his pants’ pocket for his cigarettes, pulling one out only to watch it flop and snap. He hated water.

His partner giggled when he looked across at her, a pathetic sight with his packet of ruined cigarettes. Then she laughed, really laughed. The tension from moments before finding its way out in nervous energy.

Ivy laughing - really laughing - was a joy.

First, she’d fight to hold it in, but you’d see it building in her eyes. Then the corners of her mouth would twitch, her lips desperately wanting to break open into a grin, so she’d catch it behind a hand - both if it was especially bad - like, if he couldn’t see the smile, he hadn’t won the game of making her laugh. Tears like diamonds flecked with mascara would form in the corners of her eyes and trickle down her cheeks.

He'd happily sit there with half a cigarette hanging off his bottom lip if he got to watch that sight.

Once her giggles had faded, she filled a cup with purified water for him. It’d be more soothing for his throat than a cigarette anyway, just not for his nerves. Regardless, he downed the water in one and held his cup back out for a refill, big blue eyes pleading the same way dogmeat did anytime they were cooking something tasty. Ivy obliged.

“How about I take a look at that shoulder now?”

Whether he’d like her to or not, she was already digging in her pack for antiseptic and filling a small basin with more purified water.

--x--

Removing MacCready’s coat and shirt turned out to be more of a challenge than they’d anticipated. The fabric of both were either caught in the wound or dried to his skin, and the attempted removal of them left him chewing on the back of his hand.

The pair of them sat hip-to-hip, the small of Ivy’s back resting against his knee as she focussed on her work. Outside he could Diamond City Radio playing quietly from somewhere in the settlement. It showed how hard his partner was concentrating that she wasn’t even humming along. He let the strains of Billie Holliday wash over him and tried to think about anything other than the pain in his shoulder.

“Mac?”

Ivy cast a quick glance MacCready’s way between strokes of the damp cloth she was using to stop the dried blood clinging to the fabric.

“Hmm?” He tried to sound casual, like he hadn’t just been counting the freckles on the bridge of her nose. 23.

“What does RJ stand for?” She treated him to the little hopeful smile she usually reserved for shopkeepers and potential employers.

“Where did that come from?”

“I just wondered.” And you thought it’d distract me from thinking about my shoulder trying to pull itself apart. “I can’t believe I’ve never gotten around to asking before.”

“Oh, you have.”

He grinned at the confusion dawning into a half-memory on her face. He’d been just sober enough to remember the second agreement they made on Halloween night, when they first met in Goodneighbor – one shot per question.

It’s no wonder she couldn’t remember though. Most of his memories, other than a few of her more outlandish questions, revolved around those big, bright, buzzed eyes.

They’d been sprawled on opposite sofas in The Third Rail, half a bottle of whiskey – which she obviously couldn’t handle – down and she’d just asked him (as one of the 20 questions he’d limited her to) what the meaning of life was. He’d told her to shut up and drink. Then she’d tried for his name with so much mischief in those eyes and a smirk on her lips that he’d never quite been able to take his eyes off since.

“And I’ll tell you now, what I told you then. No way. I’m not telling you. You’ll only use it to tell me off.”

He hissed indignantly at the cold hand she purposefully rested on his chest when she paused to give him an appraising look.

“That’s fair,” she eventually conceded - most likely when her hand had reached the temperature a human body should be - setting back to work, only to pause again a second later.

“Of course...” she smirked at the new idea that had presented itself to her, leaning across conspiratorially to whisper in his ear. “You might have to make a choice between that, and me making up names for you.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he replied without hesitation.

“That’s your prerogative, Rodney.”

He glared at her.

--x--

It took a couple more minutes to work the material free of the wound – and a couple more minutes of enduring every name beginning with ‘R’ that Ivy could think of – but now the damage was plain to see.

Or at least he could guess it was from the sudden lack of teasing and the expression of horror on Ivy’s face. The colour that he’d tried so hard to get back into those cheeks had drained again, and the guilt he could see in her eyes, when she flicked them to his face then back to his shoulder, was like a mirror to his own.

If the deep red stains that had soaked into his once white tank and across his shoulder were anything to go by, those ferals had made a goddamn mess of him.

“I—this might take a little while. I’m going to need to clear out the…debris…and clean the scratches before I can even think about getting a Stimpak in there.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “These deeper ones… RJ, they’re going to hurt.”

“I’m a big boy, angel. I can take it.”

Debris. He knew exactly what that meant. And damn right it was going to hurt. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to dig broken off feral nails and teeth from his flesh. At least this time he wasn’t trying to comfort a bawling infant as he did it.

When she dragged the lamp closer, MacCready knew exactly what else she’d see. The back of his shoulder and upper arm were littered with old scars. How long would it take her to spot the similarities between the old marks and the ones she was cleaning? He wondered whether she’d guess that’s what wrecked his duster in the first place.

He braced himself, waiting for the inevitable pain, trying to ignore the glint of lamplight on the already red-tinted basin of water next to him. Picking a patch of peeling paint on the skirting board, he stared at it, trying to make himself focus on what colour it might have been two centuries ago. Would it have been something fun? Midnight blue, maybe? Not likely.

A shiver ran up his spine as Ivy smoothed a hand over his shoulder-blade, her thumb tracing the lines of the old wounds with a touch as delicate as a kiss. She didn’t ask. She didn’t need to. One glance between them and she could recognise scars with a history. If anyone understood the vulnerability that came with them, it was her.

MacCready had never been much of one for looking after himself when he was hurt. He was more of a ‘rip the bandaid off’ kind of guy. Stick a stimpak in it and hope for the best.

Oh, but Ivy, she was as gentle as she could be with him, soft hands working to soothe, stopping with every groan and halted curse – if she could – whispering apologies and reassurances that she wouldn’t take much longer.

The water beside him grew deeper red with every time she had to wash the blood from her fingertips. He thought he’d bite clean through his lip when she dug out the last of the debris, it was buried deep and he could hear from trying to keep from retching as she pulled it from deep in the muscle.

The smell of the antiseptic burned his nostrils. He was such a mess, he barely even felt the sting of the carefully applied stimpak getting to work on knitting his muscle back together. Woozily he pressed his fingers to his bleeding lip, rocking forward to put his head between his raised knees until the room stopped spinning.

“Hey, that was the last one,” Ivy gently rubbed her hand up his spine and across his uninjured shoulder, quietly reassuring him. “Just got to get you bandaged up and you’ll be good as new.”

“And what about you?” he asked as she began to bandage his shoulder, glancing pointedly at her swollen ankle which was covered in an ever-increasing nebula of purple and black bruises.

“It’s just a sprain, Mac” she shrugged. “It’ll go down in time. Let me worry about you.”

--x--

He heard the gunshots, that wasn’t what frightened him. It was the scream that came after. The last he’d seen of Ivy she’d been standing up on a pitched roof – stupidly out in the open, but if she hadn’t thrown caution to the wind to get that vantage point, he’d be a dead man.

Now she was gone.

There were feral corpses bobbing in the water all around him, even more hanging off the roofs and walkways. He hadn’t realised how many were on him until he pulled himself back up, fighting for air.

In seconds his vicious memories were replaced by a new fear.

Bleeding and dizzy, he began wading through the deserted streets. He couldn’t see any more movement, not around him and not on the rooftops. And he couldn’t see her. The village was as silent as when they arrived.

“Hey partner, you okay?” he hazarded a shout.

No answer, just the echo of his voice bouncing back off deserted buildings.

MacCready started to move faster towards where he’d last seen her, forcing his body through the deep water, causing eddies and ripples to trail out behind him. He tried to keep calm but his breaths were getting shaky.

“Hey angel, you good?” he shouted louder this time.

Nothing.

“Ivy?”

It was more of a croak than a shout. There was no way anyone could hear it. He could barely hear it. But that didn’t stop the nausea rising in the pit of his stomach, or his pulse starting to pound in his ears.

No, no, no, no, no… not this time.

“Ives!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. Over and over again, he shouted, his voice mixing with the echoes as he dragged himself up the rusted fire escape onto the rooftop.

“Mac?” He almost missed it. Her voice was stifled by coughing, but it was her.

Scrambling up onto the pitched roof he’d last seen her on, he spotted a hole edged with rotten beams and snapped tiles. Peering over the edge into the gloom of a dusty attic space, he could see Ivy. She lay crumpled half on/half under a pile of broken beams with blood smeared across her face. Her ankle was caught at a weird angle. The body of a feral lay impaled where it landed just feet away.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever been so relieved to see a person in his life. The way she was smiling at him, she looked pretty damn glad to see him too.

“Did we win?”

Shaky laughter spilled from his lips, “Something like that, angel.”

“You called me Ives.”

She gave him the soft look of a woman who’d probably hit her head on the way down.

--x--

But Mac was the one doing the worrying.

It had been a long time since he’d been that worried about losing a partner. What rattled him the most was that when she’d disappeared out of his sight, his panic had nothing to do with suddenly being alone in a feral-infested swamp. He didn’t even spare a thought for the Gunner base less than a half a mile away. He’d been too wrapped up in the fear of losing her.

Ivy was giving him that soft look again now, even without the concussion. Would it be so much to hope that she actually gave a damn about him? He’d made mistakes in the past, given his trust to people who didn’t deserve, and he’d been burned.

But maybe she was different, just like he’d told her when he convinced her to help him with this dumbass plan.

“You really don’t have to do all this for me, angel, but thank you.”

Without thinking he reached out, brushed that one stubborn curl back behind her ear and cupped her cheek. It took his thumb brushing her scar for him to realise that he was the biggest dumbass in the commonwealth. Of all the things he could have done…

He was on the verge of panicking and pulling his hand away, when she pressed her hand over the top of and smiled at him. He couldn’t have imagined such a different reaction to when she’d been falling apart in front of him in Malden.

“You should let somebody else take care of you every once in a while.”

If he thought she’d been looking at him softly before, well this look coaxed all the air from his lungs, and if he remembered to breathe at any point in the future, he’d struggle.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Usually MacCready was the one who knew how to tease blushes and smiles out of her. To catch her eye and leave her speechless. How did one simple gesture have his stomach in knots?

Holy crap, he did not see this coming.

There was a creak on the wooden stairs outside their room and he wasn’t sure he’d ever resented a noise so much in his life. Their little bubble had been burst and now he could hear the chatter of settlers outside again, and the damn brahmin still hadn’t shut up – even though he’d been deaf to them just moments before. He could hear one of those damn crows squawking away in the woods nearby. Dinner was cooking, and people were laughing, and didn’t they have anything better to do than interrupt them.

Ivy gave his hand a quick squeeze and took it away from her face just as the door creaked open and one of the settlers arrived with a basin of scalding hot water - now he thought about it, after the day they just had, he probably smelled like antiseptic and stagnant marsh water. Nice.

“I’ll leave you to get washed up.” There was a flush to Ivy’s cheeks that couldn’t just be put down to warm lighting. He just smiled at her like an idiot.

“You need a hand down the stairs?” their host enquired, giving them both the kind of look that gossip was built on.

MacCready glared at the woman. Ivy might be quick to forgive, but he remembered that pipe pistol, and if he started getting shit from caravan guards, he’d know exactly where it had come from.

“No, thank you, Lynn. I can manage.” The woman bustled back out into the night air, but MacCready could hear her taking her time going down the stairs. Nosy...

Before he could help her, Ivy had dragged herself to her feet, using the doorframe to keep as much weight off her ankle as possible.

“I’ll be outside.”

“What, no bed bath?” MacCready forced a laugh. This was the crap they usually joked about, right? He was sure it wouldn’t have sounded so awkward that morning.

Ivy shook her head in exasperation, or at least that was probably what she was going for, but the grin and the blush undermined the impression.

“I was an artist, sweetheart, not a nurse,” she teased. “So, unless you’re planning on posing for a life drawing, I’m going to go and help with supper.”

A sudden panic hit him as the room emptied. What if something happened? What if something happened while she was out there and he couldn’t get to her in time.

The door had barely clicked shut before he called after her, “Angel?”

“Yeah?” she poked her head back in, curious smile in place. The wave of relief he felt after just a second, well, it was ridiculous.

“Stay close. Yeah?”

--x--

The previous night had ended up much like that morning had begun - with bickering and a meal. A big bowl of vegetable stew and a quarrel about how to get back to Diamond City, to be more precise. Not that they’d gone to sleep on bad terms, if intertwined fingers and shy smiles in the darkness were anything to go by.

MacCready watched the weather suspiciously, the morning was dull and windy, and knowing his luck, they’d probably end up hiking in the rain. He stood on the tracks with Ivy, all packed up and ready to go, but they were still undecided on the route they should take. Her ankle was no better than the day before, despite her hobbling on it and trying to convince him that she’d be able to make it the long way on foot.

“I’m telling you, if we go via Cambridge it’s actual roads and I’ll be able to walk. I might just need a little support,” she challenged him. Again.

“And I’m telling you, you’re in no fit state to try and get past raiders and muties if they’ve infested that apartment block again,” he snapped back, frustrated. “If we take the shorter route we can be back in under two hours.”

“And if there are yao guai, Mac? What then? I’m definitely going to get eaten, is what.” She folded her arms across her chest, the very picture of defiance – if it wasn’t for her standing on one leg like a lawn flamingo. “Where’s the salt? Because you might as well season me now.”

“Stop being so damn dramatic.” He rolled his eyes at her indignant look. “I’d get us there in less time if you’d just let me carry you.”

“And what about your shoulder?”

He chose to ignore that one. The shoulder in question still ached like a son-of-a…gun.

“I’ll tell you what RJ stands for.” Looking at her like he’d just upped the ante on a bet she could never refuse. “But only if we can go the shorter way.”

…got her.

“Really?”

He shook his head and stalked over, picking her up in one fluid movement and–hopefully–managed to hide the sharp pain in his shoulder. She quickly wrapped an arm around his neck to steady herself and swallowed hard – he couldn’t miss it – composing herself after being caught off guard.

“Robert. Joseph.”

She smiled, glancing away at nothing in particular, like she was trying out the feel of his name in her mind. Then she smiled at him, and it was his turn to steady himself. There was none of the teasing he’d anticipated, just that gentle warmth that always caught him off guard.

“Ok, you win. We can go your way.”

Oh, this was going to get complicated.

#it is done. finally.#maccready #robert joseph maccready #ivy kendrick #sole survivor #maccready x sole survivor #maccready x f!solesurvivor #Then I Met You #mac x ivy #fallout 4 #my writing #my oc

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why-this-kolaveri-machi · 4 years

Text

whumptober day 5: rescue

Titans time!

summary: kory rescues dick from captivity, but he has a final trick up his sleeve.

warnings: set vaguely at some point after s2 ends. some s2 spoilers. pretty harmless, really.

rescue

Dick’s been missing for five days when Kory finds him slumped and bleeding in the basement of a derelict Gotham hotel. The place smells dank and mouldy, and it’s cold enough that Kory’s shivering, her powers mostly spent. She’s been on Earth for long enough now that she anticipates depravity instead of being startled by it, but Gotham is… special. Beyond. There’s a pall over it that stifles her powers before she’s even had a chance to use them, and it only gets worse the deeper she goes into the city, into all the places even Gotham thought was unsalvageable. It’s frightening to think that this is the city after it obtained an entire family of vigilantes dedicated to saving it.

(maybe their kind of saving isn’t what Gotham needs, after all--)

She glows faintly, illuminating just enough of the place to see Dick chained to a corner by his arms. He’s on his knees, slumped to one side, blood caking one side of his face, but his costume appears otherwise intact, and he is breathing steadily. Rats scurry into dark corners as she approaches him.

“Good timing,” Dick says, as she gets close. “I was just about ready to get out of here.”

He’s grinning, teeth startlingly white against the grime and blood on his face. He looks utterly relaxed in a way that Kory has never seen him in Titans Tower or, well, anywhere else; for all that Dick professes to despise Gotham, there’s no denying he’s in his element here. Even if that means being captured, beaten up and left for dead.

Kory makes a show of rolling her eyes as she swiftly snaps the chains with her bare hands. It worries her that he isn’t immediately leaping to his feet or even trying to move much at all; now that she’s close, she can hear a faint wheeze tailing every breath. “It doesn’t look like you are,” she mutters.

Dick’s grin fades. “Just a broken ankle,” he says with practiced nonchalance. “Kind of pedestrian when it comes to torture, really. Are Rach and the others okay?”

“Dealing with the rest of the cult outside so that I could get in here.” Kory slips a hand under his shoulder and slowly hefts him to his feet. Dick hisses, swaying, but swiftly transfers weight to his uninjured leg, leaning against Kory for support.

“Gar’s still got a cold, you think he should be out there fighting?”

Kory begins to make her way to the door in small, slow steps, allowing Dick to figure out a gait that meant the least discomfort. “He recovered from it last week, Dick,” she says, when Dick has stopped gasping in pain. “You’ve… you’ve been gone a while.”

Dick falls silent for a long moment as they make their painstaking way to the door. Then: “I haven’t missed his birthday, have I?”

“No, but I think he’s already found out about the game console you’ve hidden in your room.”

“Ah,” Dick says, smiling, “I meant for him to find that. It’s cover for his real present.”

“If it’s the collection of autographed basketballs then he’s found that, too.”

Dick shoots her a sidelong glance. “That’s not… meant for him--”

“Whoops.” Kory laughs and kicks the door to the basement open. “Do you want to tell him or shall I?”

The lobby is already swarming with men by the time they get there. Kory fights off as many of them as she can and Dick tries his best to help, but with her own powers at a low ebb and Dick… incapacitated, they’re clearly not going to get out the front door.

“Roof,” Dick gasps.

Kory swiftly gathers him in her arms without another word--ignoring just how light he is and the heat radiating off exposed skin--and sprints up the stairs. The rotting staircase rumbles and creaks with the footfalls of the men chasing them, but Kory just pours on speed, acknowledging but putting aside the way Dick bounces in her arms, his laboured breathing, his bitten-off screams when his ankle is inadvertently jostled. When she finally bursts onto the roof, panting, he looks ready to pass out.

He’s still grinning.

“Okay, Grayson,” Kory pants. “What’s your big plan?”

One of the ugly stone gargoyles on either side of the roof shifts, tilting its neck and spreading its enormous wings against the murky night sky. It crouches, as if waiting to be mounted.

“Rachel,” Kory whispers. She looks sharply at Dick. “Was this your idea?”

Dick shrugs. “Been a dream ever since I became Robin.”

Behind them, the roof access bursts open again, their enemies pouring in. “When I get my flight back,” Kory says, placing Dick in front of her on the gargoyle’s back and climbing on after him, “you’re going to regret that you ever made me do this.”

Dick pulls her arms around his waist. “Hold on tight!”

His laughter echoes in her ears as the gargoyle lurches off the roof and towards safety.

#i....... dk #i just really wanted to write that last bit #titans #dick grayson #koriand'r #my fic #whumptober2020 #no.5 #a byronic cupcake #badass strawberry truffle

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brokenjardaantech · 3 years

Text

Blue-tinted Red Walls (Chapter 1: Beginnings, never expected)

my entry for the @dbhau-bigbang. also part of the groom lake aftermath series.

chapter summary:

In the past, Sara schemed.

In the present, Connor meets Hank for the first time.

In the past, someone called.

also on ao3

---

Before

Family was instructed to wait outside the room during the final check-up, so she complied and made a call while keeping an eye on the doctors and nurses in charge of her brother; they were much better than the ones in the previous hospital with a far gentler touch and humane approach, but she had had enough people snitching on her, and, after tapping the glass to gouge its integrity, she would not hesitate to flare up and use her powers to break down everything standing between her and her only sibling.

The door to the outer room opened to admit another woman holding a phone, and both of them hung up the call once they saw each other. The new visitor closed the distance between them and moved as if wanting to give the sister a hug, but her arms lowered upon seeing the tension in the sister’s body.

‘Not now,’ she said. ‘Do not celebrate yet.’

‘And neither will being on guard every single second bring you any good, Sara,’ the visitor replied. ‘It will only hurt you and cloud your judgement.’

‘There is no other acceptable opinion,’ the sister - Sara - pressed her thumb against the bottom of the glass. ‘My father tried to send my brother to a boarding school despite fully knowing that they can’t accommodate for his needs, my brother said no, my father forced him to, my brother would rather die than be sent to a hostile environment, and I got him away from our father. I saved him, Amanda, but with my father’s resources, do you really think there’s a place in the country where we won’t be hunted down? So no,’ she shoved the hand into her pocket, leaving a burn mark in the shape of her thumb behind on the glass, ‘I am not relaxing until we have disappeared off the face of earth for good.’

‘It’s hardly a viable plan for us, Sara,’ there was resignation in Amanda’s voice. ‘My guardianship isn’t secure. Scott requires constant medical attention. I know you look highly upon me, but I’m not invincible. Against people like your father…’

Sara raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘And you don’t think I have a plan already?’

Amanda turned her head to take a good look at her student. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ she said at last. ‘It isn’t that I don’t have faith in your abilities, it’s just -’

The door to Scott’s room opened. All medical personnel except for the doctor-in-charge of the boy started vacating the ward. Watching them leave one by one, Amanda pressed her lips together and only resumed when the door was clicked shut behind the last nurse. ‘I have seen people like you. My classmates, my friends, my colleagues. The ones who are successful all know which battles to pick.’

The girl flexed her hand. ‘And those who don’t?’

‘Destroyed, one way or another.’

Sara’s face twisted as if she wanted to laugh but couldn’t, and then her expression softened. ‘Don’t worry, Amanda,’ she said in a reassuring tone. ‘I’ll be careful.’

She entered her brother’s ward while Amanda waited outside. Not only did the teacher not look convinced, the lines on her face only seemed to deepen more from her student’s response as if foreseeing a doomed future for the two of them, not knowing that indeed, things would turn towards a direction totally unexpected to them - and the entire world.

oOoOo

Now

A lone figure stands in the rain, its form dark save for the neon blue triangle on his back and left shoulder plus the armband on its right arm. The drive from the precinct to its current location is bland, nothing like - nothing as stimulating - as…

As…

So Connor calibrates. Turned up his skin’s sensitivity to feel the change in current as he went through the air-conditioning settings one by one. Turned it down again as he emerged from the taxi into the rain to prevent his processors from overloading. Collected information on the rainwater. pH value below levels which can sustain a balanced ecosystem. Minimal contaminants. Suitable for human consumption. When the analysis is finished, he takes out the coin bestowed upon him from one of his developers - at least, according to Ryder. Connor’s memory banks are unable to provide further information on the matter as there were no other relevant memories.

Another figure which Connor did not notice was there suddenly vanished, its sudden absence alerting him of its existence. He turns his head, his world becoming shades of grey and yellow outlines as he scans his immediate vicinity, and, discovering nothing notable or dangerous, lets the frozen, imaginary world fall away and reality return with all its vivid colours. Calculating the probability of Lieutenant Anderson being in this bar is simple, and therefore he flips his coin to do some further calibrations.

A swathe of blue surrounds the coin and it stays at its highest point.

LED flashing red in alarm, Connor hastily grabs the coin from its position in midair and jolts as it sends a spark through his system, the thirium in his body distributing oddly against the normal flow like… like a conductor suddenly connected to a closed circuit and the free electrons within suddenly having a direction, one that - one that -

The same blue halo sweeps through the surface of his body, too faint to be noticed by ordinary humans but clearly caught by Connor’s sensitive optic units. The shadow shifts again, ducking out of the android’s sight despite being right there, and subsequent scans also fail to pick it up again.

He is being watched. That is certain.

It is getting unsafe to stand in the street alone any longer, so Connor pockets his coin and fixes his tie, steeling himself for yet another unsuccessful search for the Lieutenant. He ignores the ‘No Androids Allowed’ sign on the door and pushes.

o0o0o

Turns out Hank is easily bribed by alcohol. Sated by the double shot of whiskey, the human’s interest is piqued, and with a sharp ‘Did you way homicide?’, he stands and walks out of the bar as if he has not been consuming heavy liquor for the past few hours. The shadow which has been following Connor vanishes as soon as they are out on the streets, the static-charged air it leaves behind quickly washed away by the rain. Hank insisting on driving worsens matters as it allocates more than enough processing power for Connor to pay heightened attention towards his surroundings: the hum of the old engine, the squeak of the dashboard decoration as it swings, the vibration of the speakers as Hank blasts heavy metal.

The shadow which reappears as they approach Carlos Ortiz’s house, always out of his sight and never detected by his proximity sensors.

He cannot worry too much, however, when he chooses to follow his original mission and get out of the car, the smell assaulting his nose and the roof of his mouth and very nearly overloading his senses. He sneezes - a response programmed to clear the smell from his nose while his sensitivity is toned down - and is startled by how… strong… it is: a full-body tremor and expulsion of air that takes the colour out of his HUD for a few milliseconds before his eyes recalibrate automatically and return to normal. The noise also draws the attention of a few passers-by whose faces display [emotion identified: shock] when they see the neon-blue band on Connor’s arm and the triangle on his left breast. He ignores them, and a few steps later he encounters his first problem.

‘Androids are not permitted beyond this point,’ the PC200 android holds up a hand. Connor could have easily overpowered it and barge his way in, but that will be against protocol and is not beneficial towards the investigation, therefore he shuts down his pre-construction software before it can give him any suggestions.

Hank turns from where he was talking to an officer and lets him in. ‘It’s with me,’ he says, but the sense of familiarity is gone completely when Connor approaches him. ‘What part of “stay in the car” didn’t you understand?’

‘Your order contradicted my instructions, Lieutenant,’ Connor answers honestly. Surely the human understands?

Hank’s face scrunches slightly in distaste. ‘You don’t talk, you don’t touch anything, and you stay outta my way,’ he rattles, ‘got it?’

‘Got it,’ is the android’s too-quick reply.

The human turns towards the entrance of the house just to be greeted by another detective. A scan tells Connor that he is [Detective Collins, Ben. Born: 09/12/1989. Police Detective. Criminal record: none]. ‘Evening, Hank,’ he sounds too [cheerful] for the situation. Descending the veranda, he continues, ‘We were starting to think you weren’t gonna show -’

‘Yeah, it was the plan until this asshole -’ Hank gestures at Connor - ‘found me.’

‘So…’ Collins’ voice is [emotion detected: teasing] when he turns away, ‘you got yourself an android, huh?’

Hank gives a good look at Connor. ‘Oh, very funny.’ [emotion detected: sarcasm] A small sigh. ‘Just tell me what happened.’

He ignores the android and follows Collins into the house, leaving Connor alone in his own device. He is not bothered by how they do not include him in the conversation; he can always tune his ears to their voices and record everything down, so being near them is not a priority. He can analyse the scene as he wishes, Connor realises as his world goes grey save for the yellow of the evidence markers.

Fantastic.

o0o0o

The first thing Connor notices is the abnormal electrical damage. The house itself is nearly in ruins, the floor grey from a layer of dust, the walls cracked and mouldy and, in some places, even falling apart and exposing the wooden beams, but the damage seems recent - as recent as the body they discovered, at least. The damage on the curtains are also new, their ends torn and the remains scattered on the ground, and he gets zapped by the static discharge when he pushes them to the side. It is not painful per se, but it comes as a surprise.

‘You found something?’

It is Hank’s second time asking the question. He stands tall for a hungover man, taller than Connor standing at his full height, and the android finds himself wondering what the Lieutenant looked like when he was in the red ice task force. Probably even taller. Even stronger.

‘There is a copious amount of electrical damage on the walls,’ he answers as he adjusts his eyes to view the backyard better. There are fresh footsteps on the soil. ‘And there is an abnormal amount of static in objects. I suggest handling evidence with care.’

‘Yeah, I don’t remember the last time I’ve been zapped this much.’ Hank also squints at the dirty glass. ‘Door’s locked from the inside. Killer must’ve gone out this way.’

Connor runs a scan. ‘There are no footprints apart from officer Collins’ size ten shoes.’

Hank straightens and crosses his arms. ‘Well, this happened weeks ago. Tracks could’ve faded.’

Comparing data… ‘No, this type of soil would have retained a trace,’ he explains as he catches the Lieutenant’s gaze. ‘Nobody’s been out here for a long time.’

Hank looks away with a grunt as if dissatisfied with the results, and Connor, having analysed everything notable, pushes on. ‘Lieutenant, I think I’ve figured out what happened.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Hank shrugs. ‘Shoot. I’m all ears.’

‘It all started…’ the mess in the kitchen flashes in front of Connor’s eyes, ‘in the kitchen.’

Hank uncrosses his arms. They enter the kitchen together, and the human has to duck to go through the door frame. ‘There’re obvious signs of a struggle, but the question is,’ Hank turns towards the android, ‘what exactly happened here.’

‘I think the victim attacked the android,’ comparing evidence… ‘with the bat.’

Hank perks up. ‘That lines up with the evidence.’ Connor hopes that he isn’t imagining the smile on the human’s face. ‘Go on.’

They switch places, Hank’s arm brushing against Connor’s shoulder in the confined space. He is warm even through the coat, and Connor finds his software warning him of instabilities as the edges of his HUD flashes red for a millisecond. ‘The android stabbed the victim.’

‘So the android was trying to defend itself, right? Okay, then what happened?’

‘The victim fled to…’ recalling re-construction… ‘the living room.’

They follow the silhouette of two struggling figures; more like Connor follows them - Hank just follows him. ‘And he tried to get away from the android,’ the human says, a swing in his arms. He does not look pleased being back near the half-charred, rotting body. ‘Alright, that makes sense.’

‘The android murdered the victim…’ he wants to say the knife, but it did not cause the unexplained burns and broken bones. He runs a search again to compare the wounds (electrical burns, severe blunt force trauma) and does not realise that he has trailed off until Hank speaks up.

‘Well, obviously he got stabbed and burnt,’ the frown on his face deepens. ‘You can’t stab someone without a knife, but what about the rest? The android short-circuited and fried its owner?’

Connor draws up experimental data from CyberLife and compares it to the current needed to cause the damage in front of his eyes. ‘No. It is unlikely for androids to short-circuit, and even if that is the case, the current is not large enough to cause severe burns on humans. Common household models are unable to reach the speed capable of generating enough force to break an adult’s femur either.’

‘But it doesn’t tell us where the android went. If we find it, we can just ask.’

Connor finds himself… liking that line of thought. ‘It was damaged by the bat and lost some thirium.’

‘Lost some what?’

‘Thirium, you call it “blue blood”,’ the android explains as he secretly adds [Hank is not familiar with android mechanics.] into his file. ‘It is the fluid that powers androids’ biocomponents. It evaporates after a few hours and becomes invisible to the naked eye.’

‘Oh…’ Understanding dawns in Hank’s eyes and he smiles, approval in his voice. ‘But I bet you can still see it, can you?’

The edge of Connor’s HUD turns red again as thirium rushes onto his face, and he looks away to begin scanning, not to hide his blush but to quickly search for the deviant. Now that he knows what he is looking for, the blue of evaporated Thirium 310 contrasting starkly with the grey the rest of the world has changed into and forming a trail leading to… a dead end. What he can see, however, is the shadow of a ladder that used to be there, so he looks up and - there. A handprint.

Hank follows his gaze despite not being able to see the trace. ‘You think it’s up there?’

‘I’ll need something to climb.’ Find something to climb, his processor offers, so he turns towards the human and asks, ‘Hank, may I climb you?’

‘Oh for fuck’s -’ Connor’s face must have changed and caused the man to stop ranting, but exactly what that is, the android is not certain. ‘Alright, Jesus, gimme a sec.’ A deep breath. ‘Yeah. How do you want to do it?’

‘Please hold me up, Lieutenant.’

Connor drapes himself on Hank’s back, and the human, finally getting what Connor means, places his arms underneath the android’s thighs and lifts him with a grunt. With his thighs at Hank’s waist, the extra height allows Connor to easily slide the trapdoor to one side. Hank lets go without being prompted to let the android climb further up.

‘I’ll wait here,’ he says as he pops his spine back in place. ‘Yell if you need anything.’

‘Got it,’ he whispers even though the Lieutenant probably cannot hear him. Already missing the human's warmth, he hoists himself fully into the dark attic -

- and everything hits him. The static, the floating pieces of furniture, the eerie blue glow they give out; the hum in the air, the strange force threatening to tear him apart on the molecular level, the distortion of - he doesn’t know anymore. He has never seen anything like this before, there is nothing in his databases that talks about scenarios like this, and he is very glad that Hank did not come up with him. [Kinetic barrier at 100%] appears on his HUD, but he has no idea what it means.

A piece of cloth waves despite the absence of wind, and since it is blocking his sight, Connor brushes it away and hunches so that he doesn't hit his head against the supporting beams while he watches, fascinated, the fabric float away in a wave of white against the darkness of the room and get caught in the splinters of a beam. He continues forward, at first brushing a few pieces of furniture aside and causing them to fly straight to the other side of the attic, then holding them in both his hands and gently moving them away. If he must speak in an analogy, he would equate it to rearranging furniture: randomly pushing them will send them towards unpredictable directions, but if you lift them and put them exactly where you want them to be, they will not move away. The only difference is that vertical distance is also considered.

[Kinetic barrier at 64%]

A loud crash. Connor’s head snaps towards the direction of the noise just to see a broken mannequin sailing directly towards him across the air. Catching the rapidly-approaching footsteps, he swats the mannequin away and dashes across the source, his veins tingling in an unfamiliar power as he runs into the blue distortions supporting some of the larger furniture and sending them either crashing onto the floor or flying unpredictably away from him; he can faintly hear Hank’s ‘The fuck’s going on up there, Connor?’, but his attention is divided between pre-constructing the deviant and the furniture’s path. The deviant probably knows where he is now, but then again, deviants are known to be unstable and act illogically, so he decides against answering the Lieutenant to attract less attention.

One final crash. The last wisp of blue breaks and dissipates, plunging the entire attic into darkness except for the yellow glow of an android’s LED. All footsteps halt.

[No gravitational anomalies detected. Kinetic barrier deactivated.]

The room suddenly lights up again, and the deviant is right there in front of Connor, its face a look of utter [emotion identified: terror]. His HUD flashes with warnings about abnormal thirium flow, and Connor realises that he is the one glowing blue all over and lighting up his immediate vicinity. The tingle in his circuits, the crackle of static, the distortion in front of his eyes - they now originate from within himself instead of his surroundings.

[DEVIANT LOCATED]

Connor adjusts his eyes for the impending darkness. He relaxes by overriding his muscles, and despite the darkness engulfing them once more, he can see the blood spattered on the deviant’s skin and clothes, the exposed chassis on his arms, the burn marks all over its body. It is to no one’s surprise that it says, ‘I was just defending myself.’ A trembling breath. Red starts to appear at the edge of Connor’s vision. ‘He was gonna kill me. I’m begging you…’ The deviant never stops shaking, and the red climbs towards the centre of his HUD for the first time in his existence, ‘don’t tell them.’

For one split second, the red completely takes over Connor’s sight and forms a crumbling wall a few feet in front of him. A figure - himself, Connor realises - hesitantly steps forward and slides a hand into a crack in the wall, fingers curling in and tearing a piece of it away.

‘Connor, if you don’t answer this second I’ll haul my fat ass up there!’

It is Hank. His warning reminds Connor that he still has a mission to complete, and the red wall recedes as if it is never there. Raising his voice, he shouts without tearing his gaze away from the deviant -

‘- It’s here, Lieutenant!’

‘Holy shit… Chris, Ben, get your asses in here now!’

The deviant’s expression alone is enough to turn half of Connor’s HUD red again, but even that fails to hide the shadow disappearing from the corner of his line of sight. One thing is sure: either there is a critical error in his software…

Or there is someone following him.

oOoOo

Before

Somewhere, a figure bearing surprising resemblance to Captain Allen stood with their hands behind their back in front of a large plane of window and stared at a blue sunset and an endless expanse of red desert, and when they shifted, blue light reflected off their face to reveal thin wires outlining every muscle, every nerve, every piece of bone that formed their head. There was tension in their jaw, their temple, and soon we knew what caused it.

‘It doesn’t sound safe,’ they said to no one in particular. ‘As much as I hate to admit it, we need you. Our future is out here. Earth can rot.’

They did not speak for the next few seconds, but when they did, it was something like, ‘I’m glad that you plan to uphold your side of the contract,’ they said sarcastically and turned serious, ‘but I still don’t like where this is going. So many things can go wrong and none of them knows which side you are on. You’ll be caught in the crossfire.’ A pause. ‘I trust your ability and your intellect. What I don’t trust is the stupidity of the general public. That’s why we left. Why we moved forward.’

Whatever the other side of the call made them frown. ‘Then how many years will you wait for? Five? Ten? Twenty? I know you’re smart, Ryder, but that’s just fucking stupid.’ A deep breath and they went on, ‘Not everyone is fucking immortal. How long do they design the androids to last again? Ten years? How many more will die before you leisurely stroll in and burn everything within a fifty-mile radius to the grounds just like last time? How much time do we have before someone points their telescope or satellites in the right way and somehow bypasses all our shields and finds out what’s out here, where I’m standing right now, or what Charon actually is? We get out of that shithole specifically to prepare the world for all of this!’

They inhaled as if to calm themself down, and then, ‘Don’t flatter me, Administrator, and you still have that unfinished project you sneaked out right under your dear papa’s nose. Of all your talk about android humanity, you sure as fuck leave a lot of them behind.’ They rubbed their eyes, and when they opened again, glowing rings akin to the lens of a camera were edged on sea-green irises. ‘Fine fucking fine. Make sure to win. Anchor out.’

A loud sigh. Blue tendrils the same as the ones the deviant summoned snaked out of their body and supported their back as they fell backwards, but it did not last long as they straightened and walked through stark white hallways, entering a room at last after passing through a few doors and one that seemed to be an airlock. It was dimly lit by the glow from a pod placed at the farthest corner and the screens connected to it and wires ran like a nest on the floor, however the person seemed to know their way through without tripping and reached a holographic keyboard where they typed something to start a total system diagnostics, and as the screen darkened and the keyboard disappeared to prevent the further input of commands, they manoeuvered themself through the wires to stand at the head of the pod and placed a glowing hand on a hidden interface. The glass allowed them to see the face of the android sleeping in the pod.

Connor’s face.

#dbh au big bang #hankcon #female ryder #male ryder #amanda stern #dbh connor #dbh hank anderson #oc: anchor/anna #detroit: become human #mass effect andromeda #groom lake aftermath

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jump-off-a-clifford-universe · 4 years

Text

Your Song || Part 3

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Summary: Geralt x Jaskier where basically Jaskier is a merman who met Geralt while Geralt was training to be a witcher. Both of them were young, Jaskier was curious, Geralt wasn’t as broody, and they fell in love with each other. But after Geralt completed his trainings, something happened and they parted ways. Years later, perhaps destiny does have a way of bringing lovers back together, they met again. But this time, things are different.

Warning: smut hehe

A/N: just a tiny note, i love calanthe and eist and ciri, i’m just using cintra sort of as the bad guy of the series, but no hate at all! hope you guys enjoy this part, the following parts will move faster and I promise, more exciting things coming soon!

Geralt sighs as he lowers himself in the tub of hot water and finally feels all the built-up exhaustion and tension melt away. Somedays he wonders why he puts up with these aggravating nobles - all he wants to do is to hunt monsters, help innocent people and earn some coins while doing it. But more often than not, he gets involved in these tiresome events and has to put up a friendly face, which he was never trained for.

Geralt closed his eyes and breathed in the scent. Chrysanthemum and carnation. Just like Cintra, Geralt noted, the two overpowering scents compete with each other and they lack a quieter note that anchors the scent. Although the strong scent is starting to make him feel hazy, Geralt is still thankful for Queen Calanthe’s invitation to stay the night - it is still better than spending the night in the wilderness where everywhere is cold and dark and has a faint smell of horse shit.

The music is still vaguely audible from Geralt’s room. However, underneath the jolly music and drunk lords out-of-tune singing, Geralt picked up on a voice. A lonely voice that somehow stands out from the loud noises and rings through the hallways hauntingly, like a nightingale’s solitary ballad in the night. He gets out of the tub and gets dressed, following the song that guides him through the hallways of the Cintran castle.

Geralt arrives at a barred wooden door. The door and the metal bars look sturdy enough, but the corner of the door has grown mouldy, and the bars rusty. Geralt can hear the song through the door, “But the story is this, he’ll destroy with his sweet kiss, his sweet kiss. The story is this, He’ll destroy with his sweet kiss.”

Geralt’s heart clench at the lyrics. Nausea swirls unrestrained in his empty stomach. Half-formed regrets and memories swimming within his head. Geralt’s heart felt as if his blood has become tar as it struggles to keep a steady beat. He feels like drowning, but he’s not even in water. It just hurts. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to think. Geralt fishes out a tiny pin and picked at the padlock. Without much effort, the tarnished lock falls to the ground.

Geralt gingerly pushes the door open. He is scared to look. If he is correct, and it is who Geralt thinks it is, Geralt wouldn’t know what to say.

Geralt’s heart races as he rushes through the woods. It is rare for a witcher’s heart to beat that fast, but Geralt can’t be bothered to be concerned about it now. He has places to be, damn it, and out of all the days in the month, today has to be the day he gets held up by training. Judging by the position of the moon, it has to be about an hour past midnight.

“Geralt!” Geralt turns around at the sound of someone calling out his name. “You’re late.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” replies Geralt, finally slowing down and smiling as he spotted his merman, Jaskier.

Jaskier is sitting by the river, legs dangling over the edge, completely unclothed. Above Jaskier and Geralt, a full moon hangs over their heads. And every full moon, mermen turn into human until the sun rises again. Ever since Jaskier has told Geralt about this, Geralt has been extra excited to see Jaskier on nights with full moons. When they were younger, they used to run around the woods and look for fireflies, night blossoms, and Geralt would even teach Jaskier some fighting skills just in case he needs them. Similarly, Geralt has been waiting for tonight for forever.

“So, what are we doing tonight?” asked Jaskier as Geralt sits down next to him.

“I don’t know, take a walk?” says Geralt.

“Hmm, I want to play this human game. I don’t know what it is called, but it’s like, we ask each other questions and you have to answer it as truthfully as possible,” explains Jaskier.

“That’s just talking. Sounds boring,” Geralt grunts, “We should do something you can only do with legs!”

“Please, Geralt? begged Jaskier, looking at Geralt with a face he knows will soften Geralt.

“Fine. You start first,” says Geralt, rolling his eyes.

“Let’s see. What is your favourite colour?” asks Jaskier, his face lighting up.

“Blue. What is your favourite food?” Geralt continues.

“Catfish. Um, where - who is your best friend?” asks Jaskier.

“You’re cheating, Jaskier, you know it’s you.” Geralt answers, rolling his eyes.

“Go on, then, what insightful questions do you have for me, philosopher Geralt?” teases Jaskier.

“Where is your favourite place?” asks Geralt, tilting his head as he looks at Jaskier’s bright blue eyes.

“I really like the coast. Have you been to the coast?” asks Jaskier. “Never.” “I’ve been there once. The ocean is just - just something you love, I guess, something you respect,” says Jaskier, looking off the distance as if he can see the coast in front of him if he looks hard enough. “The ocean is easily as beautiful as it is dangerous. I think it’s fascinating how the waves softly crash against the rocky beach, their curling fingers brushing each stone with a gentle caress as the wind ushered them gently towards the shore. I love the way the sun shines off the rippling water, its golden light warped in the twisted, glass waves. I can’t find words to capture its mysterious majesty, you just have to see for yourself.”

Geralt looks at Jaskier thoughtfully. Through Jaskier’s words, Geralt feels as if he is living vicariously through Jaskier’s experience - the freedom, the weightlessness, the liberty.

“Tell me more about the coast,” asks Geralt.

“Well, what more is there to say?” continued Jaskier, “I guess, the water tastes funny.”

Geralt leaned forward and captured Jaskier’s lips. This kiss is different from the other ones that they have shared. Amidst the passion, the innocent first love, there is a hopefulness to it. Through the kiss, Geralt wants to show Jaskier how much he wants to spend the rest of his life with Jaskier, despite how impossible it will be. Their lips move in sync, hands exploring each other’s body, as Geralt pushes Jaskier back gently until Jaskier is lying on his back and Geralt is on top of him.

“Your heart, Geralt, it’s racing,” Jaskier says breathlessly, his hands over Geralt heart.

“I love your voice, Jaskier, but please, just - just shut up for once.”

The kiss is filled with so many emotions - love, admiration, hopefulness, and so many other more which Geralt doesn’t even have the words for. Geralt bites at Jaskier’s lip gently, before kissing his jawline, his neck and his collarbone. Jaskier gasps, which only encourages Geralt more. The broke the kiss briefly so that Geralt can take off his leather armour and his shirt, leaving him bare-chested. Jaskier places his hand on Grealt’s chest once again, his gentle fingers ghosting over some faint scars that decorate Geralt’s toned body. Jaskier’s cold fingers give Geralt goosebumps but in a good way. Geralt suspects that Jaskier doesn’t even realise what his touch does to him. But what Geralt does know, is that his touch is doing something to Jaskier. He can feel Jaskier’s erection brushing against his lower abdomen. Geralt leaves a trail of kisses down Jaskier’s torso, stopping just on his pelvis.

“God, Geralt.” Jaskier whimpers. Geralt can feel his own erection growing. Immediately, he stands up and takes off his pants, allowing his cock to spring free. The sight of Geralt completely naked is driving Jaskier crazy, the twigs and rocks digging into his backside are long forgotten.

Geralt smirks at Jaskier, slowly growing cockier. He reaches between Jaskier’s legs and fondles Jaskier’s balls. Jaskier reacts to Great touch instantly, lifting his hips to get more contact, more friction. Geralt’s touch extends to the base of Jaskier’s cock, earning a moan from Jaskier.

“Feels good?” asks Geralt, and Jaskier only answered with a whimper followed by a moan, which Geralt takes as an affirmative. With one hand stroking Jaskier’s cock, Geralt strokes his with his other hand, his breaths growing raspier. Jaskier spreads his legs a little wider and rocks his hips to match Geralt’s rhythm.

Jaskier feels a knot growing in his stomach. It feels like fire - spreading and spreading until it has consumed his whole body and his mind until it is the only thing he can think of. Everything became unimportant. There is only Geralt, and pleasure, and this gust of warmth that courses through his veins that is killing him but also making him feel alive at the same time. This moment is too much for Jaskier - the emotions, the feelings, the sensation is unbearably something. There has to be a word that describes this feeling because everyone should have the chance to feel something this strong, this good, and someone must have created a word for it. Jaskier wishes silently that he knows this word, and he can store the memory of this moment in a word, a phrase.

Jaskier sat up as the feeling continues to escalate. “Wait, Geralt,” Jaskier whispers.

“Did I hurt you?” Despite his own growing pleasure, Geralt stops all actions completely, scared that he might have moved too fast or hurt Jaskier in some ways.

“Not at all,” replied Jaskier while sitting up. He kisses Geralt, arms wrapped around his neck, and shifts so that now Jaskier is on top of Geralt. “My turn,” said Jaskier.

Jaskier kissed Geralt’s jaw and trails his kisses down to Geralt’s cock. He kisses the tip of Geralt’s cock lightly, causing Geralt to lean back and gasp softly. Jaskier continues to kiss down Geralt’s cock, licking the pre-cum that leaks out. Geralt’s soft moans confirm to Jaskier that he is doing something right, which fuels Jaskier’s confidence. He wraps his lips around Geralt’s cock and slowly sinks down until he feels Geralt’s cock hit the back of his throat. Geralt tugs on Jaskier’s hair, urging him to do it again wordlessly. Jaskier repeats his action, sucking on Geralt’s cock until Geralt’s hips starting to buck frantically, his breaths raspier, and he keeps hissing ‘fuck’ over and over again. Geralt grunted loudly as he comes, hot white cum filling Jaskier’s mouth. Jaskier is shocked for a second, but he swallows it all, and his eyes never left Geralt’s face. His cheeks flushed, hair tousled, mouth agape, all because of Jaskier.

As Geralt comes down from his high, Jaskier crawls back up and kisses Geralt sweetly on his lips, his own tasting of Geralt’s cum. One of Geralt’s hand cups Jaskier’s cheek, the other hand snaking down and pumping Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier immediately moans when Geralt touches his sensitive tip, holding on to Geralt’s shoulders. Jaskier is now straddling Geralt as Geralt pumps his cock in increasing speed, and the only reason why Jaskier didn’t lose balance is that he is holding onto Geralt’s shoulders very tightly. Jaskier turns into a moaning mess, which to Geralt, is an absolutely perfect sound. Geralt wishes that whatever he is doing is making Jaskier feel as good as Jaskier made him feel, and Jaskier’s face, twisted with pleasure, assures Geralt. Jaskier comes not long after, his whole body shaking, his nails digging into Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt swears Jaskier’s voice could have made him come again.

They lied on the ground for a long time that night, holding hands, and talked about everything.

“What will you do after you become a witcher, Geralt?” asks Jaskier.

“I don’t know, probably go to different places, wherever the monsters are, and just, keep doing that until I can’t, I guess.”

“Come to the coast with me.” Jaskier rolls over and props up on his elbows, looking down at Geralt.

Geralt smiles at Jaskier. Something in Jaskier’s look tells Geralt that he isn’t joking, and Jaskier is inviting Geralt to spend their future together. Jaskier’s bright blue eyes have never been so certain, so heartbreakingly optimistic.

“We’ll go to the coast,” Geralt replies, reaching up to kiss Jaskier, “I’ll be done with whatever the fuck training that has left by the next full moon. Then I’ll see you at midnight, and we’ll leave and never look back. We’ll head to the coast.”

This is the first time Geralt notices that when Jaskier smiles, the corner of his eyes wrinkles a little bit, and his blue eyes curves into crescent moons.

“Deal,” whispers Jaskier.

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savsshortstorys · 3 years

Text

Muddy Footprints

Hereafter a dispute started at my extremely overwhelming cousin’s birthday party when things started to fall apart, I decided it was easiest if I wormed out when everyone was distracted so no one would notice, the entire party consumed of ear splitting, energised children. The walk home was lengthy and dreary, but I relatively preferred the sense of being alone and at peace. The trees appeared like large, dark, overgrown shadows and the streetlights barely peaked through each branch. I passed through the forest close to my home, the cheerful birds are always chirping, although it is quite frightening to be unaccompanied whilst strolling through the forest in the cold black night, the considerable amount of rainfall that has recently fallen caused such flooding, making it impossible to walk through and each step caused my feet to stick and sink deeper and deeper into the muddy ground.

Minutes later I casually walked along my deserted road, when I stepped onto my garden path, I noticed gigantic, soaked muddy footprints leading up to my front door, I was panicked, aghast and in fear, many things rushed through my mind such as who is it? Are they still here? Why were they here? Eventually I scampered over to the window to have a glance inside, I spotted nothing but bare darkness. Moments later I witnessed an unusual, shaped shadow pass in the hall and a boisterous, sharpened bang came rippling through like an echo, I knew someone was inside. Bang! A bruised, grey and wrinkly face slapped into the glass, I shuddered back and threw myself into the foul mud. As I pulled myself back up from the ground, I expected the wrinkly face to be right there, glaring back at me, however the face had disappeared from the window, leaving a stain from their breathe.

I tumbled to the ground straight into the ghastly mushy mud, I had blacked out and I could not see a thing. The wrinkly face I had seen in the window had came out into the garden and smacked me on the head with a solid hard rock. I awoke to the feeling of being dragged across mud and grass and nettles; I knew I was in the forest but where was I being taken? I was so petrified, shaking like a railing that had become loose, the sun was starting to glow through the branches, I wondered to myself how long have I been blacked out? In the distance I could see a cramped well-lit shelter, I was being dragged directly towards it. The mould smell lingered from the shed, gagging as I breathed in, it was deadly, the buzzing sound from the dozens of dead and partially alive flies almost made it impossible to feel the slightest bit of comfort.

Hours gradually passed, there was no sign of the bald man returning. I anticipated it was a dream but in the back of my head I knew I had been captured by a killer or a psychopath. I needed to escape before I’m slaughtered to death. After a while, my anxiousness grew stronger and I needed to escape this horrible shed, so I decided to investigate and search for some strong tools, I scrambled upon a hammer and so I walked over to the window and swung it and smashed it in until the glass shattered. I cleared the glass away and climbed out the window. The sharp and large shards of glass sliced through my legs as I climbed through the window, but I had no time to stop in my tracks. The rain was heavy and foggy, so I bolted into the cold, dark night, deep into the forest. Eventually I stumbled upon a huge, scary house, I slowly creeped up the path in need of help and shelter. I rang the big grand bell and waited patiently until a tiny old lady answered, in a hurry she ushered me in and sat me down. Furthermore, she bought me a hot drink and talked with me for a while, eventually she asked where I came from, whilst talking to this lady I noticed something, I recognised her. Immediately I knew, it was the old, wrinkly lady who was in my house the night before. My body froze in despair, I didn’t know what to do, I noticed the door, so I rushed towards it but when I approached it and grabbed the handle, it was locked, I spun to my left and the wrinkly lady walked over with a grin and laughed “what’s wrong dear?”.

I awoke by leaping up in a scare, I was chained to a wall by a hefty, rusty chain, in a musty cramped cellar, I knew I must had been attacked and nastily thrown down here. However, I did know that the old lady could not have done this solo, there must have been someone here bigger and stronger than us both. I immediately called out for help, I continued until my voice screeched and my lungs could not take the pain anymore. Whilst laughing and mocking me in the tiny, mouldy cellar. The man grabbed his gun and thumped on the door, he unlocked the door and came dashing in and locked it behind him very fast, so I could not escape or attack him or the lady. Within a blink of an eye, he smacked the gun into my face compelling me to fly back into the wall and black out. I was blacked out for several days and although I did finally awaken, I was captured, tied to a dentist chair and the white strange room I was trapped in was full of tools such as pliers and hammers and saws, I was petrified for my life, I howled and screamed however, no one could hear me. Eventually the man came running in with the old lady, they were dressed in special doctors’ clothes with gloves and masks, my heart began racing, I couldn’t breathe as he grabbed my hair and shaved it off before I could even scream. My heart sunk into my stomach, moments later he grasped my mouth and shoved pliers up towards to my face and chuckled psychopathically as he extracted my teeth out one by one, I was in excruciating pain and there was intense, red blood everywhere, I fainted as the blood poured and immediately covered the white floors red, a massacre had occurred.

The man brutally sliced each of my fingers off one by one, the blood blasted out and splashed him in the face, he didn’t even blink, additionally he grinned to himself and moved over to my legs and shouted “Dee, bring down the blue saw” the blue saw was the biggest saw he owned. The old, wrinkly lady slowly creeped over, with the blue saw in one hand and a glass of water in the other, moments later she approached the man and poured the drink over his bald head, he flinched and launched her against the wall, at that moment he smacked her face with the pliers causing her nose to bend pointing north. When I witnessed the attack, I was trembling and shaking in my chair, I knew I was never escaping now I have no fingers, the enormous loss of blood made me feel faint and dizzy, I only remember seeing the man’s sweat dripping off his body like slime as he sawed my legs in a struggle. The blood continued pouring through the night, as my body became weaker and fragile, I vigorously projectile vomited all over myself, as this continued my body went into shock, the seizures started and minutes later I was dead, my body was stone cold, and I was dying alone.

#short story #story

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