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tainted-wine · 4 years ago

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Primal Dissonance

Hawks x Reader (NSFW)

So anon was like:

And since I’m total ass at writing short drabbles, or maybe it’s because they called me senpai, I ended up with a whole-ass fic. This took a different route than planned but I hope you enjoy, anon!

Words: 4.3k

Warnings: Dubcon, Pheromones, Mindbreak, Feral Hawks, Rough and Public Sex, Tit Abuse. This totally isn’t as dark as it sounds.

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Hawks has been getting noisy. Not in the usual sense; he’s always a motormouth. No, he’s been making sounds that you’ve never heard him make.

At first you thought he was sick and something was irritating his throat, but on one occasion when you offered him water after hearing the sound, he almost looked offended. You concluded that it wasn’t an illness.

You later noticed that the noise often happens when it’s just the two of you together. During late night movie viewings at his place, he’d hold you close and release a constant hum, the vibrations from his chest and wings soothing enough to make you drift into sleep in his arms. You never saw the look of disappointment in his face as he decided to cuddle you for the rest of the night.

Just a few days later, he spots you during one of his patrols and presents you with a surprise expensive gift. A ruby pendant, the same brilliant shade as his feathers, was placed around your neck by gentle gloved hands.

“Hawks—why—what did I do to deserve this?” You asked while your eyes reflected the gemstone’s sparkles.

“Just wanted to give a pretty gift to my pretty girl.” He gave you a kiss, and waves of soft hums leave his mouth and into yours, flowing through your body, stimulating all of your nerves and triggering pleasant shivers. One makeout session later, and you both pull back to lock eyes. He’s looking at you expectantly, but you don’t even know what the hell he’s expecting.

You look to the side awkwardly. “Thank you, Hawks. It’s beautiful, but I…don’t have anything to give in return. This was a complete surprise, after all.”

His eye twitches, but he smiles and embraces you. “That’s fine, chickadee.”

A pigeon appears during your hug, and the soft coos emanating from it give you an epiphany.

“A pigeon! That’s what it is! You’re cooing like a pigeon!”

This time it’s his smile that twitches. Did you say something wrong? Whatever it is, he brushes it off with a half-hearted laugh. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

That was also the day you noticed his rising body temperature. You asked once again if he was feeling ill, and at least this time he didn’t appear to be upset when he answered ‘no.’

On the next night you spent in his home, he—and you’re still not over this—took your hand and pulled you in for a dance. It wasn’t some silly jig in which he blindly moved to a random pop song, it was a slow classic love song, and he moved both of you in an elegant dance fitting for a ballroom.

It was the last thing you expected from the hero that normally took you on KFC dates or, if he had the time, reserve a spot at his favorite yakitori place. But there was no way you could say that you didn’t like the way his feet glided across the floor, wings acting as a living cape that made each of his movements look all the more graceful, and you followed his pace as best as you could.

You clung onto him more tightly than intended when he dipped you after a spin, sharp avian eyes boring into you before he buries his face in your neck, and that’s when you feel more than hear the cooing return. It’s a tune that never fails to make you feel so warm and safe; you have no idea how his gentle sounds have such influence over you.

He looks pleased by your relaxed state, pulling you back up and brushing a few stray hairs out of your face. “So?”

You smiled and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “I didn’t know you had such grace, Hawks. Now hurry up, or we’re going to miss the movie for tonight!”

You scampered off into the kitchen to prepare the popcorn, completely oblivious to the baffled look your boyfriend was giving behind your back.

A few days later and you’re more certain than ever that he’s coming down with something, because now there’s a constant sheen of sweat all over his skin, and his breath sounded labored even when he was just sitting around. Since he ignores all of your pleas to stay home for just a day or two, you come up with another solution. Hawks pouts like a child when you tell him that a little nature and clean air might restore his health, but he still accepts your offer for a date at a nature park because hey, spending a day in natural beauty with you sounds great.

You practically dragged him into a bus after telling him several times that he shouldn’t tire himself out prematurely by flying both of you there. One long scenic drive later, you both arrive at your beautiful destination. The park was huge and lush with flora of all kinds, from tree-filled paths to endless flower fields.

Exploring everything this paradise has to offer with Hawks sounds like a dream, but your main goal was to loosen him up and help him feel better, so you avoided the populated areas, passing the cycling roads, the play areas, the bug houses, all of the charming attractions until you reached the long stretches of vibrant colors. The flower park.

You and Hawks began a slow stroll hand-in-hand, taking in the seemingly endless blooms, the trees shedding petals onto the walkway—all of it served as the most delicious treat for your eyes.

But when you looked at the winged hero to see if he was enjoying the scenery as much as you were, you saw that he was staring at you. His face was slightly flushed, but you couldn’t tell if it was the result of his feverish temperature or if he’s finding this whole date very romantic.

“The flowers are over there, birdbrain,” you joked with a squeeze of his hand.

His wing wrapped around you and pulled you in closer, encasing you in his abnormal heat. “The only flower that matters is right here.” There was a rough breathlessness to his voice that made the otherwise corny line sound sensual.

And then the coos returned, bringing you back to that pleasant world where everything was warm, soft, and safe. The red feathers surrounding you quivered and rippled like ocean waves of scarlet. You were supposed to be making him feel at ease here, not the other way around.

A chorus of chirps snapped you out of your stupor. You broke out of the hypnotic embrace and spot a bunch of small bouncing figures in the white lilac tree in front of you. “Aww, look at all of the little tits, Hawks!” You point at the flock of singing critters.

Hawks snorted immaturely.

Before you could withdraw your arm, one of the Japanese tits flew over and perched on your still-extended finger, leaving you bug-eyed and your mouth agape. “Hi there! You’re a brave little guy, aren’t you?” You said softly, hoping not to startle it. It tweeted in response, fluffing up its black and white plumage as it looked up at you curiously. “Hawks! It’s so cute!”

Red wings bristled, but you were too enamored with the friendly bird on your hand to even look back at your boyfriend. It continued to sing, the tits sitting in the tree joining in to create an adorable medley of chirps, tweets, and peeps. “Such a nice sound, I never realized how amazing these little guys are.” You keep watching the beady eyes that stare right back at you, feeling the bird’s little feet move quickly as it adjusted itself to get more comfortable.

And with a powerful slug from a hardened red feather out of nowhere, the tiny tit is knocked off of your finger and sent flying like a fucking golf ball.

Your pointing hand was still out as you looked on, eyes and mouth now wide open in horror instead of awe. The poor bird managed to right itself before it hit the ground, flapping frantically to ride the light breeze and fly past its tree of brethren and off into the distance, its sloppy turns and sudden drops betraying how dazed it was.

With your short-lived friend out of your sight, you turned to the man that ruined your magical bonding session, multiple negative emotions boiling inside you and ready to spill right onto this bastard. “Hawks!” You’re prepared to blow his ears off with every ounce of frustration, every concern that’s been plaguing you for the past week thanks to the strange changes that he refuses to talk about, but then you freeze.

The man’s face has darkened, eyes narrowed with its pupils shrunken into beady slits, lips pressed together in a tight frown—he looked enraged. But the terrifying look wasn’t directed at you, he was looking up at the innocent tits still residing in the tree and paying no mind to the violent treatment of one of their own. As his wings slowly spread with feathers sharpened, your chest constricted once you realized what was about to happen.

“Stop!” You threw yourself at him, grabbing at the outstretched limbs in a pitiful attempt to stop them, the bladed edges cutting your hands. It was still enough to shock and prevent him from launching any of the deadly weapons at the birds. You felt his feathers return to their soft fluffy state as he stumbled from your weight. “What the hell are you doing? What, are you pissed that it chose my hand instead of yours? The hell is wrong with you?”

Now he was aiming the glare at you, and you couldn’t help but shrink under the intimidation. His voice was shockingly low. “Just what game are you playing at here? Gushing over another bird’s song right in front of me?”

You eyed his still-expanded wings as you tried to make sense of what he said. “What?” Was all you could say.

“Here I was thinking you just had extremely high standards, but maybe you’re the type that likes to play hard to get, or make your guy jealous and see how he handles it.” He took a step toward you, and you took one back. “Well let me tell you, I’m not handling it very well.”

What he was implying would have made you burst into laughter if he didn’t look so threatening right now. “You’re…jealous? Of the bird that was on my finger?”

He laughed, or at least tried to, but the shortness of breath made him cough. The sudden anger must be worsening whatever has been making him hot and throaty for the past days. He needs to calm down for his own damn sake. “I guess I shouldn’t be, should I? Not for a girl who gets wet over any bird that does something as simple as approach her.”

“Excuse me?” Did you hear that correctly? No joke, did you really hear that shit correctly?

Hawks just keeps on going, taking your bewilderment as more mockery. “I give you something shiny, you don’t say anything.” A flash of several feathers and you feel your arms being pulled in front of you, the red tufts tying your wrist together.

“I put on a nice dance I practiced for, and you don’t say anything. Did you even notice that I cleaned and decorated the room that night?” You’re panicking from your tied hands and don’t see him fire another barrage that goes for your ankles, their tugs forcing you to lose your balance and fall hard onto the ground with a pained cry. Your hands are forcefully pinned above your head. “Hell, you seem to enjoy my song every time you hear it, so what’s the deal?”

While your heart is on the verge of exploding from its anxious beats, the gears in your head are spinning as you try to figure out how exactly this whole miscommunication even happened, but they keep jamming, filling your head with sparks and smoke of pure confusion. “What song? You haven’t been singing anything!” You yell as you fight against the feather-made cuffs around your hands and feet, but there was no breaking free. They suddenly felt as strong and durable as elastic metal.

Hurt flashes across his face and you don’t understand why goddammit, but it’s quickly masked with another scowl. “You mean the song that’s lulled you to sleep? The song that never fails to put you at ease every time? I can sense it, you know. How calm and pleased you feel whenever you hear it. I know it’s not the loud obnoxious tune of a songbird,” he glances at the tree that continues to emanate various calls as he kneels over you, nearly straddling your waist. Smart of him to keep his groin out of the range of your knees. “But you still enjoy it, right? I’m not too upset that you compared it to a shitty pigeon.”

You only stutter in shaky breaths as he lowers himself and presses all of his weight onto you, your eyes shut as he nuzzles your face lovingly. He feels like a furnace, the sweat from his face slathering onto yours from his rough rubs.

That’s when you smell something potent. You’ve picked up traces of it from him throughout the week, a strange but not unpleasant mixture of salt and sweet. You assumed it to be some sort of shampoo or cologne, but now it’s hitting you full force and it’s making your body…respond. With each inhale, the exotic scent sends a tingle down your abdomen and a release of wetness that dampens your clothing. What the hell is happening to you?

Hawks pulls away and sniffs the air. Your feminine aroma has him moan so suggestively that it makes your core heat up even more. “Oh, so this is getting you going?” He questions in a judgmental tone before something appears to cross his mind, and he laughs with a slap to his forehead. “I’m such an idiot. I’ve been doing this all wrong, haven’t I? You’re not a bird.” He kisses at the side of your face and licks the shell of your ear before whispering, “You’re a mammal. You don’t choose a mate by their pretty gifts or fancy dances.”

The lustful haze invading your mind almost distracts you from whatever is tugging at your pants and pulling them down. “H-Hawks…” You accidentally moaned. You were too out of it to even properly convey your worry. Your pants are removed and something tickles your hips to remove your panties next—that’s when you identify them as more feathers.

“With mammals, males just take what they want. They catch her, hold her down, and fuck her on the spot.”

You gasp when your lower body is completely stripped and exposed—a mistake—Hawks’s intoxicating smell rushes into your mouth and nostrils, making you clench and gush. He lifts himself just enough for the living binds around your wrists to pull and drag you off of the stone walkway and into the blooming batches. The flowers were just tall enough to probably hide you from anyone at a distance, but the winged man crawling over and sitting in front of your feet would easily give you away. “Hawks, someone…might see us,” you mutter.

He only chuckles. “Good, I want them to see. Are you little bastards watching?” He looks up at the lilac tree that now looms right over both of you. The resting tits have gone quiet, most likely intimidated by the large bird-human hybrid that continued to glare at them.

The response was ridiculous enough to temporarily free you from your trance. “I’m not worried about the birds, you dumbass.”

“Hmph, of course you’re not. You’d let them all join in if I’d let you, wouldn’t you?”

You have so many questions about how that would even work.

But you’re interrupted by the feathers around your ankles pulling your feet apart, easily overcoming your resistance and spreading you wide open for the hero in front of you. You have to look away from just how soaked you are, juices flowing from your swollen pussy and onto the soft soil, some of it sticking to your parted thighs in strands. The sight makes Hawks salivate.

“I’m at the peak of my rut and I’m tired of waiting. Gonna make you mine.”

It’s all he says before his entire mouth is on your cunt, tearing a startled cry from your throat. The peaceful sounds of the wind and rustling leaves are overshadowed by the absolutely filthy slurps, sucks, and growls between your legs. He was being a greedy savage that simply wanted to drink you up. There were no careful methods or patterns, just a hungry tongue that lapped at every inch of you and lips that sucked on anything they could grip.

You could barely even writhe from the onslaught, what with your arms pinned over your head and your feet held down so strongly that you couldn’t even move them across the dirt. You kept your sights on the rich colors of various flowers that encircled you as the sweet-smelling haze enveloped you again, enhancing your pleasure. Despite Hawks’ sudden loss of his oral skills, the feral nature of it all—the smothered snarls against your sex, the startling feel of his teeth carelessly grazing your sensitive flesh, and the lewd sight of his face covered in your glistening juices as his glassy eyes opened and stared into yours as he ate you alive—his voracity had you boiling over.

He gulped your essence loudly, welcoming every drop of the orgasmic flood into his mouth. All of the colors in your vision blurred more with each mind-numbing pulse. You weren’t even aware of the shameless wails that left you until the blissful waves finally subsided.

Once he had his fill, he finally pulled away from your mound and boy did he look like a hot mess. His cheeks were a deep red that was slowly spreading across his cum-covered face, a beady string of your fluids hanging from his lips before dripping off. He was climbing back over you and when the fuck did he take his pants off? He must have unbuttoned and removed them while he was licking you into heaven.

He still manages to look smug while he takes in your spent form, your slightly parted lips impossible to resist. Your mouth was suddenly locked with his, the breath you were desperately trying to get back stolen from you. And then the scent returns, this time accompanied with a powerful salted lemon flavor that assaults your taste buds. The taste of your own pussy was insignificant; his aroma in both your nose and mouth is nearly suffocating, your still-recovering inner walls already squeezing out more of your slick.

His tongue thrashes about in your mouth to paint his sweet saliva on every spot he could reach. You swallow it up thirstily and feel an immediate response in your throat that somewhat frightens you. Numbness overtakes your mouth and your throat relaxes completely; you felt like it was suddenly impossible to choke.

Hawks messily pulls away, breathing heavily and licking his lips. “Look at you. All it takes is a whiff and taste of a rutting male to turn you into a submissive little bitch.” You’ve never heard him speak like that, but like every action he’s taken since you’ve been at his mercy, it doesn’t fail to arouse you for reasons you still don’t understand. “Do you want some more? Hmm?”

You’re nodding before your crippled mind can comprehend the question.

The drugged kiss has you dizzy. You’re doing your best to keep track of his movements as he straddles your chest, his cock coming into focus and pressing against your lips. He doesn’t give you a command, you simply open up like a trained whore.

You’re moaning from the addicting taste of his length that pushes all the way to the back of your throat. Once his pubes are flush against your nose, your eyes roll back and you lose all sense of…everything. Everything except for that exhilarant fragrance and flavor.

Even as he begins to move in your mouth, your tongue swirls all around the sweet meat in an attempt to taste him all over. You’re throbbing wildly, but the feathers prevent you from bringing your thighs together for some much needed friction.

He was thrusting in and out at a pace that should have you gagging, but you take the pounding smoothly. Everything was murky, save for the pleasure that was slowly consuming you. You think the birds are singing again, maybe.

Something was smacking against your chin…rather loudly, you think. Hawks’s balls. How obscene, the way he’s hunched over you and fucking your face so roughly, but it’s hard to feel embarrassed when it’s all making you feel so damn good. Drool gathers and drips down your mouth. Your throat has become a second pussy, and he was fucking it like one.

The scent has your entire body on fire and you wish so badly that you could touch yourself. It was too powerful, each breath filling you with more burning tension. Your desperate whines came out as bubbly gurgles around his hammering dick. Your climax is dangling right at the edge. All you need is just the smallest touch on your drenched, deprived pussy.

His thick intrusion suddenly leaves your mouth, allowing oxygen to properly enter your lungs and for the pooling saliva to be swallowed. Hawks says something as you cough and sputter, but everything is still too muffled.

“Good……….not yet……….finish inside.” That was all that you were able to catch. You frankly don’t care. You immediately want his overpowering scent back.

When something pushes past the entrance between your legs, you cum instantly. Your scream is silent, or maybe you just can’t hear it, as your restrained limbs twitch like mad from the excruciatingly pleasurable contractions.

You’re already being fucked roughly while you’re still coming down from your orgasmic high. You’re rocked against the flowers and the soft earth beneath, your peaceful surroundings a stark contrast to the raunchy act currently taking place among them.

Hawks leans in once again, and you have to turn away and hold your breath because you truly felt like one more whiff of that mouth-watering smell would bring you the most euphoric death. His mouth drew closer to your ear, harsh pants in sync with his rapid thrusts. There’s no way a body was meant to handle so much stimulation, yet you didn’t want it to end.

You wanted this powerful man and everything that he had. You want him to fill your womb with his seed…bear his strong and healthy offspring…then let him take you all over again…

There’s a soft rumble that brings you back down to earth, clearing your mind just enough so that all of your senses work properly again. The smudged colors return to their original shapes, and the cooing that vibrates through both of your bodies can be heard loud and clear. His song.

“That’s it, baby. I’ve got you right here. Just give in to me.” Hawks sounds on the verge of losing his voice, weak and graveled, but his singing and hips aren’t letting up.

Finally, fucking finally, the feathers release your limbs. Ignoring how boneless they feel, you use all of your strength to wrap your arms tightly around his neck, and your legs lock right above his ass. You cling onto him like a parasite and moan freely, trusting his low and soft vocals to keep you grounded as his citrus aura captivates you again.

Your involuntary clenches ruin him and take him to his peak, several more hard and deep pumps bringing you to your final climax. Both of you cry out loudly enough to scare away the tits still resting in the tree, the small flock flying off to find a quieter perch.

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Good. That showed the little bastards.

Hawks smiled triumphantly as the small birds fled the erotic scene. Once he was certain that none of them were coming back, he returned his attention to you. Your chest heaved with each audible breath, your entire body drenched in sweat, just like his. He laid a gentle hand on your cheek, thumb stroking lovingly as you close your eyes for much-needed rest after almost losing your mind.

He did it. He finally claimed you, and all he had to do was just show a little dominance…and expose you to a hefty dose of pheromones. It was clearly way more than you could handle—maybe the face-fucking wasn’t the best idea, but it looked like you were enjoying yourself enough. No harm done.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Hawks was a cool-headed man. He’s managed to stay calm and collected in the direst of situations. Still, when he slowly turns around to see a man dressed in the park’s staff uniform, blushing at the sight of a sweaty couple with no pants on among the innocent blossoms, he can’t help but feel just a wee bit fucked.

“H-Hawks? It’s really you? Wha-?” The poor guy is lost for words from the fact that he just found the number 2 hero banging someone in public.

Eh, he’s talked his way out of tighter spots.

With a smile, the winged hero sends a few feathers to his discarded pants and withdraws a pen from its pockets.

“How about a deal, buddy? An autograph from yours truly and a coupon for my merch. All you gotta do is walk away and forget what you just saw.”

#hawks #smut #birdbrain hawks #hawks x reader #keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader #tw dubcon #tw animal harm

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whatanoof · 3 years ago

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Battling Death Itself

Anon I am so sorry that this took so long. Stuff happens, but it's still frustrating to not know if someone is ignoring your ask, if tumblr ate it, or if(like in this case) requests are just taking abnormally long. But here we go, hope you're ready for the angsty angst:(

gif credit to @badbatch

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Cal Kestis x Reader

Word Count: ~3.5k

Warnings: angst, injury, blood, swearing, death omen-like stuff, creepy dream, fluff

Summary: As a medic, you’re used to battling bleeds, cuts, burns, etc. You’re used to patients who are willing to heal, not one reckless Jedi Padawan who is ready to throw everything away to accomplish his mission.

A/N: A huge thank you to my friend @marvelassassin221b for the help with this prompt when I got stuck. You da best, and never forget it

One cannot go through a war and come out unchanged. You can pretend that the terror, violence, anger, anxiety, and selfish instinct didn’t affect you. You can gaslight and fool yourself until the bantha come home, but no one, not even the smallest civilian child, walks away without it burning into their minds like a brand of survival that will cost some of your humanity.

When you dream, you dream of a pile of lightsabers. There must be hundreds, maybe thousands, piled high enough that you cannot make out the ground from your position at the peak of the mountain. They clink and jangle under your feet, like a death rattle that refuses to leave you alone.

You want to leave. You have to leave, you can feel the spirits of the fallen Jedi Order hovering over your head, gazing down at you in disapproval everytime you disrespect their revered weapons. You take a step off of the peak.

A rending screech echoes into the death filled air, and the metal handles collapse under your feet, sliding down the side of the mountain like an avalanche and taking you with it. The sabers pile over your head, blocking out the already dim light.

Have to leave. Have to fight. So you thrash furiously, clawing at the tomb encapsulating your living body among the dead. Somehow, you find the surface. You break through the pile with a gasp, inhaling air into your starved lungs, hands pawing at the moving surface to keep you afloat in the raw desperation of survival instinct.

A weathered lightsaber is clenched in your hand, double bladed and beaten up. With a shaking hand, you press the button to activate the blade. The blue blade slices through the air with a throaty thrum and through the reality of your dream, dropping you into the darkness. You hit the ground with a grunt, somehow not impaling yourself on the lightsaber even as you stare in awestruck horror. Because you recognize the blade and handle.

A heavy hand lands on your shoulder, and you whirl with a gasp. A tall figure stands behind you, a Lasat male with kind eyes and clad in robes belonging to a Jedi. He holds a hand out to you, “That doesn’t belong to the living world.”

---

The crackle of the comm yanks you out of your fitful doze, but as you strain to listen from your position in the sitting area, no words come through the white noise. You sit up and look into the cockpit. Cere is typing furiously with eyes glued to frequency readings in front of her.

Seconds later the array in front of Greez begins to beep and the Latero leans forward to study the sensor map display. A tiny ship lit in red dances through the grid. Greez grabs the holo and enlarges it, examining the lines of the ship carefully.

“Cere--”

“Greez--”

The two stop and look at each other before Cere takes precedence, “I’ve only seen these kinds of frequencies from one kind of occupation.”

Greez nods, “I recognize the ship. It’s Haxion Brood.”

You stand and approach his chair, “Axiom what?”

Greez replies, arms darting across the controls with ease as he manipulates the energy to further analyze the readings from the environment. “The Haxion Brood, kid. Biggest smuggling and gambling ring in the Outer Rim.” He turns his head to address Cere. “I can decode their transmissions. Transfer the readings to my screen.”

Cere hits a few buttons and Greez pulls a headset over his ears. The air in the room is so thick that you could cut it with a vibroblade, until Greez speaks, “We have to go. Cere, set a course for these star coordinates.” Cere takes a single look at the symbols and nods before heading to the navigation map.

Your brow scrunches, “How do you understand their code?”

Greez waves your question off, “Not important. Point is, I can, and I know where we have to go.”

Everything is moving far too fast for you to understand. “And where is that?”

Greez barks out a sharp laugh, “Officially? Nowhere.” One arm distracts itself from the preflight check to dissolve the coordinates from the holo projector. “Unofficially? Ordo Eris.”

The Mantis lurches as it takes off and you stumble, “Wait, we have to wait for Cal to get back!”

Cere speaks from her position at the map, “He’s not coming back. We’re going to get him.”

‘Why would you need to go to Ord--’ You feel the blood drain from your face with the realization. What did the dream mean? A grim understanding filters into the processed air so that no words are needed.

“Get your kit ready. We’re going to need it.”

---

“Strap in, kid!”

Even with all of your preparation for the moment of contact, you’re still not ready for the awful screeching and rending of metal that echoes through the hull as it contacts the floor of the arena. Above the chaos and noise, you hear Greez curse. The harness digs painfully into your skin, but it keeps you in your seat long enough for the Mantis to jolt to a stop. The door opens, and Cal stumbles on board, lightsaber glowing in his hand while the other clutches his side. BD-1 clings to his shirt, beeping and chirping as it hangs on for dear life.

“Go go go!” Cal collapses against the wall, gasping for air. BD screeches and jumps onto the floor, gazing up at Cal and blipping while glancing at you periodically. You can’t tear your eyes away from the lightsaber, which has slipped to the ground in the frenzy. That doesn’t belong in the living world.

Greez hasn’t stopped swearing colorfully in at least five different languages excluding Basic, but it all fades to the background as you fumble to release your harness. “Cal!”

It’s not releasing, why isn’t it releasin--

The mechanism clicks and you’re out of your seat before the Mantis is fully off the ground. You reach Cal right as he begins to slip, “Whoa, careful there.”

Damn he’s heavy. You lower him to the ground, supporting his head on your lap. He chuckles breathlessly with eyes half-closed, “Why should I try to be careful when I have you?”

You laugh shakily, “I can’t be with you all of the time.” BD-1 bobs its head in agreement, dragging your med bag within reach with one foot.

Greez calls back, “Hang on, making the jump now!”

You grab a support bar and hunch over Cal. BD hops into your lap, and you wrap your other arm around the little droid to help hold it steady against you until the ship stops shaking around you and the peaceful quiet of hyperspace fills the hull. You allow yourself to breathe as the asteroid fades into the distance out the viewport. For now, the world will hold together.

---

By the time Cere comes back to check on you, you’ve maneuvered Cal into an upright position propped against the wall.

“Hey.” She sounds tired, stressed, strung tight like a bow string that’s about to snap. “Greez set course for Kashyyyk. We can lay low there, the Rebels have all but driven out the rest of the Imperials.”

You nod in acknowledgement. Cal is silent beside you. BD-1 boops its agreement.

She continues, “That rescue tore up the Mantis a bit. Overworked the thrusters and damaged internal regulating software, so Greez and I are going down to run diagnostics and see what we can repair en route. BD.” The little droid chirps. “Gonna need your help with the electrical portion.” BD-1 bobs its head and scampers over to her, and Cere puts a hand on the floor so that the droid can climb her shirt to her shoulder. She straightens, and regards the two of you, “All good here?”

You nod. “This guy needs a little patching up too.”

Cal gives a halfhearted wave and grin from his position on the floor, “Can confirm.”

Cere chuckles, “Alright then. Comm if you need anything. And be responsible.”

“I’m always responsible.” Cal protests. Cere doesn’t respond to him, opting instead to glance at you with an amused resignation in her eyes. She turns and leaves with BD, who chirps a goodbye as they vanish through the trapdoor that leads to the engine room.

You sigh and turn back to Cal, “I don’t even know where to start. Here.” You tug his poncho to get him to sit up.

“Careful. There’s acid.”

You yank your hand back with a hiss, shaking it off as you study the cloth. He’s right, there’s discoloration around his abdomen and the poncho is smoking, something that you missed in the chaos of landing and taking off from Ordo Eris. Upon closer examination, the acid had eaten through the poncho and soaked into the shirt below. Luckily, none touched your skin, but more unluckily, Cal has been wearing his shirt for far too long to be healthy.

“Take it off.” You lift the edge of his shirt to help him pull it over his head.

He grunts as the fabric lifts, revealing reddened and irritated skin that you begin to put healing balm on, “If you wanted me shirtless, all you had to do was ask.”

Blood rushes to your face even as you send an unimpressed look his way. He’s grinning, a smug and infuriating grin that lets you know that he knows that he got to you. You spread more of the medicine onto his skin, “You’re surprisingly chatty for someone who almost died.”

He stretches his arms, painfully attractive with how his chest and arms flex and his face scrunches and his hair--

You blink, abandoning the train of thought and finishing your work. You cap the medicine and return it to your bag. “Let me check your leg.” He sends you a look, a frustrated look that is so unique to Cal that it makes you chuckle. “I saw you limp in here, don’t give me that face.”

He groans, “I’m fine. It got me in the door, didn’t it?”

You roll your eyes. Typical. “Take them off.”

“Is this a strip game or something?” He’s… flirting with you?

“Do it.”

You did not think that this is how you would be getting Cal Kestis pantless in front of you for the first time. You’d imagined that you would be more excited with every inch of skin exposed, that your heart would race and the blood would rush to your face and your… yeah.

But instead, your stomach drops with every bruise that is revealed, the lump in your throat grows when you hear him suck a breath through gritted teeth when the cloth rubs over sensitive skin. By the time he’s pulled the pants around his ankles, your jaw is clenched hard enough to hurt. There’s a gash the length of your hand slicing across his skin. Although it’s gratefully shallow and mostly clotted, it's ugly enough to garner a double take and a long stare as you consider your options. When you speak, it’s a barely breathed whisper.

“Damn it Cal.”

He laughs, but you can hear the pained grunt that he tries to hide when he shifts, “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“When did you do this to your leg?” You yank a bacta bag out.

He hisses as you disinfect the area, “Uh, a little after I found BD. Right before I went into the arena.”

You stop cold and stare at him, “You fought on this?”

“Well what else was I supposed to do? Roll over and die?”

You sputter, “No, but I-- no.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, a single, infuriatingly sassy, red eyebrow and lays back to allow you to apply the bacta infusion.

“How’s it going in here?” Cere chooses that exact moment to walk in, and you suppose you should be grateful that she didn’t witness the petty argument.

You shoot a look at Cal, but he’s refusing to meet your eyes. So kriffing immature. You respond to Cere, “Good. Could be better.”

She nods once, “We received a transmission from the rebel. Tarfull is willing to meet you, Cal. There are contacts on Kashyyyk that will direct you to him.”

Cal’s face is drawn and serious, aging him ten years as he considers her words. “Tell them I’ll be there. How long until we reach Kashyyyk?”

“An hour. Enough time to finish the inflight electrical repairs, so BD will be available to go with you.”

“I’ll be ready.” What? Did you just hear him correctly?

You wait until Cere leaves the room before you whirl on Cal, “Are you crazy?”

“What?”

But you’re not listening anymore, “No, you’re definitely crazy, or I’m going crazy, because I just heard you tell Cere that you would be ready to plunge into the wilderness while you’re half dead.” A pile of lightsabers.

“It’s a cut, I’m hardly half de--”

“Okay, a cut. A cut that could get infected, or could start bleeding again, or could slow you down. It won’t be such an easy fix next time if you go out like this.”

He says your name sharply, “It’s my job to go and get that holocron.”

You cross your arms over your chest tightly, hugging close enough in hopes that you can calm your pounding heart, “And it’s my job to keep you alive.”

“The longer we wait, the more danger Tarfull is in. The Rebels can’t stay in one place forever.” He pushes off of the wall, aiming to propel himself off of the ground and stand, but you catch him with a firm hand in the center of his chest.

“You need rest. Bacta might be a miracle of modern medicine, but it can’t work in an hour.” A death rattle that refuses to leave you alone.

He says your name, so seriously and rigidly that you stop and look at him, “Let me get up. I need to go.”

“No!” Your fingers twitch over the needle. “Cal Kestis. You stay right there, or I swear to the Maker I will sedate you!” Fallen Jedi hovering over you.

“This isn’t a matter of my own well being anymore, our mission is on the line!” He pushes your hand away and sits up. “This is for those children out there, so that the Sisters don’t get to them, so that they can have normal lives.”

“Don’t you fucking put that on me Cal, I know what is at risk. I know that you are the only stars forsaken Jedi in this Maker damned galaxy who can help those children, but what use are you to them if you’re dead?!” Lightsabers rattling over your head, trapping the living amongst the dea--

“It doesn’t matt--”

“Would you just shut up and listen to me for two goddamn seconds?!” You’re screaming, you know that you shouldn’t be screaming when he’s lying there injured and possibly dying, when you know that his heart is pure in intention, but why can’t he see how much you need him to be okay. Your fists are clenched, waving in the air above him and its only when his eyes widen and he puts his hands up defensively that you realize you had picked up the hypodermic needle.

Your eyes meet his and your body trembles, whether from rage or fear you can’t tell. Carefully, moving millimeter by millimeter, you lower your hand and drop the needle. It makes no sound as it hits the ground, which is remarkable considering how effectively it had silenced the situation.

“I--” Your voice cracks and in any other situation you would be embarrassed. But you clear your throat roughly, “I can’t lose you. I won’t let you go off and get yourself killed. You need to let your body heal, because you can keep going, keep pushing yourself to the limit and I have no doubt that you are strong enough to, but your body is going to fail you one day, and it’s my job to make sure it doesn’t just yet so please listen to me, I’ve never asked for you to stay before.” You’re rambling, you’re talking too much because you scraped just a little too close to the surface with that first sentence. “Please Cal, I couldn’t live with myself if I let you go out there like this and yo--”

You’re cut off by Cal’s body contacting your firmly, arms curling around your body as he hugs you tight to his chest. And all of your worries and problems that you were ranting about seconds earlier fade away because his bare chest is right against the skin of your cheek and he’s so warm and smells so good and you’ve forgotten why you were--

“Breath. It’s okay.” He demonstrates with several deep breaths, chest rising and falling against your cheek. You hear the whoosh of air in his lungs, and you shakily try to imitate. You fail the first two times, your pounding heart and surging adrenaline forcing your breaths to come shallow and fast. But he stays close to you, radiating comfort and calm that soaks into you and gradually slows you down.

“You’re still not going out there on that leg.”

Cal shushes you, “I know. I need you to calm down before we get to Kashyyyk. I’m not going to leave until I know you’re okay, and those children still need saving.”

Annoyance sparks through you, “I told you not to put that on me.”

“Yeah, yeah I know. That was a cheap shot.” You wriggle to try and get out of his grip, but he only tightens his arms around you. “Stop fighting me.”

“Only if you stop fighting me.” Still, he’s too strong and you can’t deny that you’re exactly where you want to be.

“Oh I intend to. But I can’t stay forever. How long do you need me to rest?” His chin rests on the top of your head.

You hum thoughtfully, snuggling closer with your fingers drumming gently on his skin, “Bacta treatments optimize after five hours of immersion in the tissue.”

“I’ll give you two hours.”

“Three.” You counter. “I can accelerate the healing if you give me three hours.”

He hums deep in his chest, vibrating against your skin, “Deal.”

You stay like that for a few more minutes, peacefully breathing the filtered Mantis air that smells like antibiotic burn cream and metal. When you open your eyes, your gaze lands on the lightsaber, which has rolled into a corner since the hit and run on Ordo Eris.

“Cal.” Your voice is raspy from the lump in your throat. “The lightsaber.”

He hums, calling the handle to his hand with the Force, “Yeah. Should keep it safe.” He clips it to his belt with one hand, the other still crooked firmly to cradle you.

“Where did you get it?”

He pauses for a fraction of a second, then his arm returns to stroke the back of your head, “It was Master Tapal’s. The Purge. It’s all that I have left from before.”

“Your Master. Was he a Lasat?”

Cal chuckles, “Most intimidating one that I’ve ever met. Wisest one too, but he had a leg up on the competition, being a Jedi Master.” He pulls away slightly to catch your gaze. “How did you know that he was a Lasat?”

You hum, burrowing back into his chest, “I’ll explain later.” For now, the world would hold together.

Cal Taglist: @marvelassassin221b, @my-awakened-ghost

#cal kestis #cal kestis x reader #angst #fluff #jedi fallen order #my boyyy #who lacks any and all sense of self preservation

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inhonoredglory · 3 years ago

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Run Away from Me: A Levi Meta

The core of this meta is to show that, IMHO, Levi’s violence against Historia in Chapter 56 is his emotional fallout from the torture of Sannes, as well as his own guilt at the person he had become. Coming from having only watched the anime, I personally found this placement in the manga of the Historia scene right after both the torture sequence and the Reeves Company alliance as incredibly meaningful, especially for Levi’s character and his emotional journey.

Levi is an immensely compassionate person, someone who wants to aspire to the “unimaginably altruistic” life of Erwin Smith (Isayama, SNK Encyclopedia). So how would this torture he had to inflict affect him? Because imagine for a second: This is the man who was the only one to truly react with horror and sadness at the knowledge that they’d been killing human beings all this time when they fought Titans. This is the man who went out of his way to ally with the Reeves Company in order to answer the Trost townspeople’s woes:

In Chapter 53, Levi is confronted with blatantly disrespectful Trost merchants who think the Survey Corps haven’t done enough to save their town. It’s the everyday things that burden these people—taxes, thieves, putting food on the table. Levi doesn’t once shoot back at them for their criticism. Instead, he listens. And then he spots a woman at the side of a merchant’s stall. She’s holding a baby and her eyes burn into Levi’s. She holds his attention while above him, the merchants continue their tirade. I think Levi’s thinking of his mother here: like this woman, she was a single parent raising a child in a city that is not unlike Trost now, a town abandoned and forgotten by society, poor and struggling. That child reminds Levi of himself, and this time, Levi can do something about it.

This is why Levi goes out of his way to ally with the Reeves Company. Levi and Dimo share a long, deep conversation, demonstrating that Levi’s alliance with them is more personal than merely the company’s strategic value. Dimo Reeves called Levi an “awkward yet kind man.” He goes on the say that Levi will “protect us and the barely-alive District of Trost, even though he doesn’t really have to.” This is Levi answering that townsperson’s accusation that “you in the Survey Corps aren’t working hard enough.” Levi entrusts to the Reeves Company the responsibility to bring the town out of poverty in the new world the SC will create. That’s his compassion, that’s his care, that’s his humility. That’s how he values the lives of people, not just by defeating Titans, but valuing their livelihoods. “A man like that must have come from absolutely nothing,” concludes Dimo.

This is the same Levi we find torturing Sannes.

In Chapter 55, the torture of Sannes happens because of the horrors Hange saw inflicted on Minister Nick. It is Hange’s passion for avenging Nick that drives the torture sequence, their anger at the tortures that had happened under the MP’s First Squad that motivates the payback inflicted by Hange and Levi. Levi’s violence is done, not out of his own desire, but primarily Hange’s. This is not to say that Levi was guiltless or without responsibility for Sannes’s torture; on the contrary, his actions weigh heavily on him, as will be discussed. But it’s interesting to note that out of all the tortures they did, breaking Sannes’ nose was the only retribution all Levi’s own (in reaction to Sannes’ justification of a series of horrific things the MPs had committed).

I also find it relevant that after everything they had done to Sannes, Levi was still visibly shocked at Hange’s overreaction to Sannes’ hesitation to answer their first real question. Because in Levi’s mind, everything they had done up to that point wasn’t torture—in one sense. It was instead a like-for-like payback for the horrors Sannes had inflicted on Nick. Note that it was Levi who had to pull Hange out of the emotional distraction of Nick’s death in Chapter 52, the same emotional distraction that drives Hange to overzealous violence here.

There’s an interesting parallel in what happens next with what Levi had gone through with Annie earlier. Levi threatened Annie with torture of her real body and said he enjoyed intimidating her as she was bound and trapped. Sannes confessed that for him, he enjoyed violence and tormenting the helpless—so why should he complain if these torturers, Hange and Levi, are the same as him? It’s a subtle parallel, but it’s a relevant theme in SNK that everyone, on all sides, are devils and monsters. Or as Sannes says later, “The world will always have people like us.” People who are violent, people who are lunatics, people who condemn themselves and get their hands dirty for the sake of some higher “good.” Sannes’ accusation isn’t lost on Levi, because this is the same Levi who looked at a struggling mother in a forsaken city and did something about it.

Justified violence is still violence. So what if Annie deserved to have her limbs cut off, time and time again, without relief of death? So what if Sannes deserves to have his fingernails torn off, one by one, without even a question put to him? They had, after all, inflicted death and untold horrors on innocent people. But does justice look like this? Does the name of justice absolve your hands from actions this ugly?

Morality is complicated. And Levi is the first to tell you that he doesn’t know how to slice it. “I’m not telling you what’s right or wrong. I certainly don’t know what is” (Chapter 59).

So now in Chapter 56, we come to the scene with Historia, right on the heels of that torture. The first red flag for me went up when Levi realizes he has “forgotten” to tell his squad about Historia’s true bloodline. It’s not that he didn’t intend to tell them, it’s not that he was not supposed to tell them. (Unlike, say, the entire Female Titan arc.) He forgot, and he’s clearly embarrassed when they confront him. Why? Because he’s not supposed to lose focus like that. But he did, because that information came from Sannes, and after that horrendous experience, Levi, like Hange before him, was emotionally distracted. That’s the only reason I can figure for Isayama focusing on Levi’s oversight like this, and showing Levi in such an obviously emotionally awkward place.

Hange isn’t here to translate for Levi, like she did when Levi berated Eren for being unable to harden during the experiments in Chapter 53. Levi takes the scenic, colorful route when explaining his feelings. To Eren, he admitted that his criticism wasn’t about blaming Eren for being unable to harden, stating that “going over our shortcomings and bitching about our situation is an important ritual.”

In this light, we can read Levi’s words and actions with Historia as a complicated picture of his psychological landscape. Notice how just prior to this scene, we saw Hange act out the aftermath of the torture by kicking the table. Levi too reacts, taking it out on Historia.

Imagine where Levi is right now. He’s taken on the role of Sannes in this new world—the executioner, the ultimate killer, Humanity’s Strongest. “Your hands are already dirty. You can’t go back to the way you were,” Levi tells Armin later, but it’s also what he believes about himself. All that idealism that brought him into the Survey Corps—a life bigger than being a thug in the underworld. Did all that idealism bring him here, to do this? He has to make it worth it, he has to make it count for something. It’s what he does every day when his soldiers die under him—he’s been there to make their deaths worthwhile. But who’s there to make the deaths and terrors he’s dealt out worthwhile for him?

Levi’s expression in the last panel is angry, yes, but also wracked with pain.

So when Historia says she’s unfit for the role of Queen, when she says she can’t be Queen because she’s not good enough, Levi snaps. “Then run,” he said, grabbing her. “Run away from us as fast as you can. Because we’re going to do anything and everything to make you do what we want.” Levi’s eyes are downcast, not looking at her, because what he’s saying is more about him than it is about her.

Because he knows he’s dark enough to follow those orders to do the worst things to a human being to make the entire world a better place. He knows it’s in his bones to commit these atrocities. He is afraid of what he found he’s capable of. He’s already come to terms with killing humans as Titans. He’s come to terms with torturing humans as humans. He knows he can and will do horrible, unforgivable things. That’s his strength, that’s what makes him valuable, useful, important. He’s not like other people—“I’m abnormal… probably because I’ve seen far too many abnormal things.” But he’s ready to condemn himself, to make his hands dirty for the sake of others. He’s decided he has to go full through with the darkness he’s committed, because how else can he justify what he’s done? “I’m fine playing the role of the lunatic who kills people like that. I have to be ready to rearrange some faces. Because I choose the hell of humans killing each other over the hell of being eaten. At least that way… all of humanity doesn’t have to be damned.” His are the hands that will be stained with blood, his is the conscience that will be stained, his is the soul that will sink to hell—all so that others’ innocence can be spared.

The 104th look at him like he’s gone mad, abusing a young, helpless girl like that. But they haven’t seen what he had to do. They haven’t seen how bloody his hands have gotten. His violence here is a desperate reaction to get someone to save him. He’s always been able to avenge the deaths of his soldiers. But this time, he is the one in need of redemption. He could not justify his violence completely, he could only plea for her to make them unnecessary in the future. By becoming Queen, it means he won’t have to keep torturing, keep killing, keep shedding human blood. Her becoming Queen means a peaceful transition of power. Her becoming Queen means he won’t have to pave the path to a new government with more blood and more guilt, at least, not more than he has to. He’s enslaved to doing what his strength allows him to do. He’s begging her to not let people ask that of him.

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idontmeantosoundrudebut · 4 years ago

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Many of Horror (Chapter one: This secret goodbye)

Fandom - How to train your dragon (movie franchise)

Ship - Eretlout (+ background relationships)

Wordcount - 3748 words

Fanfic summary - Moving on is hard, especially from something that doesn’t want to be forgotten. But it’s easier when you have someone with you who understands that mind-scarring agony, it’s easier when someone will hold you in the dark when all the monsters come out to play, it’s easier when you’re loved. But Eret is going overseas and Snotlout is left alone in a cold bed.

The dream is back and he feels sick. Sick in the head. (I really can’t think of a good summary for this, so sorry my dudes)

Tags/Warnings for this chapter - Mentions of past child abuse

So I have yet to finish this Fic yet but I’m just so excited to show it to yall that i just had to give you a little teaser!!! This fic takes place a year after HTTYD3 but the dragons never leave and Stoick never died because Hiccup deserved a whole family for more than one day (Dreamworks, i’m talking to you asshole)!

Also please check out The colour of friendship by Sarahenany and The colour of family by Thurdsday26 on the Archive because it they are big inspirations for this fic and if you love Spitelout bashing and Snotlout whump and found family then, oh boy, that is truly the jackpot of all Snotlout whump fics! Also, the title of this fic is based on the song Many of Horror by Biffy Clyro and this to the first like three lines and you’ll understand why!

Please enjoy and give me any feedback that you have, negative or positive, do not hold back bitches!!!! Haha lol bruh

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Eret is leaving today, but he'll be back in a few weeks, a month maximum if the summer storms keep at bay (Ruffnut prayed briefly to Thor before bed last night. She doesn't know why; it was an impulse thing). He, along with six other crewmates, will be sailing far up north to the port-island he once called home to establish a trading route for Berk and to perhaps arrange a meeting between Chief Stoick and the chief of his native village. The Northmen are good people, Eret had reassured during a council a week back, who've long been held under the sole of Drago's boot and will gladly reward those who levered that pressure with both miscellaneous goods and a long-lasting alliance.

The only problem with this grand adventure is that they'll have to travel dragon-less.

The Northmen too have been terrorised by dragons for generations and they will not hesitate to net, bludgeon, and flay the first dragon they see, even if said dragon has a rider on their back. Act first and ask later kind of folk, a mindset which Ruffnut is very familiar with. Eret predicts that the concept of living with dragons in peace and harmony is one his people will be suspicious of for a time, but he assures that they'll warm up to it eventually. So, the first few trips will be dragon-less and slowly they'll weasel their Berkian values in, a very cunning plan indeed if Ruff didn't say so herself.

So today is the day of departure and she's on her way to the docks for the send-off, alone for a change. Tuffnut, eager to be out the house and tired of waiting for her to finish braiding her hair, had nabbed Barf and Belch and left her on her lonesome to walk. At first, she'd been peeved to all Hel, rightfully so, muttering to herself about how easier life would be without her dolt of a twin till she remembered just how peaceful, well, peace was. As vexing as Tuff is, Ruff cannot deny her sibling love for him, but she also cannot deny the simple serene beauty of silence.

She's striding down a street of huts, the docks insight, when she hears a terribly familiar voice.

"You better be back in two weeks, if you're not, I'm coming after you,"

Snotlout.

Ruff pauses mid-stride and takes a step back, looking into a narrow alleyway between two huts. She steps closer and presses herself against the left hut wall, slyly peeking her head out to gaze searchingly into the shadowed alley where she'd definitely heard Snotlout's voice. As mad as she is (and she is mad), she isn't to the point of hearing imaginary voices in the shadows (not for a few years, at least).

There. Stuck between a wall and a bulky silhouette, is the short and distinctive shadow of Snotlout Jorgensen. The figure Snotlout is pressed against lets out a hushed laugh, head bowing and if wasn't for that laugh, she'd definitely be able to identify him solely for the dark outline of his facial profile.

Eret, Son of Eret.

Oh, this... This is interesting, very interesting indeed.

"No promises, we might have to delay returning if we see a storm on the horizon," Eret informs and Snotlout makes a displeased snort, to which Eret adds in response, "But if we don't then, we'll be back as soon as we can. Snotlout, you won't even know I've left,"

"It already feels like you've left me," Snotlout murmurs, head hung low, and it catches Ruffnut by surprise, that statement because it's such a vulnerable thing for Snotlout to say and the way he says it, quiet and anxious, is so alien to her.

The use of the word "me" too, makes her mind turn and burn with theories because there is something so very deep in the small, added word. She doesn't know what yet, but there is something painfully human about it.

Ruff watches the shadowed duo, transfixed as Eret lifts a hand to Snotlout's chin, tipping his head up so that they are looking at each other.

It's such an abnormal gesture for her to witness, especially between two people with whom she's never associated such tenderness before.

Eret has always been this tall, handsome, foreign stranger with a silky voice and a self-assured walk, who is as handy with a sword as he is on a boat, who's always there to help and give back to the people who gave him a better life. Snotlout has always been this hot-headed, confident loudmouth who is way too short to be as brave as he is and is way too good at singing for Ruff to admit, who's full of unyielding loyalty and howling laughter. But most importantly, they hate each other.

Or, now that she thinks of it, they did hate each other.

The last few months have been lacking the usual rivalry between Snotlout and Eret and she doesn't know why it's only hitting her now. At some point, they two of them became friends and she's pretty sure she isn't the only one who hasn't noticed, which is so peculiar because she, and the others, have seen the two of them hanging out at the sawmill and flying together at dusk to light the torches. Gods, they drank with each other last night and there hadn't been a single crass word spoken. When did this happen? She and the rest of Berk have gone blind!

"Snotlout, I'll be back. Soon. I can't promise you when, but I'll be back, and next time I go north, you can come with me," Eret assures, and though Ruff can't see Snotlout's features, she can feel the atmosphere lifting and hear the smile in his voice.

"Yeah?" There is something so hopeful and childish in the way he breathes that word, something that tugs at Ruff's heartstrings.

"Yeah, I'm sure I can convince Hiccup to spare you of your very honourable duties for a few weeks,"

"Hey, shut up!" Snotlout's foot jerks out sharply to jab Eret in the ankle, the former laughing breathlessly in response, "My work is honourable, okay? Someone has to test all those crazy weapons Hiccup cooks up and I'm the only man for the job, no one else is as brave as I am," He exclaims, all confident and cocky and familiar to Ruffnut.

"You're sure right about that," Eret says as he again raises his hand and, this time, it comes in contact with Snotlout's cheek, she can see the faint movement of his thumb smoothing over the skin beneath his eye. His voice is awfully soft with a terrible fondness that Ruffnut sometimes hears in Hiccup's voice when he speaks about Astrid or vice versa, it's a tone that she automatically links up to people who are fiercely in love.

Oh, Freya, they're in love.

"You gotta head down to the docks, Eret, you'll be late to leave... or whatever," Again, that insecure whisper is back and by Gods, it sounds so brittle and shaky that Ruff almost considers the thought that Snotlout might be crying.

She would be if she was about to be separated from her lover for an unknown amount of time, Ruff ain't afraid to admit that, but if Snotlout is afraid of anything, it's expressing feelings and emotions (He's afraid of proving he's human, proving he's weak). But then again, maybe it's easier for Snotlout to air out his inner thoughts in front of Eret because, well, they're in love and to be so intimate with someone, they're eventually going to see all the ugly parts that you hide beneath the pretty façade. Eret has probably seen the old insecurity they all know that still lurks deep inside Snotlout, raw and unfiltered, a thing from his youth that made him angry and afraid, a thing that was just as damaging as the scars on his flesh.

Ruffnut, nor anyone else on Berk, will ever forgive Spitelout for what he did to Snotlout. She will gladly say that the day he was exiled was the best day of her life and she will not be alone in the statement. Cruel, merciless, cold-blooded bastard deserved to be Blood-eagled if you ask Ruff and Tuff (probably Hiccup too, no one was more enraged than he was.)

(Ruff has never been afraid of Hiccup, except for once. He's far too lanky, too merciful, too kind, to be a scary guy. But that day, when Snotlout had lifted his tunic in the clubhouse and revealed the ivory scars that were striped across his back and chest, she'd taken a step back at the sight of the inferno that had kindled in his eyes, at the sudden look of mercilessness that had steeled his features, at the trembling fists clenched at his sides. He looked like a man ready to kill, like a man ready to burn then world to the ground, like a man ready to give it all up just for revenge. She was afraid of him that day. So, so afraid that she had nightmares about him for days afterwards.)

"I'll be a bit late, the lads won't mind," Eret says lowly, drawing Ruffnut from her walk-in memory-lane, and she feels her heart tug as he bows his head to press against Snotlout's, "I'll stay here. With you,"

Forehead touching, especially in Viking culture, is the tenderest way to touch the ones who mean dearest to you. Be it a lover, a blood-relative, a shield-brother, anyone who is buried deep in your heart. And here, in the shadows of an alley, hidden and quiet like a forbidden dream, two people hold each other. Soon, they will have to let go and isn't that the most heart-breaking thing? Letting go?

Her heart feels too big for her chest and she almost feels like a changed person by witnessing this, witnessing something she was never meant to see. Will love be like this for her too? Terribly tender and awfully soft? She doesn't know, Gods, she shouldn't be here.

Ruff tries to drag herself back but she's like a moth to a flame, unable to pull herself away from this blindingly beautiful display of love, so raw, so real. She never imaged Snotlout to fall so easily to soft caresses, but of course, he would. It is always our deepest wants that will bring us to our knees and all Snotlout has ever wanted is love, a gentle hand, a place to bury his heart.

They share a deep and long kiss. It makes her feel lonely and she doesn't know why. They part, breathing on each other's lips and holding each other tightly because they know, they know, they have to let go any moment. Their foreheads are still touching.

"Promise me," Snotlout whispers and she sees the silhouette of his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly, "promise me you'll come back. To me. Eret, promise you'll come ba-"

A quick but meaningful kiss quietens Snotlout's desperate pleas and Ruffnut has never heard him beg before, not like that, not like he's afraid that Ragnarök is about to fall upon them. Eret cradles Snotlout's face with his large hands. They are so close, they've almost become one shadow.

"I promise you, Snotlout," Eret vows, quiet but vehement, his lips brushing against Snotlout's, "I promise that I will come back to you,"

Another kiss is shared between them, sealing the oath that Eret has made and therefore making it unbreakable. Eret will return, he has to, and Ruff doesn't know what will happen if he doesn't. Something tragic, something unbearable to watch, something she can't allow to happen. She will not see Snotlout ruined again. So, she promises herself that if Eret does not return, she'll fly herself up to Valhalla, drag him back to Berk and the Gods best keep themselves to themselves and not get in the way of her mission, lest the know the true wrath of a Thorston woman.

"Come on, before Hiccup starts a search party," Snotlout says, voice stronger now that the promise of returning has been made, "Selkie's gonna want a proper goodbye too or she's gonna follow you the whole way,"

Eret nods in agreement and peeks his head out of the alleyway, looking up and down the street in search of any unwanted bystanders. In the sunlight, his eyes glitter amber and Ruffnut can make out his hand, large and golden, curled around Snotlout's.

"You sure you can handle her? I know that-"

"Gods, Eret, she's the timidest Thunderdrum I've ever seen! If I can handle Hookfang and a borderline psychotic Terror, among other things, then she's going to be a piece of cake," He reassures, almost sounding offended, and Eret chuckles softly as he gives Snotlout a fond look.

Ruff watches them step out from the alley into the sunlit street, hands no longer intertwined. She can make out the red flush on Snotlout's cheeks and the faint wetness beneath his eyes, which he wipes away hastily. The two of them share a look, secret and quiet, lips curled into gentle smiles, fingers twitching with the longing to touch. Then, as sudden as lightning, the tender-faces fall away and they leave, together but still somehow so far apart. They enter the real world not as lovers, but as friends, as a secret waiting to reveal itself.

For a few moments, she stays where she is, staring into the unlikely place of a secret lovers' farewell. Who knew that a place like this, small and dark, would hold such a tragic and beautiful moment? Ruffnut feels a mixture of emotions, the biggest one being happiness because bless the Gods, Snotlout has found love and if anyone deserves it, it's him.

At the after ceremony of Hiccup and Astrid's wedding a year back, a drunk Snotlout had suddenly embraced her tight and long and said; I'm gonna be alone forever, Ruffy, but that's okay, I got you guys, so... I not really alone. And being just as drunk as he was, she'd laughed and poured him another drink, dancing with him till the sun came to steal the night. She didn't remember what he said till a few days after and it had filled up with such a fierce and sudden sadness that Tuffnut had dragged her home, demanding an explanation for the terrible look in her eyes.

That's the thing with a twin like Tuff, the second her mood changes, he can sense it like a hunting dog catching the scent of blood. She can do it too, but Tuff has never been one to hide his true feelings while she, similar to Snotlout, would rather avoid the conflict of talking sentiments (even with Tuff). Her brother has to drag it out of her most times, corner her and say stupidly melancholic stuff like;

I can smell it, sister. You're sad.

Tuffnut is a curse and blessing all at once and she wouldn't have it any other way.

But anyway, she's overjoyed to see Snotlout in love and loved, but she's also anxious about it. Anxious in a way an older sibling is over a younger sibling when they start to dabble in dangerous things, in things that can get them hurt. And if love is anything, it's dangerous. If love can do anything, it can get you hurt.

Snotlout has been hurt enough. Snotlout has endured and lived through torture and torment, through betrayal and loss, through things she can't imagine surviving. She will not see him hurt again, not by Eret, not by love, not by anything. He doesn't deserve it.

The others will also share her feelings when they discover this secret love story, that she is sure of. Especially Hiccup, who in the past few years has become like an older brother to Snotlout (like the same way that Stoick has become a father to him, the same way Valka has become a mother to him). He takes his new sibling occupation very seriously and it is comical, the wiser brother and the reckless brother always at odds but always there to protect each other.

There's a headache brewing in her temple. Gods, she's been thinking and overthinking again.

It'll be fine, she reassures herself, stepping away from the alley and making towards the docks, the Gods wouldn't curse them all with more bad fortune, would they?

It's probably the most stupid question she's ever thought, in hindsight.

When she gets to the docks, it's jam-packed with dragons and Vikings alike, friends and family saying farewell to the crew and wishing them good fortune on their journey. The sky is clear and blue, perfect for sailing, and Ruff concludes that she wasn't the only one begging Thor to keep his storms to himself.

Immediately, her eyes are drawn to Tuffnut, dangling upside down from Belch's neck as he converses with a bemused Fishlegs. She's tempted to go over, but not yet, she has to do something first.

She quickly surveys the area, seeing one of the Berkian members of Eret's crew giving his vermilion Nadder a thorough farewell and a Northman kissing his Shield-maiden fiancé goodbye.

The Northmen, Eret included, were intrigued to see such wild and free women when they first came to Berk. Berkian women are hearty and frightening and hard to impress, daughters of wolves, bearers of warriors, the fiercest things on the battlefield.

So it had been a cultural shock to them, Eret had admitted one day, for their home only holds women who sew the clothes and make the food, who bear the children and tend to the house, who are quiet and timid and easily won over by a half-assed sonnet. Most marriages are arranged and many daughters are traded for land or gold, true love is a rarity to come by. Eret is proud of his home, but these are the parts he is ashamed of.

Astrid was the first woman Eret had ever seen to hold a weapon and he'd never met a woman as savage as Ruffnut before. Ruff will forever be proud that she was Eret's first taste of wildness.

There. She's found who she's looking for.

Eret kneels on one knee before Selkie, his beauty of Thunderdrum. She's orange like a sunset, pale and washed-out, with white flecks scattering her hide like parted clouds, matching her ivory belly, and Ruffnut has never seen a dragon with eyes that blue before. Selkie lets out an unhappy groan as she presses her face further into Eret's hand, eyes low in her grief as she listens to his whispers. Ruffnut can't make out what he's saying, but she's sure it's everything soft and reassuring.

Snotlout is close by, she notices, watching Eret with an open fondness. If Hiccup or Astrid walked by right now and took notice of the raw love in Snotlout's gaze, they would immediately know the truth. Clearly, she isn't the only one thinking this because Hookfang, stood beside his rider, nudges Snotlout with a warning hiss in the back of his throat. Never let it be said that Hookfang doesn't look out for Snotlout, he's ornery and easily distracted, but he makes up for it all with his loyalty.

Soon enough, the ship is ready and it's time to go. People gather along the docks and make their last hurried farewells. The drums begin and the chants of fortune echo across the waters, there's an intoxicating atmosphere permeating the air. Ruffnut hurries through the crowd, easily shoving unmoving folk to the deck in her haste because she has yet to speak with Eret. He's shaking hands with Chief Stoick and is about to go up the gang walk when she suddenly lunges herself at him.

"Ruffnut!" He gasps, surprised and clearly a bit uncomfortable, but he'll have to deal with her for the moment, "Thought you weren't going to- uh- show,"

"Course I was, idiot, and anyways-" She leans her head close to his ear and wraps a hand around his bicep, digging her sharp nails into his flesh threateningly as she whispers, "-I have to remind you to keep to that promise, Eret, son of Eret, I'm not going to have Snotlout hurt again. I was robbed of my revenge last time, I won't be again,"

When she pulls back, she flashes him a smile with too many teeth and bats her lashes with an intimidating gleam in her eyes. She's given this look to men who are now dead and it is Eret's choice if he wishes to be added to that mass grave. Eret stares back at her with shocked eyes, cheeks slightly red, and he clenches his jaw as he swallows thickly, rubbing a hand over the raised welts on his bicep. The drums echo across the water and the chanting voices chase after in earnest. After a bewildering moment, Eret gives her an awkward but thankful smile and nods his head in understanding.

"I'll keep that in mind," He says and all the tension in his muscles seem to slip away as Ruffnut softens her menacing gaze on him, clapping him boisterously on the already injured shoulder.

"Atta boy," She cackles, shoving him up the gang walk as she calls after him, a throaty laugh colouring her words, "You better be back in two weeks, you son of an Eret, or I'm coming after you!"

To her delight, she hears him laugh back at her.

The ship finally departs from the dock, sail high and proud as its pushed by the encouraging wind and the waves part smoothly as the bow cuts through the water, sure and steady. Some of the crew hang off the ratlines, saying goodbye to Berk (for now), and Eret stands, tall and almost warrior-like, on the stern. The salt-touched wind carries his dark hair and the sun reflects off his dark eyes, they glitter with a sadness that Ruffnut wouldn't have noticed if she didn't know the things she knew. His smile is melancholic, Gods, he already looks homesick. He's looking at someone and she already knows who.

Turning to look at Snotlout, she can see that his hands are balled up into white-knuckled fists, that his smile is forced and pained, that his eyes shimmer with tears.

Snotlout has always hated goodbyes. Especially ones that aren't supposed to last. Because they always do.

#eretlout #Snotlout Jorgenson #snotlout whump #httyd fanfiction #httyd #eret son of eret #oh god this is a lot #i have so much planned for this fic

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vitalityofficial · 4 years ago

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Vitality LORE ACT 1 - The Girl: Prologue

VITALITY LORE // A1 - The Girl

Summary: We are introduced to a young girl whose life is about to change forever. After suffering a devastating loss, a mysterious man will eventually come into her life and begin his dark path of vengeance. The girl is only the beginning.

Warnings: Death, Cursing, Mentions of Blood, Bullying, Depression, PTSD, Anxiety

Wordcount: 1,778

School had been out for an hour now and all her friends had gone home. Why hadn't her parents come yet? They never took this long! And why haven't they called? She took her phone out, dialing her father's number and it rang and rang before going to voicemail.

"Dad! I'm still waiting. Are you okay? I'll wait for fifteen more minutes and if you aren't here, I'll walk home! I'll take the special kimchi route, okay? I love you!"

The 'special kimchi route' is a series of alleyways littered with various family-owned shops - one of those shops owned by an older woman who had the best kimchi dishes around and one her family ate at often.

The girl frowns after the fifteen minutes are up and finally hops off the swing, grabbing her book bag and sighing. "Traffic must be bad today," she reasoned, leaving the gated school property and making the long trek home. She still found it odd that neither had contacted her, but her mother's cellphone was being repaired and her father was old and sometimes didn't pick up service well. They lived far up in the hills - the rather "poor" part of Seoul, tucked far away with the main city in the distance - and any nearby payphones were broken and left to rot.

As she walks and walks, she can't help but to hum a happy tune, feeling perky despite everything. Her birthday was in 5 days and her parents had promised to take her to Busan for a whole week! Her best friend had moved there last year and the two didn't get to keep in contact so it was the perfect way to celebrate a special day.

"You! Child!" A gruff voice spoke from a darkened corner and she yelps when a frail hand grabs her arm, spinning her around. "Grandma! You scared me!" She laughs, hugging the older unrelated woman. She was a well-known resident to all in the small neighborhood and the girl's family was very familiar with her.

“It’s so awful, child! Truly terrible!” The elderly woman murmurs, her eyes wide and pupils as big as saucers. The girl frowns and a look of concern comes over her face - word around was that Grandma was not well and often spouted eccentric things but the other residents often did their best to take care of her as there were no known relatives around. “Are you okay, Grandma? Shall I help you home? It’s getting chilly out.” The girl softly grabs her hand, guiding her in the direction of the woman's house.

“I am so sorry, my sweet girl. You are to endure so much pain and it is not fair for you were destined for so much good.” The old lady rambles as they walk but the girl brushes it off, use to it. When they reach the final hill - which happens to split off into a fork - the girls home on the right and a cliff just across the weather-beaten road and the woman’s on the left - they are overwhelmed by the flashing lights of multiple police cars and an ambulance.

“What’s going on?” The girl panics as she takes everything in, immediately dropping the old lady’s hand as she rushes towards the commotion. She had never seen so many people gathered around this area and to her horror - right in front of her house!

"Was there an accident? What happened?" She pleads with an officer, who immediately stops her from crossing the tape barrier. "It's not safe, young lady. Please stay back!" The female cop grasps the girls shoulders, pushing her back. It wasn't soon enough though as the girl peaks around her, seeing a trail of blood that went over the cliff edge - something truly abnormal and mortifying.

“That’s my home! Where's are my Mother and Father?” She was panicking now - something clearly wasn’t right. Her parents were never late picking her up from school or activities and to come home to this...mess...The girl knew now that something terrible had happened and there was no hiding it from her. “Mama? Papa?” She screams desperately, tears instantly flooding down her cheeks.

The officer gave her a solemn look before turning to her superior, the two whispering among themselves for a couple of minutes. When they returned, the woman put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and guided her away from the commotion, sitting on a bench with her - a bench the girl often sat on with her Father when they ate breakfast and waited for the school van to pick her up each morning.

The officer didn’t waste much time breaking the news. “My dear, I am afraid your Mom and Dad had an accident and are no longer with us in this world.” Though her voice was gentle, it was clear that breaking such awful news to a child wasn’t something she did often, or even wanted to do.

The girl sputtered, unable to form any words. She looked around for the Grandmother but the woman was nowhere in sight now. “Mama...Papa?” She cries out weakly - the thought of never seeing them or speaking to them ever again filling her with an overwhelming sense of despair, leaving her gasping for air.

Everything went black then.

7 Years Later - (2016)

“Yah! Chaewon! Are you even listening? Hey! Watch out!” A firm hand grabs the girl's arm and yanks her backward just as a delivery scooter races past, beeping madly. “Are you spacing out again? What is with you?” Areum looked at her friend worriedly, the rapper of the triangle kimbap she was holding in her opposite hand crinkling loudly.

“Huh? What did I miss?” Chaewon snaps out of her funk, a tentative smile on her face. Areum groans in response, rolling her eyes as she takes a bite of her snack. “I said,” she begins with her mouth full of food, “I was thinking of asking Kangdae out. Isn’t he handsome, yeah? He’s not like the other boys in our class.”

“He’s a bit dumb, isn’t he?” Chaewon mutters. Sure, he was cute and had muscles but he wasn’t exactly known to be bright and was at the bottom of their class in terms of grades unlike Areum, who was in the top five.

Areum groans and smacks her friend on the arm. “Don’t be so rude, Unnie! He’s not stupid, okay? He just doesn’t really like studying but he’s a good person! He wants to get into music and he’s really good at it too! You should listen to one of his tracks he’s produced!” She goes to pull out her phone, biting her lip as she scrolls through some files.

“Maybe another time, yeah?” Chaewon waves dismissively at the cellular device her friend holds out to her. “I have to get home.”

“Let me walk you!” Areum offers, linking her arm through Chaewons. She was understandably concerned about her friend - who had been experiencing sporadic blackouts for a couple months now - and wanted to make sure she got home safely. “I mean, you did just nearly get shit on by a scooter while having one of your...moments.”

Chaewon shook her head, “No! I’m fine! Plus you know how my parents are.” Areum pouts, grumbling. “They have to be the lamest parents on earth if they won’t let their daughter bring a friend home. We’ve been besties since forever and I’ve never even met them! Ugh...”

"Yeah. They’re...strict and really embarrassing, to be honest. You’re not missing out on much.” Chaewon huffs, checking her phone for the time. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” She forces a smile at her friend, pulling her school blazer around her tighter as suddenly a chilly breeze whipped through the air. The two said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.

As Chaewon walked, she couldn’t help but feel guilty for being so distant lately. Areum had been a true friend to her ever since her move to Gwangmyeong. She was the first student to welcome her. The first to defend her against the snotty students who picked on Chaewon for being sullen, quiet and “weird”. Prior to the...incident, she had no real issues with bullies and was rather well-liked by her peers. She had since become the opposite version of former herself - the girl her parents adored was gone and she had no proper concept on how to defend herself or react to the other student's harsh words and actions.

So why was she so rude at times? Why did she lie to someone she considered her best friend? Chaewon had come to the conclusion that it was a defense mechanism of sorts. The only way she could deal with everything was by lying about her life outside of school. It made it easier to pretend - the façade she had created was an escape, albeit still very bleak, much like the truth.

The sounds of the city center grew more distant as she reached the iron gates of her “home”. Her slender hand gripped the cool iron and pushed it open slowly, the squealing of the metal sending a shiver down her spine. Laughter could be heard flittering from the playground behind the old stone building that housed 13 other kids just like her:

Orphans.

The Seojun house for orphans wasn’t too terrible - the food was edible on most days and the rats and roaches were few and far between as of late. The couple who ran it weren’t the kindest and had clearly become burnt out after running the institution for the past 20 years. If they hadn’t been getting a good sum of government money to run it, they most definitely would have abandoned the ominous place long ago. What made the place tolerable were some of the staff, like Mr. Kim.

“Welcome home, Miss Lee!” Mr. Kim - the designated maintenance and security man -- greets Chaewon with a cheery smile as she approached the front door. He even stops raking to open it for her, bowing and motioning with a hand for her to enter as if she were royalty.

“Ah! yes! Home sweet home! Thank you, Mr. Lee.” She manages to muster a smile, bowing as she walks through the familiar doors and sighing loudly. Her smile falters as she is out of the caretakers sight and the familiar sense of dread slowly overcomes her once again.

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visual-explorxtion · 4 years ago

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Vinylic Taste [Carlos Oliveira x Reader] - One Shot

Summary: You’re trapped and alone in the midst of an outbreak, struggling to survive. In the depths of your despair, Carlos came to the rescue. Through your ups and downs, Carlos soon became your best partner and vice versa. But...you soon realise Carlos isn’t who he appears to be.

A/N: Are you reading this at night time? Good...Wanted to write a Carlos fic but also wanna try and write something different from my usual stuff. But also got super distracted by other ideas and this fic got pushed waaaay further back and kinda took a different turn from my original plan and 11 pages in, I panicked. Still in first person POV.

TW: Graphic depiction of Violence, Blood, Gore, Angst, a bit of horror (idek), prob not as graphic as you think but it’s still graphic, uhh language and bit of a Mind Break.

Words: 6.0k

How did things turn out this way? Blood seeped its way across the vinyl floor, forming a pool around my feet as I sat helplessly with my body shivering in fear. Chest rising and falling rapidly and eyes locked wide open, my blurry gaze fixated onto a man but I could only make an outline of them. Him; on his knees, lays a lifeless corpse in between them, all drenched in venous blood as the deep red colour streams down every rigid and curves of his face. The air is thick combined with the stench of iron and gunpowder. He stares at his hands, covered in liquid but not his own. He laughs- echoes through my soul and pulsated the room- never have I ever heard of something so harrowing and sinister coming from a human. If he even had any sanity left in him. Neck twists abnormally towards my direction, head tilts eerily as if it's only supported by a thin piece of string. A soft gasp left my mouth, throat scorched with fear and lips quivering. My limbs lay still no matter how much I tell myself to run. My sense of self is being sucked into his dark, endless gaze. The light behind his eyes had vanished, all that's left is a soulless carcass I no longer recognise.

"Carlos...What happened to you?"

---------------

The thunderous rain came washing down my face, lowering my field of vision. The moisture trickles down from thick strands of hair and onto the rubble concrete in a light rhythmic pitter-patter. In the span of 24 hours, everything turned from just an average day in this town to be engulfed and corrupted by a fiery shitshow. Humans eating humans, without a hint of remorse. They have no emotions, no pain tolerance. Their sole purpose is to feed on anything that has a heartbeat. It creeps me out. Like somebody playing a joke too far to the point of no return. That's what I'd initially thought. In my struggle to keep myself alive in this godforsaken town, each bullet is scarce but every item you gather is expendable. As the gun recoils, a leftover shell would flicker out with each bullet piercing the head of the undead. A steady hand, steady trigger finger and steady breathing. One by one, I shot them down. The feeling of ambivalence surrounds my mind with every shot I take. This isn't right, they are...were...humans, flesh and blood.

The ringing in my ears grew louder with each squeezing action I take. The heat of adrenaline coursing through under my skin, my peripheral vision gradually disappears until I'm left with the image of head to head. Before I could react, my back was already on the ground. The backside of my head slams against the solid sidewalk with a loud crack, the noise echoed inside for a nanosecond. My self-defence mechanism kicks in- forearm struggle against the zombie's throat, it's jaw hinges wide open with blood oozing out as it frantically pushes it's deadweight onto me. Its skin texture is abnormal, like every part of them is set in stone. Why didn't rigor mortis happen? My fingers tremble, trying to grasp for the handle of my gun that's just out of reach. Muscles burn and ache as my defence is crumbling to its limit, teeth-gritting with every last strength that I have. I refuse to die like this. Not like them.

As my forearm grew tired- inching closer and closer to my face- I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to look Death in its soulless gaze and let it consume me slowly in the space of darkness. The next moment, I felt liquid splatter across my face but the pain never set in. My eyes flew open and watched as the corpse lay limping on my arm and the rest drop dead around my vicinity. I grunt as I discard the corpse aside, inspecting it one more time for any sign of movement. Face frozen in place as blood runs dry from the temple. The sight of this made my stomach churn.

"Hey, are you alright? Can you stand?"

A muscular figure towers over me, fully equipped in tactical gear. One hand armed with an assault rifle and the other extended out towards my direction. His hand is all worn out, even though the gloves I can see his fingers covered in blisters and scratches. They have seen better days.

"Yeah...I'm fine."

I choked out as I accept his assistance. His grip heaved my weight without breaking a sweat but may have overestimated his strength a little. His aid offset my balance and my body crash-landed in his embrace. Even with me standing on my own two feet, he's still almost a foot taller than I am. Our eyes met for a brief moment but I immediately jumped out of his arms as heat flushed up my cheeks and I regain my composure. He chuckles.

"My name is Carlos, I'm with the UBCS and we're here to get you out of here."

The organisation doesn't ring any bells in mind, nevertheless, receiving help from a rescue team is better than trudging through this damned hell alone. I would be lucky if I could even make it out alive. But, this strange rescue encounter sends comfort to my mind and slowly easing off my anxiety, or maybe it's because I'm no longer alone with Carlos's presence next to mine. Either way, I shouldn't let my guard down even with the help I'm getting.

The rest of his team is gathered in the subway station, we've arrived just in time for the last train to bound. Every one of them is tattered and covered in rags, exhausted and in pain. I can't imagine what kind of hell they've fought through, compared to myself, it's nothing but a just a minor scratch. Carlos caught up with his crew while I took a seat as all my energy is drained from my soul. The cool metal sensation seeped through my jeans and triggered goosebumps and hair along my arm, I couldn't care less about the shock as exhaustion washes over my limbs. I've been beaten down mentally and physically enough for me to not realise the train was already in motion. The view from out the window is nothing but a fast pace blur of darkness. All that just happened felt so unreal- the gush of blood, the viscous touch of muscle fibres, so red yet so cold. Getting pinned to the ground by this...thing. Its strength is vicious and animalistic with a face that doesn't resemble a human anymore. And at that moment my mind went blank. What if, at that very second, nobody came to save me? What if, I just gave up? What if, I let its teeth sink into my neck? What if...I just died there and then?

"How are you holding up?"

Carlos appeared before me, interrupting all the trepidatious thoughts. A slow realisation sets in as my hands tremble in my lap. Immediately, I curl my fingers into fists to cover up the jitter from him. "Still holding" I swallowed and smile politely, hoping the lump in my throat won't betray me right now. He returned the smile and positioned himself in the seat next to mine. "You were brave out there. Fighting by yourself...not many people have the balls to do that."

I let out a quiet snort. "No, you saved my ass. I wasn't brave. I was just lucky. If it wasn't for you I would've..." A pause, "I would've become one of them by now." Tears tingled behind my eyes as I blinked several times to keep them at bay. Carlos catches my hands tenderly, unravelling my fingers one by one, releasing all the tension I took a grasp of and crimson liquid came dribbling out the crescent-shaped wound. The fear in my head numbs all my pain; unaware of the shallow cuts, the maroon shade stained the dents of my fingertips. He took out some bandages from one of his pouches and carefully bind them to stop the bleeding. "There. That should do the trick." he grins as I admire his patchwork. "Thank you." I returned the kindness and we sat in comfortable silence. Upon closer inspection, Carlos does look kinda cute. The corner of his eyes crinkles and smile line deepens whenever he laughs, not to mention, his voluminous mane is the centre of attention. It kind of reminds me of an Old English Sheepdog and that image alone made me giggle.

"Carlos, we have a situation." we turn our attention to another team member, dressed in the same gear as Carlos- except his appearance was more well-kept, clean-shaven. Carlos turns, face sombre, knowing the news that comes next won't be any good. "What's the status?"

"Charlie's comms are down. The situation currently unknown."

"And Bravo team's position?"

"They're en route to Charlie, but they've already lost half their men"

He ponders for a moment. "Alright, change of plan. We'll meet up with Bravo and rescue Charlie. Once we get there, see if you can call for extraction out of this city."

His colleague nodded and went off to relay the message to the rest of the squad. Carlos turns back and kneels down, looking at me in the eyes, he softly spoke. "Hey. We're gonna have to take a detour, but I promise you, I'll keep you safe." He paused, reading my reaction. "Are you okay with that?"

My gaze wanders around his nervous expression, but I simply smiled. "Yeah, it's better than being alone out there right now. And besides, I don't doubt your abilities to keep me safe." His face went blank for a few seconds to unexpectedly bursts into laughter as though my answer caught him by surprise. "Okay. We'll be getting off next stop. In the meantime, stock up on some supplies cuz we don't know what's out there. Talk to one of the guys and they can get what you need." Carlos winked before leaving me to psych myself up for what's coming ahead. Knowing the chaos that's happening out there, it's going to be a dirty fight.

Our clattering footsteps relay around the walls of the subway as the lights flicker in a retrospective beat. The place is bare and quiet. Too quiet, even. Not even a single croak or heavy breathing could be perceived. It is deadly silent. Why is it empty? With the city running amok, you'd expect people to be escaping this hell hole; or worst-case scenario, laying dead in this underground. But, nothing. Not a single body insight. That's what worries me. I could say the same for the rest of Carlos's team. Which means, whatever is waiting for us out there is greater than what we could imagine.

My knees are getting weaker by the minute, shuffling closer to Carlos as I grasp my gun tight. Fingers nervously fiddling with the indents of the grip; sucking in a cool breath of air and pulling my shoulders back, we press on.

The layout of the underground is intricate and labyrinthine- reaching an intersection every few minutes, but we haven't let our guard down. Turning the last corner, we finally arrived at the main plaza; still remaining empty but the place was already thrashed. Carlos signalled for everyone to spread out and search the area, while I linger next to him. My heartbeat is racing quick as ever since I stepped off the train with the rapid pulse stuck in the back of my throat. He gently touches my arm, worry flash before his eyes but I shook my head. 'I'm fine' I mouthed. He looked at me for a few seconds, unconvinced, but decided not to force it any further. This place is eerily bleak, what was once lively is now filled with desolation. Somehow there's a slight dread and sadness inside me. The noise of metal clanking took my attention away from my surroundings.

"Damn it. The exits blocked." He gave it another shot but the gate shows no sign of budging. A short, heavy breath escapes his nose. I examined his troubled look and spoke out, "I'll go look for a way to open the gate."

He was stunned. "No. I can't let you do this. It too dangerous-"

"Please, I insist. You've helped me enough so let me do this. Even if I am in trouble, you'll come to save me, right?"

Carlos's expression is tense; I can almost see his thoughts rotating, like clockwork, inside his mind. Considering and reconsidering my offer. At last, my words overthrows him. "Okay, but take this." He hands me a palm-size radio, all tattered and taped. "Anything you see, you radio in. And I mean that. If you see one of those things, do not hesitate to shoot. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," I respond, sloppily saluting as I backed away to complete my new objective, continue to traverse down to the backside of the plaza. By the repetition of office doors, this justifies that I'm going in the right direction, but which one? The fluorescent lights blinked abruptly before returning to normal. Seems like the building is getting more unstable, with time quickly ticking away, I should hurry. And by some miraculous luck, I stumbled upon a door that catches my attention. 'Employees Only', this must be it. The door isn't locked but it took a great amount of energy to push a gap open, just enough for me to squeeze through.

Stacks of documents and brick computers blockade the door and next to it; a dead corpse that was once the employee of this place. He must have been dead for 2 hours- top, by the looks of it. The blood forms into a pool around the body and adheres to the sole of my boots. He took the quick way out. A blow to the head with his own pistol, laying dormant in his hand, now motionless in white. Crimson red liquid and shards depicted the blank wall, chunks frozen in place.

"I'm so sorry..."

Choking back my grief, I resume my search and in front of me is my mission objective. Monochromatic screens all tracking specific places of the building. Right on the bigger screen, displays Carlos and his men searching the perimeter. I radio in, "Carlos, come in. I'm in the control room. Hang on, I'll get the gate open."

"Good job. Hurry back and we'll get out-"

The building fades into darkness, heightening my sense of fear in this unfamiliarity. I draw out my gun and tightening my hold like it's my lifeline. My chest stiffens with each shallow breath I took, the effect of the blackout is developing claustrophobia within me. I heaved and the lack of oxygen in my brain cause me to hallucinate all my nightmares, but the image of Carlos flashed vividly in my mind. I took a deep breath and count to three. One...Two...Three... The emergency lights came on before my eyes and my anxiety reverts back to a sense of tranquillity. Talk about timing.

"Carlos? Carlos! Are you okay?" Please tell me he's okay.

No reply.

"Carlos? Are you there? I can't see you." I bit my lip, searching relentlessly on the screen for a trace of him. Just any sign at all.

"Yeah, we're okay. We've taken cover but it's pitch black out here, but...we could only see so much with our flashlight. See if you can get the power back on from your end"

Frantically, I pressed every button presented on the switchboard, nothing seems to be doing the trick. "Negative. I don't think I can do anything from here." All of a sudden, the floor began to rumble. And gradually it became stronger that shook the whole room, files and objects tumble to the ground until it subsides back down again, just like a tank passing by. "What was that?" I said in dismay.

"I don't know..." Coming from the other side of the line, a low growl and heavy footsteps. "But, whatever the fuck that is...It's definitely in here with us now."

In search of the monitor, I glue my eyes to the blurry image shown; even if everything doesn't seem out of the ordinary, my gut feeling is telling me otherwise. Still as a statue, they listened in closely to every motion IT makes. The sound is too quiet to be perceived. Out of the corner of the screen, something whoosh by. Its movements are too fast for me to catch but it's inching closer and closer to the lifeforms. With one swift swipe, it took a man down, and then the next. The claw marks on the wall...it stretches 10 feet wide from point to point, even looking through the screen, the blood is so vividly deep in hue. It crawls in close, but the team is still desperately searching.

It strikes! "Get down!" My voice is shaking down to its core.

They duck, but some did not make it. Their limbs severed; corpse dangling in half on the claw of the monstrous being, still clinging and screaming for their lives and then cease all at once. I shrieked out in horror. The size of that thing knocked the air out of my lungs. This being couldn't possibly be a human?! The zombie creation stood ten times its original size. The exposed skeleton is partially bound by its flesh- all swelled up and tainted, its tail bone morphed to a whip carrying a single-edge blade. Claws digging into the shallow pool of blood as the liquid cascade down the cracks of the marble flooring. The remaining squad open fire, bullets fly and ricochet off the wall. In the brief moment of spark, they lost sight of the target again.

"Shit, where is it?" I can hear the frustration in Carlos's tone.

Their flashlight drifts around the room as the tension sets in. You fear what you can't see, even more so if all you could see is darkness. The beast growls and encircles them, but the squad can't pinpoint where the sound is coming from. Intensity fills your gut as you watch the monitor closely, decoding its every move. After a beat, it leaps.

"Carlos, your 4 o'clock!"

He whips around at the speed of sound as he squeezes the trigger. The blast took impact greater than his expectation, every shot penetrated into its fleshy fibres while it screeched with a chalkboard sound. It struggles to keep a hold of itself up on the pillars as it collapses and tumbles to the ground. Without missing a beat, the team executes the behemoth until it turns into a bloody pulp, killing it with brute force. They inspected the pulverized mess further before they could ease off their defences. As if by command, the power's back on. My stomach turns into a knot. This is strange, but I pay no mind to it.

"Carlos, you alright?" I asked.

"Yeah...that was too close. That thing was too quick... We could've been killed here if it wasn't for you. You were our eyes when we couldn't see so...thank you." I could almost hear him blush at the other end of the line.

"Don't sweat it. Alright, I'm gonna get the gate open." I pulled the lever and watch the gate rise and retracted back through the screen.

"Got it. Now get your ass back he-" THUMP! Something's outside the door, trying to crank it open.

THUMP!

"Carlos? Carlos, someone's trying to get in here." my voice shivers.

"What? What do you mean someo-"

BANG! The door flew open. As an instinct, I drew my gun and aimed it towards them. A team of four heavily armed soldiers dressed in black armoury kicked in, almost like a SWAT team, weapons aimed ready. Without a second thought, I opened two shots on their thighs and calves to buy myself some time. They did not flinch, nor did it cause any pain to them. The unit moved in closer and closer towards my position by the time I made the first punch. My right hook collided with one of the soldier's throat and swiftly transitioned my elbow to another one in between the ribs. But all of that did not matter, my attacks took little effect as they soon surround me, putting me in a lock hold position, hands bound behind my back and dragging me away from the room. I can feel my heartbeat pulsating in my throat while I struggle to break free. Who the fuck are these people? What do they want with me? I don't want this. I'm scared.

"CARLOS!"

His name was the last thing that left my lips before the hooded squad inject my system with some form of liquid. My eyelids grew heavy, I fought back to keep myself awake but alas, the shroud of darkness consumes my mind, taking my soul to a distant world. The next time I wake up, the doors to the pandora's box had already open and it's already too late for me to stop it.

The snickering and one-sided conversation waver into my ear. I can't shift my body, still situated in darkness along with the effect of the drug. The icy metal clasp my limbs tight cemented on either side of my body and unable to produce any strength. The noises stopped and I froze like a deer in the headlights.

"Ah...you're awake. Good, good." The man sneered and carry on muttering in an absence. "You know, I was surprised by your...actions. You all exceeded my expectations. With this data you provided, we could improve on the flaws with our last experiment." He chuckled. "For now, my child, sleep. When you wake up, you'll be born anew again." His words became a slur in my brain, lowering into a hushed tone. Phrases repeat and distorting, just like an echo in an ice cave, cold and enchanting before my conscious slips away once more.

------------------------

"WHAT HAPPENED? HEY, COME IN. HEY!" The statics over on the other line holds its place. "FUCK!" Carlos's voice howls, the thunderous boom stunned the remaining of his teammates. His fists clenched in a fit of rage as he smashes the radio onto the bloodied floor. The radio explodes with shards flying across the hall, some splinters still clinging onto his hand.

"Carlos...umph..." Tyrell struggles, limping its way towards him as he compresses his wound. "The mutated monster...the lights and the locked gate...I don't think it's that simple." he sighs, pushing his glasses back up with his forefinger. "There's only one company that would create such a big experiment. Carlos, listen...you need to stop them."

Carlos shifts to look at him. "T, we still have to meet up with Bravo and we've already lost half of our men. There's no prediction of what's roaming out there."

Tyrell shakes his head, a stern look in his eyes. "No...You've seen what they are capable of, there's no saying what Umbrella might do to next. Go rescue them, I'll handle the rest." He waves him away, still clenched in pain but casually shrugs it off. Carlos conflicted for a short period but ultimately chose to listen to Tyrell. Tyrell gave him a quick pat on his shoulder before Carlos turns away.

[Umbrella's research facility]

The eerie sound of silence fills the whole facility. A silence that stayed constant in your ears, just like the tv sign-off tone. The uneasy feeling never left Carlos's mind as soon as he traverses through the isolated building, gun in position. Walls dressed in white, the distinctive chill in the air and corridors that lead to nowhere. Carlos grew impatient by the minute.

There, at the end of the hallway, lays a door just barely visible for the naked eye. 'Security Room, EMPLOYEES ONLY'. He breaches in; a vast space all clustered with fallen chairs and paperwork, the multiple screens project different rooms within the facility, some looked like its the cafeteria and another resembles a cool storage room with weird pieces of machinery scattered around the place. Yet they are all empty, except one. At the top left-hand corner of the display box, it presents various aqua chambers containing partially mutated humans and failed experiments. And in the centre of that screen, he saw his companion positioned upright on a surgical bed, unconscious and all tied up. But getting there might be difficult without putting up a fight as four heavily armed mercs all gathered outside of the laboratory. Carlos unclips his assault rifle and peeks, the ammunition is barely enough to fight four soldiers; hell, not even four zombies. At this point, every shot counts.

The build-up of sweat in his palm loosened his grip. He examines his hand; trembling and numb with uncertainty, what lies between him and his enemies is just one simple electronic door. Beyond that, someone important is there waiting for him, alive and afraid. Or perhaps they...no. That couldn't possibly be the case. He clutches the handle once more, on the count of three breaths, he bursts in. It only took a split second for bullets to fly across the room, landing hits in the enemies' calves and forearms. Carlos moves in closer before they could react, instantly killing a soldier with one shot under the jaw as blood and plasma spew out onto the ceiling. They return fire, only to hit their ex-partner's lifeless corpse. Carlos thrusts the body towards the two henchmen and staggers them to the ground, he flips; locking the remaining guy pressed up the wall with his entire body, they struggle but was immediately executed with a blow to the head. Blood splattered on Carlos's right shoulder but that didn't faze him. The sound of his assault rifle clicks empty as he saw the two crawling back up. "Tch." His tongue snapped as the gun launched across the room at a high velocity, knocking one in the face and stumbling backwards. Like a chain of effect, they’ve sprawled out on the floor once again. Stepping his right foot on their torso, his gaze shows pity as he ponders over them before pulling out his pistol from the holster.

"Hope you got friends on the other side."

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! The aftermath of those four shots lingers in the room. A mixture of gunpowder and blood made Carlos's stomach twist up in a knot, but he got more important things to worry about. The life of his partner was the only thing that occupied his mind. The final door slides open; revealing a skinny, middle-aged looking man in a fresh set of lab coat, stood in front of a worktable and unaware of his presence. Inside, those hydro chambers stood twice his height with flesh substance floating inside the liquid. Some are just a blob of meat and others have fully transformed into somewhat human-shaped, but all are deformed. Upon closer inspection, one mutated monster's eye pop open. Carlos flinched. He examined around and was shocked to find that they are alive, all of them. What kind of sick joke is this? Is this what I've been fighting? He wondered.

"Admiring my creations, I see. Do you like it?" The man asked.

"Is this what's been running the city into a shitshow? What the fuck is this pharmaceutical company hiding?" He looks around. "Where are they?"

"Ah, yes! My precious little plaything. You're just in time to witness the beginning of my newest creation." The man chuckles, he pressed a button and the sound of machinery begins to whir. The glass cell shifts closer into the room, unveiling you in a comatose state, pretty as a picture. "They are sedated, for now. But soon, they will become humanity’s greatest invention and you will be the first one to witness it. Isn't that something?"

The blood inside him boils; the rage within could not be contained, white-hot magma erupting and coating every strain in his system. He pulled the trigger; the shots punctured through both of the man's legs as he knelt on the floor, screaming in agony. Carlos rushed to your side, unclasping any restrictions and carefully let you lean against the wall.

"Heh...what will you achieve by saving them...? The city's gone rogue...everybody's dead...and yet you couldn't save half your men. So...why bother saving them...the end is nigh!" His manic amusement shakes the whole room to the ground. But, the laughter was cut short and soon, it has been replaced by the clinking of a bullet shell against the hard deck and empty clickings. Gun drops as he struts towards the pathetic slob, straggling in the crimson liquid that's supposed to keep him alive. Well, not anymore. Carlos straddles on top of his weakened body, gaze bore into his soul. He wondered. How could someone like him still be alive? As the world burns and he gets to live? The ability to heal given to this monster and yet, he chose destruction. He must be purged.

The sound of his leather gloves creek as it made the first impact. The feeling of bone to bone seems odd to Carlos but...it excites him. With each hit, the pain pushes him even further, numbing and bruising. It felt right. He pants, the blood spews and paints him in a new shade of violence. The man weakly chuckles.

"The man who fights monsters have become a monster himself. Isn't that irony...?" He coughs, blood spilling out on the edge of his lips.

"Killing humans...how does that feel? Still want to play the hero and save them? With the world on fire and all those lives in your hands...you will only taint them. Lemme tell you a story...do you know what kind of flower blooms the brightest even in the harshest weathers?" Carlos looks at him quizzically.

"Snowdrops. They are the first ones to bloom long before spring comes around...the pure and innocent. At the beginning of time, Snow searched for a colour to borrow... The element admired flowers and their vibrant colours. One day, Snow asked and pleaded for one of the colours from the flowers, but the blossoms denied Snow's request; they felt Snow was too cold and undesirable. The snowdrop, however, felt sorry for Snow and offered it its own colour. It accepted the gift and the element itself became as white as an angel's feathers... To show its gratitude, Snow allowed snowdrops to bloom at the end of each winter with their own protection against the blizzard weather. From then on, Snow and snowdrops exist side-by-side as friends."

He heaves. "Like I said...irony... Their friendship is only a fabrication out of pity. Just like you!" The deathly cackle roams as he chokes on his own spit and blood.

Ears buzzed with white silence, his visions hazed with a red lens filter and heart palpate at an abnormal speed. Carlos felt every ridge of the handle on his knife and takes out his weapon, unhurried. The shiny metal pressed upon the wilting man's oesophagus- with only a little strength, it opened up. Blood spatter across Carlo's face, unflinching. His eyes darkened, tunnel vision focused on the crevice of the wound; there's friction on the thin layer of skin as the sharp edge glides slowly from one end of the neck to another. Carlos finishing him off with a fling of his blade, scattering red all over the wall. Both of his hands grip the handle tight; rising it high above his head, he paused for a moment to look at him one last time, then strikes down into the man's right chest in the speed of light. Pulverising his cardiac organ. He retrieves the knife and repeats over and over again with the red fluid gushes out with each stab until there is nothing left. A monster bathed in his enemy's blood. The man croaks in agony and over a few seconds, it stops. And so does Carlos.

The white noise has been replaced by his own rapid breathing. Thoughts are empty, his gaze quivers yet, he does not fear anything. He felt it...warmth. How did he not notice it? Is this how warm humans feel? He never realised this, this kind of feeling, it's something so different from killing a zombie. He looks down at his own two hands...so red. A smile crept along his face with the feeling of content. In a spark, he burst into a peal of harrowing laughter, vibrating the whole room.

"Carlos...What happened to you?"

------------------------------

In my moments of wake, I find myself bestowing my gaze upon a beast gazing back at me with a musing look in his eyes. They're so dark and dire, almost like someone gouged out a part of him and replaced it with something so sinister. He snaps, now truly looking at me through the eyes of the actual Carlos, as if nothing happened.

"You're awake! Good, I was starting to get worried about you. We should probably leave and catch up with Tyrell. They should've called for the extraction by now." Placing his tarnished knife back into the holster, he made his way towards me. My fear of him vanished, he's just like the Carlos I met a few hours ago. Warm and caring. "Let's go." He said, both his arms shifts under my back and behind my knees, picking my weight up with ease. "Get some rest...I wake you up when went get to the rendezvous point." His voice is hushed and the sound of his heartbeat soothes out all my stress. By the time we left the room, I was already drifting between dreamworld and reality.

The sound of his footstep was kept at a constant pace, his movement rocked me side to side, gently without missing a beat. But the further he tread, the temperature in the air got colder and yet I could not feel the wind brushing against me.

"Stay here. I'm gonna fix something real quick." Carlos's body heat left my side and was replaced by the icy touch of a piece of furniture. The mechanical hum occupied my eardrums and everything sound muffled once again. Eyes weakly opened and the sight wasn't what I was expecting. What greets me was four walls made of glass entrapping my body as he stood and watched.

"Carlos...what are you doing? Let me out. Come on...this isn't funny, Carlos. Let me out of here!" I begged.

He shook his head, resting a hand on the glass in front of me, looking at me longingly. "I can't." His words were breathless.

"Why?"

"I made you a promise. And this is the only way for me to protect you...You would be safer here, nothing can hurt you." His thumb grazes something small in his palm. I looked up and saw a room that was surrounded by pieces of machinery and nitrogen tanks, placed accordingly in rows of four. Then, it hit me.

"Don't do this..." I cried. But, it was too late. His thumb clicked on the small device in his hand and soon, a strain of gas misted out from the tubings and masking the entirety of the glass cell, leaving me dazed and numbed as I crawl back to the shivering nothingness.

"I'm sorry...I promise I'll come back for you." His empty words circulated in my ears and through the air as he walked away, leaving me in the darkest den of Umbrella. Cold, afraid and alone; frozen in time without anybody knowing.

And there I was, still as a landscape; living on top on a snowy mountain at the beginning of Spring, as pale as Death herself. Bidding my farewell to him until next Winter comes; when a blanket of snow tops the upside of the greeneries and then, we shall meet again.

#i'm gonna take a break before writing again cuz you know...self care #i do like writing something different #maybe i should do that stage play...hm...#carlos oliveira #carlos oliveira x reader #re fanfiction #re fanfic #resident evil #resident evil 3 remake #re3 remake #⭐️.doc

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mychemicalficrecs · 4 years ago

Note

do you have any longer frikey fics, preferably bottom frank if theres smut

I do have some longer Frank/Mikey stuff, but no guarantee on bottom Frank!

Longer Frank/Mikey

Emotional Brilliance by kopperblaze, 21k, Mature. Toro and Mikey are a good team, Mikey doesn’t get why Brian had to hire someone else. In particular he doesn’t get why Brian had to hire Frank, who knows nothing about Lush products and who's incapable of keeping his mouth shut. Lush!AU. The one where Ray is a skin care expert, Frank is obnoxious, Mikey is annoyed and Pete leaves glittery handprints all over everything.

Gross roomies by turps, 36k, Explicit. Frank loves living with Mikey. Sure, the apartment is a mess, the kitchen's a toxic wasteland, and there's something growing in the refrigerator that's just a day or two away from becoming sentient, but other than those minor inconveniences, it's all cool. Or it is until Mikey decides to embark on a journey of sexual discovery and adventure and Frank's left at home with nothing but the fridge monster for company. To make matters worse, Mikey insists on telling Frank everything he does with his new kinky friends, right down to the tiniest detail. And now suddenly Frank is best friends with his right hand and he can't stop thinking about Mikey in ways he never has before. The really big problem, other than suddenly being in lust with his best friend, is that Frank isn't sure why.

Won't Know 'til You Begin by knight_tracer, Sena, 24k, Explicit. In which Frank is an accidental pervert, Mikey sleeps with Fabio, Gerard is much too sincere when talking about pain sluts, Ray is terrible with women and great with guitars, and Otter's got really bad taste in music. Alternately, the one where Frank realizes he has a thing for Mikey, Mikey realizes he has a thing for guys, and they're both adorably stupid failboats.

On Air by ladyfoxxx, 15k, Teen And Up Audiences. Frank's a radio DJ at an alternative station, spinning punk tracks and talking shit. When he gets handed the most popular show at the station to host, his first guests are independent horror filmmakers Gerard and Mikey Way.

Standing on a Planet that's Evolving and Revolving by Green, 13k, Explicit. The evolution of Frank Iero, age 15.

Buenas Noches From A Lonely Room by Femme (femmequixotic), 15k, Explicit. Frank wants to touch Mikey, to slide his fingers across the sharp angle of his cheek just below his glasses, to drag his thumb along the curve of his bottom lip, to smooth his palm down Mikey's long throat.

What Dreams May Come by sperrywink, 15k, Explicit. His career in music derailed, Frank never met the other guys in My Chemical Romance. A silly tale of teleportation.

a scent and a sound by mwestbelle, 15k, Explicit. In an urban fantasy world where werewolves can't hold a decent job and no roommate wants them, werewolf Frank is looking for an apartment. He finds one with Mikey Way.

Heart Wrapped in Clover by Sena, 19k, Explicit. Everbody's got their not-so-secret secrets on tour. When you live out of a van, you just can't help but notice things that you shouldn't talk about if you don't want to embarrass your friends or start a fight. Frank wishes sometimes they talked about things, though, because he's dying to ask if anybody else has noticed that sometimes, Mikey wears panties.

Tints Verse by turps, 65k, Mature. A MCR AU where Ray has his own gardening firm, and one day he does a job for the Ways.

We Used To Be Friends by ladyfoxxx, 50k, Explicit. "You and me, right Mikes?" "Yeah, fuck everybody else." Best friends since high school, if Frank could've chosen a brother, he'd pick Mikey. Then Mikey became a rock star and Frank... didn't. After years of radio silence, Mikey steps onto a stage in Jersey and back into Frank's life. (Or, the one where Frank is a school teacher and Mikey plays rhythm in The Used.)

And the Painted Ponies by turps, 35k, Mature. After years of struggling to be taken seriously as a bodyguard, Frank Iero is finally well established. He loves his boss, Ray, he loves his job, and he prides himself on his professionalism. But then he's assigned to be the personal bodyguard of Mikey Way. Mikey Way, aka Roboboy, is a successful high fashion model. Loved by designers and the public alike for his trademark lack of emotion, but mocked by the tabloid press for the exact same reason. Mikey is someone that Frank's sure he'll hate. Except it doesn't work out that way. In fact, it doesn't take long before Frank discovers he really likes Mikey. Maybe too much.

Better Than A Paid Life by gala_apples, 15k, Explicit. Gerard and Mikey Way are the Killjoys, a motorbaby duo. That is, until their car gets wrecked in a battle and the dashboard accessory of their new Trans Am is an ex-Companion with a mission.

Crash by Gorgeous Nerd (gorgeousnerd), 26k, Explicit. In a future version of Seattle, Frank Iero's a lot of things: bike messenger, cage fighter, sometimes thief, Ray Toro's roommate. Mikey Way's also a lot of things: record label owner, co-heir to his grandmother's fortune, younger brother. Neither are normal. But they don't know just how far each other's abnormalities go until Frank's past and a secret of Mikey's unexpectedly shove together. (Dark Angel AU.)

Sound Tracking by turps, 46k, Mature. The beat is muted, almost non-existent, and the loss hits Bob hard. He's used to living his life in a constant thrum of sound, sensing those around him, the rhythm of the universe a constant companion, but here there's almost nothing. He can feel the sound that's been pulling him for weeks now, but little else. This place is dead, almost silent, and Bob aches with the feeling of being cast into nothingness. A MCR - Bob and Gerard centric space AU where Gerard's band has been taken from him and Bob helps find them. Also features FOB, especially Pete.

Drink Cider From a Lemon by turps, 20k, General Audiences. A story about friendship, love and building your own kind of home.

Mikey Way and the Quest for the Stone by Roxy_palace, 29k, Explicit. “I’m in Colombia!” Mikey said, raising his voice over the crackle of a poor connection. “No. no, no, no, no,” James wailed. Mikey could really relate to his disbelief. He couldn't believe he was in mother fucking Colombia either.

Below the Trees, Which Are Below the Stars by alpheratz, 38k, Explicit. In the mid-1920s, Gerard and Mikey moved to France - Gerard to pursue art, Mikey because he couldn't stay behind. Now, it's 1930, and Mikey's become an airmail pilot, flying the mail route to Dakar with his navigator Frank. For a long time, the only rough thing about Mikey's life was the strain on his and Gerard's soulbond when Mikey was away, but his growing feelings for Frank and the arrival of Frank's old friend Ray could change everything.

Food of Love by Lucifuge5, 12k, Teen And Up Audiences. Ever since it re-opened, Frank's been "Sweet Nothings"'s number one customer. That he harbors a gigantic crush on one of the owners is something that he's kept to himself for the most part (Ray will never tell a soul.) It's not until he strikes a friendship with the older brother of the object of his affection that he 'fesses up. Moved by Frank's pining, Gerard promises to help Frank woo Mikey. Complications arise when Gerard's "helpful advice" is anything but. Will Frank be successful in his courtship or are his chances to win Mikey's heart as ruined as a burnt cupcake?

You Only Hear The Music (When Your Heart Begins To Break) by Acadjonne, 28k, Mature. Mikey and Frank have known each other for years. They're roommates, and best friends. They're also friends with benefits. The arrangement is casual, and it suits them both. Somewhere along the way, Mikey develops feelings for Frank, but he pushes them aside. They aren't important, he'll be fine. Or, Mikey is fine, until he somehow ends up pregnant a year into this thing with Frank, and all of a sudden, he's got more to deal with than just how long he'll be able to hide his feelings for Frank or how the hell he's supposed to afford his transition.

Give Me A Reason To Believe (Failboats In Love) by Acadjonne, 14k, Teen And Up Audiences. On the night of October 31st, Linda and Frank Iero welcome a baby boy into their family. He weighs six pounds, four ounces, and is nineteen inches long. They give him a family name, and he becomes the third Iero man to bear the name of Frank. A year later, on All Hallow's Eve, a sleeping baby is taken from his crib and replaced with a fake. The babe will later be taken from the hands of the goblin that stole him, and he will be raised by two rowan treefolk, a house brownie, and some pixies. ----- When Ray walks down the stairs to the Way family basement, the last thing Mikey expects to see is a scrappy and long-haired form following behind him. But as he later finds out, Frank is almost always unexpected in the best of ways, the rest of the world be damned.

Death's Muse by TheFratelliEffect, 53k [WIP], Mature. Lonely and depressed, Mikey Way is battling through the drab years that immediately follow college. Struggling to make a living as an artist, Mikey has became a battered down, quiet introvert whom wants nothing to do with the abusive romance he is unwillingly involved in. On a cold winter morning, the starving artist is confronted with the opportunity to paint Frank Iero, the Midnight Falls' elusive, young doctor, which he takes up immediately. Love and lust ensure as the story opens on the painter as he meets his muse.

Gallons Of The Stuff by MCRmyGeneral, 20k, Explicit. Frank has been amused by blood for as long as he can remember. When he was a child, it was a simple fascination; the way it felt on his hands, the way it looked dripping to the floor, the way it smelled. But as he grew older, that simple fascination morphed into a daring lust. Blood no longer amused him, now it turned him on. Frank has never intentionally hurt someone just to see their blood. He just takes what he can get whenever an accident happens. But when Mikey is hurt bad, Frank discovers how hard it is to keep his hands, and thoughts, to himself. He loves Mikey, he has for a long time. But now, he finds his silence so much harder to keep. He has two choices: either tell Mikey how he feels, about him and his blood, and risk scaring him away, or keep quiet, and never let the man know how much he means to him. Whatever he chooses, he knows that someone will get hurt.

#frank/mikey #fic rec list #frikey

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platinumbutthole · 4 years ago

Text

Memories in Red

When a dream has gone on for too long, the thin membrane between reality and the clouded world of the mind may be broken, leaving the dreamer submerged in the dark void of their own subconscious. Another dream has come and went, even as it proves to be darker and more unpleasant than the last, I miss it dearly.

I awake to this padded room once again rattled, only to recollect that I am indeed crazy, spats of lucidity grace my presence as if pleading me to write out this memoir of sorts. This very well may be the only way I can gain a grip back into reality, or more likely, drive myself deeper into the thick fog that is consuming my mind. In this conscious state, I recollect only that of less importance unto myself; age, occupation, or even my damn name remains a mystery. But of what I know, I did have a life before my spiral into the abyss of insanity. A wife that dips into my memories only to taunt me with her mysterious beauty, a pocket watch that meant some special importance in my life, a dog, and a grotesque bastard child. You see, I was sent here of my own accord, I did not want to be locked up with the ingrates of the penal system, I felt better suited to be one with the shit eaters and comatose rotted vegetables that also live within the walls of this sanitarium. In here, bound up like mummified corpses, the fear isn’t of those around us, it is of what is inside yourself. I chose this route because of an urge that set upon me long ago, this urge is only one of the multiple memories that alludes me every time I find myself sitting on the edge of reality looking back into the grim horrors that clouds my true subconscious.

The bloody cuts across my hands and fingers are the only real source of entertainment here, it seems my writing has been going on for quite some time judging by the amount of scribble on the walls, red patches, and smears correlate into a jumbled mess of words directed only towards myself. These words scrolled out reveal portions of my life that I may have wanted to remember, or possibly forget. Judging by the writing on the walls, I must have been busy the past few days, so many words and phrases give way to more conclusive statements. “Children under god” and “remember” plastered in bright red imagery above the cell door, followed by multiple occurrences of the name “Virgil”.

In this place, time holds value higher than any currency, it is not easily retrieved, and the lack of a clock or workers doesn’t help the issue one bit. Thought my memories are few and far between, I don’t recall any staff member gracing me with their presence in a long time, I don’t know how long I have gone without human interaction, let alone food and water. Looking at my poor excuse for a body it seems like I haven’t indulged in sustenance in quite a long time, each rib visible as the last, a pale, bony chest leading to shoulders that have no fat left on them. My shadow being cast by the single white florescent bulb that hangs in the middle of my padded hovel looks like the creatures that haunt me late at night, I laugh, trying to convince myself that these nightly visits are all in my head, but the scars tell otherwise. I say this because being in a padded room meant for a mentally unhinged patient as myself, there is no tool for me to tear into my own flesh, no knife or piece of glass, gifting myself the sweet release of red ink that I so desperately crave. No, I get these wounds by another force, an unknown being in the shadows, the corners of my cell representing the shackles of my mind that won’t let me free. Sometimes it comes in the form of my wife, nameless and transparent she takes my arms, lifting them up and giving them the lightest kiss before slashing with her sharp claw-like nails, as I look up from the blood into her dark eyes, the calmness turns to fear as she opens her gaping mouth to reveal a black darkness that wants to swallow me whole. This vision of horror only to be set back by rapping on my padded door, no one is there, no one is ever there. I recall waking from a state of mental unsightliness to observe a black dog with bright yellow eyes peering at me from that damned corner of the room, growling and grimacing to show every razor-sharp fang only to leap onto me. I have heard the dreaded sound of tearing flesh too many times in my life, the beings that lurk in this room with me want me to write, they want to be heard. I am tired now, without the value of time at my disposal, the only thing telling me that night has come is when the power to the only light source in the room is shut off. It’s dark now and I must try to sleep.

As I am about to fall into a distant slumber, praying to not being visited by whatever horrible entity of my wretched mind has in store, I hear screaming. This is not an abnormal occurrence in this place, but these screams are different. It sounds as if a child had gotten loose and is running through the halls churning their sorrows into an inconceivable volume not meant for human consumption, and the sound is growing closer to my room. Most of the time the wailing of the mad are my lullaby, whisking me off to a gentle sleep, but not this, it’s been getting closer and closer by the minute, inch by inch the louder it gets. Screams forcing their way through my ear drums and into my very soul. I try to cup my ears with my bloody palms but it’s no use, my eyes feel like they are going to burst only for the screaming to pass my door and stop suddenly. I release my grasp on my head and slowly slide myself to the door, I can’t hear anything, but I feel breathing on the other side as if taunting me, anxiety then hits my chest and I can’t breathe, my heart throbs and the blood smeared writing on the walls beats at the same rate. I fall on my back, looking up at the dark red literature on the walls, only getting brighter with every beat of my waning heart. I can’t hear anything, but I feel something watching me, laughing at me so menacingly that it tears at my insides and would rip my intestines out if gotten the chance. As quickly as I was brought back into my lucid like state, I was taken back again. I find myself at the threshold of sound mind mostly at night, which makes me ironically yearn for more sleep because within this realm of what we know as real, I am brought back into the pit of despair that only those that have experienced true hell will understand.

It’s been a few days now, and I must give myself a hand for the mural now sitting upon the wall adjacent to the door. A painting depicting only what I can convey as a child, sitting on a tricycle peddling towards a grove which is overlooked by a structure deep in the distance. It is disturbing to say the least, not only for the gruesome open-mouthed scowl rippled across the child’s face along with hideously dead eyes, but for the mere fact that it was completely created by the glorious red ink, what a waste. I must have been out cold for a while due to blood loss from the magnitude of my work, but after a while of sitting and staring it seems to calm me, a haven to place my mind when it turns inward on itself once again. I have never been the artistic type, but seeing the absolute scale and detail baffles me, this would be an immense feat to accomplish with a brush let alone a bloody finger. I search my entire brittle body to find an entry point or wound that could have saturated this wall the way it appears, but I find no new scars, my body is the way I left it.

As I sit and marvel at my work of art, I start to hear a sound, the squeaking of wheels ever so gently moving down the corridor outside my cell. I know how ignorant I must be, but the sense of anxiety and dread fill my chest cavity and I can’t take another second. I cannot be taken back again so soon, I must sit and write and keep my sanity just this once, but the wheels keep turning, bringing themselves closer to my room, all I can do is pray to whatever being is still out there for them to pass. Every second feels as if I am staring at the blade of the guillotine waiting for the rope to be cut, but as it creeps closer, the sound suddenly vanishes. I am in silence now, my body aches but I am still, knowing that something is out there waiting, staring directly into the cell, its breath hitting the widow with such force I hear it across the room. I cannot bring myself to peer out of the small dusty window on the door, for hiding whatever alludes me is the only way I can still survive here.

My visitor has yet to show itself, just viewing my quarters through a tiny glass pane, mocking me for my cowardliness to not step up and peer into the eyes of the unknown. I have convinced myself time and time again that there is a good reason I am in here, for I have the tendencies of a mad man, and inside these walls is the only place I belong. But this entity standing at my door may be my last hope of salvation, an utterance of good in a place stricken with evil. I have convinced myself to stand up and show my face to the staring one, and as I stand, the lonely light in the room flashes and burns out. Darkness hits my skin and chills me to my core, I cannot be trapped in here again, alone, pleading for light, the salvation to my pain-stricken mind. This mustn’t stop me, I must see my viewing party firsthand or forever be confined within the madness of the unknown. Every step to the door of my padded cell takes longer than the last, heart beating faster and faster, red ink on the walls flashing to the beat once again, illuminating my short path. I step up to the door, feeling the buildup of anxiety piercing my internal organs, wincing at the pain I look up at the cold, dusty, window. I look through to see nothing, just the source of blackness that has poured into the confines of my cell. But still, the breathing continues at a more advanced pace, this time it is not hitting the door, the hairs on the back of my neck raise as the hot rush of air pours onto me.

I clench my jaw tight, close my eyes, and stand facing the door hoping for whatever is behind me to leave my presence, but it does not go away. Instead, I feel the grip of a bony hand onto my shoulder, long nails cutting into my skin, I glance down slowly to see the hand that is grasping me is a woman’s, I can see her wedding ring digging into the finger leaving barely any skin, only pure white bone. I have an instant of clarity, realizing I know that hand from so long ago, I turn back quickly to view my visitor only to be greeted by my mural, only it’s changed. Bright red ink glowing so bright in the pitch blackness, showing off the same detailed landscape, the grove with an overlooking structure, but the child is gone, what is left is the bloody trail of something dragged off the bottom of the painting. Before I could even look over the whole mural, the light in the middle of the room bursts on, presenting the painting in its entirety in which the pure sight of it all brought me to my knees, hands pressed tightly against the sides of my head I couldn’t scream, nothing was left in me. In the picture, the bloody marks where the child once sat and rode his tricycle, lead out of the painting onto the ground where I knelt, and at the end of the trail laid the red coated tricycle laying sideways, wheel still spinning, squeaking ever so softly. I start to shake erratically, as my eyes move past the toy, onto a small body lying face down near my feet, bloodied and battered, the ink to my mural.

I know now what I have done to be in this place, I deserve to be here, in this wretched cell, dipping meaninglessly into insanity only to be brought back to face the reality of my cruel ways. As I stare at the lifeless corpse laying at my feet, it begins to move, and twitch in horrible ways I cannot even try to describe, he lifts his head by a weak neck, dark dead eyes lead down to a hideous scowl wrapped around a twisted face. I squirm, the dreaded feeling tearing away at my guilt-stricken insides consumes my whole body, leaving me motionless, not a single breath left in my lungs. I know that face, as horrid and decrepit as it may seem, whatever lay before me was my son, but now just another entity meant to bring me exactly what I deserve. Now all I have left to do is stare into the precipice of my own despair, waiting for this entity to consume me in the most dreadful way possible. We can never truly block out the pain, it will always be there, waiting to torment us until our last breath

#horror #writing #first piece #red #memories #death #insanity #lucidity #asylum #spooky #child #broken #technique #critique

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idiosyncrasy-thoughts · 5 years ago

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Empathy - Yvette Short Story (Part 1)

(this is Yvette's route based on Wrath's storyline; a disclaimer that i'm no pro writer; i already love yvette even though her route isn't even out yet)

Consciousness sweeps over me as I feel sand brushing against my cheek. I open my eyes to vast and vast of sand stretching to the horizon, coming to a realisation that I'm in the middle of a desert. I try to move my hands, but they are so tightly bound behind my back that struggling hurts my skin.

What the?

My ankles are tied too, and I try to recall the situation that happened before that leads me to this.

A tall figure a few distance away catches my attention. Green hair cascading down her back, Yvette's on the phone with someone. I stare at her back features, remembering that I'm kept hostage by her for the heirloom. Questions start to flood my mind.

Why does Yvette need the heirloom? Why is she working with the demons? And why does she have a burning hatred for Wrath? Pun intended.

There must be a valid reason as to why Yvette's so determined in getting my charm, right? Or else she wouldn't have fought her way until now.

The sound of several footsteps interrupts my thoughts and I turn my head to see who is it. A couple comes into my vision, stopping right in front of me. A rush of relief fills me. A rescue party? How lucky am I?

"Thank god, please untie me," I say as quietly as I can. "And don't make too much noise, that lady over there got some fire powers."

The two people seem unbothered by my words as they continue to stare at me blankly. I look at them curiously before horror surges through my body. Red veins start to appear on their skin, and their eyes expand to an abnormal length. They growl at me fiercely, probably hungry for my flesh.

And I oop-

One of them comes close enough to smell me, and I close my eyes with the hope that it will gulp me whole instead of biting my face. A quick death is always better than a slow, painful one.

"No. Don't eat her," Yvette's commanding voice rings. "I still need her alive for the charm."

The demon hisses at me but still backs away. Yvette steps in with a smile.

"You're up, sweetheart. How's the little nap?"

I push myself up with my elbow. "Uncomfortable and dirty."

Yvette bends down to meet my eye level. "Oh, you poor thing." I flinch when she reaches out to touch my face. "Relax, I have gloves on. And you have sand on your pretty face."

I stay still as she gently brushes sand off my cheek, and I take the moment to observe her facial features. I have to admit, although Yvette's supposedly the bad person, she can be nice...and gorgeous.

My breath hitches in my throat when the girl catches me staring, and a small smirk tugs on her lips. "Enjoying the view?"

"I mean, you know you're pretty."

Yvette's eyes twinkle with delight. "Mm, Wrath won't be too pleased to hear her girl saying that."

"Wrath and I are just friends."

The green-haired lady raises an eyebrow. "Friends? That's funny, because I remember you almost kissing me when I played as Wrath."

Well, that's true. But who would turn down a kiss from an attractive woman?

I stay silent, causing Yvette to snicker while she stands to pull out her phone. "That's what I thought."

Dialing for someone, she puts her phone near her ear. A few moments later, a smug grows on Yvette's face.

"Wrath, I thought you'd never pick up the phone."

Her smirk drops after a few seconds and she spares me an annoyed glance, pushing the phone near me.

"Hello?"

"Did she hurt you?" Wrath asks.

"N-No."

"Good. I'll be there soon."

"I know, I-"

Yvette quickly pulls away the phone and speaks, "There, you heard her voice. I'll give you the coordinates, but if anyone else shows up except for you, your crush dies. Bring the heirloom. Understand?"

Yvette hangs up shortly after, smirking at me.

"She sounded so desperate."

"Wrath's never desperate. Only frustrated."

Yvette laughs and tucks away her phone. "You caught me. I was called several things in Spanish that I would prefer not to translate."

"But she's coming to get me?"

Yvette pauses, and for a second, her expression is unreadable. "That's what we all want, isn't it?"

"When things are terrifying and painful, far too much to handle alone...we want someone to come and rescue us," her voice lowers slightly, her grip on her cane visibly tightens.

She's not looking at me. If anything, Yvette is looking past me, haunted by a spectre that I can't see.

My heart sinks at the sight.

She must have gone through so much suffering alone without anyone, and that's a terrifying, lonely route to walk on. Even for a bad person, Yvette has feelings as well.

Oh no, I am NOT falling for the bad guy.

"Enough of this," Yvette starts, noticing the tension in the air when I forgot to reply. "I will get that heirloom, even if I have to kill Wrath. Which will be ideal, of course."

Then, something that I would never expect myself to say slips out of my mouth. "What if...I help you get it? Minus the killing."

Surprise flashes across Yvette's face, but it doesn't last long as her stoic demeanour comes back on. "You almost got me there. But that lie won't work on me anymore. Not after you ambushed me back at that room."

"Well..." I trail off, pondering an explanation. "I was convinced me that you're bad news. But then I realise that I don't know the whole story to judge."

"And...the demons," I continue. "The amount of people who want you dead. They all sound so scary to deal with alone."

Yvette's averts her gaze to the horizon. "They do, but I got used to it...I have to."

Her eyes find mine again.

"Why, are you pitying me right now?"

"What? No, it's more like empathising with you."

Yvette laughs as if I have just made a joke, and it stings my heart. She bends down again to meet my eye level, regaining her composure.

"That's hilarious, MC, but back to business. You must want something in exchange. Do you prefer cash?" Yvette suggests, her voice becoming low and alluring. "Or perhaps a date with me?"

My cheeks burn up by her enticing offer, but I shake my head out of it, remembering my original intention.

"If getting you that heirloom keeps the both of you safe, then yes, I'll help you."

Yvette's orbs scrutinise mine as if she's searching for something; probably any malicious agendas that I may hide. When she doesn't find any, her hard gaze soften, and I find myself getting lost in her gorgeous ocean eyes; my heart thumping wildly in my chest. Why is she staring at me like that?

Eventually, I have to force myself to look away in order to breathe. "Don't look at me like that."

Yvette chuckles, pushing my hair away to caress my face. "You are something, MC."

The sound of a vehicle driving towards us breaks my moment with Yvette. All available emotions of the girl are drained, soon replaced by a hard look that she wears when dealing with serious matters.

"It's business time," says Yvette, who stands up to welcome our visitor.

I follow her gaze to a large jeep parked a few distance away. The door to it swings open and black combat boots step out. I don't have to look to know who it is, but I do anyways.

Wrath comes into view with a face full of fury, similar to the blazing sun that's rising behind her.

Yvette's eyes flicker to me, then to the demons, commanding them to hold me in place. "Don't hurt her."

The demons growl disappointedly as Yvette approaches the ringleader.

"Look who's here to save the day," the green-haired girl starts, leaning her weight on her staff. "Can't stay away from your crush?"

"Hand over MC now," Wrath deadpans, fixing her brass knuckles in place. "Or you'll regret what's coming."

"Or what? Get punched in the face? It takes more than a black eye to stop me."

"How about snapping your neck?"

Now that's just brutal.

Yvette laughs wickedly, a low rumble that sends a chill down my spine. "Your true colours always show, Esperanza. You want to play saviour, but you can't help it, can you?"

Wrath breathes out a sigh. "You're always full of shit to say, Yvette. Your enemies will get bored of your grandma stories."

A hint of annoyance sweeps over Yvette's face, and she pulls out her cane from the sand, leaving a hole in it. Without warning, she launches herself towards Wrath.

She moves too fast for a human, and her fist is aiming straight for the ringleader's chest.

My stomach sinks when I think about the consequences of Greed's fire fist in Wrath's chest; where her heart is. Please don't do it, Yvette.

Wrath doesn't even flinch, as if waiting for the green-haired girl to strike her.

"Have you forgotten, Yvette? MC's heirloom is still with me."

Yvette visibly hesitates, her fist stops inches away from the ringleader. Taking this chance, Wrath drives her knee up to the green-haired girl's stomach and bashes the side of her face.

I gasp audibly at the impact, witnessing as the girl stumbles onto the ground.

"Yvette!"

Part 2

#lovestruck #yvette #yvette sin with me #sin with me #wrath esperanza #wrath #swm #yvette swm #greed #greed sin with me #yvette holte #lovestruck imagines #lovestruck short story #lovestruck one shots

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myheroaizawashota · 6 years ago

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[okay sorry these have taken me SO long to get into the grove of again, but have no fear! Why? Because I AM HERE! Also my tumblr draft box has taken a minor crap on its self and is for some reason coding things in HTML code when I go to write the request, so cute. We love that here! @gal-with-pastels Sorry it took so long but better late then never 😅😅]

Growing up with a quirk like yours was one of the most challenging things in the world. Aside from the fear you held for your own power, there was the constant torment and anguish that came along with your peers words as they taunted you for the villainous nature of you’re quirk. You never understood how a group of children could be so cruel, you never hurt anyone, nor did you plan to use this quirk for ill intent. You feared the power you held just as much as they did, and what people fear and don’t understand they tend to beat and exile. Growing up was hard, you learned a valuable lesson, it was easier to claim you were quirkless than to allow anyone else to ever know the power you held. While you always wanted to be a hero, you never accomplished the goal, who would want a hero like yourself anyway.

By the time you reached adulthood, the memories of your past seemed less familiar. Hardly anyone knew about the quirk you held, which played in your favor tremendously. While you never did become the hero you craved to be, you found other ways to help, and other ways to be close to that world. Taking a more behind the scenes route allowed you to mingle and meet all the hero’s you admired all through your younger years, and as chance had it, the love of your life. Never had you expected to meet such big league heros, though working at the top of the best hero agency in japan certainly helped with that. You could still remember the first time you were lucky enough to meet All Might. He was....everything the world pictured him to be and then some. He was charming and devilishly handsome with words that could make the muscles in your legs turn weak and gelatinous. That ever present smile of his could send your heart pounding a mile a minute whenever he casted it your way, blessing your day with it’s mere existence. It smacked you like a bag of bricks to the face when the number one pro hero admitted his feelings for you later down the road. Eventually the two of you dove head first in love, sharing little secrets and loving moments as your relationship progressed along. You’d even come to know the truth behind the muscles, the polar opposite of the well known symbol of peace. Though, through all the truths the two of you shared, you were never able to bring yourself to tell your lover about the curse that was your quirk. It was the only secret you kept from him, and it ate away at you.

As you walked along the dull lit streets of you’re neighborhood, arms threaded around one of Yagi’s, you couldn’t help but feel an ominous presence near by. Clinging yourself closer to your love, he couldn’t help but tilt his head, the proud smile he paraded around in fading to a look of confusion. “Abnormally clingy tonight darling?” He chuckled, the sound of his laughter spinning your fear into nothing but pleasant emotions.

You couldn’t help the smile that twitched across your lips, your eyes casted down as you tried to fight and ignore it. “I’m sorry Yagi, I’m just a little cold is all.” You couldn’t help the sigh that passed your lips. Truthfully, you were sighing at your own inability to be honest with the man. While he told you nothing but the truth throughout the years, all you ever did was with hold the truth from him and tell an endless series of white lies.

You were pulled from the self scolding lecture you’d been having with yourself in your head when you felt Toshinori’s thick muscular arm slither out from between both of yours. Confused, you watched as the overly inflated man you called you’re significant other began to unzip the jacket that hung tightly around his body, he draping the fabric around your shoulders. Leaning in he pressed a small kiss to the tip of your nose, his hallowesd eyes shining as they met with yours. “Well, were a few blocks from home, so hopefully this will help until we get there.”

You couldn’t help the guilt that riddled its way across your features as your hands tugged the jacket closer around your body. “A-actually it’s not just the chilly air bothering me Toshinori....I...can’t shake the feeling we’re being followed.” You whisper softly, moving closer to his side once more.

The edges of his lips twinged as he struggled to maintain his famous smile. He didn’t want to mention anything and freak you out, but he did as well sense the same dark presence that you did. Often nights he chose to walk the streets with you in his true form, but he was thankful when something inside his body told him to walk you home as All Might tonight. His massive palm moved to wrap around your hand, “everything will be fine, because I am her-“

Before he could finish the sentence however, a pair of unfamiliar arms wrapped tightly around your neck and head. You felt your chest tighten, as the dirt stained hands of the villain clasped over your mouth, his lips right at your ear as his eyes made contact with your lover. “Because what? You are here? Ha don’t make me laugh.” Forcefully, the villain tugged your body back, his eyes menacingly rolling your body over, tightening his hold on your neck as he grinned watching the smile began to fade off the pro hero’s face. “I almost didn’t recognize you walking around with such a pretty pet glued to your arm. I’ve got to admit All Might, i didn’t take you as the romantic type of guy.” The monster of a man laughed, he shaking you in his arms, causing your breathing to hitch for a moment. “Why don’t you and I play a little bit and maybe if you win I’ll let your little play thing go”

Toshinori was furious with how low this man would stoop just to get in some cheap shots as a way to boost his ego. Lips curling in disgust the pro hero agreed to the villains terms. “Let her go, and I will fight you.”

Your eyes shot with fear and panic watching as the horror before you unfolded. No, no! He couldn’t fight this villain, with your blood quirk you could feel the power the man restraining you held. Admittedly he was stronger than yagi was these days. Fighting with this man would certainly end his career if not his life! You frantically squirmed in the mans arms trying to warm the love of your life to disengage, but to your dismay all you got in return was a brave smile.

The man restraining your movements gave a low laugh, he uncovering your mouth to grab st your face, he squeezing your cheeks in on hand as he inspected you. “I think I’ll keep her for myself, nothing sounds better than kicking your ass and taking something away from you.” The villain purred moving to let his hands run over your body.

In defiance you let your leg extend out, meeting with your perpetrators shin, your snorting the snot from the back of your throat to lob into the others face. “Over my dead body!” You snapped back.

Growling the villain let his hands drop to your throat, constricting your air way furiously, his free hand moving to wipe your spit from his eyes. “I can arrange that!”

Struggling to breath you moved to pry his fingers off your throat, gasping as you failed. Your only relief was when Yagis fist collided with the mans face, causing him to drop your body to the pavement. You didn’t remember much else after that. The lack of oxygen to your brain was just enough to render you unconscious for the moment.

When you finally came to you, your brain felt hazy. You would have thought you were dreaming if it hadn’t been for the sight your eyes met with. You struggled to push yourself up on your elbows, eyes burning with tears when you saw your lovers body weakly struggling to hold himself upright. Clouds of smoke and steam began to rise from his shoulders, you knowing that he’d reached his limits. Horrified, you watched as the villain lunged to place the final blow onto yagi’s chin. You tried to scream out to stop the action, but your voice was to horse to scream. Doing the only thing you could do, for the first time in years you activated your quirk.

The pro hero had flinched in preparation to take the mans final blow, his heart pounding in his chest when the assailants body suddenly stopped in front of him. What was this about? The villain stood gasping as his body twisted in pain, he falling to his knees. With shaking hands, you clenched your first, causing the man under your hold to scream out in agony. “S-stop.....” you pushed out, earning the look of the bruised and bloodied hero.

You couldn’t tell if the look he was giving you was one of horror or one of disappointment, but regardless you couldn’t stand to make eye contact with him. Once the authorities arrived and the disaster was handled, you and toshinori continued your walk home in an awkward silence. You knew a lecture would be coming from the other, but you didn’t know when. Unable to hold his form any longer, the two of you made a detour into a nearby alley way. His muscles vanished and his body shriveled, a series of coughs ripples through his body. Those normally bright blue eyes that gazed at you with nothing but admiration suddenly staring back coldly. “I think you have some explaining to do Y/N....”

With a quivering lip, you looked down at the ground, moving to wrap an arm around your significant others torso, supporting his weight effortlessly. “I know....let’s get you home and cleaned up first. Then I promise I’ll tell you the truth. The whole truth....”

#aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #my hero academia #toshinori x reader #toshinori yagi #hizashi x reader #yamada hizashi #bnha requests #eraserhead #bnha aizawa #all might x reader

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ramheavenandhell · 5 years ago

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The Mortys and their Stories – Chapter 2: Shadow Morty

AN: Again, please read chapter 3 of "The Lines between Ricks and Mortys" first. The backstory of Shadow Morty. Warnings: violence, gore, character death, angst, misunderstandings (it's not a happy backstory)

The Mortys and their Stories – Chapter 2: Shadow Morty He was looking around, not knowing where he was. He wasn't even sure if he knew who he was. Everything was such a blur – happened so long ago – the memories having almost faded completely… "C'mon, Morty. Try harder!" he could hear a voice from not very far away. Morty. He recognized that name. That was his name, wasn't it? Yes, his name was Morty. He remembered. "C'mon, Morty. It won't take long. We're just gonna be in and out. Half hour tops." The voice of an old man told him excitedly. The man was dragging him to a weird vehicle, which looked like it was made out of trashcans and other garbage. He got into the passenger seat and buckled up while the other sat down in the driver's seat and started the car. With an abnormal familiarity, Morty watched through the windshield how they ascended into the sky and soon left earth's atmosphere to travel through the vastness of space… Morty was drawn out of his memory as he heard a voice that sounded like it belonged to him. Yet, he wasn't the one that was talking. It came from over where he had heard the voice of the man before. "No. Can't we just stop? I don't want to do this anymore, Rick." Rick… that name was also familiar… Yes, it was that man's name. The man from his memory. His grandfather. Yet, while nothing inside that memory gave him a bad association with that man, the name caused feelings of anger, of hatred and… of betrayal. Unbeknownst to the specter, his white eyes had changed their color to a bright, dangerous red. They ran. Something had gone wrong. Red lights were blinking and a siren sounded – an alarm. And they both ran. Rick and he. They were followed by creatures – aliens – that were armed and shooting at them. He wasn't exactly sure what happened then, but he heard Rick murmuring a curse and then he was shoved to the side, landing in some sort of alcove. "Stay there!" was all that his grandfather had said. Then Rick changed directions and ran another way and he could only look after his grandfather's retreating back as he left him behind. He had abandoned him… he had abandoned him so he could safe his own skin! Ricks were selfish bastards who thought that Mortys were replaceable and only cared about themselves!! An inhuman screech erupted from Shadow Morty and he charged at the image of his grandfather. "What the fuck?! No nO NO! WAIT!!" the Rick yelled in surprise. Nothing he said stopped the specter though. The Rick's Morty only screamed in horror as he watched his grandfather being lifted up in the air by shadowy limbs that looked like tendrils and then was ripped apart. Shadow Morty crushed the body of the scientist till it was nothing more than an unrecognizable, bloody lump of flesh. His eyes returned to their glowing white and as he looked over to his mirror image, he saw that the boy had fainted. The specter didn't pay him any mind. He had to do something. Look for something. Right. He was looking for something, but what was it again? He kept looking at the unconscious Morty who laid still and unmoving on the ground, hovering over him. Of course, he didn't want to be left behind. Did Rick think that he could just leave Morty here possibly as a distraction for those aliens who had been chasing them? He would have none of that. Morty scrambled to get to his feet and tried to dash after Rick. However, he didn't get very far. It was probably very stupid of him to not check first because he ran practically in the hands of the aliens. He was shot – first in the shoulder then in his legs – and he stumbled to the ground. The aliens didn't seem to be ones for taking prisoners because instead of arresting him, they just continued to shoot as he laid on the ground and they stood over him. He had died, hadn't he? There was no way that he could have survived that… Shadow Morty looked down on himself. He was nothing more than a floating shade. He had no physical form just swirling shadows that somewhat resembled the form that he used to have when he was still a living, breathing human being. "M-my body…" Where was it? Where was his body? Maybe if he found it something could still be done. He didn't know what though. Was he hoping that he could just go back into his body and be alive again? Or, did he think that he would be able to pass over to the afterlife or whatever was supposed to be there after you died? He didn't know. Wasn't sure what to expect. But he wanted to find his body – needed to find it! So, he hovered away again, leaving the mangled corpse of a Rick and his fainted Morty behind as if they meant nothing. As if nothing of what had happened back then mattered. Because it simply didn't matter. And still it wasn't just his body that he was looking for. Whether he was aware of it or not, he was also seeking out Rick – his Rick. Not necessarily to rip him into pieces like he had done with the other Rick, but to ask him. 'Why? Why did you abandon me?'

Of course, Morty couldn't know. Didn't know that his grandfather hadn't abandoned him. Not back then and also not now. Somewhere far off was a Rick. A dead Rick. His ghost was sitting in a corner, clutching at a photograph of his grandson. "Don't give up, Morty… I know that you can make it… at least you must survive… be better than me, Morty…" he mumbled over and over again. He was aware of the fact that he was dead. But he didn't care about that. His thoughts were all with his Morty of whom he hoped that he had made it out alive. He wasn't aware of how much time had passed since then. Not aware that his grandson hadn't made it that day. Rick had been running together with Morty from the Alferians. They were pretty pissed off because they had just tried to steal a compound that Rick had needed as a source of energy for a new weapon that he wanted to make. Of course, something had to go wrong and his grandson had successfully triggered the alarm with one clumsy move of his. So, they were trying to escape from the building, the armed aliens right on their heels and shooting at them. Rick wasn't stupid. He knew that the Alferians would shoot to kill. If they would get to them, they wouldn't hesitate to kill them on the spot. They just needed to get to the ship before that happened. Rick saw that a shutter opened at the side and knew that more Alferian soldiers were just waiting to charge at them and they wouldn't be able to get passed them even though this way was the direct escape route. Cursing under his breath, he realized now that there was probably no way for both of them to escape – not alive. So, he made the only choice that felt right to him at this moment. He grabbed Morty's arm and shoved him into a small alcove on the side. If the Alferians would follow him, they would probably not see the boy as long as he stayed put and then after they were gone, he could flee. So, he ordered Morty to stay there, hoping he would understand the plan without him having the time to explain it to him as he dashed back and around another corner, trying to lure all their enemies at once after him. He had to keep it up long enough till his grandson could make it to the ship and out of here. Trying to grasp at all the straws that he had, he fumbled for his portal gun and hoped that he somehow would be able to put a far enough distance between himself and his followers so that he could open a portal and escape to safety. And then maybe even back to the ship if Morty hadn't started it up yet. However, at the rate this was going he saw no chance when to use it. The plasma bullets that were shot from the Alferian riffles rained through the air and several kept grazing his arms and shoulders, but Rick wasn't willing to give up. Only after one shot pierced through his chest did he start to stumble. It slowed him down and so more shots were able to hit their target. More and more bullet holes appeared, the blood staining his white lab coat, blue sweater and brown slacks. Rick still tried to push himself, but he already knew that he was done for. The only thing that he could still do was to try to buy as much time for Morty as he possibly could. One of the stray bullets eventually hit his portal gun, destroying the green bulb on top of it. With that his last hope, his only chance of escape had been shattered and his fate was sealed. Finally, he collapsed on the ground and the Alferians went in for the kill, surrounding and shooting mercilessly at the unmoving human. Then green portals opened all of sudden around the squad of Alferian soldiers and in a mess of blasts, the aliens were all shot down. Rick Guards had emerged from those portals and began to check the Rick's corpse. "Confiscate his broken portal gun." One who seemed to be of a higher rank ordered. After the Citadel detected an anomaly in space-time thanks to the destroyed portal gun, his unit had been immediately dispatched to take care of the problem. As he looked around the area, he quickly noticed that something was clearly amiss. Addressing a small squad of four guards, he ordered. "You go and look for his Morty. He must be somewhere around here still." While the Rick Guards dutifully swarmed out to look for the boy, the rest of the soldiers started to drag the Rick's body through a portal to later dispose of him. It was the purpose of the Citadel of Ricks to ensure the safety of all Ricks throughout the multiverse and as such, it was also their task to make sure that no information about Rick-related technology would ever spread to third authorities especially not to the Galactic Federation. That was the reason why they had to clean up this scene thoroughly. Also, they would pick up the Mortys of dead Ricks so that they could put them into the reassignment program so other Ricks who had lost their Morty could get a new one. "What a mess…" commented the Rick Guards that had finally found the Morty that they were supposed to be looking for. They stood around the bloodied corpse looking with little to no affection down on it. Who knew how many dead Mortys they had already seen throughout the time that they served in the Citadel's Military. Since they knew that they weren't supposed to leave any evidence behind, they opened a portal and also dragged the Morty's body through it to later dispose of it. He would not receive a proper burial as he would have deserved, but more likely just a quick trip to the incinerator before they would throw his ashes into the dimension where the Citadel dumped all its trash. The guards couldn't know that someone was still looking for it…

At first when he came to, Morty didn't know where he was. He couldn't even retell for a moment who he was or what he had just done a moment ago. A loud yelp escaped him as he looked down and saw the bloody body of a boy. 'That's me.' He realized after a few seconds of staring in shock. It was only then that he noticed that he was floating above his own corpse. He took in the sight of his translucent body – a form that was not really physical, but looked exactly as he did when he was still alive, albeit completely see-through now and lacking his feet and legs. Not that he needed those seeing as he was just floating above the ground without the need to touch it in order to move around. He then recalled what had happened. The aliens got him and shot him. That was the last that had happened. But what was before that? He had been running and then been shot, but why did he run? Why did he not see the aliens who were able to hit him then? Right, he was running after someone. "Rick!" Ghostly Morty looked around in a panic, trying to remember in which direction he had seen his grandfather run off. Even if he was dead now, he still needed to find him. Maybe he wouldn't be able to fix him – Rick had said before that he can't cure death – but at least he wanted an answer from him. He wanted to know how he could just abandon him like that. And he wanted Rick to know what had happened to him. Wanting to weigh down on that little bit of conscience that must be somewhere inside the old man with the fact that Morty was dead now because of him. Because of his actions. And so Morty floated off, trying to look for Rick. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to find him – not in time anyways. Eventually, he gave up and decided to just suck it up and return to his body to pass on or whatever. What did it matter that he'll let Rick know what had happened to him? The scientist probably wouldn't even bat an eyelash. He could just imagine that uncaring face before he would be off to the Citadel and just get himself a new – a living – Morty. Even though it kind of hurt to think about it – though he couldn't pinpoint where exactly it hurt since he didn't have a physical body that could feel pain anymore – he knew that it was the truth. That was just how Ricks were in the end and why should he think that his Rick was any different from that. He managed to find the hallway that he passed after he left his body behind, but when he came to the spot— "It's gone!" His body was gone. There was only a large puddle of dried blood, the only proof that he was indeed at the right place and didn't just confuse locations. But how could that be? His dead body couldn't have just stood up and walked away.

Someone must have taken it!

Frantically he looked around, but couldn't find any trace of who had taken his corpse away or where it was taken to.

He had been wandering around the place, killing all the aliens that he had encountered on his way in hopes of them getting frightened enough of him to return his missing body, but he had no such luck.

He kept wandering through the building, all over the planet, through the universe, even moved between dimensions somehow.

And the more he wandered aimless through space and time, the more he started to loose of himself.

He started to lose his memories – slowly, one by one without him even noticing – and his ghostly appearance started to fade away to a mass of shadows.

Shadows that had been fueled by his disappointment in his Rick, the anger he felt from having been abandoned and left to die alone, the hopelessness of not being able to find what he was looking for.

In the end, he was merely a shadow of his former self, wandering forever lost through the dimensions until he would find something that did not exist anymore.

Part 12 of Entricked Fates

Chapter 1

Part 1 of Entricked Fates: Gotta Catch Me Some Morty

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Part 2 of Entricked Fates: Mortyfied and Rickfused

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Part 3 of Entricked Fates: Ricking the Routine

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Part 4 of Entricked Fates: Ricks will always be Ricks

oneshot

Part 5 of Entricked Fates: The Morty-Lover

oneshot

Part 6 of Entricked Fates: Second Chances AKA The Rick One For Me

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Part 7 of Entricked Fates: Rickvestigating the Morty Disappearances

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Part 8 of Entricked Fates: When the Morty’s away, the Rick will play

oneshot

Part 9 of Entricked Fates: It’s Not His Ricking Fault!

oneshot

Part 10 of Entricked Fates: I Ricking Hate My Life!

oneshot

Part 11 of Entricked Fates: The Lines Between Ricks and Mortys

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

#rick and morty #ram #rnm #rick #ghost rick #morty #shadow morty #pocket mortys #angst #character death #fanfic #fanfiction #hopesfanfictions #entricked fates

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turtle-steverogers · 6 years ago

Text

Mothman Unsolved

hi guys im laughing really hard cuz its 3 am and i wrote a fucking mothman au and its weirdly angsty but every time i typed ‘mothman’ i chuckled anyway lol enjoy

warnings: death, uh some panicking, a bridge collapses (this is based off the true events of the incidents yah oops)

ship: ralbert, past relmer, past spalbert

word count: 5576 im crying im so sad

November 17, 1966

“Let’s do something,” Race peered into his lover’s eyes, which were carefully masked by the darkness in the room, “Let’s go somewhere, live for a bit…” he trailed off for a moment, “be kids.”

Elmer pulled him closer to his chest, running a hand through his tangled curls, “I dunno,” he considered, heaving a breath, “M’kinda tired and it’s pretty late.”

Race propped himself onto one elbow, leaning down to capture Elmer in a searing kiss, “C’mon,” he whispered, pulling away just far enough to speak, his breath still ghosting Elmer’s lips, “Just for a bit?”

“A snake, Higgins,” Elmer said, sounding vaguely breathless, “You are a fucking snake.”

“So’s that a yes?” Race murmured, trailing a line of kisses from behind Elmer’s ear to his neck.

Elmer growled, “Fucking fine. Okay, yes.”

Race sat up, grinning as he bounced off Elmer’s bed and slipped on his shoes, “Great, let’s go!”

The drive was pleasantly invigorating as they sped along Route 62, the long stretch of road expanding in front of them. There wasn’t much in around the area, but it was theirs. Point Pleasant, West Virginia wasn’t known to be any large attraction. Rather, it was a small town of no more than 5,000 people where everyone knew everyone.

Neighbors never changed, townspeople never strayed. Everything was routine. Cookie-cutter. Imperfectly perfect in every way.

Race liked routine. He enjoyed the vacancy of the area and cherished the fact that nothing ever differed. It was oddly comforting knowing that no matter how fast life seemed to accelerate, leaving him breathless and scared, he always had the same home and group of people to surround himself with.

They sped forward, the road curving slightly as they entered the McClintic Wildlife Sanctuary. Race’s hand remained entwined with Elmer’s as he propped his feet on the dash, eyes wandering out the window and to the stars above. It was strangely warm for a November night, clear skies making way for thousands of visible stars and temperatures pushing towards the 60s. The two boys had long since abandoned their sweaters, relaxing with the windows down to allow the breeze to travel through the car.

“Ain’t we near the TNT Area?” Race asked, breaking the silence as they passed one of the old storage bunkers that scattered the area, leftover from World War 2.

Elmer hummed, glancing to the side momentarily before nodding, “I think so, yeah.”

“This place always rubbed me wrong,” Race commented as they passed another bunker, dug into the side of a ditch, “It’s downright unnerving.”

“We can turn around if ya want,” Elmer suggested, “we don’t gotta-”

He cut himself off with a gasp, involuntarily jerking the steering wheel to the side as what looked like two enormous red, glowing eyes materialized down the road. Race let go of Elmer’s hand, hastily taking his feet off the dash and placing them securely on the ground as the car’s wheels screeched against the pavement.

They were spinning. Fast. But the red eyes never seemed to move from in front of the car.

“Elmer, stop the car!” Race shouted, heart hammering in his chest. He willed himself to look away from the eyes and turned to his boyfriend, who’s gaze was transfixed on whatever was staring them down. His mouth was hanging open, but no sound was coming out. It was as if the sound had been erased from his vocal chords, leaving him utterly helpless.

“Elmer, love, look at me,” Race pleaded, reaching out to grab the steering wheel as they continued to spin at increasing speed. His stomach was flipping violently and he willed himself to hold down his dinner.

Elmer shook his head slowly, lifting one hand and pointing out the window. Fear spiked in Race’s stomach as he looked forward again, only to find that he was looking at what appeared to be a very large bird-man.

The creature was abnormally tall, landing somewhere between 7 and 8 feet. Its legs seemed to sprout far to the ground, disproportionately slim compared to its torso, which was wide and covered in feather-like fur. A large pair of wings, more similar to those of a bat rather than a bird were neatly folded behind its back and Race swallowed, utterly captivated. His eyes returned to the creature’s own and he felt his voice leave his body, brain turning to mush as he tried to form words.

Then, its wings spread and it glided upwards, wings staying stationary. Race’s awareness returned to him with an overcompensating gasp and he turned back to Elmer, who’s eyes appeared to be rolling back into his head. Race watched in horror as Elmer’s arms curled into his body as he began to convulse.

Race only had a second to scream as the car flipped on its side, Elmer’s head smashing into the driver side window. The sound of glass cracking echoed through the car, then everything went black.

November 17, 1967

Race sighed, hands curled around the mug of coffee he was nursing as he looked out over his front lawn. It was an overcast morning, the grey sky casting a gloomy mood over the area. It was as if the town was tired, sad, completely worn out.

Or maybe that was just Race.

He removed a hand from the warm, comforting ceramic of his mug and allowed his fingers to travel to his chest, where the locket that Elmer had given him still hung. He considered taking it off and opening it, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He hadn’t looked at the picture inside since before the events of a year ago.

He swallowed. It didn’t feel real. He couldn’t fathom that an entire year had already gone by since, since-

He huffed a breath, lifting the mug to his lips and taking a sip of the scalding drink, allowing it to ground him as the hot liquid traveled down his throat and into his chest. He winced, blowing out a breath to cool his mouth, but a part of him enjoyed the sting. It almost seemed to fill the hole in his heart that Elmer once occupied. Almost.

He stared out towards the town in the distance, watching as a traffic light turned from green to red. He flinched, glimpses of the horrifying creature and its awful eyes flashing through his mind at lightning speed. He shut his eyes, willing for the memory to leave. But he knew deep down that it would never.

He wasn’t alone in his experience, he knew that. Other sightings of that...that thing had been reported frequently throughout the year.

More reports of a creature with terrifying, red eyes, a large wingspan, and frightening speeds had been told and retold by those living in the area. It was every bit disturbing to Race as it was comforting. At least he wasn’t alone in his insanity.

He considered taking a walk, his legs itching to get up and move away from his place of solitude on his front porch. Standing, he chugged the rest of his coffee, placing the mug on the wood railing of his porch before traipsing down the steps, tucking the locket underneath his shirt as he walked off his property.

It was colder than it had been a year ago and he felt his teeth chattering as he drew his shoulder up, hands finding their way to his pockets. He watched his shoes hit the pavement, too worn to look where he was going.

It had been like that a lot recently. Small tasks seemed impossible. Simply lifting his head was too much to bear. Life seemed pointless without Elmer- his partner in crime, his other half, his secret and forbidden lover. He missed the thrill of sneaking out and stealing kisses, blind to the eyes of the town. It was a game. Seeing how far they could push their luck and limits without exposing themselves to unaccepting onlookers. But they loved it. God, did they love it.

Race pursed his lips, sucking in a breath around the lump of emotions in his throat as fierce longing thrummed through his system. He missed him so fucking much.

He hadn’t realized he was at his car until he was subconsciously pulling out his keys. He froze, catching sight of himself in the window. For a split second, he swore he could hear the sound of Elmer’s head making contact with the glass, the crack indicating the loss of his life reverberating in his brain. He shook his head, blinking. God, he was tired and it showed. Even in the shitty reflection he could see the dark shadows on his face.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, reaching down to pull open the driver side door. He climbed inside, anxiety bubbling up through his stomach and into the back of his throat, drying out his mouth and souring the taste on his tongue. It felt inappropriate to be driving then- as if he were betraying Elmer in some way.

Nonetheless, he jammed the keys into the ignition and steered the car with trembling arms onto the street. He drove numbly, unsure as to where he intended to go. That was a lie. He knew exactly where he was going.

Twenty blurry minutes later, he pulled onto the McClintic Wildlife Management Area. As the road began to curve, he slowed to a stop, nausea rolling in his chest. He could feel small spasms in his legs as anxiety turned to panic. Why did he come here? He knew he wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Abruptly, he lashed out, fist connecting with the hard leather of the steering wheel with a shout. He could feel tears painting his face, but he didn’t do anything to stop them. He needed this, goddamnit. Sobs ripped out of him- loud and agonising. He hunched forward, pulling at his hair as he tried to retain some semblance of control. But the grief was ruthless and all-consuming and he soon lost himself in it.

It was only when his sobs slowed to hiccups that he noticed the other car parked not far down the road. All breath left his body as he caught sight of the figure next to the car and he froze, eyes widening in fear. Not fucking again.

The figure turned and relief flooded Race’s mind as he recognized the shock of distinguishable red hair. It was a guy he’d seen around town. He was fairly certain he’d been in his homeroom the year previous.

The guy seemed to freeze momentarily as well when he caught sight of Race’s car, but he, too, relaxed when he realized that he was safe. They held eye contact through the windshield for an indiscernible amount of time. Bloodshot eyes peering into bloodshot eyes, a strange understanding emanating from one man to the other.

On a whim, Race turned off his car and climbed out. The guy kept his eyes trained on him, curiosity visible on his face. Race steeled himself, tentatively approaching him.

They stood, face to face, searching separately for what to say.

“It was here, right?” Race asked, voice low and sad, “You lost them here, didn’t you?”

The guy nodded, “Driving here at night. Almost a year ago. Saw that...that thing and then we swerved and the car flipped and...he was gone.” The guy’s eyes widened as he seemed to realize that he had just outed himself.

“It’s okay,” Race said, quickly, “I am too. Queer, that is.”

The guy’s tense shoulders seemed to deflate at Race’s words and he leaned back against his car, crossing his arms at his chest.

Race bit his lip, hovering awkwardly for a moment before leaning against the car as well, mirroring the guy’s position.

“What did you see first?” The guy asked, apprehension thinly veiled in his tone.

Race hesitated for a moment, eyes flicking to the spot where he’d first seen it.

“The eyes,” he muttered.

The guy nodded, “Big and red, right?”

“Mhm.”

Silence fell between them and Race forced himself to look away from the road where if he tried hard enough, he could still see the creature’s horrifying form. His stomach lurched as the whip-lash inducing, spinning motion of the car seemed to ghost over him. He shivered.

“Fuck that thing,” the guy said, malice biting at his words, “Fuck it for doing this to us.”

Race nodded, “honestly.”

More silence, then, “What’s your name?”

“Hm?” Race hummed, distracted, “Oh, uh, Antonio, but folks ‘round here call me Race.”

“Ah, you’re a Higgins, right?” The guy asked.

Race nodded, “Yup. What about you?”

“Albert,” the guy said, “Dasilva.”

“Right, right,” Race said, recognizing the last name, “Your dad owns the auto shop, right?”

“Yeah,” Albert said, “Gonna be mine soon.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah…”

Before he could help himself, Race asked, “Who was he?”

Albert looked at him, raising his eyebrows and Race stared back, guilt encompassing him.

“Sorry, sorry,” Race hastily exclaimed, “You don’t hafta-”

Albert smirked sadly, “It’s alright,” he interrupted, “It was, uh, Conlon. Sean Conlon, you know him?”

Race grimaced, “Went by Spot, right?”

“That’s the one,” Albert said.

“Yeah,” Race said, “was in my class for a few semesters in junior high.”

Albert set his jaw, “Yeah. Good guy. Kinda bruting, but sweet all the same,” he let himself look back towards the trees, deep in thought, “What about you?”

Race looked down at his sneakers, scuffing the ground with his toe, “Elmer, uh, Elmer Kasprzak?”

“Ah,” Albert sighed, “Yeah, his dad was a frequent customer. Also a good guy.”

“Definitely,” Race agreed, a heaviness hanging in the air between them.

“I miss him.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’m gonna find that thing,” Albert said, his voice taking on a new sort of determination, “and kill it.”

November 20, 1967

“Dasilva!”

Race approached the auto shop, sandwich bag in hand. He could see Albert’s legs poking out from underneath a 1964 Pontiac GTO.

A loud bang, followed by a resound, ‘shit-fuck!’, sounded from underneath the car as Albert apparently tried to sit up. A moment later, he slid out on his back, face screwed up in pain as he rubbed his forehead, where presumably, he had hit it against the car.

His eyes lit up nearly imperceptibly when he noticed Race and he smiled, beckoning him over, “Hey, Higgins, what’s up?”

“Ah, nothing. But here,” Race crossed to him, reaching into the sandwich bag and pulling out a grilled ham and cheese sandwich, “I broughtcha some lunch.”

Albert took the sandwich, eyebrows furrowing as he looked up at Race, something akin to amusement dancing in his eyes, “Thanks, but why?”

Race shrugged, pulling out his own sandwich and unwrapping it, “Dunno, really, just thought it’d be nice.”

Albert faltered for a moment, sandwich halfway to his mouth, “Yeah?”

“Eat it before it gets cold,” Race said, pointedly.

Albert chuckled, taking a bite of his sandwich, “Alrighty, thank you.”

Race chewed thoughtfully as he looked around the shop, taking note of the organized clutter. Some cars were suspended from the ceiling, while others were propped on the ground, but every car was in a different condition. Some looked pristine and new, complete with a shining gloss exterior. Others were completely wrecked to the point of unrecognizable, but every single one held a story.

“Do you like working in here?” Race asked, crumpling up the aluminum foil that previously held his toastie.

“Love it,” Albert said, scanning his eyes fondly around the garage, “I dunno, it’s just...calming, you know? Fixing things.”

“Calming how?” Race pushed, a strange part of him yearning to learn more about Albert- to hear what he had to say.

Albert took a measured breath, sorting through his thoughts, “It’s just,” he shook his head, placing his mostly-finished sandwich into the bag, “I’ve always loved it, like, working with my hands and being able to blow off steam that way. But after what happened last year with Sean, I...I was so lost and I felt so broken, you know?” he took a deep breath, composing himself, “The first thing I did was take the wrecked car here,” he pointed to the farthest corner from them where an old 1959 Ford Fairlane was displayed. The sides were still dented in some places, but altogether, it looked pretty stable, “Fixed it up as best I could and, I don’t know, it calmed me down.”

Race studied the car, letting the words sink in, “Was the car his?”

“Yeah,” Albert sounded distant, lost, “He loved that thing more than life itself. I don’t even know why, but it was sweet,” he paused for a moment, “I love it, too. It just feels like the last bit of him that I still got.”

Race fiddled with his locket, relating all too well, “Yeah,” he breathed.

Albert looked towards him, fixating on the locket for a moment, “That your piece of him?” he asked, nodding to it.

Race pressed the cool metal to his cheek, “Yeah.”

“Does it have anything inside?”

“Picture of us,” Race said, “But I haven’t opened it since before...yeah.”

Albert watched him carefully, “Open it when you’re ready.”

Race looked at him, a lopsided smile plastered on his face, “I will.”

They held eye contact, swimming in empathy, warmth filling their chests. For the first time in months, the cavity that Elmer had left in Race’s heart seemed to mend the tiniest bit.

November 25, 1967

A loud knocking at his front door awoke Race from his nap. He kept his eyes shut, allowing for his senses to return and distantly willing for whoever it was to go away. But whoever it was was adamant and the knocking only grew stronger.

Groaning, Race pulled himself off the couch and scrubbed at his face, stumbling towards the door, “M’coming, m’coming.”

As soon as he opened the door, a newspaper was thrust in his face. Race’s eyes snapped open, his heart leaping into his chest momentarily at the sudden movement, but he calmed down when he saw Albert’s red hair peeking over the paper.

“Jesus,” he croaked, voice still dripping with sleep as he grasped the newspaper, moving it away from his face, “hello to you, too.”

“Just read it,” Albert demanded, stepping inside the house without prompting and pointing at the headline, “there was another encounter with the thing last night. Some lady saw it in her yard.”

Race raised his eyebrows, speed-reading the article, “Mothman?” He said, cocking his head as he read the new term for the creature.

“Yeah, that’s how she described it, but think about it,” Albert’s hands were waving wildly at this point, “I don’t know exactly what you saw, but a moth isn’t so far off.”

Race looked up at Albert, realization dawning on his face, “Holy shit, you’re right.”

Albert nodded, an apprehensive glint to his eyes, “I say we go try and find the goddamn thing-”

“What!?” Race yelped, “Are you fucking insane-”

Albert held up a hand, silencing him, “Lemme finish. I say we find the damn thing and kill it.”

Race ignored the voice in the back of his head telling him to kick Albert out of his house and demand he never return with such idiotic ideas, “How would we even find it?”

“Okay, okay, so,” Albert pushed past Race, plopping down on his couch, “This thing is supposed to be a moth, right?”

Race eyed him warily as he sat down in the armchair across from him, “Yeah?”

“And moths are attracted to light, yeah?”

Race nodded slowly, “yeah...where are you going with this?”

“Shh, listen,” Albert’s leg was bouncing rapidly at this point, “we were both driving at night when shit went down,-”

“Oh my god, it was drawn to our headlights,” Race concluded, adrenaline ripping through his veins as the puzzle seemed to complete itself.

Albert clapped, a cheeky grin spreading across his face, “Exactly.”

Race leaned forward, holding his head in his hands for a moment, “Okay, how do we kill it?”

Albert seemed to stop short, “I’m not...entirely sure, but my dad’s got a couple guns, so that’s worth a shot?”

Race mulled it over for a moment, “Okay, yeah, I’ll do it, but I’ll need a bit to think this through.”

“Course, yeah,” Albert said, easily, “Come and get me when you’re ready.”

December 1, 1967

Race buttoned his jacket with vibrating hands, trying his best to mentally prepare for that night. He’d agreed to meet with Albert at the auto shop at 8:00 pm to search for the mothman, but he didn’t think he’d ever truly be ready.

He tried to focus on the grounding weight of his locket against his skin as he drove to the auto shop, his recollection of travel growing fuzzy as he neared it. The anxiety that had been present throughout the day was in full swing by the time he pulled up and he was grateful that Albert had offered to drive them to the TNT Area. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle being behind the wheel.

The prospect of willingly searching for the mothman seemed stupid, as if they were putting themselves directly in its clutches- walking into the belly of the beast. But closure seemed appealing and as terrified as Race was, the slim chance that he’d get to kill the godforsaken monster left a giddy feeling inside him.

Albert was sitting on the hood of his car, head tilted towards the sky. He didn’t look at Race as he approached, but he did shift over slightly, leaving room for him on the blue metal. Race clambered up next to him, crossing his legs under him as he followed Albert’s gaze to the sky.

“Stars,” Albert muttered, his voice low.

Race felt overwhelmed as he drank in the view of thousands of blinking specks, “Yeah.”

“There were stars that night, too,” Albert said, “So many of them.”

“Same with my night,” Race said, “It was a beautiful night, warm-”

“-Clear-”

“-Free-”

“-Perfect.”

They looked at each other, eyes glistening and hearts hammering.

“I’m scared,” Race admitted, breath hitching.

Albert reached out and cupped Race’s jaw, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. Race reached up and grabbed his wrist, holding on for dear life.

“I am, too,” Albert whispered, “Let’s do this for them.”

Race nodded, “For them.”

The drive was completely silent, save for the sound of both boy’s slightly too fast breathing. The nervous energy in the car was nearly suffocating, but Race willed himself to take a few exaggerated breaths as they neared the TNT Area.

The panic that had resided within him left a lump in his throat, threatening tears, and he gripped the center console, trying to calm down. Albert was chewing on his bottom lip, a breathless sigh leaving him every so often. It was clear that he was also barely keeping it together.

Somehow, Albert’s hand found Race’s and they grasped each other tightly, eyes never leaving the dark road ahead of them.

Then, they saw them. The glowing, red eyes, stark and shining in the bitter, black night. The world muted for a moment as Race’s stomach seized up, utter and absolute dread eating him from the inside out.

“Fuck,” He heard Albert breathe, “Shit, fuck.”

“I see it, too,” Race said, finding himself unable to look away from the enthralling eyes. It was as if the creature cast a spell on him, preventing him from wavering his stare.

All of a sudden, the creature took off, gliding flawlessly vertically. Albert cursed again, accelerating the car until it was pushing 95 mph. Race lost track of the red eyes, but soon, a creeping feeling tingled the back of his neck and he turned to the side.

Horror slammed him so hard he couldn’t even scream as he made eye contact with the creature, directly outside his window. Albert must have seen it, too, because a moment later, he shouted a curse and made a sharp turn, hoping to lose the mothman.

But it stayed on their tail, never losing speed as it ran beside their car.

“Albert, fucking speed up, fuck!” Race shouted, chest heaving as he tried not to throw up.

“I know, I’m trying!” Albert hissed, a panicked lilt to his tone. He sounded as terrified as Race felt.

Albert made a sudden U-turn, screaming as he tried to keep the car under control. They sped along for what could have been hours, but in reality was a few minutes, until the red eyes disappeared, no trace of the creature in sight.

Albert slammed the breaks, frantic cries escaping him. In the commotion, their hands had parted and Race reached a shaking hand over to Albert. Albert immediately clasped their hands together and lifted Race’s knuckles to his lips, trying to control his breathing.

“Hey,” Race murmured, trying to keep his own tears at bay, “Hey, look at me.”

Albert shook his head, breaths coming out short as he continued to cry.

Race reached his free hand up to brace the back of Albert’s neck, which was slick with sweat. He massaged it soothingly, taking a few deep breaths of his own.

“Shhh,” He cooed, squeezing Albert’s hand, “We’re safe, I promise.”

“We’re not, though,” Albert interjected, finally looking at Race. Their terrified gazes met each other’s, “We’re not as long as that thing is alive and we didn’t get a chance to fucking kill it.”

Race felt his adrenaline ebb away and he choked, “I know,” he said, “I-” he shook his head, “I don’t think we can kill it.”

Albert looked back towards the street, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

December 10, 1967

Race and Albert’s legs were tangled together under warm sheets, shadows dancing across the walls in Race’s bedroom. They had spent nearly every night since their latest encounter together, too paranoid to be without the other’s company.

Race stared at the ceiling, heart too heavy to drift off. Albert was resting across his chest, fast asleep and looking at peace, something Race was thankful to see. Neither of them had spoken about the incident, but the dark cloud of apprehension followed them relentlessly wherever they went.

Questions of their safety hung in the air, withering their sanity from the inside out, but they tried their best to move from day to day, carefully avoiding any news of further encounters.

The town was in chaos. Everyone had their stories and no one was safe. The mothman didn’t discriminate. Everyone was fair game for a sighting and it seemed that as the days crept along, nights passing quickly, more and more people fell prey to its peril.

A soft whimper from Albert brought Race back to the present. Concerned, he peered down at Albert, who’s face seemed to be screwed up in fear. He ran his fingers through his hair, hoping to calm whatever dream he was having, but his condition only worsened.

With a gasp, Albert awoke, his arms tightening around Race briefly before he scrambled to a sitting position. He looked wildly around the room, pupils blown wide in panic as he neared hyperventilation.

“Whoa, hey,” Race said, crawling forward and placing a hand on Albert’s knee, “He’s gone, he’s not here.”

Albert shook his head vigorously, gulping in air in an attempt to gain oxygen, “Water,” he rasped.

“You want water?” Race asked, gently.

“No,” Albert was clawing at his throat, “There was,” another gasp, “So much- fuck- water.”

“Where? Wait, you know what? Tell me in a second,” Race pulled Albert’s hand away from his throat, massaging his palm, “Gather yourself and then tell me what happened, yeah?”

Albert nodded, tucking his head between his knees as he tried to calm down. Race crouched next to him, diligently rubbing a hand down his back and continuously kneading his fingers until he was significantly calmer.

After a few minutes, Albert lifted his head, dazedly looking around before slumping into Race’s chest.

Race held him tightly, “What about water?”

“I was drowning,” Albert said, voice worn, but scared, “it was so cold...and...dark and there were...presents everywhere and...I don’t know. I couldn’t breathe.”

Race squeezed his bicep reassuringly, “It was only a dream, alright? You’re safe.”

“But what if I’m not?”

Race shifted so that he was looking into Albert’s eyes, “You are, I promise, okay?”

Albert glanced to the side, “okay.”

“Wanna try sleep again?”

Albert tucked his head into the crook of Race’s neck, “Please.”

Race guided them so that they were laying down and situated Albert back onto his chest, “I’ve got us.”

December 15, 1967

Race was running, feet hitting the ground hard as he willed himself to go faster. He needed to get to the Silver Bridge, he needed to get to Albert, he needed to find him before it was too late.

Stories of those who had dreamed of awful occurrences, which were soon followed by tragedy, had been frequenting the news lately and each and every one had a common thread: those who had these dreams had seen the mothman mere days before.

As Race neared the bridge, the sounds of cars honking reached his ears and he froze, awestruck as the clutter of cars that lined the bridge from end to end. The seemed to be stacked horizontally, bumper to bumper. The road wasn’t visible beneath the vehicles and Race’s gaze shifted through the crowds. Albert was somewhere in there, and he had to get to him before something bad happened.

He could feel it. The ominous lurking of catastrophe blowing in the frigid, Winter breeze. He wasn’t sure exactly what was going to happen, but it wasn’t anything good.

He stepped foot on the bridge, beginning to weave his way through the cars, but stopped dead when an awful creaking sound rang out directly above him. His head slowly turned up, mouth hanging open as he scanned the cluster of steel cables. They were taut, vibrating, working against every ounce of physics to stay put.

“Shit.” Race swore, head snapping back down. The goddamn bridge was going to collapse.

He began to run, pounding on the windows of pedestrians as he passed different cars, shouting for everyone to, “Run! Get out of your cars! Get off the bridge!”

Whether or not people listened, Race didn’t know. His mind seemed to tunnel on one target as he searched feverishly for Albert’s car, which was nowhere in sight.

The bridge gave a sickening groan and people screamed. Race willed himself not to stop running as he slid over hoods of cars and snaked between those who were running.

The sound of the bridge straining grew louder and Race could feel the panicked sobs rising in his throat. He couldn’t do this again, he couldn’t lose someone else.

He clamped his hands over his ears as a deafening crack echoed behind him. It was happening now. The bridge was going to fall.

He was distantly comforted by the fact that Albert clearly wasn’t in the center of the bridge, but he couldn’t help but look back as the middle crashed downwards, bringing cars down with it.

He gasped, unable to look away as the crevice seemed to grow, steel and metal barreling towards the water. It was nearing him, he was going to fall with it. He was going to-

A pair of strong arms wrapped around his torso as the bridge around him crashed down and he could hear a scream that matched his own echoing behind him as he plummeted towards the inky, black water.

The water was freezing and he could feel his lungs constrict as he was submerged. He kicked out, turning his body so that he was facing the person holding him.

Albert. Thank god.

Race held him back, both boys using conjoined efforts to kick to the surface, away from cars and bridge debris. Christmas presents floated around them, and suddenly, Albert’s dream became clear. It seemed to take hours, but eventually they made it to shore on the Point Pleasant side of the bridge.

They collapsed on the grounding, chests heaving and bodies shivering as adrenaline seeped away, leaving them cold and scared.

Then, they were hugging, holding on for dear life as they came down from the high of yet another near death experience.

“Jesus Christ,” Albert muttered into his ear, “Did that really just happen?”

They broke apart and Race held his face in both hands, numb fingers brushing over blue parted lips, “I don’t fucking know.”

Albert surged forward, capturing Race in a kiss. For a moment, Race felt warm, a spark in him igniting- a simple flame burning against the bitter cold. He kissed back, trying to convey every ounce of love and fear and sheer understanding into that singular action.

They were alive. They were safe.

January 1, 1968

Albert and Race trudged through the snow outside Race’s house, watching as their new adopted dog, Queso, bounded in front of them.

The events of the year previous still followed them like a shadow, but they were grounded. Since the collapse of the Silver Bridge, mothman encounters had ceased, no longer plaguing the people of Point Pleasant.

Things were far from okay, but as Albert and Race healed together, their love grew stronger.

They were okay.

anyway i guess thats what i get for watching too many mothman documentaries this weekend lolol

had to add queso in there somewhere

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

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