#Hit it against the wall. Clawed at the locks. Tried using a crowbar. nothing worked.

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Excuse me while I lay face down on the floor thinking about subject: Gordon frantically and desperately trying to claw the hev suit off of himself.

By the time he realized the suit was the source to the pain it was already too late. The suit had already began fusing to himself; clawing it off at that stage would have been the same as him tearing off his own flesh and muscle. The locks were designed specifically to prevent him from taking the suit off by himself anyway. There was truly no chance he could have torn it off of himself with nothing but his bleeding, burning hands.

Yet, he tried. Tried and failed, just as he tried and failed to scream.

[whyareyoureyesblack]

All His Boyfriends are Dead pt7

 Pau’s cemetery was very small and located on some very private property outside the town where Pat’s graveyard had been.

The drive over was filled with jokes and laughing stories, Pat almost instantly slipping into the conversation the others started. The light teases made Tord feel like they were all old friends, catching up and bonding over the slight sneer at Tord’s poor choices or his cuter moments. Tord excused his slow driving and glossy eyes on the embarrassment, but that only seemed to encourage them. By the time they reached the gated property, it seemed that every single of Tord’s entourage agreed that Tord’s hair seemed way too unruly and long, though Pat, Todd, and Matt fondly stated that there was no rush, that Tord looked good with longer hair, that not many could make the long horns of hair look as nice.

Edd ruffled Tord’s hair when Tord finished zipping up the duffel bag, sneaking the bag under his arm yet again. Tord flashed him an unamused look that didn’t work too well with how his lips twitched into a smile, and Edd brushed a skeletal hand to touch the light bruises on his cheek. The cold bone and dry flesh felt good against the throbbing, but Tord waved him off with a laugh, telling him to stop fussing.

Matt stole the shovel from the truck when he gave Tord a quick hug, and Tord remarked that he didn’t revive them to dote on him.

Tom let out an obviously sarcastic gasp. “And here I thought you woke us up to wipe your ass and call you master.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed, Tom.” Tord teasingly said.

“That is a very specific fantasy,” Todd noted.

“It’s not even his weirdest one,” Matt announced, his arm around Tom’s waist with the shovel on his other shoulder.

“How is being a zombie slave not his weirdest one?” Edd was laughing.

“We’re not talking about this!” Tom interrupted Matt before he could speak again, and the quiet air was full of peels of laughter.

“Oh, Tom, come on,” Tord began, unable to hide his grin.

“Yeah. Nothing says ‘grave robbing’ quite like discussing the kinks of the dead,” Todd teased with such a casual tone that even Tom bit back a smirk.

“Okay, no, we are not diving down that rabbit hole,” Tord snickered, grabbing hold of Pat’s hand and stepping up to the gate. Tom, Matt, and Edd complained jokingly, and Todd was shaking his head.

Pat quirked a slightly rot touched brow, “Would a stiff-y joke be too on the nose?”

Tord choked on a laugh, and it seemed Pat opened Pandora’s box. The rest of the way to the grave was filled with terrible puns, sex jokes and dead sneers. A few groaned at the bad jokes, but it seemed everyone found the situation paired with the awful teases to be a perfect combination for giggles and friendly shoves.

Tord ended up leaning on Pat, unable to walk straight with a bloody cloth tied hand slapped over his mouth to keep down his gaffs of laughter. Pat helped him not trip, holding his shaking arm, and his smile became easier to show with every moment.

“Sure, but I’m telling you guys, it’s not gay if he’s dead.”

“That’s a shame-”

“Edd, Pat, oh my god, I love you, but I can’t breathe- We’re here,” Tord stated, lightly swatting at Pat’s arm as he stepped away, towards a stone building. He became somber, staring at the familiar thick doors.

“A crypt?” Todd questioned.

Tord nodded, leaning his hands against the old, cold wood door and feeling icy stings in his split fingertips.

“How rich was this guy?” Edd was obviously staring at the stone pillars at the front.

Tord jiggled the handles a bit, before shoving. When it didn’t give, he pulled back and rammed his shoulder at the center of the double doors. They swung open with a horrible creak, and Tord stumbled. Only when the dust, and thick clouded smell flowed with the doors, did Tord finally speak.

“Pau came from old money- But his family wasn’t exactly nurturing, and they had been strained when Pau had died. They were only ever possessive of him after he passed, and had him buried in the family mausoleum. It was the most contact they had with him since they kicked him out of their house when he refused to follow his father’s footsteps,” Tord righted himself as he spoke, swaying a bit until he balanced himself on the thrown back doors.

Inside was a narrowed hallway of cold walls in marble and name plates, a window of stain glass high above, and a cold stone floor. It felt freezing inside, barren and empty even if it was protected from the midnight breeze. Tord waved a slightly shaky hand for the men behind him to follow.

“Lovely people,” Todd muttered, pulling his hood off.

Tord didn’t bother looking at names of people he never knew, just walking to the near end and reaching out an aching hand to touch the carved letters of his lover. He wasn’t sure exactly what to blame his head-rush on, but he leaned his heated forehead to the name, just like he had many times before. It eased the dizziness slightly.

Tom was the first to speak upon entering the small cold building, “Wait, if this guy’s in the wall, how are we going to get him out?”

“We could… pry it open? I mean, it’s just a cover, right?” Matt mused curiously, leaning against the opposite wall and not feeling the chill of the marble coated walls.

Tord shuffled up to Edd, and wordlessly unzipped the bag as Edd stared at Matt for a moment.

“How do you know that?”

Matt shrugged, “I was supposed to be buried in a mausoleum too- my parents really wanted me to pick it out and everything- but I told them I wanted to be buried in the same cemetery as Tom.”

“Also, he’s not a moron,” Tom added, “Did you just think they dipped the coffin in marble or something?”

Edd seemed to scowl under his bandanna. He didn’t even look as Tord riffled through the bag under his arm. “No.”

“Holy shit, you did.”

“Guys, this is not helping,” Todd broke in calmly, looking thoughtfully at the marble carved marker.

“There’s a keyhole,” Pat changed the subject, pointing at the small steel lock at the corner with a stitched finger, “Maybe we can pick it?”

“Hm. Do any of us know how to pick a lock though?”

All of them shook their heads. Tom crossed his arms over his chest, “We could probably break it off with the shovel?”

Matt made a noise by sucking air through his teeth. “That doesn’t mean it will unlock, Tom-Tom. Then we could just be stuck here trying to break this open with a shovel. Which, honestly, I doubt would work well at all- Hold on, if we’re not digging, why did I bring the shovel anyway?”

“Loves, don’t worry,” Tord said, bringing out a heavy piece from the duffel bag, the cold metal stinging his fingers, “I already planned for this.”

The rest of them stopped, and Todd made a surprised, uncomfortable sounding noise.

Pat was the one that tried asking, “Is that a crowbar?”

“Yes. Now, please step back.”

Matt and Todd offered mild complaints, but were guided back by Tom and Pat, so that Tord could stand before the name marker.

With little hesitation, Tord reared back the heavy metal and swung it down on the pristine marble. It chipped with a solid sound, but didn’t crack the hard surface much. The bar was up and cracking back into the marble before Tord even took another breath, then he hit it again. The loud sharp connecting sounds between the metal and the marble filled the air for maybe a full five minutes. By the time Tord’s crowbar finally broke through, his arms and head were throbbing in time with his heart and he was sweating. With the clawed end of the crowbar, Tord pulled out the large uneven chunks of the broken marble and they clattered to the floor.

“This is probably the weirdest time to be reminded of how much I love you,” Edd wondered aloud humorously, and Tord let out a laugh.

“We use the shovel to pry open the plastic cover,” Tord huffed, stepping backwards a bit, and letting Matt step forward with a skeptical look. Sure enough, without the marble shutter, there was still a solid place of thick plastic preventing them from reaching the coffin.

“You did your research,” Matt complimented aloud. He used the shovel to scrape out the last marble bits that were in his way, and then carefully leveraged the edge of the spade into the corner where the plastic was set in stone. Tom walked around Tord to help Matt, and, as he and Matt tried to jimmy the cover out of socket, Tord felt cold hands grab his arms. He didn’t even notice himself faltering.

“You didn’t have to go that far, Tord. You’re breathing so hard,” Pat’s concerned voice rang in his ear, and Tord smirked.

“One of us could’ve done that for you, especially if you’re this tired,” Todd said, his fingers brushing some of Tord’s sweat touched hair back.

Tord huffed in a way that could be a chuckle and could be a gasp for air, playfully worming out of the hands holding him. “Guys, I’m fine. Ha, I fell in love with such worriers.”

Just then the hard plastic cracked at the pressure and the shifting, and Matt took full hold of the shovel to pop it the rest of the way out. Tom looked over his shoulder, perhaps to tease or mock Tord, but his expression suddenly seemed concerned.

“Tord. Your nose is bleeding.”

Tord sniffed, standing up straighter, his mind seemingly blank. The rest of the men paused, Matt stopping just as he pulled out the plastic cover with a rot hardened hand. The hands on him turned Tord around, letting the other men see the streams of red dripping around his mouth and off his chin.

“What?”

In a second, Edd was digging through the bag under his arm, his voice coming out almost scolding as he restated, “You’ve got a bloody nose. Hold on-”

Tord’s free hand came up and his uninjured fingers touched above his lips. Confused, he looked down at his hand, and stared dumbly at the glossy red dripping down his blistered fingers. He cursed and slapped the hand back over his nose, feeling the heat that he had mistaken as sweat before now touch his knuckles. The hand holding the crowbar tightened and he winced.

Todd helped tilt Tord’s head back, trying to lessen the flow or perhaps just prevent it from staining the floor.

“You pushed yourself too much.” Todd’s cold, thin and skeleton bared hands felt like a relief on Tord’s sweaty jaw.

“Your fingers are bleeding again too. Like all over the place, oh my god,” Tom said sharply, stepping next to Todd and reaching for Tord’s other hand, “You idiot, give me that stupid crowbar.”

The second Tom pried the crowbar from his hand, Tord became aware of the way how the cloths over his fingertips were soaked, dripping red onto the metal and onto the stone ground.

“Tord-!” Matt started, sounding panicked as he nearly dropped his shovel when trying to prop it up beside the exposed coffin, the tip of the spade hitting the ground with a sharp noise. Pat busied himself with picking up the lantern from where it sat on the floor.

In a blur of moments, Tord was fussed over with only minor complaints or attempts to brush it off. He was led to sit down on the opposite wall of Pau’s now open crypt, where he dealt with Edd holding cloths under his bleeding nose as Matt and Todd made sure that his head stayed tilted back. Tom messed with Tord’s throbbing fingers, where he cleaned them off quickly and redressed the deep slits with not only clean bandages, but also covered them with more small clothe ties. Pat was the one that went the extra mile and helped Tom continue to wrap up more of Tord’s blistered hands, even though Tord said it was overkill. Still the slight relief of his blisters being covered helped him catch his breath.

“You guys really are overreacting- a bloody nose is nothing to get this concerned about,” Tord tried not for the first time, almost laughing at how worried they all were over such a small thing but his voice was muffled from the way his nose was being covered, “I used to get bloody noses all the time as a child, this is nothing.”

“Bleeding everywhere is not nothing,” Pat answered sharply, but Tord just snorted. He placed his hands over the clothe under his nose, moving it just so.

“Bleeding from a few cuts and my nose is nothing to be worried about! Look, I think it already stopped-”

“That’s only because we had you sit down, dumb ass. If you had it your way, you’d still be up and bleeding all over the place while giving this rich stiff a fucking wake up call.” Tom had stepped away once he finished dressing Tord’s hands, and was now glaring from beside Pau’s exposed coffin.

“You know what I think? I think you revived us just so we could make sure you don’t get yourself killed. I know I had to talk you out of a bunch of stupid shit when we were dating,” Edd remarked, brushing Tord’s hand away to move the cloth himself. When he noticed that Tord actually seemed to be right, the blood had stopped coming at some point during the pushy minutes that the rest of them doted on him, Edd focused on wiping the last red streaks from his lips.

Tord chuckled, wincing a bit, “That’s probably true. You all brought out the best in me.”

“Sweet talk isn’t going to get you anywhere,” Pat stated, one of his stitched fingers flicking Tord’s forehead.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Matt said fondly.

Tord spent a few more moments convincing the lot of them to let him finish reviving Pau, being met with more complaints than he expected. It was only when he agreed to let them pull out the coffin that they seemed to be more accepting, especially after Tord took a deep breath and stated seriously that he had made up his mind to get everyone back, and when he said everyone, he meant everyone. This resulted in some flat stares from Edd, Tom, and Pat, and defeated sighs from Matt and Todd. They obviously knew not much could stand in his way.

Tom and Edd pulled Pau’s coffin from the wall, but Todd and Matt had to step in to help angle it properly so as not to just drop it on one of their feet. Pat stayed beside Tord where he had dragged the silly horn haired man over to the door, holding his arm in case Tord lost his footing and keeping a close eye on him. Figuratively.

As the four dealt with the coffin, Pat leaned down until his thin sickly colored lips brushed against Tord’s ear. Quietly, he said, “If this becomes too much, we could always get the others back some other day.”

Tord swallowed, but didn’t look away from the coffin.

“I’ll be fine. A little exhaustion and bloodshed is worth having you all back tonight- I promise.”

Pat let out a breath, placing a quick kiss to Tord’s temple. Almost as if he knew Tord’s head was hurting right there.

“Let’s keep this little. I’d hate if you just brought me back to watch you hurt yourself.”

Tord shivered, and threw a tired, sad smile at Pat.

“It’ll be fine, pet.”

There was a heavy clang, making both Tord and Pat jump.

Matt nearly shouted, “TOM, you can’t just drop him!”

“It’s not like he can even feel it! He’s still dead.”

“So insensitive!” Edd cried dramatically.

Todd laughed, struggling to lower the casket without it slipping. “The longer I’m alive, the more disrespect I see inflicted on the dead. This night is getting way too morbid for me.”

Tord let out a snicker, lightly touching Pat’s stitched fingers in a comforting brush. Quickly, Tord stepped further into the mausoleum, up to the dark wood coffin that was slightly crooked on the ground between the other marble covered crypts.

When Tord threw open the coffin, neither Edd or Pat seemed entirely thrown off, but Tom and Matt both winced and Todd once again backed up behind Edd.

Pau was more put together than all of them, his flesh enact and a dead pale gray shade, bruised with red tinged rot. The rot came like freckles of peeled skin, just spots and lines parting over dark rotten muscles, the skin discolored under the patches like morbid blush. His remaining skin seemed tight, showing off streaks of rot like wrinkles or tattooed lines. Messy, thinned dark hair fanned around his head. His lips were thin and a thick liquid was leaking out like drool, his head rolled back to show holes in his jaw and along his throat. The flatness at the chest and stomach let Tord see that his skin was more eaten away under, his organs liquefied and not holding the space out. Even his hands seemed mainly together, ignoring the spotted rot peeling the flesh at his knuckles and his fingernail-less fingertips. If not for the smell and the unnatural looseness and thinned skin, Pau could almost be seen as a person in makeup, asleep.

Edd made a bitter noise and muttered that it was unfair that the rich guy also got to look the most alive.

Tord chuckled, stating that he didn’t mind much, and asked for the jar. As he went about spreading out the roots and herbs, Matt offered almost endearingly that Edd pulled off the whole skeleton look rather well. Edd scoffed, but didn’t really complain.

Pat took the jar, then the water bottle, and was the one that watched especially close when Tord slit open yet another fingertip with his coffin nail ring. When Tord tried to just wrap it up with cloth, Tom slapped the back of his hand.

Tord tried to play it off, but he ended up sitting down before Pau’s coffin, Todd pulling out the candles while Tom grumpily wrapped up Tord’s bleeding digit with bandages. Tord teased him, and Edd joined in with good nature as he handed Tord his book. Tord insisted on lighting the candles himself, actually snatching up any helpful hands and kissing them before throwing them out of his way. Which resorted in calm complaints from Pat and Todd and Matt, but Tom almost pointedly placed thin pulled lips to Tord’s head before he stood out of the way. Edd just laughed.

The hands above lit candles and the chanting proved too much for Pat to be civil with, almost stepping forward or speaking up a few times as the rolling stinging words echoed in the cold room. But he was held back, ever so slightly calmed, by Matt grabbing his hand and smiling comfortingly, and another time by Tom just nudging his side and offering a cynical smirk.

Tord’s body openly shuddered as he spoke, and his eyes burned, feeling like he was being blinded by the light coming from his own eyes. At the end of the chant, Tord gasped and wretched his hands back to him, feeling like they were burned and singed. He had tears in his eyes again and his mouth felt like it was full of needles.

There was no noise from Pau, but he was suddenly jolting up in his coffin, mouth agape and dripping pink and black liquid into his lap. His pit eyes seemed dull, seemed endless and flat under thinned brows. His hair was an absolute mess, falling into his face sharply when it used to fall with a bounce.

“-Tord?” Pau rasped, voice broken and confused. Scared.

Forgetting about the lasting sting of his hands, Tord lowered them and smiled tearfully.

“Hello, Pau. How are you?”

Pau hesitated a moment, before moving one of his hands up to his ribs, holding it there.

“I’m… alive?”

Tord winced, and Todd had to stop Edd before he said anything, placing a hand over the bandanna.

Still, the movement or the noise that Edd managed to make still caught Pau’s attention, and his head snapped up higher. He stared at the group behind Tord for a long minute, not saying anything. Tord threw a look over his shoulder and offered a sympathetic frown at Pau.

“Not alive.” Tord responded, slowly pushing up onto his knees. He didn’t care when the cold stone ground made his knees ache, and just moved to the coffin. “I’m sorry, sweets. There- There was a robbery at the store you went to, and they shot you. I’m so sorry, but you didn’t make it. The doctors said you would, but they were wrong. I knew they were going to be wrong. I’m so very sorry, Pau, I really am.”

Pau’s voice was breathless when he repeated, “Shot?”

His hands shook as he pulled at his shirt, ignoring the suit jacket, until he managed to undo the buttons and the old stiff fabric fell back to reveal a molted stomach. Gray- red flesh flattened stomach spotted with discolored rot, up to exposed peeking ribs. Dark old stitches from an autopsy pulled at the skin up to his chest in a distorted Y. Another long stitch line ran along the lowest of his ribs, rotten back with a jagged hole. A bullet wound.

Tord started at it, tears slipping from his aching eyes easily.

“They tried to operate. The doctors said the bullet shouldn’t have anywhere vital, it shouldn’t have ruptured all that it did. But luck wasn’t on your side, sweetheart. My- curse wasn’t.” Tord had to swallow passed a lump in his sore throat in order to get out the last sentence.

Pau didn’t even touch the stitches, just stared uncomprehendingly.

“Your curse?”

“Yes. Don’t you remember it? The same one that killed Pat and Matt and Tom and Todd and Edd- The one that kills everyone I love.”

“Your curse… did… this?”

“It killed you, years ago- I. I’m the one that brought you back now. I-I brought you back to life, Pau, because I can’t- I couldn’t stand my curse taking you all from me.” Tord’s tone was edged with desperation.

Pau looked again at the people behind Tord, seeming to make the connection. Pau let his shirt fall closed over his stitched up chest. He stated flatly, nervously, “I didn’t think your curse was real, Tord.”

Tord sniffed and nodded, fumbling around for the water bottle.

“That’s alright, I knew you didn’t. Doesn’t make up for it still getting you, does it?”

“You brought me back to life? With… magic or?”

“Technically magic, yes. More so necromancy. I covered every other base I could before I came to this conclusion, sweets, I swear.” Tord’s voice broke, almost as raw as Pau’s, but he held out the bottle with a small smile.

Pau ignored the water bottle, his dead hands quaking as they raised up slowly to frame Tord’s face. His body made soft creaks as he moved. Tord leaned into the roughed cold hands, feeling Pau’s spotted fingertips catch the loose tears. After a moment of quiet, Pau shifted closer until he could bury his face in Tord’s shoulder, hands clutching at Tord’s sides.

“I. I don’t know how I feel about this,” Pau stated haltingly.

Tord instantly curled his arms over Pau’s back, ignoring the stiffness of the suit. “It’s okay! You don’t have to know right now. I know this is insane- I don’t expect you to be fine with it right away.”

“Damn right it’s insane.” Tom’s slight grumble didn’t even sway Pau’s hold on Tord, but it did gain Todd’s attention.

“Oh, hush. Not everyone is going to wake up from the dead ready to punch someone like you.”

“I feel like a live studio audience,” Edd stage-whispered, earning a snort from Matt.

Matt sounded scolding, “There is no such thing as a good reunion with you guys, is there?”

“Don’t loop me into this,” Pat said casually, “I had quite a good reunion with Tord after I shoved him in a hole.”

That earned stifled laughter from Tom and Edd, and a swat on the shoulder from Matt.

“By god, we’ve all gotten really morbid and we’ve only been un-dead for not even a full night,” Todd noted, almost sounding appalled, but also sarcastic.

“Guys,” Tord started loudly, tone stern but not cold, “Please don’t make dark jokes while Pau’s still coming to terms with it. He’s always been an anxious bear, I don’t want you guys to make him worry more.”

Matt, Todd, and Pat all muttered apologies, and Tom respectfully laughed under a hand before stepping away to the doorway of the mausoleum, dragging both Matt and Todd by their arms. Edd said nothing but he nodded to no one and went forward to put out the candles.

Tord focused on Pau, still curled up to his front. He lightly smoothed Pau’s hair back and held him close.

“How have you been?” Pau asked in a sort of lost voice, as if he didn’t know what else to say, and Tord pressed a kiss to Pau’s head. Tord could remember always being the one curled up to Pau, but it felt nice to have it reversed, sort of familiar.

“It’s been very difficult these passed years. I already lost so much by the time you died. I didn’t know if I could stand getting anyone else killed. Then I didn’t know if I could stand being alone. I tried to find solutions for the curse and I never got any results. I tried once more to be with others,” Tord spoke in a hallow tone, sounding more tired and sad with each word, “But that ended like everything else has, right after I let myself love them… It’s much better now, starting tonight. This black magic stuff, it’s the only thing I found that works. And I’m so grateful to get you all back. I’m so happy to see you, sweets. Just- so happy.”

Pau pulled back a bit, hands returning to Tord’s face. “Don’t cry… Tord. I’m happy to see you too. I really am-”

Tord kissed him, desperate and sad and relieved. Pau hesitated for maybe a moment, then he kissed back.

“-This is just really weird,” Pau started the second they broke apart, “Like really, really weird. I mean- I’m a zombie now? And-”

Another kiss interrupted Pau’s worry.

“Tord, really? What did I say at Matt’s grave?” Todd complained, but was ignored. When Tord pulled back, he was laughing.

Tord kissed Pau again, rebellious at Todd’s complaint, Pau returning the pressure instantly and then pulling away to continue with, “You’re a witch? Also, you’re kissing me, and I think this counts as necrophilia-” before Tord broke him off with another peck on the thin lips.

“That’s probably true,” Pat agreed calmly, and Tom let out a bark of a laugh.

“You’re just messing with the balance of life and death, so that’s also probably really bad. I mean, there aren’t armies of the dead for a reason-”

“Pau,” Tord finally used his words to stop him, a shaky laugh slipping out, “You have good concerns, but they can wait. There’s three other men I have to dig up and introduce you to before the sun rises. Also, you haven’t even drank this yet and your throat must be hurting you.”

Pau stopped, and glanced at the bottle Tord held out to him.

“What is that?”

Matt was the one that announced happily from the entrance to the mausoleum, “It’s a potion!”

“It stops you from rotting,” Todd explained further, slipping off the backpack and walking it over to Tord.

Pau looked at them, then back at Tord, who nodded in agreement. With an unsure look, Pau took the bottle and slowly uncapped it before taking a drink. Then he drank the entire thing much quicker. Tord could see where the liquid seeped at the spots of rot on Pau’s cheeks, then soaked right into the flesh. When he finished drinking, Pau seemed much better and he spoke with the much smoother voice that Tord remembered.

“So those guys back there are who I think they are?”

“Let me formally introduce you,” Tord smiled, digging through the backpack to find some clothing. With very casual, and warm words, Tord pointed out each of his lovers, and named them, recounting subjects that he had told Pau before.

For a moment, Pau didn’t seem to know to get dressed, but he took the hint when Tom asked if Pau wanted to walk around in that tux forever.

A large soft coat was slipped on and zipped, but Pau then hesitated, seemingly uncomfortable with getting up. Edd laughed and told him it would be alright to walk around without pants, like him, and Pau stared at his mainly bone legs spotted with green peeled flesh. Pau suddenly seemed interested in changing into the sweats Tord had brought him. Tom laughed, but Edd just shrugged casually.

Pau patted down his coat and pants and finally stepped free of his coffin, though he glanced back at it uncertainly.

“What? Did you like being dead more?” Matt asked with a smile that would take out any bite. Pau shrugged, putting his rot touched hands self-consciously into his pockets.

“No. I was just wondering if my parents would be more upset that I’m about to disappear or that you guys just ruined really expensive marble… Probably the marble.”

Tord slipped a scarf about Pau’s rot spotted neck with a warm laugh, double looping it first and then giving Pau a quick kiss. Unlike Pat or Todd, Pau didn’t seem to want to complain.

Pau hesitated at first when they left the mausoleum, looking up at the dark clouded sky. Tom and Edd jokingly asked if he was alive back there, and Pau snapped out of his thoughts to find Tord waiting just a step or two in front of him, eyes gleaming. Pau huffed out a sort of loose chuckle and slipped his hand together with Tord’s. He stuck very close to Tord’s side as they left.

—

the consequences are beginning to show, yo u  

[mortvivanthqs-blog]

welcome to the outpost, galileo “leo” morgan, we’re sure you’ll find the place accommodating. frank dillane is now taken! please review our checklist and send in your account within twenty-four hours!

🡶 OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME lee

AGE 21

TIMEZONE est

PRONOUNS they&them

🡶 IN CHARACTER:

NAME galileo “leo” morgan

FACE CLAIM frank dillane

GENDER & PRONOUNS cismale, he&him

BIRTHDAY october 17, 1995

BIRTHPLACE atlanta, georgia

JOB(S) field leader, runner

KILL COUNT 4

ANYTHING ELSE? part of original group

🡶 BIOGRAPHY:

before the times of hunger, blood, and the dead walking the earth, leo was far from the hardened survivalist others now recognized him to be. he’d had it all— grades good enough to warrant him a scholarship for the programming course he always dreamed of being in, a loving family, decent money. on top of that, he was nothing short of an absolute whiz kid when it came to numbers and logic; thinking outside the box came naturally to him, and it was obvious in his coding.

he had dreams, you know? big dreams, like developing video games for his favourite studios, and creating a name for himself. he’d always had a passion for gaming; through his childhood and into his young adult years, it’d be something that stuck with him. every new game that came out was something he was itching to try, and he couldn’t rest until he’d beaten it.

he’d joined teams at his college, and played with the best of the best the school could offer. went up in championships against other schools, since in the twenty first century, e-sports were a valid competition. league of legends, overwatch, starcraft— anything he could use strategy to excel in, he practiced for hours on end ‘til his hands were claws, and his eyes stung. through keyboards with worn off letters and graveyards of monster energy drinks, he finally started to get somewhere.

soon enough, he’d caught the attention of talent scouts; this was sure to be a joke, wasn’t it? sure, people made careers out of pro gaming, but it never happened to just any average player. only the best of the best ever became something. and yet, here leo morgan was, faced with a choice.

finish school, or join the pro leagues? he was only halfway through his program when he got the call, but leo knew himself to be an all or nothing kind of man. sure, this dream was one he never could’ve imagined himself living, but it was now or never.

a few tense conversations over brunch with his parents later, finally, leo was practicing with the pros. and after that, months of grueling training later, he’d be debuting in the nalcs with his league of legends pro team. the national finals, broadcast and all. he was getting paid for this now, and all of it had barely begun to sink in.

they’d won, time and time again, beating team after team. he felt alive.

months passed, and soon a year; he spent half his time with his league pro team, and the other half with his overwatch crew. travelling for championships, accepting more victories than losses. streaming in his free time for the semi impressive following he’d built. aren’t you proud of me, mom? look, i’ve finally made something of myself. i can go back to school when it dies down; make a life-long career out of this.

his dream still stood, but of course, the world had other plans. at the peak of his career, everything he knew— hell, everything everyone knew, fell to pieces. and quite literally at that.

looking back at when the world ended, he at least thanked god that he’d been heading home at the time. he was a millennial that rarely checked even the news section of twitter, let alone cnn or any other reputable information source. spotify instead of the radio, the like. he gamed for a living; he was far from responsible, and only sheer luck had found him headed back for atlanta between competitions and practices.

of course, when traffic started to get chaotic, he grew a little suspicious. an emergency alert on his phone; was it that fat thumbed orange president testing the emergency broadcast system again? hell, he needed to focus on the road, because shit only got crazier as minutes passed. twenty minutes on the highway out from atlanta, stuck in bumper to bumper traffic, he finally checked his phone.

outbreak. mass casualties. national emergency. people were warned to stay in their homes, protect themselves, and wait for the military. fuck, was this some zika shit again? ebola?

turning on the radio, he finally sobered. news casters were frantic, packing up their things, and leaving home to their families. sobbing on open air. the end of the world, they said. it was finally here.

ever a skeptic, leo’s mind was finally changed once he started to see the reason for the standstill traffic before him. people getting out of their cars, running, screaming. bloodied victims chased them, gnashing their teeth; dead looks in their eyes. sinking teeth into flesh, and ripping. chewing. devouring. bodies that fell, and reanimated in minutes, but… different. leo had played enough zombie games in his time to recognize what was happening, and he knew he needed to get out. fast.

he’d been lucky enough to be driving on a shoulder, in sight of his exit, so he did what he knew he had to; taking a sharp turn, wheels on grass, he floored it. toward the exit, and up the ramp as quick as his car would take him. tunnel vision to the destruction around him; everything was in slow motion. he was in shock, but none of that mattered when he had a family to get home to.

of course, he should’ve known that the city would be as bad as it was. it was… pure chaos. drivers swerving off the road, people running through the streets in terror. some alive, some… otherwise. he’d run into one of them, as he sped down the street to his family home. got caught on his windshield, and fuckin clawed at the glass. dead eyes. he slammed the brakes to send it flying, and choked on bile as the squelch of what he’d run over hit his ears.

finally, against all odds, he found his way to his home. haphazardly parked, locked his car and forgot about all of his shit, because fuck, something wasn’t right.

their front door was wide open, and running inside, he heard it. snarling. screams and shouts. sounds of struggle. a neighbour who had been a friend all their lives now gnashed and grabbed at his father who struggled; his mother tried her best to hit the thing, but it had him trapped. they’d heard him come in, and to this day, what followed still made leo sick.

“galileo!”

leo stood frozen in the doorway, mind blanking on everything that made him who he was. the world was ending. the undead attacking his family. everything was… gone.

finally, he had the sense to run upstairs and grab the family’s shotgun; his fingers fumbled with the ammo to load it, but once he’d run downstairs, he’d found out it was… quickly becoming too late.

pointing with no sense of accuracy in the direction of his old neighbour’s head, he pulled the trigger. he’d have heard the brains hitting the wall if not for the screams of his father who was rapidly losing blood. torn flesh dangling from his body, and the look of sheer terror in his eyes. the undead assailant’s corpse hit the floor, though leo could hardly see it for the tears in his eyes. streaming down his face.

this was it. this was the end.

dropping the gun, he rushed to his father. blood covering his hands, his mother in hysterics to his right. he tried to stop it. some… desperate attempt to save him, but in his gut, he knew how this would end.

“mom… we’ve gotta stop it. he’s suffering. i’ve seen what happens after this; he’ll turn… turn into… one of them.”

his father had been the first human he’d taken down; blown his brains all over the carpet so he’d stop suffering, and never come back as one of those… things.

the second, his mother.

they’d been searching for supplies together; she had always been physically fit, so they saw no sense to separate when it came to working toward their survival. they’d been smart enough to stray toward the outskirts of town, working their way out as quickly as they could. the dead were too dense in the city’s core, and it was no longer safe.

they were raiding a mom and pop convenience store together when it had happened; at first, it was simple. get in, then get out— never stay in one place too long. however, they’d forgotten to do a thorough check of the place before scouting it for supplies; one of the undead caught them by surprise, and… crash. a scream from his mother resounded.

they’d downed him, but the struggle had knocked down a shelf and… fuck. they were absolutely fucked.

the horde of walkers once hidden had been attracted by the noise, and soon, the small store was packed with them. fuck. fuckfuckfuck. leo struggled to free his mother’s ankle from under the metal shelf; it looked well mangled, and he felt sick, but this was a matter of life or death.

he tried to usher his limping mother toward the back door, and shit, they’d almost made it. one of them had been… fast enough, and had grabbed onto her hair, and she’d gone down. he… hesitated. froze, and for two seconds long. the other half of them were after him, and he made a split decision. an ugly decision.

he left her. heard her shrieks. i’m sorry, mom.

a day later, after waiting for the horde to clear out in a nearby building, he decided he had to face it. whatever was in there, he’d need to fight. their weapons were in there. their rations. he wouldn’t have been able to survive out there without them, so crowbar in hand, he found his way back into the convenience store.

one down. two. the third that came from the back.

his supplies were in sight; he was quick to collect his shit back into their backpack and book it out of there, but… no. no. it couldn’t be.

a snarl resounded from behind him, and turning around quick as a whip, he saw it. saw… her. half of her face shredded. limping on one foot, and dragging her rolled ankle behind her. milky white eyes.

to this day, leo still remembered having to bludgeon her skull til it finally cracked, and she fell limp on the ground. he was an orphan now. both of his parents had died by his own hand. he was… a monster.

from that moment, leo’s emotions were under lock and key. he wouldn’t think about it. he wouldn’t remember. he wouldn’t wonder… what would have happened if things were different.

he grew colder as months passed; pilfered goods from small travelling groups, never looked back. travelled west on foot; there was little room to travel east in georgia, anyway.

his third was a man who’d robbed him of all his belongings; he found where he’d set up camp, and killed him in his sleep. his fourth was someone who he’d gotten into a… disagreement with along his travels. taken his gun once he’d shot him, and everything he carried on him. moved on toward his next location. casualties were a fact of life now that the world had ended. he spared no emotion. there was no time.

he’d gotten better with a gun; call of duty zombies was surely no substitute for training in the real world, but he supposed his general knowledge of weapons through gaming had helped him. he was an impeccable shot; it’d saved his ass countless times, and through sheer dumb luck, the ass of the man he’d soon know to be the leader of the group that took him in.

somewhere deep in louisiana, he’d found a charming man with a group of people, and a church over their heads. leo convinced himself it’d be a temporary situation, but as he grew more fond of his company, he decided to stay. help them gather supplies in exchange for amenities, and eventually, find a new outpost to call home; for now, anyway.

always looking forward, and never back. he couldn’t afford to anymore.  

[wisenedup]

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11440851

     “... We’re square.”      “Then get th’ fuck outta my town.” Bill’s voice almost broke again, but he stiffly turned his back. He couldn’t deal with the sympathy on Joel’s face, the pain. He couldn’t let himself feel anything. He would not let Joel to see the pain that he was in. He told himself that Joel hadn’t already seen how many times he’d nearly cried today. He told himself that Joel didn’t give a shit. It was better that way.     Expression carefully stony, Bill opened the door to what was once a post office. This was a safe way back into town; that’s why he’d had Ellie drop him off here. From the post office, it wouldn’t be much trouble to get back to the bar. From there, the path was clear to his church was clear- he and Joel had made sure of that earlier.      Behind him,  he could hear Joel as he walked back towards his truck and... the girl that had almost gotten them killed. The truck that had gotten Frank killed.     His spine went rigid. Nausea gripped him, grief.     Sparing no glance to the team behind him, he threw his bag into the dark building and followed it inside. The thud, the rattle, as it hit the ground was oddly comforting. The glass of the door rattled as he slammed it. Breathing heavily, he pressed his back to it. His emotionless mask twisted into a grimace of sorrow. There was no sound except for his labored breath and the idling of the engine outside, the crackle of tires on loose pavement, and then just his breath. The rumble of thunder in the distance, vibrating through his bones.     “... Was that how you fuckin’ felt, Frank?”     Once he was sure they were gone, he sank down to sit on his ass. His breathing hitched. The weight of the last few hours pressed down on him in a way that he could hardly bear. Frank was gone. Actually gone, dead. Not coming back. Not somewhere he could save. The last fucking thing he had left, gone.     I want you to know I hated your guts.     “Well f-fuck you, t-too-”      Bill didn’t need the letter. The dispassionate words, written in Frank’s untidy hand, were burned into his memory. Your stupid town. Set-in-your-ways attitude. Wanted more. You were right. Better than spending one more day with you.     A hand covered his mouth but a cry broke past it. Frank’s dead, sunken face was stuck in his mind. He couldn’t stop hearing the thump as his shriveled body hit the ground. He could see the way Frank’s body sprawled on the floor.      Tears filled his eyes and that was it.       Everything he’d been holding in came crashing out, loudly and messily. Not giving a damn if the infected heard him- the thunder, the rain, drowned him out anyway- Bill curled up over his knees, sobbing into his arms. Emotion tore through him, clenching his lungs, tightening his throat, turning his ribs as unmoving as steel. He couldn’t breathe. Weight pressed down on him, crushing him, digging into his shoulders, his chest, his stomach.     “Fu-fuck you, F-Frank!”

    On some level, he’d known his partner- fuck it, no one was around to judge- his lover was dead. Not just gone, dead. He’d imagined it four-hundred ways just last Sunday. Torn apart by infected. Killed by hunters. Dead of starvation. Caught in another trap, in another town. Gunned down by FEDRA. Slaughtered by bandits. Died of a wound he couldn’t treat. Crushed by debris. But seeing his body strung up like that… it was all too real. Frank was gone and he was never coming back, died because he wanted to get away from Bill. Bill had been so intolerable that death was preferable. It was what Bill had always tried for, but... not with Frank. Never with Frank.      “Goddamn idiot!”     Sobbing openly, he wiped at his eyes even as grief tore through him. His shoulders shook, his ribs ached, his lungs heaved. He cried with his entire body, rocking. They hadn’t been perfect, but they’d been something. And now they were nothing. Bill was alone. Joel and Ellie were going… somewhere far, judging by the fact they risked his life for a car. They weren’t coming back; they’d be dead in a few days. And Frank was…      He could see Frank’s face, delighted and teasing, the first night they spent together. He could see Frank’s face, sad but excited, when Frank told him he was moving away for his last year of high school. He could see Frank’s face, disbelieving and relieved, when they found each other in Pennsylvania. He could see Frank’s face, tired but content, as they worked on barricades. He could see Frank’s face, furious and exhausted, after their last argument.     He could see Frank’s face, gray and shrunken, laying on the floor in that house.     His kukri dug awkwardly into his thigh from where he’d sat on his bag and he ripped it from it’s sheathe, hurling it across the room. The metal clanged across the floor and, tearfully, he looked up to follow it. Night had fallen, and the weapon was hidden in shadow.     Sniffling, wheezing, he turned on his flashlight. The blade on the floor glinted, and he tried not to think of the smile Frank had worn when he’d gifted it to him. The excitement and pride Frank had glowed with, asking Bill if he liked it. Explaining that was why he’d kept Bill out of the west warehouse for days.     Resolute, breath still quivering, body still aching, Bill got to his feet. He’d run so much today that his feet felt as though they were crumbling in his boots, but his heart hurt worse.      He wiped the tears and snot from his face as he grabbed his bag, shouldering it. He sniffled and set his jaw as he snatched the kukri off the ground and slammed it back into it’s spot in the bag. He only halfway listened for infected as he strode out the back door and turned towards the bar. Rain fell from the sky in drops as fat as Bill’s tears. Lightening streaked across the sky. Thunder shook the town.      The one stray clicker that tried to bother him had it’s head blown off, and he was gone before anything else noticed the sound.     Slamming the door of the bar shut behind himself- just barely remembering to relock it- he threw his shotgun down on the counter. Nearly crying all over again, he raked his fingers through his hair, pacing furiously. Everything was so much. Everything was too much. Grief, regret, anger, betrayal, burned through him, clawing at his insides.     “Y’ hated my guts, huh? My way of doin’ shit? Of keeping us fuckin’ safe?! I k-keptcha a-alive for y-years! Th-This is what I g-get?!”      He swung out a foot at one of the bar stools, cursing as his toe connected painfully with the metal leg and it went tumbling across the room. “Stole my battery, stole my shit, stole my hea-” He choked back the words, sobbing all over again, and cleared the counters with a scream. It felt like his heart was being shredded.     Turning towards the windows, moonlight streaming in between the cracks in the boards caught his eyes. His gaze were drawn to chess board sitting untouched for months- years? he didn’t know any more- on the table. Bearing his teeth, his expression twisted from anguish to anger. He’d been saving that game for Frank. Waiting for Frank to come back, to take his turn. Frank wasn’t coming back.       Bill leaped at the table and overturned the board in a violent motion. Chess pieces scattered across the table and off of it, clacking as they hit the wall or landed on the floor. The hollow sounds echoed the way his heart felt as it thudded against his ribs.     “Fuckin’ gotcherself killed, y’sonnuva bitch bastard! Just fuckin’ like you, too!”     Shotgun forgotten, he ran from the bar. Ran up the stairs, spilled through the windows on the upper floor. Thundered down the stairs, through the bakery. Struggled with the bakery door, slammed it, locked it. He could hardly see, but that was okay. They’d cleared this section of the town only hours earlier. The worst danger he would be in was tripping over one of the infected corpses, slipping in the gathering puddles.     He could barely see to open the locks in his way, and only remembered to lock them again through sheer force of habit. Some last stupid will to stay alive, to keep himself safe.     Winded and crying all over again, he thundered down the stairs into the cellar. The sound of the cellar doors slamming shut echoed around him. No light penetrated the darkness except for his flashlight and the lantern, which had burned low. He ignored it, blindly grabbing items from the pile nearby. Items that had been theirs. His and Franks. Memories tied intrinsically to Frank that he just couldn’t get rid of. Comics and magazines Frank had shown him with a laugh. Cassettes they had found then listened to all night long for some variety from their voices, their breath, the ominous creak of settling buildings, the distant moans of infected.     Arms laden with poisoned memories, Bill marched up the stairs to the main floor. He stormed through the sanctuary, steps echoing across the with the thunder outside, to where the back window was still open to the world. Rain lashed the roof outside. If the sun hadn’t set yet, rolling storm clouds completely blotted it out. Lightning flashed through the sky, outlining the school’s scoreboard. Thunder shook the church’s foundation.     “Together til the fuckin’ end, huh?!” Comics and magazines went flapping into the air. Cassettes clattered across the roof and rained down into the mud below, but Bill was already jogging back downstairs for more.      The closet under the stairs was his next target. He tore the boards off with a crowbar he kept lying nearby, jerked the door open. Boxes of Frank’s shit- stuff Frank had collected, enjoyed- and shit from Frank- gifts- lay stacked inside. He tucked two under his arms, and a bottle of whiskey, and stomped back upstairs. He threw himself against the window sill, leaning partially out into the gale. He grabbed fistfuls of things and threw them blindly outside, with various ravings against his lover. A shot of alcohol burned down his throat for every fistful of garbage that went out the window.     “I would have done any…!”     He froze, choking on his tears, as his fist found a heavy book. His heart twisted into painful knots as he recognized the shape. He almost threw up, because he knew what was inside. The anger withered into a tiny, painful pit in his stomach. Exhaustion crashed down on him. His entire body ached.     Taking the book and his mostly-empty bottle, he stumbled to his room. He nearly falling the whole way, muttering to himself as he wiped tears from his face.      He didn’t so much fall into bed as he did collapse into bed, like an old tree finally bent low. He landed painfully on his pistol, and tore it’s holster off of his pants, while nearly spilling his whiskey. The gun landed, heavy, nearby. Moonlight glinted off the surface, but he ignored it, blurry vision focused on Frank’s old book.    Opening it with surprising care, after the violence he had displayed to Frank’s other possessions, he flipped to the spot marked by a faded Polaroid. He steeled himself, gasping and heaving, before carefully removing it and flipping it over.      Frank and himself beamed up at him from the old photograph. Arms looped over each other’s shoulders, Lincoln’s town sign peeked over their shoulders in the background. The first time they’d reached Lincoln together, after the outbreak. A simple heart was sharpied in on the white border, a B and an F on either side. Out of tears, he could only sniff and huff as he stared at the photo, grief narrowing his vision to a single square.     “T-til the end, huh?”     His hand exchanged the whiskey bottle for his pistol.