#rip (reeses in pieces) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pickmans-muse · 3 months

Text

TW: violence, gore, female reader, cursing

When Muzan sniffs the wind, and catches the scent of human, he hisses softly, his lips peeling back from his pointed teeth.

He’s not pleased. He hasn’t seen or smelled a human in decades—and now that he’s managed to carve out a territory, there’s one coming back to the mountain? Hell no.

He jumps between the trees, gracefully leaping from branch to branch. He’s going down the mountain, down to the foothills where the scent’s coming from. There’s a house there, he remembers—humans used to live there, hunters, before he killed them all. So, some foolish human’s moved back in.

They’ll be a foolish, dead human soon, before they get near his kin.

He thinks of Rui, caught in an iron-toothed trap and crying like a fawn. He thinks of Gyutaro and Daki, starving and exhausted, driven from their forest to his. He thinks of Zohakuten, trying to carry his brother’s body through the snow, leaving a black trail of blood behind them.

No human will touch them again.

When he lands on the long bough of an oak that stands beside the small house, Muzan notices the gray car drawn up out front, and the boxes on the porch. His nose wrinkles. This isn’t good. The human’s planning to stay.

He doesn’t see one, so he drops down, and takes out his anger on several of the nearest boxes. His claws shred through cardboard, tape, and everything inside—which turns out to be pillows, blankets, and a few clothes. Irritated, he swipes at another box, intent on finding the traps or guns or nets—and his claws shatter glass. The pieces stick in his fingers, and he snarls in pained surprise. He leans over, and sees a small drawing in a frame. His claws broke the glass covering it, but they didn’t rip the drawing.

It’s simple, black lines on cream paper. He cocks his head, and the lines resolve into a forest, waterfall, and pool of water. It’s strangely beautiful, appreciative of the woods and the water in a way Muzan couldn’t imagine from a human.

“Yeah, I heard something outside. It’s probably just some small animal or something. Don’t they have tanukis here?”

Muzan, startled, scrambles up the side of the house and onto the roof. His hands ache and sting, the glass still stuck in the skin.

A human comes out, a phone pressed to her ear. He can tell she’s female, smell it on her. Usually, humans use phones to tell others to come, to join the hunt—but she’s saying, “No, no, I’m fine. Really. You don’t need to come, Aunt Reese, I’m serious. It’s perfect.”

She slips the phone into a pocket of her clothes, and then she notices the wreckage of the boxes.

“What the hell?” she murmurs, squatting to examine the scattered remnants of pillows and bedding and clothes. “Okay, that definitely wasn’t a tanuki.”

When she sees the other box, she gasps and tears it open, sagging with relief when she finds the drawing unharmed. And then she notices the broken glass, which, Muzan suddenly realizes, has his dark blood on it.

“Oh, wow,” she murmurs. “What are you?”

She starts sorting things into piles—unusable, and usable, Muzan thinks—and sighs a few times. She seems more attached to her belongings than he expected. Maybe if he rips up more boxes, she’ll leave.

But he’s going to pick the glass out of his skin first.

You learned very quickly that whatever it was, it didn’t care for your presence in the house.

Every morning, you woke up to find something broken, scratched to ribbons, or just plain unrecognizable. At first, it was just your car—the tires ripped up, the glass smashed, huge divots torn out of the metal like butter—and then the house. Windows scratched, screens with gaping holes. It was like living in a haunted house, and it always happened at night.

But it hadn’t come inside the house. Until now.

The pen and ink drawing your mother made—the last one before she died, before her cancer got worse again, before everything—isn’t in its frame.

You slowly walk out onto the porch, your gut sinking. The sky is still dark, dawn too far off, and the front door is hanging open—and the drawing is on the wood, torn into so, so many pieces.

You sink down on your knees, and as you sift through the wreckage of the last part of your mother, you burst into tears.

Muzan had tried everything to make the human leave, shy of attacking her. He’d demolished her car, her house—and she still wouldn’t leave. She’s a threat. She’ll bring others, hunt him and the others down.

Muzan can’t afford to let her stay.

She cares about that drawing, so he’s going to destroy that paper tonight. See if she’ll stay without it.

So, when the human’s gone to sleep, he creeps up to the house. He goes in the door, into the first room he comes to. And there it is, on the wall. He pulls it out of its frame.

The thing on the wall, the round white thing with black marks around the edge, suddenly makes a noise. A long, loud noise, like a bell.

Muzan jumps and runs, panicked, onto the porch. Movement inside tells him the human’s getting up, and so, hurrying, he shreds the paper and jumps onto the roof. The human won’t stay. He’s made sure of that.

And then she comes out, and she sees the scraps of paper, and she bursts into tears. Muzan pauses. Something in his chest tightens, oddly, when she cries, trying to gather up the pieces.

“Okay, okay, I get it!” she suddenly shouts, her face still wet. “You hate me! You want me to leave! But I—“ She gulps on a sob, voice breaking softly. “I don’t have anywhere else to go. And this is all I have left. So please, please, just leave me alone!”

He should be happy. He should. But he isn’t. Muzan’s chest clenches. He’s gotten used to her face, her smile, the way she whistles off-key while she does her chores. Seeing her break breaks something in him.

Does he care about her?

She goes inside, drooping, and comes back with something strange. Muzan, curious, watches, and she starts using clear things to put the drawing back together. It stays, so the clear strips must be sticky.

A loud ringing sound. Muzan knows it by now—she uses it to know when to get up. Sighing, she gets up, goes back inside.

Muzan drops silently onto the porch, and pulls a strip of clear stickiness off the plastic thing. And he starts sticking the paper back together. He remembers the drawing. It must have really mattered to the human, then.

He’s sorry, oddly. She doesn’t seem to have any guns or knives or traps, and he made her cry.

He doesn’t like to see her cry.

You switch off your alarm clock, and stand beside the bed for a minute, sighing as it sinks in. You don’t have anywhere else to go, but the creature in the woods has made its opinion very clear. You can’t stay.

Slowly, you make your way back out to the porch, and when you see it, you stop.

The drawing’s fixed.

You hadn’t put more than half of it back together, and now it’s all there in one piece. The tape dispenser is scratched—by long, sharp claws you’re more than familiar with by now—but unharmed.

It feels like an apology.

So you take the drawing, and put it back in its place, and then you go through the fridge and bring out some eggs, some bacon. You fry the bacon, scramble the eggs and salt them, and plate the lot—and carry it outside.

“I think you can understand me, or at least some of what I say,” you tell the woods, the sun still out of sight. “You’re a predator, right? So you’ll probably like this. And, um—thank you.”

You leave it on the porch and shut the door. The creature likes its privacy, so you eat your own breakfast in the living room, humming quietly as you stare up at the repaired paper. The creature’s very intelligent—you can hardly tell the drawing was torn at all, from how well it was fixed.

When you check the plate, it’s been licked clean. Literally.

Maybe things are finally looking up.

Muzan sits on the long, overlooking branch of the same oak, watching the human plant a small garden. He smelled the seeds yesterday, when she left them outside. Edible. Nothing dangerous.

He tells himself that if she ever proves dangerous, he’ll drive her off.

He knows perfectly well that he won’t.

She talks to him now, though he still hasn’t let her see him. When she’s outside, or when she has the windows open, she’ll say things like, “How are you?” Or, “That was a bad storm last night. Hope you didn’t get too wet.” Or even, “I wish I could show you this show I’ve been watching on Netflix. You probably have no idea what that means, do you? I think you’d like it.”

When the fall’s cold snap came, she started leaving blankets out for him. Muzan brought them back to the den, for Rui and Zohakuten and the others. They’ll be warm this winter. When he goes into sleep with them, they’ll be warm until spring.

So he left his human a few birds he hunted, on the porch. She’d laughed, and said, “I—have no idea what to do with these. How about you not hunt for me? I’ve got food, I promise. But thank you!”

Muzan had taken back the birds, and left something from his collection behind. Like all his kind, he’s drawn to bright things, and he keeps the best ones for himself, in his part of the nest. So he left her a silver button, and a red ribbon, from his hoard.

She liked those. Muzan’s seen her wearing the ribbon, using it to pull her hair back.

A few nights ago, he started coming to the house at the same time, around sunset, every day. He’s done it since. She’s noticed—she talks more when she knows he’s there.

Yesterday, she teased him, and he dropped a nut on her head. She laughed until she almost fell over.

Muzan thinks he might like this human.

When your creature doesn’t come back all winter, you realize he’s probably hibernating. Some large predators do that. He’s probably one of them.

You were really worried the first week he didn’t turn up, though.

You’re not sure when he stopped being an it, when “the creature” became “your creature,” but you’ve gotten attached to him. You can tell when he’s there. He visits around sunset every day. Recently, he started interacting with you—dropping nuts and other things to make his point—even if you still haven’t seen him.

You spend the winter wondering what he looks like, if he’s warm enough. If he’s safe and comfortable and happy, while the snow falls outside and you turn up the heating.

When spring comes, you’re excited to have him back. And he comes back.

One night, you hear a knock at the door. It’s still a little cold at night, so you pull a blanket around yourself to answer it, not thinking about who the knock came from.

You pull the door open.

And there he is, letting you see him. Your creature. You let the blanket fall, unable to think of anything else.

He’s tall and thin, but lined with muscle—and he could almost pass for human, except for the dark tint on his forearms shading into black on his hands, or the deep red of his eyes, or the claws tipping his long, graceful fingers. He licks his lips, his eyes dropping nervously, and you catch a glimpse of sharp teeth and a long tongue.

His hair is long and black, but well-cared-for and clean, not draggled. His skin is porcelain pale, and he’s nude—but unlike a human, he doesn’t have any obvious genitals, just a smooth mound. (You immediately kick yourself for even looking.)

Very, very slowly, he holds out a hand toward you. It’s hesitant, almost fearful, so you meet him halfway with your own hand and squeeze his.

He jumps a little, startled, but then he leans closer, his eyelids fluttering. He has long lashes, you realize. Before you know what you’re doing, you lift your hand to his face, cupping his cheek. And he leans into it, turning to nuzzle against your palm.

“You—do you want to come in?” you ask.

It takes some time, but eventually he grows comfortable enough to show himself more frequently. When you’re gardening, struggling to pull a particularly stubborn sweet potato, he’s suddenly there to nudge you aside and dig it up with clawed hands. When you’re making breakfast, he shows up at the kitchen window and hands a few berries though it. He’s always there these days, whenever you turn around.

The first time he speaks, you almost jump out of your skin.

You’re talking to him, telling him about something inane—something you saw on Netflix—without expecting anything to fill the silence.

So when he says, “What is Netflix?” in a low mellow voice, you start, spilling your morning tea all over yourself and your blanket in the chair on the porch.

“Did I scare you?” he says, worried, and your heart jumps.

“I—I’ve never heard you speak. I didn’t even know you could,” you say, shoving the blanket off and rubbing your legs. The tea was still hot, and your thighs are hurting.

He kneels down in front of you, looking at your legs intently.

“It hurts,” he says softly. “Did it burn?”

“I don’t think so,” you manage, almost tongue-tied from seeing him so close to you. “But you—how did you learn English?”

“You,” he says, still intently studying your legs. “I listened to you.”

You huff an incredulous laugh. “Well, I always knew you were clever, but this is—“

He chuckles, and it’s a wonderful sound that makes your heart feel light and warm and full.

“I think you should change your clothes,” he says gently. “And then you can show me your Netflix.”

You do show him your Netflix, and other things around the house—the microwave, the fridge—and every time he sees something new and unexplained, he learns quickly. He adapts too; the television is not a threat, it’s entertainment. He doesn’t like the fridge, but he understands that the microwave makes food warm again, and he likes it better that way.

You learn too, more about him. His name is Muzan. He eats a lot of meat—preferably animals he hunts himself, though he seems to like eating with you—and has incredible senses. Smell seems particularly important to him; he can tell what you’ve eaten hours before, and find you unerringly with just your scent to go on.

After a little while, Muzan gets comfortable enough to visit every day, coming inside the house. He’s very intelligent, and spends a lot of time pouring over your books or discussing what he’s read with you. He likes documentaries or meaningful films, but generally doesn’t care for shows. If you want to watch one, he’ll settle himself beside you, reading silently.

And time passes like that, for weeks and months.

When summer is coming to a close at last, Muzan asks you to walk with him in the forest. He seems almost nervous when he asks, twisting his hands together. You often walk together on the paths, but this seems different somehow.

“What is it?” you ask gently. “Muzan, is something bothering you?”

He huffs a soft laugh.

“I want you to see my den,” he admits. “And meet my family.”

You can’t keep the smile off your face. You’re touched by the clear trust in that gesture. The two of you have come so far.

“Do they know I’m coming?” you check.

“Yes.” Muzan bites his lip. “They…may not trust you as I do right away.”

“I wouldn’t expect them to.” You slide your hand into his larger, dark-tinted one. “You’ve been hunted by humans, so you hunted them. I’m guessing they’ve experienced the same. Trust would be a big ask after that.”

Muzan pulls you into a fierce embrace, nuzzling into your neck.

“Thank you,” he says softly, his voice almost breaking.

The den is a cave, the entrance fairly cramped. Muzan guides you very carefully through it, at one point using his hand to stop you from slamming your knee into a sharp rock. It’s much bigger on the inside, with a pile of very familiar blankets directly in front of you on the floor. There are a few ledges, which seem to be full of bright things—buttons feature prominently, but so do shiny rocks and strips of cloth.

Muzan’s a bit like a crow, actually. Now you know where your button and ribbon came from—you’re wearing the ribbon in your hair today.

Zohakuten emerges first. He has black hair, like Muzan, and they’re clearly the same species. But he’s small, about the size of an 8-year-old. He’s glaring at you.

Muzan slips a hand around your waist. You take a deep breath.

“You’re Zohakuten, right?” you ask, squatting down. “I brought something for you.”

Muzan had explained that for his kind, their collections were very important. New members of a family group usually gave each other gifts, so you’d brought a few things.

Carefully, you hold your hand out. In it is a wooden dinosaur. “My uncle was a whittler,” you tell Zohakuten. “And he made this when I was little.”

Zohakuten sniffs it before he takes it.

“Your uncle ate a lot of cheese,” he says. Your brows rise.

“You can smell that?” When Zohakuten nods, you say, “You must have a really good nose.”

He smiles. Just a little.

Gyutaro comes out next, with Daki behind him. His hair is black; hers is white.

“You’re the one who gave us the blankets,” Gyutaro says flatly.

“Yeah. I’ve got something else for you though. Muzan told me you like knives, Guytaro.” You hand him the little pocketknife your mother gave you when you turned sixteen. “You want this one?”

Gyutaro looks it over. Then he takes it. “Thanks,” he mutters.

“So, do I have something?” Daki asks.

“Yeah, you do.” You give her a piece of embroidered cloth. “My mom’s mom made this when she was little.”

“What’s it for?”

“Being pretty,” you say, and wink. “Just like you.”

Daki squeals and hugs you. As she and her brother go to curl up in the blanket mound, you hear Gyutaro say, “You smell gross now.” Daki swats him, and snaps, “Nice things aren’t gross and she was nice, so she doesn’t smell gross. You’re gross.”

“Your hair’s gross,” Gyutaro mutters.

Apparently kids are still kids, even when they’re creatures in the woods.

When the sun sinks, and Rui still doesn’t come out, Muzan asks if you should go home. He’s worried about you being outside in the dark.

“Muzan,” you tell him, hands on hips, “if it’s okay with everyone, I’d rather stay.”

Zohakuten laughs. When you both look at him, he shrugs.

“I like her.”

Daki runs over and pulls up and down on Muzan’s arm.

“Can she stay? Can she please?”

Muzan looks over at Gyutaro. The boy shrugs.

“She doesn’t smell that gross,” he says, his arms folded. “I guess.”

Muzan sighs. “All right.”

Daki squeals with delight and drags you over to the blanket mound, pulling you down beside her. She curls up next to you like a cat, and starts telling all about everything in her collection. Halfway through, she starts yawning. A bit later, she falls asleep.

Gyutaro plops down next to her, stares at you for a second, and shuts his eyes. Zohakuten leans his head against your knee, looking over his gift again. And very gently, Muzan tucks himself against your other side, smiling.

“You’re smiling,” Zohakuten says, surprised.

Muzan puts a finger to his lips. “Don’t wake your siblings,” he says softly. Zohakuten wrinkles his nose.

“You’re going soft, papa,” he whispers.

Muzan shows his teeth playfully. “Oh, am I?”

“Definitely,” Zohakuten says. “You like her. You like her a lot.” He stares at you in the dark. “You’re all mushy now. You didn’t used to be mushy.”

“I’ll show you mushy,” Muzan warns. “In the morning.”

As Zohakuten rolls over, still holding his new present, he mumbles quietly, “That’s just what a mushy person would say.”

#muzan kibutsuji #muzan x reader #muzan kibutsuji x reader #sub demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer #sub kny x reader

241 notes · View notes

pedge-stuff · 10 months

Note

PLEASE WRITE A PART 2 for accident! I’m obsessed

I hadn't planned on it, but... this has been arranged.

accident p. 2 (pedro pascal x gn/m!reader)

a/n: same vague universe as “marked," as always.

summary: you let him fuss.

It's well past midnight as you key into the apartment. Pedro busies himself by getting you settled, although his movements are almost as sluggish and haggard as your own. Six hours in the ER had taken its toll.

"Why don't you head up?"

You'd sat on the chair by the door, intent on untying your shoes, but had apparently been staring at them for the last few moments. Without a second thought, Pedro kneeled before you. "I'm gonna take the dogs around the block, and then I'll close up down here."

You are struck, not for the first time this evening, by an overwhelming wave of gratitude. How did you get so lucky?

He jingles the leashes, pausing to kiss your forehead before heading out.

It takes you way too long to get up. Some combination of exhaustion and low-dose Vicodin have you zoning out, effectively sleepwalking without Pedro to move you along. There is a pharmacy baggy on the counter, but by the sluggishness of your thoughts, the remainder of the prescription might need to go untouched.

Eventually, you drag yourself upstairs.

Everything feels dirty. The loaned scrub pants come off easily, shed in the doorway of the ensuite, to be dealt with later. (Thrown away, burned, ripped to shreds... Dealer's choice. Anything to be rid of them and put the whole evening behind you.)

You want to take the hottest shower possible, and scrub off the invisible hospital residue until your skin is raw. But the prospect of standing for long enough to get clean is... logistically impossible.

At least your dominant hand is uninjured. You reach around, fumbling with the buckle on the back of the sling. For a broken bone, it wasn't very high tech— just a few pieces of fabric holding the two halves of your left clavicle in place. But the damn thing may as well have been a rubik's cube, for how impossible it was to unstrap.

That's about where Pedro finds you: back down to your underwear, hunched on the closed lid of the toilet, frustrated to tears.

"This is so stupid."

"Baby," he starts softly. His dinner attire has been pared down to slacks and an undershirt. "Please let me do this for you."

A brown paper bag is set on the counter, so he can gently remove the sling, followed by the scrub top. Eyes closed, you wilt on the lid. Pedro reaches to plug the tub, without asking, though you nod slowly as he looks back.

The man busies himself as you watch on: changes into a well-loved pair of flannel pajama bottoms, tosses some lavender epsom salt into the slowly-filling water, swears a blue streak doing something suspiciously loud in the other room.

When he returns, slightly red in the face, the bath has been filled.

A not-insignificant part of you had hoped he'd be joining, but Pedro chooses instead to perch on the side, running a hand through your hair as you settle against the porcelain. From within the paper bag, a bag of mini Reeses cups are presented.

"Bodega dinner," he says proudly, adding, "you gotta eat something, baby."

"I'm okay," you whisper, though you're not talking about the peanut butter, at all.

"But you almost weren't," he says hoarsely. "I keep replaying that phone call over and over again in my mind. I think my heart stopped for a second. I just..."

You can only nod, mutely. The feverish, borderline frantic look in his eyes traps any response in your throat. (Honestly, he'd been looking at you like that all night. Hasn't really taken his eyes off you since he found you in the hospital hallway.)

So, you let him fuss.

Out of the tub, you lightly dread bedtime, though you've been fantasizing about sleep now for hours. The doctor had specifically warned against sleeping on either your side or back, instead sending you home with a diagram of how to sleep sitting up. Which sounds worse than a car accident, frankly.

But, upon entering, you discover the bedroom has... transformed? Your bed, normally centered, has been pushed into the corner. One nightstand has been abandoned in the middle of the room.

"I'll move that later," Pedro says sheepishly.

All the pillows on the bed, and from the chaise in the opposite corner of the room, have been gathered in a clumsy pile. The dogs have already assumed their positions against the footer.

Pedro shucks off his undershirt, and crawls into the makeshift nest. With pillows to support his often-fragile back, he reclines against the wall corner. Pats the mattress.

"You can't lay down," he warns, as you shift onto the bed. "The doctor was really particular about that."

"Sitting up," you echo. Although, at this point, you'd crash standing up if it meant you could finally fucking sleep.

Pedro splays his legs. "Come here."

Carefully, one-handed, you maneuver yourself according to his gesturing. Settling, back-to-chest, against him; legs between his legs. Propped up like a rag doll. As if on autopilot, Pedro's arm comes up to wrap across your stomach.

"This can't possibly be comfortable for you," you protest.

His lips brush your temple. "I promise." His grip tightens; you are a human teddy bear, which feels appropriate, since your brain is full of stuffing.

Each rise and fall of Pedro's chest presses warmly against you. There is nothing to wake up for tomorrow, no alarm to set— you'd cancelled your Sunday Brunch plans sometime between the IV and the x-ray.

"Hey." You loll your head against his shoulder. Can't meet his eyes, from this angle, but in the darkness of the bedroom, it doesn't really matter.

"Hey."

Your fingers lace with his, where they clutch around your side. "I love you."

"Mm." His chin hooks over the top of your head. "You have no idea, sweetheart."

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal rpf #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader

153 notes · View notes

whumpsday · 7 months

Text

Power Play

Writing Masterlist

content: kidnapping, ritual sacrifice, begging, hand whump, impalement, mouth whump, knives/skin carving, demon whumper, creepy whumper, major character death, gore

this is my piece for @zineofgid !! this was such an awesome project to work on :)

you can still buy the guys in distress zine here! proceeds go to the charity RAINN. there are limited physical copies and unlimited digital copies, as well as some merch left. do keep in mind that while my piece is sfw, this is an 18+ zine and a lot of other contributors' pieces are very much NOT sfw!

this piece was done as part of a collaboration with @whump-queen, with ocs we made together! he made art that accompanies this piece, you can view it here! it depicts the end of the story so you might wanna wait til after you read it though if you care about spoilers (also linked at the end)

Jonah’s breaths came hard and fast as Reese dumped him out of the large duffle bag, onto the cold floor of his basement.

He immediately tried to struggle to his feet, but his wrists and ankles had been bound with way too many layers of duct tape, making it impossible. Reese easily kicked him to the floor, placing a boot firmly on his chest and keeping him there.

“Ah-ah-ah.” his captor tutted, ripping the tape off his mouth. “I’m sorry to say that you will never see outside this room again.”

“You’re crazy!” Jonah screamed, unable to keep the terror out of his voice. His heart hammered in his chest, right under Reese’s boot.

“You have been messing with my campaign.” Reese countered, as if kidnapping was equivalent to Jonah doing his damn job. “Arnett didn’t start climbing in the polls until she brought you on as manager.” He dug his boot in deeper, making it a little hard for Jonah to breathe, pressing his bound wrists painfully into the floor under his back.

Despite admittedly-minimal efforts to retain his composure, Jonah found himself trembling. “So, what? You’re going to- kill me?”

There was no way he could fight this man off. Reese was bigger and stronger than him; it was pathetic how little he’d been able to struggle when Reese had initially incapacitated him. Now he was bound with tape and at an even bigger disadvantage. The thought that he could really die here blared through his mind like a siren, urging him to do whatever he could to escape, as if there was anything he could do.

“Not exactly. I’m not going to kill you.” Reese finally stepped off Jonah’s chest, only to kick him over and press a knee into his back instead. “Don’t mistake this as petty vengeance. I needed someone, and you happened to be an enticing target.”

It was only then, staring across the floor instead of at the ceiling, that Jonah noticed his surroundings.

A large pentagram, easily five feet, laid painted red in the center of the room, a hammer and nails set next to it.

“What the fuck?” he whispered in cold horror.

“Thanks to you, it’s clear that a good, honest campaign by a good, honest man isn’t enough to make it in politics. Luckily, there are other ways to get ahead in life, if you do enough research,” Reese explained, like it made perfect sense.

“Is that blood?” Jonah asked, voice small, staring at the red of the pentagram painted meticulously into the floor.

“It is. My very own.”

Jonah’s line of questioning was instantly interrupted when felt the side of a blade against his forearm.

He writhed, his struggles renewed. “Get away from me with that thing!”

“Hold still, or I might nick you. You want that tape off, don’t you?” Reese leaned down. Jonah could feel his breath on the back of his neck as Reese’s knee pressed further into his lower back.

Jonah went still, barring the tremors he couldn’t control. As much as he hated to admit it, Reese was right: aimlessly moving around with a knife millimeters from his skin would only get him hurt. He didn’t resist as he felt steel slide harmlessly against him, the layers of tape cut away and peeled off.

Before he could even think about running, Reese grabbed both his newly-freed hands and dragged him over to the pentagram. Jonah started struggling again, but there was little he could do against the iron grip.

Reese pointed to one of the triangles making up the pentagram. “You will kneel or I will make you kneel.”

He didn’t know what else to do, and pissing off his captor seemed like a recipe for disaster, so he knelt as indicated.

Reese bound one hand to Jonah’s body with more tape, bringing the other to a point of the pentagram. He pressed Jonah’s palm against the star’s tip, stepping firmly against his wrist to hold it there.

“Now, stay nice and still.”

Reese picked up the hammer and one of the nails.

“What are you doing?!” Jonah tried to pull his hand away, but Reese just pressed his boot down harder.

“What I said. Just making sure you stay still.” Reese positioned the nail in the center of Jonah’s hand, the sharp tip pricking at his skin. Jonah’s breath grew rapid in anticipation of what was about to happen to him.

“Wait, don’t, don’t don’t no no no-!”

Pain exploded in his hand as the THWACK of the hammer hit the nail and pierced his skin, and Jonah finally screamed. He tried again to pull his hand away, to pull his whole body away, but it was useless. He was trapped.

“Stop! Stop stop stop, you’re crazy!” he cried, tears spilling over and running down his face. The nail settled on the floor’s surface, just barely poking through the tender skin of his palm from the inside, making its way through muscle and ligaments and tendons.

“You can think what you like. Doesn’t matter to me,” Reese commented nonchalantly.

The hammer came down again. Jonah’s second scream was less intense than the first, as if his voice itself were scared, breaking off into a sob. A few more taps left the nail buried snugly in the floor, the head resting against the back of his hand as a bit of blood escaped from under it.

Jonah panted hard, adrenaline coursing through him. His hand wouldn’t move from where it sat fastened to the pentagram even after Reese removed his boot from his wrist: even twitching his fingers sent a horrible jolt through it.

“Good job, you’re doing very well.” Reese praised, patting Jonah on the head. “And now, the other one.”

“NO!” Jonah cried. “Stop! You have to stop!”

“Shh, it’s okay.” The sheer calm Reese talked about it with sent shivers down his spine. “It’ll all be over soon.”

Reese freed his uninjured hand, and Jonah clutched it protectively to his chest, shaking. “Leave me alone,” he begged tearily.

His captor grabbed his hand and brought it to the opposite point of the pentagram, stretching him out painfully and forcing his head and chest to the ground. Much to his dismay, Reese stepped down on his other wrist and readied the hammer and nails again.

Jonah strained his neck to look up at Reese, desperate. “What do you want? I’ll quit, okay? I’ll stop running Arnett’s campaign, you’ll never see me again. Just stop.”

“Oh, Jonah. Like I said, I needed someone. It just happened to be you.” Reese started on the other hand. No matter how much he screamed, it wouldn’t stop. Unlike the first nail, which seemed to slip in between his bones, this one landed right on top of the small, delicate bones inside his hand and smashed through them uncaring, the pain blinding.

Jonah was a mess by this point, sobbing into the floor. “I don’t wanna die like this,” he sniffled.

Reese cupped his face. “Look at it this way. You’re dying for something bigger than yourself. More powerful. Now, I think that’s about enough complaining out of you.”

The grip on his face grew tighter and tighter, fingers pressing tightly into the sides of his jaw, until Jonah was forced to open his mouth. Reese grabbed his tongue and pulled it, touching it to the center of the pentagram. Even among the throbbing pain in his hands and the horrifying situation, Jonah’s face crinkled in disgust.

Reese grabbed another nail.

Jonah’s disgust was immediately forgotten, replaced by overwhelming terror. He tried fruitlessly to shake his head away, making what little terrified noises of protest he could manage, as Reese settled the tip of the nail against his tongue.

A whine of fear escaped him, and he looked up at his captor pleadingly. Please don’t do this.

“Just try to relax,” Reese advised, as if it was at all possible.

The hammer slammed against the head of the nail, sending it straight through Jonah’s tongue and into the floor. Jonah wailed with intolerable pain, hot tears slipping down his cheeks, no longer able to form pleas. All he could taste was his own fresh blood, running over Reese’s painted on the floor.

Reese gave it a few more firm taps until the head of the nail almost crushed Jonah’s tongue under it, undeterred by Jonah’s cries.

“There we go.” Reese disappeared from Jonah’s tear-blurry line of sight. A moment later, he felt the side of the knife against the back of his neck. He squealed in distress, unable to even thrash against his bonds anymore.

But the knife didn’t plunge into him. Instead, it glided downward to the sound of tearing fabric until Jonah’s shirt fell limply in front of him. Reese ran a hand over his exposed back, Jonah’s tense muscles shuddering under the touch.

“This is the final step.” Jonah jolted as best he could in his immobilized state as he felt the tip of the knife between his shoulderblades- not digging in yet, but threatening to.

“Nghh!” Jonah couldn’t say much else with his tongue nailed down. He couldn’t even shake his head. Nothing he could do to indicate NO would be enough here, anyway. Reese didn’t care for his opinion.

He screamed as the knife buried itself in flesh, not deep enough to touch bone, but far from shallow. It glided along his back in a sweeping stroke, before Reese lifted it and picked a new spot to carve into him, no matter how much he cried and tried to writhe away from the sharp, insistent pain.

Slice after bold, swirling slice, Reese painted a pattern in the splitting of his skin, spending the most time on an intricate design between his shoulder blades. Jonah was pretty sure it was supposed to be an eye, but he was too hazy with agony and blood loss to tell.

Finally, Reese pulled the knife away from his mangled back. “There, all done. Soon you won’t even feel it.”

Jonah could only sob in response, trembling from pain and fear. Everything hurt. His entire body felt like it had been through a paper shredder. He could feel the blood running off the sides of his back and pooling beneath his folded-up legs, soaking his knees.

He watched as Reese lit candles in a circle around him, painting the room in a warm glow, and began chanting in a language Jonah couldn’t understand- Latin, maybe? What a pointless thing to die for. What would happen to him when none of this worked and no demon showed up? Would Reese concede and let him go? Probably not. Jonah imagined the knife plunging into his chest, the last thing he ever saw the face of his murderer. At least the pain would stop.

Slowly, as Reese chanted, The sigil carved into Jonah’s back began to burn.

Just a little at first, but getting hotter and hotter until Jonah was writhing in pain, trying to free his hands despite the nails holding them in place and hurting worse and worse the more he tugged on them. What was happening to him? It felt like someone had run boiling oil through the gashes in his skin. It was unbearable. He needed it to stop. Jonah squeezed his eyes closed, releasing a sound akin to a dying animal at the excruciating pain.

When he opened his eyes… a figure stood in front of him, half-materialized, like it was creating itself out of thin air. The warm orange glow of the candles began to shift to a cold, too-bright violet.

He strained his eyes up to see, the angle much less than ideal with his tongue bolted to the floor. He wasn’t sure if that was the reason they looked so massive, or if they really were abnormally tall, but a glance at Reese for comparison proved it to be the latter.

Everything about them looked unnatural, all bright colors that might mark a plant or animal as toxic, screaming at his nailed-down body to run. Glowing fuschia markings slithered all over their skin, the pattern looking suspiciously like the one Jonah could feel carved into his back. A giant scorpion-like tail snaked out from behind them.

Jonah stared up at the- the demon, apparently. As their form became more solid, Jonah’s back burned less and less, the only thing he could possibly be thankful for in this moment.

The demon eyed him back threefold, an impossibly-wide grin full of sharp teeth splitting their six-eyed face. Jonah couldn’t help but whimper under their gaze.

“Izuloth!” Reese shouted, suddenly seeming so much less intimidating compared to the monstrosity before him.

Izuloth broke eye contact to direct their attention to him, their smile faltering and their eyebrow twitching with annoyance. Several of their eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I’ve summoned you! I’ve captured a sacrifice, carved your sigil, drawn this pentagram in my own blood. You will now grant me power, as promised,” Reese declared confidently.

The smile returned. “Awfully presumptuous, human. I don’t remember promising anything.”

“What- what are you talking about?” Reese sputtered. “That’s what it said in the book! You are now under my control!”

Izuloth smirked. “Oh, is that what it said. That was nice of them to put in there. Makes fools like you much more likely to summon me. Hm, I don’t think I care for your attitude, though.”

They snapped their fingers.

Jonah watched in horror as Reese’s body began to unravel in front of him. Skin peeled from muscle, exposing raw, bloody flesh and piling on the floor below in a wet heap that splashed Jonah’s face with blood- he could taste it on his outstretched tongue.

Reese tried to scream, but all that came out was a gurgle as his tongue joined the rest of his exposed muscles in shredding to bits, as if taken to on all sides, inside and out, with an invisible cheese grater. It was over within a minute: the remnants of his body collapsed to the floor, twitching with life for only a moment before going still.

Jonah was alone with Izuloth.

He whined in terror, too frozen to even try tugging at his restraints. If the demon could do that, it wouldn’t be any use anyway.

Izuloth, to his dismay, turned their attention back to him. “Now, where were we?”

They reached a hand down to pet his hair. Jonah squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body tensed up in anticipation.

Suddenly, Izuloth grabbed his hair and pulled. Jonah’s eyes flew right back open as his tongue ripped right out of the nail, bisecting it down the middle with an agonizing tear. His scream of pain cut short when Izuloth grabbed him by the frayed end of his tongue, their many-eyed face inches away.

“Pretty thing, I think I’ll keep you.”

ART BY AKIA WHUMP-QUEEN!!!

everything taglist:

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

@whumpshaped

@pigeonwhumps

@the-scrapegoat

@whumpycries

one-shots taglist:

@icyheart-and-friends

@kira-the-whump-enthisiast

@whuarri

@reborrowing

#whump #my writing #demon whumper #ritual sacrifice #begging #hand whump #mouth whump #impalement #creepy whumper #major character death #gore #guys in distress

95 notes · View notes

divinemissem13 · 2 months

Text

I'm With Her - Chapter 2

Or, the 2nd time Sharon 'saved' Brenda

Chapter 2: Rainbow

Another day, another case wrapped, another shithead off the streets. It had been a good day, all things considered, and Brenda slid open her desk drawer to reward herself. She was just about to rip open the pack of Reese’s Pieces when a sharp knock on the door reminded her of the other, less successful part of her day. “Come in,” she called out, unnecessarily since Captain Raydor was already sticking her head through the doorway. Oooh! That woman!

Brenda plastered a big smile on her face and stood to greet her. Their power dynamic was such that she needed every inch of her diminutive stature to remind her who exactly was in charge. “What can I do for you Cap’n?”

“I just wanted to let you know that I’ve finished my report and as long as no one in your division shoots anyone, I should be out of your hair for a while,” Sharon said, handing over the thin folder. Brenda shivered involuntarily as the other woman’s serene voice washed over her. It would be easy to get lost in that voice, if she let herself. But she wouldn’t.

“Well isn’t that just the best news?” Brenda drawled through her stiff smile as she tossed the file onto the desk. “Pope come out ok?”

“I never said I was doing a background check on Pope, Chief,” Sharon said with an amused smile.

Brenda fumbled for her glasses and picked up the file again. Apparently, one of her officers was in trouble and she hadn’t even known it. Hopefully it wasn’t her. But nothing could have prepared her for what she saw when she began to skim the first page. “What is this?” she asked as she sunk back into her chair, temporarily too much in shock to be concerned with power dynamics. Luckily, Sharon took this as a cue to sit as well, prim and proper with her legs crossed at the knee and her hands placed just so in her lap; a stark contrast to the rather haphazard way that Brenda had plopped herself down, hunched over so that her nose was only inches from the file she was reading.

“It’s an application for Chief of Police,” Sharon explained needlessly. “As the LAPD’s Women’s Coordinator, I am on the search committee and we feel it is important for there to be a strong, female candidate for the job.”

Brenda peered at the older woman over the rims of her glasses. “And that’s s’posed to be me?” she asked skeptically.

“Yes, Chief. That’s supposed to be you,” Sharon confirmed with a sigh.

“I see it’s already filled out,” Brenda observed, blindly reaching for her abandoned bag of candy and opening it with her teeth as she continued to read.

Sharon gave a tight smile that even reached her eyes a little bit. “I wanted to make it as easy as possible. All it needs is your signature.”

“Mmhmm,” Brenda replied through a mouthful of candy. She popped a few more into her mouth and caught a glimpse of Sharon watching her and she suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable under her gaze. Which was odd because she had barely paid attention to the captain while she followed her around all week. “You, uh, you want some?” she offered, waving the bag of candy in Sharon’s direction.

Keep reading on AO3

#femslashfeb2024 #rainbow #femslash february #brenda.sharon #the closer #brenda leigh johnson #sharon raydor #fanfic #i wrote this #ao3 link

9 notes · View notes

holdmecloser-gandydancer · 6 days

Text

hey the adventure zone is a really good podcast, idk if anyone following me is aware of that

#man a relisten is good for the soul #rip (reeses in pieces)

211 notes · View notes

iwilltranscend · 7 months

Text

Image description: image of the final scene of the Blair Witch Project with Snoopy drawn in beside Mike

end description

#rip (reeses in pieces)#snoopy #blair witch project #he's so silly <3

33 notes · View notes

over--and-out · 1 year

Text

Haven't I Given Enough

Eddie Munson x Male Reader

Summary: Late night slushies with your best friends is nostalgic, an amazing way to spend your night. Recently it's all that's gotten Eddie out of the house, but you didn't realize why he was suffering so much.

Warnings: Volume 2 spoilers, angst, mentioned character death, post volume 2, mentions of bullying/harassment/abuse, again angst, this was a lot longer than I thought it was gonna be, the kids consuming way too much candy, yelling but playful yelling, play fighting, mentions of scars

Author's Note: There's a whole bunch of fluff before the angst, I also tried not to involve any ships regarding the younger kids so please don't yell at me for that.

"PUT IT DOWN, WHEELER!"

"NO, I HAD IT FIRST!" Mike gave a look as if to say 'Duh,' holding the bag above Dustin's head and Eddie laughed loudly when he snatched it. An absolute gremlin laugh. He rummaged through the candy bag, pulling out a mini m&m bag before tossing the plethora to Will, who laughed in triumph when he caught it.

"I HAVE BEEN CHOSEN!"

"THAT'S NOT FAIR!" Lucas screeched as he tackled Will and they went tumbling into the shelf holding all of Eddie's D&D things.

"Hey, HEY, DO NOT MAKE ME PUT YOU IN TIMEOUT."

You poked his ankle as he walked by, the action making him jump two feet in the air with a screech and everyone burst into laughter.

Max rolled her eyes and El burst into laughter as Mike jumped onto Eddie's back, wrestling him down for the tiny bag of m&m's; a dangerous game when you're fighting with Eddie Munson.

Max offered Eleven another piece of candy corn from the bowl in her lap, the brunette only taking them when they're offered and the redhead refusing to touch them. Lucas swung by and stole a piece of the candy, taking a munch break for a few seconds before tackling Will again for the big bag of assorted candy. Dustin caught wind of the bag, completely abandoning Mike and Eddie before joining Lucas in his rampage against Will.

"Sharing is caring- SHARING IS CARING, WILLIAM!" The D&D shelf fell down with a defeated slam and Eddie whipped his head around, eyes wide and mouth agape. Everyone froze and Dustin stared Eddie down. Lucas resorted to a karate stance and Will hid the bag behind his back.

"Now you've done it," Eddie mumbled. It was then that Mike took the opportunity to steal the metalhead's candy, downing the entire bag. "OH YOU'RE DEAD-"

The stairs to the basement creaked loudly and Steve grabbed a hold of Eddie right as he launched himself at the teen, Mike laughing loudly as he flopped down on the couch next to Will and made an attempt to steal more candy.

"We leave you alone for five minutes and you try to kill each other!" Steve shook his head and brushed his hair off of his forehead with his fingers, flicking Eddie on the forehead. He got a prompted shove in return and Robin descended down the stairs with grocery bags in tow. She had been waiting for the chaos to subside.

"And you said no to babysitting. Imagine, Steve. Eddie was a better idea to leave alone with the kids?"

"I'm almost seventeen, HOW AM I STILL A-"

"MIKE, IF I HEAR YOU YELLING ONE MORE TIME, I SWEAR I'M COMING DOWN THERE AND STEALING EVERYTHING YOU LOVE!" Nancy's yell cut him off, Dustin trying and failing to hold back a chuckle.

Lucas jumped up and nudged Eddie, offering another bag of tiny m&m's. A peace offering. Eddie accepted and gave Lucas a small nudge in return. "She's a real hardass when she's studying, huh?" He lowered his bag of candy, offering you a piece and you gladly took two pieces. He pouted, ripping the bag back and you laughed fondly at him as you shook your head.

"Yeah, she's always been like that. I guess. Sometimes, anyway." Steve shrugged.

"We should probably hang somewhere else, Nancy gets annoying when she's studying." Mike had finally managed to persuade Will out of a Reeses, sharing a cup that was broken in half with him and breaking his own piece in half to share with Eleven.

Max shrugged and leaned her elbows on her friend's shoulders, braiding the brunette hair laying over them. "Well I'm starving, we could go get some food?"

"It's midnight, what place is even open?" Robin took a chug of her energy drink after the sentence and Steve raised an eyebrow at her.

You raised your hand and slapped it on Eddie's thigh, the screech he let out catching everyone's attention. "Isn't the gas station open 24/7 now? They've got a shit ton of cool stuff in there."

"Oh yeah, they also set up that Pac-Man machine!" Will grinned as he leaned forward.

Steve had opted to go back home, stating he had an early work day in the morning but Robin still tagged along. Max had dragged El along and Lucas had followed with Max. You'd teased Mike and Will into joining when Mike said he was tired, Eddie and Dustin being rambunctious as always with each other.

You all took Eddie's van to the lonely gas station, the teen behind the counter scratching away at lottery tickets and not paying the group of you any mind. On the way, Robin sat behind you and talked your ear off about some movie that the Family Video finally got. Eddie mentioned something about D&D and Robin fell down a rabbit hole as the metalhead enthusiastically ranted to her.

Once inside, Max grabbed El and Lucas and made a beeline for the terrible hotdogs that were available. Seeing Lucas being dragged away, Dustin grabbed Mike and Will and followed. Eddie laughed at the younger teens, shaking his head as he decided that he was dragging you and Robin with him.

The three of you went over to the slushie machine, a long row of flavors lined up and Robin's eyes widened upon seeing them. "There's so many flavors! How does one person pick?!"

"Wait wait, you've never been in here before?" Eddie laughed and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, quickly getting distracted by a root beer flavoring. He mumbled as he grabbed a cup. "It's only THE place to hang out if you want to fill your body with the most ungodly food known to man." He wandered to the row of flavors and you laughed softly as you shook your head. He was getting a completely different flavor than the one he'd been eyeballing.

"Well, I've never really gone out a lot. You know, strict parents and stuff."

"Well, we've definitely gotta hang out more often then." You smiled at Robin, patting her on the shoulder and she beamed a happy smile before jumping to get a slushie flavor.

Eddie let out a mischievous laugh, pulling a flask out of his pocket. "Thirsty?"

"Oh my God, Eddie-" you started and Robin rambled quickly.

"Eddie that's horrible. I want some." She held out her slushie and he poured a little bit into it. "Wait, aren't you the designated driver?" Eddie only shrugged.

"I'll drink when we get back. It'll be cool, just gotta drop the kids off first and then we can crash at my place?" He shrugged.

Eddie was taken back when he felt a gentle tug on his battle vest, his brows furrowing and he turned to see Eleven holding up some chili cheese fries. "May I have these?" Eddie's gave her a wide smile.

"Yeah, 'course. You don't even have to ask, knock yourself out." Eleven beamed at him and launched herself into him to give him a tight hug.

"Thank you!" She gave a giggle as she almost skipped back to Max, who was making her own ensemble of chili cheese fries.

You smiled at Eddie, who was smiling to himself. He'd spoil all of the kids rotten if he could, you knew that. Dustin had ended up starting a play fight with Will and Lucas over who would pick which kind of chips, Mike settling for a bag of York candy and Max was talking about which slushie Eleven wanted to share.

When everyone had gotten what they wanted, they had all assembled back at the front of the store where they set down all their stuff for the cashier to ring up.

All the boys insisted on paying for their own things, Lucas proclaiming that Eddie was broke which got a very unamused reaction from the metalhead. Max offered to pay for hers and El's things, but Eddie was gracious enough to cover it.

The cashier was not invested at all, simply ringing up the items as they were being handed to her.

Robin almost tripped when she tried passing her slushie up. "Eddie if you spill that, you're paying for it."

"I'm paying for it anyway!" He laughed, not realizing that he had finally caught the attention of the cashier. When he looked back at her and caught her glare, his smile immediately faded and he almost shrank into himself. He knew why she was giving him that look; she was a little brunette girl with bright blue eyes who was on the cheerleading team. Eddie vaguely remembered Lucas turning her down when she asked him out.

He cleared his throat and kept his eyes glued to the things on the counter. Max pushed herself in front of Eddie, grabbing hers and Eleven's things. "How much did you say that would be?" You set your hand on Eddie's back and gently ran it up and down, a look of concern on your face.

She huffed through her nose and you glanced at Eddie, who was still staring at the drinks on the counter. You could almost feel how uncomfortable he was.

"$15.46." Max scoffed.

"It says 10.46 right there."

"Murderers pay extra." Eddie let out the breath he was holding, finally looking up at her.

"Don't talk to him like that, he's not a murderer." You snapped at her, your attempts to keep calm failing.

"Listen, I'll pay the fucking fifteen or whatever. Keep the change." He slapped sixteen dollars onto the counter and grabbed your hand, pulling you with him after grabbing his drink. He was going to kick himself in the ass later for paying that much,, but he didn't even care at that moment. Robin grabbed her drink and rushed after him, Max giving the cashier a tight smile before grabbing the rest and walking away.

You could tell by the grip on your hand that Eddie was trying to keep himself together. He pulled you around to the driver's side of the van, wrapping you up in a hug with a shuddering breath. You immediately responded, hugging him back tightly and burying your face in his shoulder. His curly brown hair tickled your nose but you didn't even care right now. He needed you there, so you'd be there.

He had been cleared of the murder charges, Hopper had made up an excuse behind the earthquakes, the killings. Some people had believed him, but so many other people refused to believe it. How could they? Eddie Munson was a Satanist, a devil worshipper, the scum of the earth.

Eddie was none of those things. He'd never murdered anybody, he didn't worship the devil, and he was far from a terrible person.

He'd been too terrified to go out the first few weeks after he was proven innocent, both from shame of his scars and fear of being discriminated against.

"It's okay Eds. I'm here." You ran your fingers through his curls, some tangles holding your fingers hostage but when that happened you'd just move your hand to a different spot. He melted into you, Robin quickly running up and gently rubbing his back.

"Hey, you okay?" She tilted her head and when a sob escaped Eddie, she winced. "Oh, definitely not okay." Max was the next one to run up, Eleven in tow and they were both equally as worried about him as you and Robin.

Dustin was lighting the cashier up, swearing up one side down the other and saying that he'd report the woman.

You ran your fingers through Eddie's hair and kissed his temple, his grip tightening on you. "I don't understand it, why are people still doing this?" His voice was muffled by your shirt and your heart cracked at his words.

"When is it gonna end, this isn't fair. It's not fair!" Eddie turned his head, his face now not buried in your shoulder but rather in your neck. The way he was hunched over couldn't have been comfortable for him so you made the attempt to get him to sit down. Robin took his slushie before he busted the cup from how tight he was gripping it.

"Eddie, it's- it's still fresh, it'll die down." Robin tried reasoning and Max nodded along.

"Yeah, people will back off. Deep down they know you didn't do it."

Eddie's face scrunched up as he pulled away from you, laying against the side of the van and you brushed his hair out of his face. He had tears streaking his cheeks, his eyes glued to the slushie you had set down. El and Max both sat on one side, the group of boys running out of the store with Dustin calling Eddie's name.

"That was a shitty thing for her to do, you didn't deserve that at all. You doing okay man?"

Eddie wouldn't answer, his eyes dulling as he most likely dissociated.

"We know you didn't do that, Eddie. We all know what happened." Mike continued on.

"Yeah, you're a hero." Lucas finished the statement from the group of boys, Will coming to sit on the opposite side of the girls.

"Haven't I given enough?"

His voice broke and with it so did your heart.

Eddie finally brought himself to look into your eyes, his own big and brown and the look he held screamed "please help me."

Everyone was silent. Nobody had an answer for his question, and how could they?

Hadn't he given enough?

His mother was a hippie addicted to drugs and his father was a runaway criminal who tried passing on the worst traits that he could to his son.

He went through school being bullied for his home life and how he presented himself, along with the quirks in his personality that others found strange.

He was accused of being a devil worshipper who lead a cult.

He watched more than one person die.

He was accused of the deaths.

He got forced into hiding and hunted like a wild animal for things he didn't do.

When he decided do what he thought was best to keep those he loved safe, his body was brutally mangled and scarred.

And it still amazed you that despite all that, Eddie Munson still smiled and lived his life as if he was the most carefree person on the face of the planet.

Eddie Munson loved the people around him with all his heart and always put them first.

That's the thought that drew the tears to your eyes. You stared into Eddie's eyes, those that pleaded for an answer to his question, and cried. You couldn't answer him, even if you wanted go because you didn't know how to.

"I'm sorry." You ran your fingers through his hair for a long moment before the dam holding you together broke. You tugged him to your chest and held him there, his arms latching to you. "I'm so sorry, Eddie." You buried your nose in his mess of dark curls, just holding him.

"I can't answer that question for you, and I don't think I'll ever be able to." Robin and Eleven both seemed to share the same mindset as they set their hands on your left shoulder. Eleven's hand made it there first, Robin's hand resting gently over hers.

"Eddie, there's some things that we'll never be able to explain. Things aren't fair, they might not ever be fair." His grip tightened on you, his breath shuddering. "I can make you a promise, Eddie." He nodded into your chest. You nodded back and hugged him.

"I can promise you, you will always have the people who love you. And God, do we love you Eds." You pressed your lips to the top of his head in a lingering kiss. "You are loved. You're loved so, so much." You pulled his head from where he was hiding in your chest, your hands cupping his jaw. Your bloodshot eyes met his, your tears mirroring his own.

"You are loved, Eddie. So much."

He sucked in a sharp breath as Dustin placed a hand on his back, his eyes refusing to tear themselves away from your own.

But then Will joined in. And Mike. And Lucas. And Max.

His dam seemed to break again but with this sob came a small laugh.

"I really couldn't ask for anything more, man." He looked back at the boys and gave them a weak smile, slapping his hand on Lucas's shoulder and then flipping Dustin's hat off. He earned a screech from Dustin but it was short lived as everyone began to laugh.

Only Eddie could make a crowd laugh when he was the one who needed to be comforted.

It was late when you got back to Eddie's trailer. Robin had passed out in the van so he woke her up long enough for her to walk in and crash on the couch. He'd driven the group of younger kids to Mike's house after they'd declared that they were going to have a sleepover. (Dustin proclaimed that he didn't want Eddie or Robin parenting but you figured he knew Eddie needed time to wind down.)

(That or he REALLY didn't want the added chaos of both Eddie AND Robin.)

Eddie tossed his keys onto the counter, taking a slug of his half melted slurpie that you noticed was still alcohol free. You watched the way he moved, the way his muscles moved over the cloth of his cropped shirt and denim vest. You weren't staring out of lust or even just to purposely stare, you were almost waiting for something to be said.

His brown eyes flicked to you as he took his long drinks, the straw sliding free from his lips and his jaw clenched as he took that final sip. "What?" His lips smacked a bit before he spoke and he gave you a once-over as if that would answer his question for him.

"Are you okay?" You knew that asking the question would be a step onto thin ice. Every time it was asked you got the same response. 'Yeah, I'm good.'

Except you didn't get that response.

"I will be. I'm trying to be." He glanced from you to the floor and then nodded his head a bit before he looked back at you. Almost as if he was checking to see if his answer was good enough.

You offered him a soft smile, setting your drink down before quickly picking it back up and striding over to Eddie before offering him a sip. He relished in the opportunity, perking up before taking the biggest sip you've ever seen somebody take.

"Hey-HEY! EDDIE!" You jerked the cup away and laughed as he followed it, finishing his sip before he joined you in laughter. His head flopped onto your shoulder, brown curls flying everywhere and his hand came to rest on the side of your arm.

His hand slid from your arm to your back, his other hand setting his cup down before he had wrapped you up in a hug.

Eddie had stayed like that with you for a long moment, holding you close with one of your hands tangled in his hair.

"Thank you. For loving me."

You smiled at his words and pressed a kiss to his temple. He pulled back and grabbed your face with one hand, his grip gentle as he leaned down and kissed you. His grip slowly slackened before he was running his hand up your jaw to cradle your head.

"I love you too, y'know?" He offered a shy smile, his face flushed before he laughed and looked down. No matter how long he's been yours, he still acted like an awkward little boy with the most massive crush in the world. In reality, he was.

He had a massive crush on you. You, who gave him unconditional love, laughed with him when he made a joke and even made your own jokes from time to time. Your personality had him head over heels for you and while he didn't act like it all the time, you had him wrapped around your finger. He was your ring, and you were his own ring in the form of a halo because he could swear you were an angel sent by God himself if only Eddie could bring himself to utter the words.

You'd looked at him, the freak, and told him you loved him despite everything else. Even after he was scarred and traumatized from the Upside Down, even after Eddie was branded a murderer despite his innocence, you taught him that he wasn't damaged. It's taken him time to even understand the concept, but you remind him every chance you get.

The Upside Down was a pit, a hole that you fell into and couldn't escape. His heart stopped there, he ran into danger because he felt it was all that was left for him.

The day Dustin brought him back, dragged him from the Upside Down with the help of Steve, he was so angry with the world. Eddie was angry with himself most of all.

He refused to eat, he refused medicine. He didn't want to sleep or drink water or even move from his bed. He refused to live.

It was hell for the people that cared about him. It was a fight to even ask him a question.

You were patient with him, you stayed despite his tantrums and him screaming at you to go and leave him alone.

You were patient with him, so now he supposed he had to be patient with the world.

One day he'd have the answer to the question he desperately asked you outside of that gas station. Maybe not in this lifetime, but he'd have the answer.

He just supposed he had to be patient.

Author's End Note: oh my Gods this came out so long but it is such a rollercoaster of emotion for me- I really hope you guys enjoyed it.

133 notes · View notes

cha0s-boyy · 2 months

Text

ref sheets for the emo boys :3

[ID: two digital reference sheets for human characters in a semi-chibi style. both have a name at the top middle, an info panel down the rest of the middle, a large drawing of the character on one side, and four smaller drawings of the character on the other side, each wearing different outfits. the first ref is labeled "pascal" and has a red background. he has very fair skin, and spiky jet black hair with fringe that hangs into his left eye, with long pieces on the sides. his visible eye is hazel, and has two lower eyelashes. he is wearing several layers of black and dark-colored clothing, including a vest, green graphic tee, fingerless gloves, black ripped jeans, and checkered shoes. the four alternate outfits are: 1. a leather jacket over a violet hoodie with worn dark jeans, 2. a red bandanna, striped armwarmers, two belts, a denim vest, and ripped blue jeans, 3. a black graphic tee over a striped turtleneck and black skinny jeans, and 4. a violet and checkered hat, kandi bracelets, a tank top with a magenta broken heart design over a blue tee, and cargo bondage pants with hanging suspenders. the panel in the middle provides the info: "male (cisgender), white, he/him, bi, 22 years old, 5 foot 9, thin," as well as style notes and interests. the second ref is labeled "reese" and has a teal background. he has very fair skin, and smooth jet black hair with fringe that hangs into his right eye, cut fairly short. his visible eye is turquoise, with rough black makeup on the lower edge, and a purpley toned eyelid giving him a somewhat sad or tired appearance. he also has pierced ears. he is wearing tight clothes with mostly grayscale colors, including a choker, rubber wristbands, a black wide-neck graphic tee tied into a crop top, and ripped black skinny jeans with a white belt. the four alternate outfits are: 1. a black hoodie with ripped black jeans, 2. a gray graphic tee with an asymmetrical neckline, ripped black short-shorts, red high-tops, bracelets and a choker, 3. a black graphic tank-top and red low-rise jeans, and 4. a black and red turtleneck, a lock necklace. gray ripped jeans, and knee-high sneakers. the panel in the middle provides the info: "male (complicated), white, he/him, queer, 21 years old, 5 foot 10, thin," as well as style notes and interests. /end ID]

5 notes · View notes

stars-and-darkness · 8 months

Text

WIP WEDNESDAY!!!

week #9

okay, we're back into the 'things i wrote, but unless it's here, it's very likely they won't see the light of day' file. i'd fiddled some with a possible sequel to nyctophilia., but ultimately decided against it. there are some gems in that doc, though, so:

Stefan had been so focused on dreading a werewolf hunt with the Original Family he’d completely forgotten to dread going on a road-trip with (a truly astounding number of) siblings. Considering the brother he has, he should really have known better.

And it becomes pretty apparent that though his (captors, slave-drivers) companions are almost all over a thousand years old, they have yet to grow into bearable road-trip buddies. The minivan they’ve procured for this occasion is top-of-the-line, brand new, but it still isn’t enough to comfortably host six vampires (and their egos), a coffin (because they apparently wanted their eldest brother with them, but not enough to actually wake him from the magical coma-death-thing the dagger put him in), and three different mini-fridges (one for blood bags no-one but Stefan drinks from because they all hate the plastic aftertaste, one for snacks they religiously re-stock and label with marks of ownership, and one for booze that ranges from cheap root beer to several-thousand-dollars-a-bottle liquor).

Honestly, though. The snacks are sacred. When Rebekah asked him (batting her eyelashes in a way that made him vaguely uncomfortable, both because he loved Elena and because he’d just gotten back his memories of loving Rebekah) what he’d like, he’d said something non-committal about not giving a damn. In retrospect, he regrets it, because the first time he tries to grab some of her Red Vines, she nearly rips his head off, newly re-awoken love or not.

Klaus just laughs from behind the wheel and pops a fistful of Reese’s Pieces into his mouth. They change drivers every three hours because it’s six of them, and even though they could all go on for days, why should they? He has so far learned to dread Kol’s (a damn maniac if there ever was one, he seems determined to find out if vampires really can’t get heart attacks and Stefan is his lab rat) and Elijah’s (the other end of the scale, unfailingly keeping to every single traffic law to the letter, though he thinks it’s just to annoy Kol) driving skills. The others, surprisingly enough, seem fairly reasonable drivers. No-one lets Stefan behind the wheel, though. Something, something, they fear he’ll drive them off a cliff and then they’d have to get a new minivan.

Well, Stefan wouldn’t. Maybe he’d take a wrong turn when no-one is looking, but he wouldn’t crash. It’s a waste of a perfectly good minivan, and even more perfect extremely pricy liquor in the mini-fridge number three.

“Okay,” Rebekah says, face hidden by a massive map, on which she tracks their progress and the path they’re still to take with a black permanent marker. “There should be a motel a few miles down the road.”

Stefan frowns. “A roadside motel? Seriously? Aren’t you people, like, loaded?” It’s not a real question; he knows they are. It is fairly obvious.

In a moment, Rebekah’s in his face, veins climbing up her cheeks. “This is the first road-trip my family has undertaken since the seventeen hundreds, so you’d do well not to comment. This will be a perfect trip. And nothing will ruin it.”

He raises his hands in defence. Next to him, Kol roars with laughter. He’d been chewing on Lays Chips obnoxiously loudly the whole time; Stefan suspects it is also to annoy the hell out of him. Elijah sighs; it’s the long-suffering sigh of someone wiser and more reasonable, which Stefan thinks is rich considering he tried (and failed) to snap Klaus’s neck when he tried to steal one of the property of E. Mikaelson-labelled bottles from the mini-fridge number three. But Elijah is also the one who rolled up in an Armani suit to a road-trip. (“Werewolf hunt,” Klaus literally growled, eyes bleeding gold and double fangs dropping. “Family trip!” Rebekah returned, smiling in a way that let them all know she knew exactly what she was doing. “A way to drive a man to suicide is what it is,” Kol sighed. No-one paid any attention to him, except Caroline, who smacked him on the back of the head.) Worse yet, they’ve been driving for hours and the bastard doesn’t even look the least bit rumpled. How is that fair? Traitors who hand girlfriends over to be sacrificed on an altar of fire don’t deserve to look good after hours in a mini-van.

Stefan, meanwhile, actually looks the part of being on the road the whole day, and so does everyone else. That, at least, is consolation, pitiful though it is.

“Pull over, Nik, we’re here,” Rebekah orders.

“Here?” Klaus sounds extremely dubious. “You’re sure?”

“Mmhmm.”

Stefan understands his apprehension. The house rising above them looks like it walked straight out of a Scooby Doo episode, down to the eerie quasi-Victorian architecture, windows that creak in the wind, and the roof that looks like it’s a strong breeze from caving in.

“It’s very … vampire?” he offers lamely.

“Oh, no,” Caroline informs him primly. “Do you know what is very vampire? Wealth accumulated over several generations that goes into houses that don’t look like a Disney villain’s lair.”

“I can go on,” Klaus offers, looking at the motel—oh, look, there’s even a sign, MOTEL, in big glowing red letters, except the T and the L keep flickering so it looks like MO E more often than not.

“We will not!” Rebekah growls, stomping her foot on the ground. “I want a legitimate road-trip experience, Nik, you owe it to me for daggering me for twenty years!”

Klaus rolls his eyes, but he obediently parks into an empty spot. Not that it’s hard. They’re all empty.

Kol’s eye twitches. “I swear to God, Bekah, if the manager ends up being a serial killer—”

“You’re a vampire, you’ll just eat them!” she protests.

“I am a bit pickier than that when it comes to my meals!”

“Fine, then I’ll eat them!”

“Don’t steal my food; Rebekah!”

“You literally just said you didn’t want some crusty old serial killer!”

“How do you even know the manager’s gonna be a serial killer?”

“I don’t—you—arghhh!”

With Rebekah looking at the verge of ripping her own hair or maybe Kol’s liver out, Elijah intervenes. “Kol. Rebekah.” There is something about his voice that invites obedience. Probably the fact that he always looks like he is better than you and knows it. “That’s enough.”

“Kol started it.” Rebekah crosses her arms over her chest.

“Oh, for God’s—” Klaus hisses. “That’s it—everyone, to the bloody motel. Stefan’s gonna be nice and carry our bags.”

“Am I being demoted to butler?” he asks, just to be contrary.

“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s a job for a footman, Stef,” Caroline says, tossing golden curls over her shoulder. She’d gotten into the habit of using that name for him, the name only Damon ever used, and he isn’t sure what to feel about it.

He’d always been Stefan to Father, said with flinty eyes and a cruel cut of his lips. Stefan to Mother, with her lost doe-like look and pale, white hands gentle on his shoulders. Stefan to Elena and Katherine, spoken in an identical voice yet infinitely different.

But Damon—to Damon, he has been Stef for as long as he can remember. He used to think Damon must’ve chosen it the moment Stefan was born, when he held his tiny squealing infant of a brother and decided to love him.

He spent seventeen years sure of his brother’s love, then a hundred and forty-five thinking he hated him. Now, he doesn’t even know which it is anymore. All that he knows that when the choice came between letting Damon die and handing himself over to Klaus, it was never really a choice to begin with.

He takes the luggage.

Thankfully, he’s not required to balance that with opening the creaking doors of the motel for them. Klaus handles that—or better said, he opens the door for Caroline, and she gives him an indulgent little smile. Then he enters too and slams it in Kol’s face, evoking a string of words in a language he doesn’t know, though they all sound distinctly filthy.

“Language, Kol,” Elijah says coolly, while Rebekah is too busy laughing at Kol’s predicament to make a comment.

He is suddenly very thankful to Giuseppe and Lilian for only giving him the one sibling, no matter how endlessly frustrating he’s proven to be.

By the time they are finally inside the dark and mouldy lobby, Caroline is unleashing the full force of her temper on the receptionist—a sleazy-looking man whose face doesn’t appear that old, but what little is left of his sparse, shoulder-long hair is more grey than black.

“She’s angry there are only two rooms available,” Klaus informs them with the dreamy sort of smile he gets whenever Caroline does anything.

“What do you mean, only two rooms?” And now Rebekah is by Caroline’s side, arguing just as passionately. The receptionist doesn’t seem deterred, which is really a testament to his nerve.

“They do know arguing won’t change anything, right?” Stefan questions, meeting each of the men’s eyes in turn.

“Oh, yes.” The gleam in Kol’s sends shivers down his spine.

#klaroline wip wed #klaroline #tvd #ella writes #ella originals

13 notes · View notes

dhmisocsquad · 2 years

Text

DHMIS OC HUNGER GAMES!

Today is the big day! The squad is set, and tensions are high. Who will win the epic head pats from Tony? All that, and more, NOW!

Our Cast for this Hunger Games! From top to left-

-Alice the Painting @eriiisc

-Molly the Mailbox @syazam-whazam

-Confetti Joe @sonia-aquamarineson

-Aida Medhart the Medkit @raindrop-righteous

-Ross @redmodc

-Shade the Sunglasses @ridiculous-concepts

-TeVi @creative-time

-Tina @brazzilianbuddy

LET THE GAMES BEGIN!

The simple health shape grabs a sword and the literal cigarette is surprisingly not bright, this game already unhinged.

Becky is not playing around.

A team-up already? Neat!

That concludes the opening blood bath, still a lot of ocs alive! However, the day is not over...

Damn... A visceral kill from Howdy. 😳

Just love how stuff is popping off in this pic, and TeVi is just looking for water.

A wild skirmish ended Alice’s and Ross’ time in the games. And that horse is definitely more bloodthirsty than it seems...

same.

Wholesome partnership, haha. Now for something less wholesome...

A salute to our fallen tributes... Ross and Alice fought well! Now, night falls...

I WAS NOT EXPECTING THIS BACK TO BACK, WHAT IN THE WORLD.

Psychological or physical?

.....what?

A crazy first night, that's for sure. Next day!

DAY 2

A brutal start to day 2!

Tina’s off chasing butteflies, and Aida team-up with a triangle to hunt other ocs. I am really loving this game so far 😂

A Molly and Shade team-up and Confetti Joe offs cigarette... Good! Never liked that guy anyways. And now, we pay our respecs...

R.I.P TeVi, they never got to kill anyone. :’( Also I still can’t believe they drowned the rain.

same.

Awww, a nice moment between Molly and Aida amidst the chaos!

Colin doesn’t want to live on this planet anymore, and I can totally imagine Sketchbook fending them off a stick.

DAY 3

WOW.

THAT TINY ASS TRIANGLE KILLED TINA, OH MY GOD

AW MAN. Aida and Tina fought so hard! AND TINA GETS TAKEN OUT BY A GODDAMN TRIANGLE 💀💀

And with those unfortunate causalities, there’s more dead than alive... We’ve officially reached the HALFWAY POINT.

Currently still in the game is Molly the mailbox, Shade the Sunglasses, and Confetti Joe!

Who will prevail? Who will fail? How many times am I gonna ask similar questions? Not for long, because we’re hurdling toward the end game!

These are two totally different people, haha.

An object with no body and limbs helps an object with no body, yea okay.

......................yea okay. Moving on to a special event!

DAY 4 - THE FEAST

raw meat fight. Raw Meat Fight. RAW MEAT FIGHT! RAW MEAT FIGHT!

rip goop guy and horse.

Lmao, thats one way to go, ig 😂

Rest in reeses pieces.

The alliance of a century continue to support each other!

Shade probably started that fire illegally somehow.

At least she died with a smile on her face :’)

DAY 5

Damn they wrecked that guy’s shit!

Colin canonically died from missing Alice.

Mans is humming with no mouth, smh.

DAY 6

ITS HEATING UP NOW!!

Confetti Joe and Money Man are out on the prowl!

And I don’t think Shade could ever convince a man with a soulless face like that...

rip the bois.

MONEY MAN NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

DAY 7 - THE SHOWDOWN!??

What a maneuver!

And with sound of two cannon shots...

A victor is crowned and reigns supreme!

THE WINNER IS CONFETTI JOE!!!!!!!!

CONFETTI JOE SWEEP. He’s reached the top and obtained access to the fabled Tony headpats!

May the sins from the bodies he left skewered by his hook, be cleansed by the soothing touch of Tony the talking clock.

I appreciate everyone who wanted to join in on the fun. This was really an excuse to have fun with the fandom and expose others to some really cool don’t hug me I’m scared ocs! Hopefully you had a laugh, and this inspires some gnarly fan art. Maybe we can do it again sometime, but until then... always remember that Becky Sloan herself strangled a sentient magnet, and then in turn, got speared by a sentient cigarette in the abdomen!

Buh-bye! 👋 👋

#dhmis oc hunger games #dhmis oc #dhmis ocs #dhmis #don't hug me i'm scared #confetti joe #molly the mailbox #alice the painting #aida medhart the medkit #ross #shade the sunglasses #TeVi #Tina

41 notes · View notes

number1120 · 2 years

Text

Subject R.T.Z.

For @d-structive... based off of this.

Tw: gore, death mentioned, mention of abuse, mention of sexual abuse, slight mention of rape

Welcomed readers: @10th-no-name-person

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

"What has he been doing?"

"Since he's got here?" The nurse looked back at Dr. Reese then back at the one-way window. "Subject R.T.Z. just been taping his fingers, muttering about something," the nurse started clicking their mouse and pulled up the electronic file of the subject. "Honestly, I'm getting freaked out by how calm he is."

Dr. Reese pulled back his short brown hair as he started to put it up in a bun. "It's good that he's calm, right? That mean less work for The Guard."

The nurse looked back at him then at the screen. "According to his files, he's, well... dangerous." The nurse pulled up pictures of the basement that they found the subject in. "I mean, no one in their right mind would do something like this!"

The pictures showed a blood smeared basement. The dark black floors with puddles of blood here and there, names written in blood on the walls, body parts moved and mismatched from different people laid on the stain table like a puzzle. Next to the table, operating tools and different knives laid too neat in a tray, all clean, perfect, and ready to be used on their next target. Mangled bookshelves lined the wall with jars filled to the brim with organs like hearts, livers, lungs. What really got Dr. Reese to look away was a jar filled with different eyes, all stained with dried blood and ripped muscles, looking right into the camera as if they could see through his soul.

"He doesn't have a mind, Tim," Dr. Reese informed. "Remember? R.T.Z. have a mixed brain, so his mind will forever be gone." Then he looked up at the subject and shuddered. "He's a zombie. He's not alive."

"If he's so gone, then how can he talk? Feel? Move, Reese?" Tim looked up at him from the desk then back at the subject, who was now looking through his own file. A smirk started to form over his lips as he went through the missing person's list. "Why is he smiling?"

Before Dr. Reese could answer, a voice came over the speaker. "Because they got what they fucking deserve."

Their eyes shot up and were terrified to see the subject looking at them-- right at them.

His ghostly white eyes held no emotion as he looked back at the files, finding a missing person, and showed the person. "See this man? He molested three fourteen-year-old girls and two boys. I took my fucking time with him, and I sent all his body pieces to the victims. Shit," he laughed, "one of them sent me a thank-you card!" Then the subject flipped through more of the files and showed a picture of a woman. "She abused her kids while on drugs and drunk! The police knew and did nothing. Like, what the hell? Oh! And this guy?" He picked up the picture under the woman's file. "He abused his wife and forced himself onto his son!" With one motion, he angrily pushed the files off the table. "That man's son begged me to kill his father because this place wouldn't do a thing! I even let him have the last blow! And," his harden voice softened for just a moment, "I even comforted him afterwards. I don't like hugs or giving affection, but he needed it!"

Robbie's voice harden once more as his eyes narrowed right at the doctor. "You sick bastards watched as these families suffered and did nothing! So, I took matters in my own two hands."

After calming his shaking breath, Dr. Reese stepped closer to the window and pressed a button to talk to him. "Can you see us?"

The subject let out another laugh. "I wish! But, no. I can hear you and that little mouse at your hip. Tell me, doctor," he leaned back in his chair and lifted a brow, "when are you going to tell your wife that you and that little thing have been fucking in the closet? Or," he cocked his head to the side, his smile still wide, "do I need to send your dick in a box, perfectly wrapped, with a pretty bow?"

Dr. Reese's eyes narrowed as he felt his anger grow with a mixture of anxiety. "How do you--"

"But, before we go any farther, you know your fancy chains wouldn't hold me, right, gentlemen?" He held up his wrist and pulled tightly on the chains and snapped the cuffs in half. He stood up and stretched as Dr. Reese frantically pressed the bright red panic button on the desk, Tim standing from his seat in a sweat.

"Subject R.T.Z., sit--"

"My name is Robbie," the zombie snapped, a hand running through his bright lavender hair. "And I'm not a fucking subject!" His hand hooked around the chair and threw it at window, cracking it slightly. His white eyes started to burn as he looked right at the window. "Henrik made me! He made me to be stronger and brighter than him!" He picked up the chair again and threw it harder at the window, breaking it more. "I am not yours! I am not your toy! I am a goddamn person!"

"That's not alive!" Dr. Reese yelled at the window. Any minute now, armed guards in tackle suits will be breaking down the door and taking him out. "You are not human--!"

Robbie picked up the chair and threw it again, shattering the window in a perfect throw. Dr. Reese stumbled back and held up his arm to shield himself from the flying glass. Pieces covered his arms and scattered like rain and bullets. As he lowered his arm, he saw Robbie's shadow standing in the dim light, his eyes glowing in the darkness, his hands balled into fists. For a moment, a brief moment, he looked like Patient A, and that scared Dr. Reese. Shaking, he stumbled back, shielding the nurse behind him. Outside, he could hear guards coming their way, their gear hitting each other.

The zombie rolled his shoulders, cracking his muscles with ease. "Twenty seconds, doctor," he hummed as he placed his foot on the broken window, jumping the broken window with ease. "It takes twenty seconds to rip out a throat." Madness filled his as hand hand picked up a shard of glass. "And I would love for another doctor like yourself to see my art."

#jse egos #robbie the zombie #jacksepticegos #jacksepticeye #my writing #freewritting #free write #whump #tw gore #tw abuse #jse community #jacksepticeye egos #i.r.i.s #jse iris

26 notes · View notes