#I feel really bad. I know it will pass but Christ Alive | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

girlgenius1111 · 10 months ago

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with a high comes a crash.

barcelona femeni x reader

Alexia heard the sirens. Rationally, she tried to convince herself that it wasn't you. You had only left a few minutes ago, and the sirens were still pretty far. It couldn't be you.

Then the sirens got closer. And closer. And Alexia thought she was going to throw up. She couldn't decide whether to call you or not, afraid to distract you while you were riding if you were fine. She told herself that she was just driving to the dealership after you to give you a ride home. That was all.

She probably shouldn't have been driving, hands shaking as she turned the car on and pulled out of her driveway. The sirens were still loud, and she followed them; not because she was trying to, but because that was the direction she knew you'd been going.

When she turned the corner, and saw the accident scene a block down, she pulled the car over, and got out. She ran the distance towards the wreckage, slowing to a stop when she got close enough to see what was going on. Alexia surveyed the scene. First she saw a car that didn't look very damaged. There was debris on the road, though, and she followed it to find a bike on the ground. Your bike.

It looked mangled, crushed, and Alexia had to take some deep breaths, feeling like she might pass out. Once her vision cleared of black spots, she look back up, and she found you.

Well, what she assumed to be you. An obscured form on the ground, halfway across the intersection from the bike, surrounded by paramedics. The blonde was frozen for a minute, and then she wasn't, running forward at full speed, shoving past anyone who got in her way, until she was a few feet away from you. A paramedic rose from next to you, approaching her.

"Miss? You shouldn't be over here," he said somewhat firmly.

Alexia could only make a choked sound come out of her throat, eyes trained on your face. Your eyes were shut, blood covering the left side of your forehead. You looked so small, so fragile. Alexia clenched her fists, needing to keep it together.

"Miss, are you okay?" The paramedic asked, moving closer to rest a hand on Alexia's arm. She was swaying slightly, and completely pale.

"Is she okay? Is she alive?" Alexia croaked out. The paramedic looked closer at her, before his eyes widened. He did a double take, seeming to recognize you now that he knew who was standing in front of him.

"She's pretty banged up, but she's breathing." It wasn't very reassuring, but Alexia let the words wash over her, nodding her head. She forced herself to calm down, to act rationally. They were securing you to a backboard, strapping you into the neck brace. They were preparing to move you to the ambulance, and Alexia moved to follow them.

"I will go in the ambulance." She declared, and no one really bothered to argue with her, instead directing her to wait for them to get you settled, before gesturing for her to climb in with you. There was only one paramedic back there with you now, getting you attached to all sorts of machines. Alexia got her first good look at you as she sat down shakily on the bench. Her hands hovered over you, wanting to take your hand in hers, but unsure if she could without hurting you.

"You can hold her right hand," the paramedic said. She didn't really look at Alexia, but her voice was kind. Alexia wrapped your hand up in her larger one, as gently as if the the whole limb was broken, ready to crumble into a million pieces. Or maybe, that's just how Alexia felt.

A beeping sound jerked Alexia out of her thoughts, and she looked up to see your heartbeat on the monitor. She tried to figure out what it meant, what the little zigzags meant, but she was a footballer for christ sakes, and she didn't know if the little spikes were good or bad. She decided that they were good, that they meant that you were breathing, regardless of if anything else was going on.

Alexia was silent, gripping the seat under her as the ambulance weaved in and out of traffic. The paramedic seemed to be done attaching you to things, and she placed a piece of gauze on your forehead, holding it there before she looked up at your captain, and addressed her.

"She was moving around a little when we got there, so we're confident her spine is intact. Looks like both of her legs are okay. Pretty bad road rash on the left side, but nothing internal. Her ribs are a different story, the impact with the car has left a few broken. Her left arm is broken, too, probably in multiple places, from the impact with the ground. She was smart, and she had a helmet on, so while her pupils indicate a concussion, it could have been worse. It could have been a lot worse." As she spoke she pointed at different parts of you, explaining to Alexia what the bruises and cuts on you meant. Your left leg did look awful, scraped and bleeding. They'd cut your shirt off, and your abdomen was already turning a nasty shade of blue. The bleeding on your head was stopping, and you looked somewhat more comfortable. Alexia asked the question you knew you'd want her to ask.

"Her legs are okay? Really?" It seemed impossible to her, that the rest of your body could be so beaten up, but your legs were just scraped up.

The paramedic nodded, a bit of a bewildered look on her face. "Somehow, yes. There are no indications of any broken bones, and she was moving them around until she passed out. I don't... I don't know how. I've never seen an accident of this magnitude be so mild."

Alexia felt a shudder run through her at the statement; if this was mild, if this should have been worse... She shook her head. It wasn't worse. You were okay. You were okay. The paramedics studied Alexia for a few seconds before speaking again.

"I'm not supposed to say this, but you can relax a little. All indications are that she'll be alright. Banged up, yes. A few painful months in her future. But it's a miracle that she's alive, and an even bigger one that she isn't more injured."

Alexia let out a shaky breath, feeling like she could have leaned over and kissed the paramedic at her words. She appreciated the kindness she was showing her, the information she gave Alexia, that she wasn't really supposed to. The ambulance was slowing to a stop, and Alexia could hear raised voices approaching the doors.

"It's going to get pretty crazy in a second, and they won't let you in with her, but she'll be in good hands, I promise." Alexia nodded again, clearing her throat.

"Thank you. So much." She said, knowing that her words weren't enough to express her gratitude, but not really sure what else to do.

The doors opened then, and someone was helping her out of the ambulance. What felt like a million doctors and nurses were bringing you in the doors, one of them shouting for Alexia to follow them in, and find a seat in the waiting room.

Numbly, she did, sinking into the first available chair she saw. There were a lot of people she needed to call, yes. People at Barcelona. The other captains. Your teammates. Your national teammates. Her hands were trembling violently, though, and she suddenly felt dizzy again. She was in shock, she realized. How ridiculous. She was fine. Seeing you like that... it was the worst thing she'd ever laid her eyes on.

Alexia didn't make any of the calls she was supposed to. She decided that just for now, she didn't need to be a responsible captain. She could be someone that cared about you, who was terrified, and needed someone to get here and tell her that everything would be okay before she really freaked out.

She called the only person she knew wouldn't be mad at how emotionless her voice was about to sound. The only other person that she trusted to get here as fast as humanely possible, and know exactly what Alexia needed. Someone who could be in charge, just for a little bit.

-----

Mapi and Ingrid had to drive past the scene of the accident on their way to the hospital. Ingrid was driving, deciding that Mapi could call the people she needed to on the way to the hospital. The Spaniard was on the phone with Lucy when they drove by, and she got a glimpse of your bike, crumpled on the ground.

"Joder" She murmured, reaching a hand over to grab onto Ingrid's leg, anywhere she could steady herself on her girlfriend.

"What?" Ingrid asked, glancing over in concern at her girlfriend, who looked like she was about to be sick.

"What?" Lucy echoed from over the phone, sounding frantic.

"Nothing, nothing. Just worried." Mapi said, swallowing the bile rising in her throat. Neither of the other girls believed her, but they let it go.

"Okay, Mapi. I'm heading to the hospital now, Ona's with me, gonna grab Keira on the way. Call Irene. She'll decide who else needs to know."

"Okay." Mapi agreed. Lucy had never experienced such a reserved Mapi Leon before, one who followed her instructions without any jokes or comments. It scared her.

Mapi made the other phone call. Ingrid had grabbed her hand at some point, and Mapi wasn't really sure who was squeezing harder. She got through the call with Irene, who she made promise not to drive herself to the hospital, to have her wife take her.

"You're driving." Irene huffed angrily, not wanting to wait any longer to get to you, and to Alexia. Her wife wouldn't be back for 20 minutes. She needed to be at the hospital now.

"No, Ingrid is driving. Ingrid is calm in a crisis, and Ingrid is driving because my hands are shaking, so don't you dare drive. Don't you dare." Mapi's voice was thick, the horror of another accident happening washing over her. It was a ridiculous thought, but Mapi couldn't help the fear that was choking her right now. Irene agreed, a combination of Mapi's pleading voice, and the reason behind her words, convincing her.

"Okay. Just get there. Fast."

Ingrid accelerated.

-----

They practically stormed into the waiting room. It was mostly empty, an oddity for an afternoon in the city, but both girls were grateful nonetheless. They took one look at Alexia and came to the conclusion that she wouldn't really want anyone seeing her like this, let alone strangers.

"Ale?" Mapi said gently, moving forward. Alexia was sat in a chair, head in her hands. Her whole body was shaking, blonde hair falling into her face and blocking Mapi from seeing the tears that were surely falling. Alexia's head snapped up when she was addressed, and she stood, taking a frantic step towards her friend, practically collapsing into Mapi's arms.

"She was- it was so bad Mapi. The paramedic said she would probably be okay, but it was so bad. The bike was... and she was so far away from it..." Alexia's words were slightly strangled, and Ingrid regretfully pulled her captain away from her girlfriend, directing her back to her chair. Mapi sat next to her, and Ingrid instructed them both to stay put. She went to find water. Alexia was clearly in shock, and Ingrid knew that she would feel that she had to pull herself together before anyone else arrived.

'Calm in a crisis' Ingrid gave herself a minute to rest her head against the vending machine. Ale had said that the paramedic had said you'd be okay. That was all that mattered.

She returned, finding Alexia slightly better off than she'd left her. Mapi had pulled off her own sweatshirt, and yanked it down over Alexia's head. The blonde had only had on a t-shirt, and it was slightly cold in the waiting room. That probably wasn't the cause for the tremors running through Alexia's body, but regardless. Ingrid crouched in front of Alexia, uncapping the water and handing it to her, instructing her to take small sips. Alexia complied, and the couple exchanged a look. They'd never seen Alexia like this. Ever.

Alexia took several sips of water, before sitting back, and running her hands over her face. She relayed everything the paramedic had told her to the others, and they, in turn, told her the situation with the others due to be arriving soon.

After that, they sat mostly in silence, Ingrid taking a seat in the chair next to her girlfriend, knowing that the Spaniard needed her close. She needed Mapi close, too, honestly.

Lucy, Keira, and Ona arrived in a flurry of chaos. Keira was weirdly calm, Ona just looked freaked out, but Lucy was... a mess. She looked disheveled, like she'd been through a wind tunnel on the way to the hospital. She'd barely stepped in through the door before she was asking question after question, pacing back and forth, then sitting down, and then pacing again. Keira sat silently across from the other girls, while Ona hovered anxiously wherever Lucy went, not quite sure what to do.

Alexia's face had transformed completely when the others had arrived. She looked calm, expression deadly serious as she answered Lucy's questions. She was Captain Alexia again, putting her own feelings aside for the sake of the others.

She made Ona eat a granola bar when she decided that the girl looked too shaky. She made Keira come sit next to her, wrapping an arm around the Englishwoman. She finally told Lucy to stop pacing and sit down, after Lucy stood for the 18th time to go ask the receptionist for an update. Lucy listened instantly, sinking back into her chair without an argument.

Irene arrived a bit later, informing Alexia that she'd called Barca, and let the team know what was going on, but instructed them to not come to the hospital, because they didn't want to crowd the place. Only seconds after the words left her mouth, the doors were sliding open again. In came Pina, Patri, Cata, Jana, and Bruna. Irene looked at them, and sighed deeply. Her face could only be described as one of a person "considering early retirement."

To their credit, they were rather reserved, each accepting the tight hug that Alexia pulled them into, before finding chairs and quietly talking amongst themselves.

It was quite a sight to see when the doctor came out look for your family, and instead finding 11 members of the Barcelona women's squad, in various states of distress. They provided a brief update to everyone, before seemingly picking up on the energy Alexia was putting out, that if they didn't take her to see you, she would probably start throwing chairs, and allowing her and one other person to go back to see you.

Alexia followed right after the doctor, practically breathing down his neck. Mapi looked around, at Irene, and at Lucy, who both gave her a nod. You needed Alexia. And Alexia needed Mapi. Ingrid gave her a little push, and the defender walked down the hall, somewhat terrified for what was awaiting her there.

----

Getting hit by a car really fucking hurt, it turned out. Every bone in your body ached, and you were sure that if you opened your eyes, you'd find that you were just one large bruise. You were in and out for a while, not quite awake enough to open your eyes. You could hear people talking each time, though.

First, it was Alexia's voice, strong and confident, talking to the doctor. Then it was Alexia's voice, small and weak, telling you that you better wake up soon before she freaked out. If you were able to talk at that point, you would have pointed out that it seemed she was already freaking out.

Mapi's voice was there, then, telling you that, thanks, now Ingrid was NEVER going to let her get a motorcycle. Alexia laughed at that, but the laugh seemed to turn into a sob, and you could hear Mapi telling her to stop being so dramatic, because you were fine. She was using her soft voice, though, the one she used for the people she loved. (You, Ingrid, Alexia, and the cat. That was the list.)

When you finally did manage to wake up, it was dark out, and the room was slightly more occupied than it had seemed before. Mapi and Ingrid were both asleep in chairs against the wall, hands tangled together. You caught a glimpse of Lucy and Keira in the hall, on the phone with someone. Probably Sarina, you decided. Alexia was in a chair by your bed, as close as she could pull it. Her eyes were on you, absolutely staring into your soul, and you jumped a little when you realized.

"Jesus," you hissed, waves of pain washing through you.

"You're awake! She's awake. Guys, she's awake," Alexia said gleefully, turning to Ingrid and Mapi who woke up rather slowly. Alexia stood, leaning down to press a gentle kiss onto your gauze-wrapped forehead. When she sat back down, there were unmistakably tears in her eyes.

"Don't you ever, ever, do that to me again." She said seriously.

"I'll make sure to tell the car not to hit me next time." You agreed, matching her serious tone. Mapi snickered, and Alexia grimaced.

"Next time. You're never going on a motorcycle again. Or driving. I'm going to drive you everywhere, and you're going to sit in the backseat. And wear a helmet." Her tone was lighter, but you really weren't convinced that at least a part of her didn't want to do that.

You laughed, and then winced as the movement made your entire abdomen spasm with pain. Alexia's face scrunched with worry, and Ingrid and Mapi leaned forward. You didn't want the focus the be on your pain, though, so you asked a question you were dreading the answer to.

"What's wrong with me?" You asked, preparing yourself for the worst.

"Concussion, mild though. Broken ribs. Broken arm. The skin on your legs will be back one day, but no broken bones there." Alexia listed. You smiled again, delighted that your legs were okay, and a little moved at how hard Alexia was trying to make you smile, when it clearly looked like she'd had the most stressful day of her life. Which she probably had.

"When can I play again?" You asked. Alexia frowned.

"When you're all better." She said, refusing to give you a time that she knew you would latch onto, and meet, regardless of how hard it was.

"When Alexia is comfortable with you being more than 2 feet away from her." Mapi interjected, ignoring the look sent her way by both her best friend and her girlfriend.

The doors opened then, and Keira and Lucy walked in. They both lit up at the sight of you, awake and alert.

"You have to be the dumbest person on earth. Could no one have gone to buy your motorcycle from your house? You had to drive it again?" Lucy scolds.

"I like to keep things interesting." You say, smiling at both of them. They roll their eyes in response, each pressing a kiss to your cheek, before sitting in chairs on the other side of the room.

"Sarina?" You asked. They nodded. "How angry is she?"

"Her exact words were 'what the hell was she doing on a motorcycle,' and then 'I'll let Williamson deal with her. Whatever she comes up with will be far worse than anything I could manage.'" Keira tells you.

Leah would be killing you, you were sure. You turn to Alexia, who had been too quiet, and definitely not scolded you enough.

"You're making me move back in with you aren't you?" You ask, eyeing your captain warily.

"Yes." She said, daring you to argue.

You sigh. "Where am I going to park my new bike at your place?"

Alexia's face gets all red as the room falls into laughter and you smile at her triumphantly. "I will lock you in your room." She says through clenched teeth.

"I'll sneak out the window like last time," you dismiss. "Mapi showed me how."

Alexia turns to Mapi, trying to manage some anger, but she's really too grateful for everything her friend had done for her today. her expression softens when she meets Mapi's eyes, and Mapi goes from looking like she's in trouble, to softening as well.

You watch the strange interaction, and realize that today must have really been hell for Alexia. Hell for everyone, but Alexia was a worrier, and as established, she cared a lot about you.

She'll have plenty of time to fuss over you, though. The next months were sure to be painful and awful, and you were secretly glad that Alexia was moving you back in. You weren't good with pain, or sitting out, or taking care of yourself like you should. Everything felt okay, now, because you were alive, and not paralyzed. Tomorrow would be harder. As you have this thought, you reach for Alexia's hand with your one uninjured arm. She turns to you, grabbing it tightly, and sending you a reassuring smile.

Her face told you that she knew what you were thinking, and the determination there told you that she would get you through this, whatever it took. The whole team would. You relaxed slightly. You could deal with tomorrow tomorrow. Today, you focused on the joy of being alive, and joking with your teammates.

-----

hope this was worth the wait :)

not opposed to an angsty recovery part 3 but let me know your thoughts.

#woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #barca femeni #barcelona femeni x reader

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steddiehyperfixation · 1 year ago

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don't you forget about me (part two)

(part one)

Steve doesn’t know how long they sit there in silence, waiting. It’s making him insane. The seconds pass too slow; the seconds pass too fast. His mind is a storm; his mind is empty. He’s feeling too much; he’s not feeling at all. He paces the room; he sits catatonically against a wall. He needs to get out of here; he needs to stay.

He’s been here before, just barely over a week ago, tense and anxious and despairing and waiting for news. But waiting to hear if Eddie will ever remember him again really should not feel this much worse than waiting to hear if Eddie will ever fucking breathe again. Steve thinks there must be something wrong with him. He’s being selfish and stupid. His pathological fucking need to be loved is not what’s important right now. Eddie is alive and awake and okay and that’s the only thing that really matters. That’s the only thing he should really care about.

Steve’s pacing again now, yanking his hands through his hair as he does laps around the room until Eddie finally appears in the doorway.

Eddie must’ve just cracked a joke or something because the nurse is laughing as she pushes his bed into the room and he’s got this adorable grin on his face. Steve’s heart twists in his chest and he nearly bursts into tears all over again because god does he want nothing more than to press a kiss to those dimpled cheeks.

“Good news, boys,” Eddie announces. “My brain is fully intact.”

“There’s no physical permanent damage to his brain,” the nurse elaborates. “His amnesia is likely a result of psychological trauma and the temporary disruption of brain function from blood loss and lack of oxygen that occurred at the time of his injury. But there is no obvious reason why he shouldn’t regain his full memory, given time.”

So there’s hope. Steve breathes a sigh of relief.

“That is good news,” Wayne agrees.

Steve asks, “How much time?”

The nurse gives an unhelpful shrug. “Impossible to say. It could be anywhere from days to months, or even years. I’m sorry, there’s no way for us to know.”

Years. “Okay.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. He can keep it together. He can. “Thanks,” he tells the nurse. “I, uh-” He makes the mistake of looking at Eddie who looks right through him, and Steve can’t keep it together anymore actually. “I gotta update the kids,” he mutters, backing his way towards the door. Wayne nods in acknowledgment; no protests this time at Steve’s excuse to leave.

“See ya, Harrington,” Eddie calls after him, casual, impersonal, like they're nothing more than acquaintances passing by each other in a high school hallway.

Steve can’t get out of that hospital fast enough.

He makes it to his car in record time, slamming the door shut and sinking heavily into the driver’s seat. A ragged sob tries to claw its way up his throat now that he’s finally alone, but he forces it back, staving off his breakdown for just a little bit longer. As much as it was an excuse, he really does have to update the kids.

Steve fishes his walkie out of the glove box. “Code - whatever, I don’t know. Code Eddie,” he says. He doesn’t remember the kids’ system of codes, nor would he be sure which one this news falls under even if he did.

“Is he okay? Is he awake?” comes an immediate, eager response from Dustin. “Over.”

“Yeah, he’s awake, and he’s fine, except he’s got pretty bad amnesia. The doctors say it should be temporary, but right now he doesn’t remember anything since May of ‘85,” Steve explains, trying his best to keep his voice even.

“Steve, come pick me up and take me to see him,” Dustin demands, “right now. Over.”

“Me too. Over,” Mike chimes in before Steve can respond.

“And us,” Erica adds as well.

Steve pauses for a second, both to steady his own breath and to make sure no one else wants to jump in on this too, before he reminds them, “He won’t know you, any of you.”

“I don’t care,” Dustin says, bossy as ever. “Just come get me. Over.”

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Steve mutters to himself. He sucks in another breath; it wobbles dangerously. He’s just about reached his limit on how long he can keep himself from falling apart. “I- I need a minute, alright?” he manages through the walkie. “Can you just give me, like, an hour? And then I’ll take you guys to visit Eddie.”

Steve doesn’t wait for a response before he slams the antenna closed, tosses the walkie aside, and finally, finally lets himself shatter. That sob rips free from his throat, followed by another and another and another. Tears flood from his eyes; his nose runs. It’s an ugly, gross, visceral cry that leaves him exhausted and raw and aching to be held by the time the last sob shudders out of him. Drained and hollow, he craves the embrace of someone who knows him, someone who loves him.

He sweeps up his broken pieces, wipes the mess of tears and snot off his face, and drives to Robin’s house.

“Steve, oh my god.” Robin pulls him into a hug the second she opens the door and sees the look on his face. Steve clings to her. “What happened?”

“Eddie’s awake,” he mutters dismally.

“Oh! Not the tone I’d expect you to deliver that news in, but okay.” Robin pulls back, looking at him with narrow-eyed concern and confusion as she analyzes his puffy eyes and red nose and swollen lips. “And you look like you’ve just been crying because…?”

“Because he doesn’t remember me, Rob,” Steve sighs. “He doesn’t remember anything from the past 11 months.”

Robin’s eyes go wide now. “Shit,” she says, so plainly it startles a short laugh out of Steve.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Shit.”

She asks him more questions as she walks down the hallway so they can talk in her room. Steve once again reiterates what was said at the hospital.

“So you didn’t tell him you two were a thing?” Robin asks, closing her door behind them.

“Of course I didn’t.” Steve flops back onto her bed. “I didn’t want to spook him.”

She sits beside him. “You didn’t want to spook him,” she repeats, looking down at him with raised eyebrows, “but you told him about Vecna.”

“Well, yeah. I just-” He lifts his arms to gesture vaguely into the air as he tries to explain himself. “I mean, imagine how you would feel if you woke up in a hospital and some random guy you’ve spoken to maybe twice was by your bedside telling you you’ve been in a relationship with him for the past 9 months.”

“Uh, I don’t know, dingus, probably about the same as I’d feel if said guy told me I’d nearly died fighting some evil twisted creature from a hell dimension,” Robin retorts.

Steve drops his hands onto his chest with a huff, shaking his head. “No, trust me. He seemed far less surprised by that than he did to hear that we were even just friends,” he says, a bit bitterly. Tears are pricking at his eyes again as he looks up at his best friend. “You didn’t see the way he looked at me, Robin. All he saw was King Steve.”

Robin softens, snark replaced with sympathy. “That sucks, Steve. I’m so sorry.”

Steve sighs in agreement that yes this really fucking sucks. He sits up and scoots back so that he’s slumped against the wall, hitting the back of his head against it. “I think I’m a horrible person,” he admits, just venting now, “because of course I’m glad Eddie’s alive and all I really want is for him to be okay, and I know the nurse said he should remember eventually, but there’s still some sick part of me that thinks maybe it would’ve hurt less if he had just died.”

“I don’t think that makes you a horrible person,” Robin assures him as she settles next to him, shoulder to shoulder. “I think you’re just grieving, and grief is weird sometimes.”

“It was one of the worst things I’ve ever felt,” he mutters, “when he looked at me without recognition. To see it on his face, just the- the absence of everything that we’d built. I’ve never felt so- so- I don’t know, it was like I couldn’t breathe. He just- he doesn’t know that I love him. He…he doesn’t know that he loved me...”

Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? It’s not that he’s lost someone that he loves, it’s that he’s lost someone who loves him. Because Eddie’s not gone, just his love for Steve is, and that’s what’s tearing him apart. It’s the fact that there’s one less person in the world who loves him. It’s the fact that Steve’s got this big gaping hole inside of him that’s always made him so desperate to be loved, liked, wanted, needed; and his biggest fucking fear is becoming obsolete. He could probably trace it back to his parents, the first to forget him, the first to stop loving him, but the fact remains that now Eddie has fulfilled that fear too. Now Eddie has carved that pit a little deeper, a little darker, validating the voice that whispers within it and tells Steve that he is forgettable, unlovable, so easy to abandon and erase.

“Well, I love you,” Robin tells him, like she can read his mind (which, at this point, she probably can). She slides an arm around his shoulders, hugs him close. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Fragile as he is right now, Steve falls apart again in her arms, and she holds him together. Because she knows him, because she loves him.

It’s a quieter cry this time, soft and sniffly. Whereas the last one wracked through his body and left him fatigued, this one flows from him almost gently, and when his tears finally subside and he lifts his head from where it had been buried in his friend’s shoulder, Steve actually feels a little bit better, a little bit stronger. Which is good, because he’s gonna have to face Eddie again soon.

“Thank you,” he says quietly as he pulls away from Robin, wiping at his eyes and glancing at the clock on her nightstand. It’s definitely been an hour by now, probably more. He stands. “I have to go, I promised the kids I’d take them to see Eddie.”

“Then I’m coming too.” Robin stands with him. “For moral support.”

Steve gives her a grateful smile. “I love you so fucking much, you know that?”

“Yeah.” She grins at him. “I know.”

The nurses have changed his bandages and upped his morphine, so Eddie’s considerably hazy now but at least he can raise his headrest and prop himself up a bit without nearly blacking out from pain. He’s boredly flicking through channels on the shitty TV in front of him, alone since Wayne had to leave for work, when Harrington returns followed by a very unexpected group consisting of Robin Buckley and four strange children.

“Sorry,” Harrington announces their presence with an apologetic shrug, “I know you don’t know them anymore, but they insisted.”

“Eddie!” a pudgy, curly-haired kid shouts before Eddie can even react, coming barrelling towards him and trying to hug him.

“Ow!” Eddie yelps, pain flaring even through the extra morphine. “Fucking Christ, kid! Be careful!”

The kid jumps back immediately, eyes wide. “Shit. Sorry.”

“S’fine,” Eddie grumbles.

The kid looks at him expectantly for a moment before seeming to realize, “Oh, right, you don’t remember me. I’m Dustin.”

“Ah, so you’re the guy I sacrificed myself for,” Eddie mutters, and Dustin looks a little sheepish. That means these must be ‘the kids’ Harrington had been talking about earlier. He surveys the group for a second. “Actually, I think we have met before,” he tells Dustin. “And you too.” He glances at a pale, dark-haired kid. The other two - a Black boy with a flat-top and a younger Black girl - look less familiar, though. “There was this, uh, open day thing at the high school for next year’s incoming freshmen; I talked to you about Hellfire.”

“Yeah!” Dustin’s whole face lights up, so bright and infectious it makes Eddie grin too. “Yeah, you did!”

“So you guys joined the club, then?”

This sparks a very animated conversation about D&D, the rest of the kids (Mike, Lucas, and Erica, as they soon reintroduce themselves) gathering around his bed now too to join in. It makes him feel a bit more like himself again, familiar, normal. Except, of course, for the fact that they’re not only talking about how they defeated Vecna in Eddie’s “totally epic” and “sadistic” campaign (adjectives courtesy of Dustin and Mike respectively), but also filling in more pieces of the story of how they defeated him in real life too. Still, it’s nice, fun. He totally understands how he could’ve gotten attached to these kids.

At some point, Eddie glances over to find Harrington hanging back and just watching them talk, fondly, wistfully. Robin whispers something to him and he sort of smiles, just a trace, and whispers something back. They seem close, intimate. Eddie wonders if they’re dating, and then he wonders why that thought makes him feel a bit sick. He waves them over. Harrington looks like he’s about to protest, but Robin gives him a Look and he allows her to grab his hand and drag him to join the crowd around Eddie’s bed.

“So, what’s your deal, Buckley?” Eddie asks her. He doesn’t know her very well, they’ve only crossed paths a few times in the bandroom, but right now that makes her the most familiar person in the room to him. “Are you and Harrington a thing now? Is that how you’re involved in all this?”

Robin wrinkles her nose and drops Harrington’s hand. “Ew, no. Definitely not.”

“She’s my best friend,” Harrington says.

Eddie snorts, doesn’t know why he finds that so comical. (He’s starting to get tired and it’s making him loopy. Or maybe it’s just the morphine.) “You've got a funny choice of friends nowadays, don’t you? Me and band geek Buckley and a bunch of nerdy freshmen.” He looks at Harrington with incredulous amusement. “Who would've thought, huh? Steve Harrington, collector of geeks and freaks.”

Harrington doesn’t seem to find it as funny. He shrugs. “Yeah, well, it’s better than King Steve, collector of asshole bullies and shallow one-night stands.”

“Yeah, ‘course it is,” Eddie agrees through another huff of laughter that breaks off into a yawn. “Didn’t mean it as a bad thing, Stevie. Was a compliment.”

“Alright.” The barest hint of a smile flickers across Harrington’s face now, but then he’s looking away and corralling the kids and saying, “We should head out, let you get some rest.”

And Eddie kind of wishes he’d stay.

(part three!)

taglist: @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy (only tagged people who explicitly asked to be tagged; if you would like to be added or removed from this list please lmk!)

#still angsty sorry #we're getting there tho! this will have a happy ending eventually! i promise!#i finally get what ppl mean when they talk abt setting out to write a oneshot and ending up with a longfic bc it's happening to me rn #steddie #steddie angst #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #fanfic #mine #1k #dyfamsteddiefic #<- specific tag for this fic

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unknownarmageddon · 8 months ago

Text

Christ Alive

a kross oneshot. in which they go to a party cackles

based on the song skeletone by bones uk rental suits au belongs to me and @psycho-chair

The parking lot was mostly empty, save for two, maybe three, cars. It was dark, the only thing visible in the black murk past the washed out lights of the gas station’s overhang was the passing specks of car headlights.

Cross leaned on the elbow he held propped on the counter, tried to tune out the mediocre mainstream music playing distantly over the store’s speakers, and watched the only customer inside idle about the shelves.

The lights buzzed. two of the fridges against the back wall flickered every so often.

The door chimed as it was opened, and another stranger entered. They wanted 50 dollars’ worth on pump three. And a pack of cigarettes. The door chimed again, then they were gone.

The lights buzzed. The fridges flickered. Everything was delved in a cool colored haze.

The last remaining person in the store bought two drinks. With the dinging of the door as they left, a father and two kids entered. They piled their spoils, a mound of snacks, onto the counter.

There were several minutes of vacancy. Nobody in the store but him. It felt like an eternity, always did. Cross fiddled with the shelves behind him to waste time.

Buzzing lights. Uneven churring from the slushy machine in the back.

The door chimed. Footsteps, sneakers scuffing on tile.

Cross turned, and could practically feel the grin boring into him.

Him again.

He was leaning forward over the counter with his arms crossed in front of him. His jacket had obtained a few new stains, both red and black. The faint, electric sound of music played from the chunky maroon headphones around his neck.

Cross felt himself grin for a moment. He couldn’t help it.

“Hey pretty boy.” He looked at Cross with deep dark sockets.

“Killer.”

“Fancy seeing you here.” Killer quipped.

He pulled himself up to sit on the back edge of the counter, still facing Cross. Cross furrowed his brows.

“I told you to stop sitting on the counter.”

Killer hardly considered moving. His soul hummed like even it was laughing. “You’re gonna have to make me, sweetheart.”

Cross knew that wouldn’t have worked. And he didn’t really care, not enough to force him.

“You miss me?” Killer quipped.

“I haven’t decided yet.” Cross replied.

Killer laughed. “I’m wounded.”

Cross turned back to the shelf, and Killer slid off the counter to stand next to him.

“Ya got any plans tonight? Other than the blast you’re clearly havin’ already.” Killer murmured, hands shoved the pockets of his jacket. The fabric of he and Cross’s clothes brushed as they just almost touched, they were that close.

When did Cross ever have plans? He shook his head.

Killer’s grin got wider. Cross narrowed his eyes at him. What was he planning.

Killer hopped back over the counter and headed for one of the fridges in the back. Cross leaned over the counter on his elbows to watch him.

“Y’know, there’s gonna be a party tonight. At ten.” Killer jerked open the door and crouched, now partially obscured by the shelf behind him. His voice came to Cross echoed by the distance.

“Where?”

“Some guy’s place in town, I dunno, all I’ve got is the address. He was really talkin’ a big talk, I wanna see if he’s full of shit or not.” Cross could tell he was grinning. He had that kinda voice.

“And you want me to go with you.” Cross responded after a pause.

From the fridge Killer retrieved two energy drinks. He stood and the door was closed with a shove from his foot.

“Exactly.”

He hesitated, apparently for dramatic effect knowing him, and waited for an answer.

“…I’m not going.”

“C’monnn, you gotta get outta this boring ass gas station sometime. Have an actual good time.” Killer pressed.

“I don’t do parties.”

“How bad could it possibly be?”

“I doubt I would miss out on much.” Cross responded.

“You’d never know. Unless you go.” Killer persisted.

Cross didn’t respond after that. He stared at the tile in front of Killer’s feet, turning the notion over in his mind. He knew damn well that if Killer wanted something he’d find a way to get it, so he doubted how much good resisting would do.

Killer weaved through the aisles to the middle of the store, then went for the far back. He cracked one of the energy drinks.

“When are you gonna start paying for those?” Cross called to him.

“You think about that party, ‘kay, pretty boy? Think about it.” Killer called back instead and pulled the headphones on. He vanished among the shelves. Cross saw the top of the storage room door as it opened, then closed.

Cross was left alone in the store again. The trickle of costumers came and went, and he worked on autopilot. His mind was occupied by the party and the loiterer in the storage room.

His first reaction was to not go. And he trusted that reaction. All he knew about it was that it would be loud and crammed with people he likely didn’t want to be around. And that he wouldn’t know anyone but Killer. He didn’t think— no he knew it wouldn’t be worth it.

But who knew how well Killer would take that news. And he kind of had a point about getting out of the gas station.

Cross worked for three more hours. Occasionally he would watch Killer slink from the back to steal another energy drink or two, or a bag of chips. Cross pretended not to notice. Every time Killer passed the counter he would toss a smug grin at Cross. Meant only for Cross. The kind that loosely hid all the kinds of things he would say out loud if they were alone. Cross pretended not to notice those, too.

He would’ve stopped him, confronted him again for never paying for what he took. But Cross didn’t exactly want to be on the receiving end of that knife he flashed the night they met. And when Killer was around he had company, and the extra shitty customers never came back. It was a fair trade. So what if a few cans went missing here and there.

When Cross’s shift came to an end he left the counter in favor of the storage room. The smell of smoke flooded his nose the minute he pushed open the door. It wasn’t invasive, but it was noticeable enough whenever you walked in. It’d always smelled like smoke in here, after Killer showed up.

The culprit sat on the floor in the corner beside the door. He had fully tucked himself into that corner, in the gap between boxes and freezers that lined a few of the walls. He had one leg propped on the other, and the magazine he held obscured his face. Cross could still hear Killer’s music blasting through his headphones even from where he stood.

“My shift’s over. You gotta leave.” Cross greeted him.

Killer pulled the headphones down and looked up over the edge of the magazine. He hadn’t heard him.

“Shift’s over.” Cross repeated.

The music cut off; the magazine was shoved under a shelf. “You got it, boss.”

He pulled himself to his feet and left his corner to push past Cross, who tailed him in return.

The gas station’s front door chimed for the last time as they exited out onto the pavement in front of it. It was cold, Cross zipped up his jacket. His breath clouded in front of him as he watched insects buzz around the precious glow of the station’s lights.

After a moment of standing he stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around at the vacant parking lot, awkwardly awaiting for whatever Killer was going to do. He didn’t trust him enough to leave first.

His eyes landed on him.

“What time’s it?” Killer asked.

Cross checked his phone. “Nine forty.”

Killer hopped off the slight incline of the pavement and moved through the darkness. To Cross he became a raccoon you’d see outside your garage. So blanketed in darkness it doesn’t look much like anything at all. Except, his soul provided a red halo around his silhouette.

“You comin’?” Killer called over his shoulder and stopped. It was more of a request than a question.

Hesitation. Cross glanced to his left, then back at Killer. “No?”

“You scared, sweetheart?” Killer replied. He could barely see him, but again Cross could tell he was grinning.

“No.”

“C’mon, just this once. It’s just a party. One time’s not gonna hurt anything.” He said. More firmly, sharply.

Killer gestured with his head, nodding, beckoning Cross to come with him.

“You always say that.”

“Am I wrong? Let’s live a little. Nothin’s gonna happen.” He spread out his arms, turning on his heel to look back at Cross.

Cross scowled doubtfully. He’s known Killer for long enough to at least know going anywhere with him didn’t have any guarantees of anything.

Killer slunk back toward Cross and grabbed him firmly by the zipper of his jacket, pulling him down so their faces were level. His face was warmed by Killer’s breath. Killer looked him over, then dead on.

Killer huffed a laugh. “You’re scared.”

Cross paused for a long time. A car alarm started from somewhere distant in the dark. Then it was quiet again.

“We’ll take the truck.” He decided eventually, flatly.

Killer’s eyes widened. He released Cross and ran for said truck, which was parked back in front of the gas station. It was small, old, and white; one of those trucks that didn’t have back seats, and the front was one long singular bench with seatbelts that just went across the lap.

Killer was grinning, exclaiming to himself, in his triumph. He had gotten Cross to cave, andthey were taking the truck.

Killer rapped on the truck’s side with his palm as he stepped along it toward the door. He tried the door prematurely, eagerly. It was still locked. Then there was a click as Cross pressed a button on the interior of the driver side door and the rest of the doors unlocked. Killer jerked his open to slide into the passenger side; Cross got in after him, with less enthusiasm.

The key met ignition and the vehicle grumbled to life like an aged animal.

Its beige leather seats were long worn, its paint was chipped in spots, it was overdo for a wash, and its windows were dusty and still functioned on a crank, but it served its purpose.

They left the parking lot. Cross heard Killer fighting with the window beside him, but he eventually got it open. Cold air streamed into the cab. Killer leaned against the door with his shoulder out the window. His feet were kicked up onto the dash.

In front of the windshield, dangling from the rear view mirror, hung a silver pendant on a chain and a long-expired air freshener.

With each imperfection in the pavement they hit the cab bumped.

“What’s the address?” Cross asked.

A slip of paper was dug out of Killer’s pocket and examined. He put his legs down.

“Left, up here.” He pointed, the turn signal clicked in time.

“Go for a bit,” He said now. “Here,”

“Right, past here and down that road,”

They drove for a while, mostly in silence save for Killer’s directions and occasional quips or broken humming. Sometimes the headlights of a passing car or a lone streetlight would illuminate the cab; otherwise it was dark.

Killer pointed at the windshield again.

They were here.

What Cross saw was the front of an apartment building, one a few notches nicer than his own. That building immediately set the tone for the whole party in stone in Cross’s mind. It was fucking intimidating. He shouldn’t be here.

He glanced over at Killer, who was already slipping out of the truck. Cross inhaled and followed.

———

Upbeat music he’s heard everywhere a million times blasted through the apartment. Talking, laughing, shouting, all joined it. Lights everywhere, sounds everywhere. So many people were crammed in this single space.

Cross was made hyper-aware of the presence of the other guests. The way they were dressed, the way they held themselves. They belonged here, he didn’t.

He became Killer’s shadow. He kept his arms tight to his side, his eyes trained on his feet and Killer’s stride. He followed directly behind him as his companion sauntered through the apartment.

They collected a few stares. What a sight they must be, two stupid boys wading through somewhere they shouldn’t be, one with stains on his clothes and one in a plain black jacket he’s had since high school. One with oil flowing from his eye sockets, one with an old rusted pickup.

Cross liked to imagine the things they whispered to themselves as the skeletons passed. Exclamations of surprise, of judgement. Eyes glued.

But, in reality, no one said anything. No one heckled them. He even doubted that many people were paying attention to them. Even still he was all too aware.

Finally, he and Killer breached the thick of the waves. Killer was saying something to another guest as he handed Cross a plastic cup of red liquid, which he accepted without much thought.

“Whad’ya think?” Killer asked Cross and leaned against the table. He gestured with his free hand at everything around them like he was showing it all off. He held his own beverage in the other hand, Cross clutched his with both.

Cross didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to think. It was loud. There were way too many people. He’d decide eventually, he thought.

Killer lifted his cup to his mouth, then paused and lowered it. He deadpanned at it.

“This tastes like shit.”

Cross half-laughed, Killer grinned.

They stayed at that table for the duration of three, maybe four, songs. Killer did most of the talking. Cross only listened, offering the occasional hum in agreement or comment. Killer would point out people in the crowd he found notable for whatever reason to him. Made jokes, teased, rambled about menial things. He complained about the music, but he still tapped his finger against his cup in time.

Cross kept searching Killer, trying to figure him out. He wondered if he noticed how out of place they were. Or if he cared. But then he thought about it more, and he doubted he did.

The song changed; Cross didn’t recognize this one. It was slower, but not melancholy. Carried by a steady rhythm and smooth electric guitar. Like the pounding of rain on concrete at night.

Killer glanced up. “Fuckin’ finally, something good.”

He set his cup down and pulled away from the table. “Alright I’m tired of standin’.”

He stood with his back turned a moment, surveying the crowd, thumbs jammed in his shorts pockets, before he swiveled to offer his hand to Cross. “C’mon, you gonna do me the honor?”

Cross retracted, set his cup down and put his hands in the pockets of his jacket like he was hiding them.

“I don’t dance.”

Maybe he would, in any other circumstance. When there weren’t so many people.

“Fuck babe, what do you do?” Killer replied. The corner of his mouth ticked up.

He pulled back toward Cross to nudge him with his elbow like he was trying to push him forward.

“Dude,” Cross laughed.

“We’re at a party, you gotta dance at least once.” He argued. “It’ll just be me, don’t worry about them.”

Cross conceded. “Just for this song, alright?”

Cross quickly learned that Killer didn’t know how to dance either. They devolved into a mess of movements, a tangle of limbs. Killer held a hand to Cross’s hip, Cross held one to Killer’s shoulder. Occasionally their hands would intertwine.

They exchanged steps off-rhythm. Killer was quick, Cross took strides to catch him.

Cross continued to be aware of the other dancers, even here. He couldn’t shake them from his mind. He wasn’t nearly as coordinated, and he had a habit of staying too stiff and rigid. But Killer had enough confidence for both of them.

All Cross saw was the carpet, his eyes glued to their feet. Making his best effort not to trip. Or get stepped on. He risked a glance up at Killer’s face. He was grinning with the most actual enthusiasm Cross had seen from him tonight, and it became infectious.

“You keepin’ up, pretty boy?” Killer asked, catching Cross and keeping him from looking back down.

“You’re horrible at this.” Cross replied.

“And you dance like you’ve taken ballet since kindergarten.” Killer scowled, but his eyes were still grinning.

In the last remaining minute of the song they slowed, swayed, leaning into each other. They let the wave of other dancers surge around them. Killer hooked an arm around Cross’s neck, Cross laid his over his shoulders. Cross watched him, awaiting his next move silently.

Killer took Cross’s left hand and pressed a slow kiss to his knuckles.

Cross decided this party wasn’t that bad, at least.

Killer’s song ended. They untangled. Cross followed Killer as he slunk over to the apartment’s kitchen, where refreshments were strewn over the counters. The nearby balcony’s door was propped open, and Cross lingered there in the opening. Cool outside air hit his back.

Now Killer was chatting up another guy at the table. Like he always did when they went out anywhere. As if out of habit. Cross disregarded them; all he heard was Killer say “is that a challenge?”. He would’ve dwelled on it more, been more bothered, but he put his attention on everyone else. He scanned the crowd like he expected to be jumped.

Beside him Killer returned and he felt him press up against him. He knew he was grinning. His hand wandered Cross’s arm, then his back. He smelled like smoke. What was he after.

Cross’s face grew warm. His shoulders tensed. But he averted his eyes, kept his focus on the crowd.

His gaze landed on one woman in particular, not far from the table. She was surrounded by her own group of people, but for some reason she was staring directly at him, both of them. With this look in her eye.

Her lips, which were covered in a red smothering of lipstick, ticked down in a grimace.

What a sight they must be.

A wildfire of anger burst up through Cross. His bones grew hot, like he was being burned by it. She made him so fucking mad. He couldn’t process why.

She hadn’t even said anything. Not yet. But he knew she would. It was a matter of time, with the way she was looking at them.

Cross searched her, trying to gauge her. He knew these kinds of people all too well.

He returned her look in a blank stare. In it, he silently poured out every bit of desire he had to wipe that look off on the wall behind her. He doubted he’d actually do something, though. It wasn’t worth whatever hell would come of it.

Still, it leaked into his voice.

“Someone’s staring.” He said, quietly, and Killer retracted slightly.

He followed Cross’s gaze. His grin fell. The soul in front of his chest flickered, becoming an unstable ever-shifting shape far from a circle. To Cross it resembled a star nearing on a supernova.

He wasn’t being nearly as discrete as Cross; he glared back at her with just as much anger. If not more. Like a dog with teeth bared.

His voice dripped venom. “I’ll deal with ‘er.”

Cross’s companion pulled away from the table and over to the woman. Each step carried a buried intention, buried fury, with it.

Cross felt like someone’s gonna die.

Cross blinked and Killer was already in front of her. She said something to him, and he heard Killer shout back at her. He blinked again and Killer’s fist was flying. The woman’s head skewed to the side unnaturally, awkwardly. Then she fell to a heap on the carpet; A painted lady sprawled across the floor like a body bag.

She struggled to her elbows, coughed blood onto the carpet. The tease of a grimace became a full-fledged snarl. Her pretty prim lipstick was smeared.

Cross didn’t hear anything. Hardly even saw anything but Killer and the woman. Only the pounding of blood in his ears and flashing lights in the corner of his vision.

A needle of sudden anxiety, anticipation, stabbed Cross. Nothing good was gonna come from this.

If they hadn’t been before, everyone was certainly staring now.

The few nearest were on Killer like a pack of wolves to a carcass.

Someone was gonna die.

The surge consumed Killer. Shouting roared over the music. Cross barely saw him as he clawed, fought, screamed. Grinned. The suddenness of it all startled Cross out of his anger.

Two attackers were thrown back, blood streaming from their noses. Two more took their place.

At some point Killer’s jacket slipped, leaving shoulders exposed. And one of his sleeves was torn now. Bits of bleach-white bone were visible like Cross was peaking through a break in the blinds.

For a moment, he just stood and watched. Watched Killer fight like an animal. Admired the fluidity of his movements. Stared into the flames.

God,

He couldn’t help it.

Maybe this is what he came to this dumb party for.

Killer got tackled by two guys much larger than him and Cross, simultaneously, was thrown into the mess by someone behind him he didn’t see. It was like he was in a hornet’s nest. It was confusing, loud, violent. He didn’t know what to do, how to do it.

Somehow, he gathered himself and he and Killer managed to push back the swarm. Everything broke like oil and water, if only for a moment.

Killer now stood on Cross’s right, clutching his wrist tight in his hand. On the other, his left, was a smear of red lipstick. He held it curled in a fist.

Cross’s magic pounded in his ears.

There was a single heartbeat of still, then they were on them again, just as quick. They tore at them, stampeded over them. Except now Cross was in the middle of it. And at that moment he wanted to be anywhere else. But he didn’t really, either. This was where Killer was.

It became war.

Like with dancing, Cross wasn’t as confident a fighter as Killer. And he doubted his skills. But he wasn’t harmless, he hoped.

He tried to stay close to Killer, to not lose him to it all. That became his only goal. To not lose Killer, and to survive.

Cross grabbed another guy by the shirt and pulled him off of Killer, then had to spin to push someone different back with a strike from the elbow. It was overwhelming, smothering. Everyone on every side at all times.

Occasionally he got glances of Killer as he would stumble backward, only to run back in, laughing. He never stayed in range of who he fought, always jumping in and back out. Circling, a wolf nipping at the ankles of an elk. But he hit hard, knew what he was doing.

Warm blood ran into Cross’s eye, obscuring his vision. He must’ve busted an eyebrow.

Even before that, his vision became blurred. All he saw were movements. He focused everything on not drowning. Where was Killer? He had lost sight of him at some point. But the thought was ripped from his mind as he sustained a kick to the back and staggered. He gritted his teeth and returned the hit, pushed someone he didn’t see long enough to identify away. He rammed someone else with his shoulder.

Then he took another, harder, blow. This time to the side of the head. He felt like his whole skull was jarred and he staggered again, almost falling this time.

Someone grabbed his wrist.

It was Killer.

He ripped Cross from it all, fingers dug into his arm. Then they were running. He knew they were being followed. Killer shouted something. At some point they were in a stairwell, descending. Pounding in his skull was all he heard.

Suddenly, cold night air.

They were outside. There was Cross’s truck.

They ran to it and pulled the door’s open so hard he was surprised they weren’t thrown off their hinges. They were slammed closed just as hard.

Cross stuck the keys in the ignition and turned as fast as he could manage.

Six remaining pursuers flooded from the apartment. They tried to follow, yelled curses and profanities.

“Go, go, go!” Killer shouted.

“I’m trying!”

They pulled out and ended back on the road.

Finally, things started to slow back down. But Cross still felt like he wasn’t there. He felt like he was still at that party, busting his knuckles on strangers out for his blood. He didn’t even feel relief yet, that they were in the safety of Cross’s truck now. He didn’t feel much of anything.

The first thing Cross fully registered was Killer slamming his arm on the side of the door four times. “Holy shit!”

He put his hand to his head. “Holy shit.”

He was making an expression Cross couldn’t read, or place. Was it excitement? Surprise? Detest? Fear? Maybe just adrenaline. He was grinning. But he always was. His eyes were wide. Like he had just gotten off a rollercoaster.

Cross glanced at him again after checking the road. “You’re bleeding.”

He was, from the nose.

“So’re you.”

Cross put a finger to his eyebrow and felt warm liquid. The wound stung, he just now noticed. He wouldn’t notice the rest of his pain until much later, when the adrenaline was out of his system.

“Dude that was fucking insane.” Killer breathed. He almost laughed as he said it.

“It was worth it, though.” He added. “God, getting to wipe that look off her face,”

“Mm,” Cross hummed absently. Was it worth it? Part of him agreed silently.

“Showed her. Fucking showed her.” Killer continued, mostly to himself.

“You’re alright?” Cross asked, eyes pinned to the road. He still felt jittery. He hated having to sit here this long.

“Oh, what, me? Yeah I’m fine, I’m fine. Nothin’ I can’t handle.” Killer replied. He wiped at his nose, then cleaned the remaining lipstick from his hand on his jacket.

He was so… unaffected. Like this was an everyday occurrence for him. Maybe it was.

Cross rubbed the blood from his brow again. It hadn’t stopped bleeding yet. He wondered how bad it was. But he didn’t check the rearview mirror for his reflection.

He felt Killer’s eyes on him.

“It’s a look, y’know.” Killer quipped.

Cross laughed quietly. “What, having dried blood on my face?”

They drove in silence for a while. Cross’s soul was still pounding. At some point he collected himself enough to remember to put on his seatbelt. He listened to the occasional clicking of the turn signal and Killer’s mindless tapping. It grounded him, pulled him away from the party.

“I didn’t know you could fight like that.” Killer said eventually. “Didn’t think you had it in ya.”

“I was just trying not to get killed.” Cross responded dryly, like it was a fact. He hadn’t thought it was that impressive.

Killer laughed. Even though it was the truth.

“Wasn’t too bad, either. I could teach ya a thing or two, though. If you wanted.”

Killer offered with a grin.

Cross considered it just for a moment. “I think I’m fine.”

“Your loss. You think about it, ‘kay?” Killer replied. “I’d love t’see what you could do if you knew what you were doin’”

Cross just hoped he wouldn’t find himself in a situation where he needed to know what he was doing.

Killer leaned forward to start messing with the truck’s radio. He flicked through stations and static.

“I didn’t expect that many people to come after us.” Cross said.

“Yeah, god, it was like everyone at that party was pissed.”

“What’d she say? I saw her say something to you.” Cross asked.

“What d’you think? Some stupid shit about us. I dunno, I don’t remember.” Killer said, scowling at the radio. Cross knew he remembered, but he didn’t press.

Killer eventually found a station he was satisfied with and leaned back. Now a loud, quick, shouty rock song Cross hadn’t heard quietly filled the background of the cab.

Killer stretched out his arms. “Well, I’d consider tonight a success.”

Cross stared at him.

Killer laughed. “Eyes on the road, sweetheart,”

———

After what felt like an eternity they ended up at Cross’s apartment. Cross fumbled with keys to unlock the door and they stumbled inside. Everything was dark, lit only by the lights of the street and a standing lamp near the door Cross bothered to flick on as they entered.

The first thing Cross did was go for the fridge in the conjoined kitchen. It was mostly empty, but he found a cold canned drink and tossed it to Killer. He pressed it to limbs, to his face, soothing the bruises he had acquired.

He had a faint, dark ring around one of his eye sockets in the start of a black eye. Cross took his wrist and slowly, firmly, guided his hand to the socket.

“You caused a lot of trouble.” Cross murmured, sighing, as he held his hand there.

“You saw the way she was looking at us.” Killer replied sharply.

Cross retracted his hand, stood there to look at him. “Still,”

“She was basically just askin’ for it, anyway. No one else was gonna do it.” Killer argued.

“I think I’m gonna have a headache for a week. Thanks to you.” Cross said, though he was just barely smiling.

“You’re welcome.” Killer grinned.

“Mm.”

After, the can was handed back to Cross. It was just barely warmer, just barely flecked with blood. He pressed it to his own bruises, and to his eyebrow. The start of a headache stabbed at him.

Cross watched Killer as he fixed his jacket from where it had fallen off his shoulders. Just as closely as when he had watched him fight.

He felt both of them linger there, unsure. Awkward. Mutually asking “what now?”

“Well, it’s been a hell of a night, but I better be gettin’ outta here. I’m a busy man, y’know.” Killer said finally, flicking up his hood over his head.

“Already?” Cross asked.

Of course.

“Don’t worry, you’re not gettin’ rid of me that easy. I’ll be back.” Killer said, brushed up against Cross as he headed for the door, grinning up at him. He caught Cross’s hand and held it in his for just a moment.

‘I’ll be back’ could’ve meant a myriad of things. Cross could see him tomorrow. Maybe in a few hours, even. Or he could see him next in however many days.

Cross’s mouth teased a smile and he shook his head. He followed him to the doorway, where Killer lingered, holding the door open with one hand.

It sounded like it was raining outside.

For some reason, in that moment Cross remembered what Killer had said at the gas station, before they left.

His eyes widened, then narrowed at him. “You’re such a liar. You said nothing would happen.”

“Your favorite liar.” Killer grinned.

He leaned farther through the doorway toward him and pressed a kiss to Cross’s teeth, as if it was some kind of weird apology. It tasted like smoke. And blood. Cross let it happen, didn’t want it to end as quick as it did.

“We should do this again sometime.”

Then it was over, Killer was gone, and all Cross saw was the door as it clicked closed.

#wowowowow kross oneshot moment #read my writing boy /silly /nf #this one im like feeling mixed things about but that always happens so y’know how it is #armageddon’s fanfics #rental suits au #cross sans #killer sans #cross x killer #killer x cross #kross ship #criller #utmv #mostly i just hit the point where if i kept editing i was gonna go insane so im posting it Now #also trying out posting fics directly onto tumblr just to see how that goes #and also cause i do not want to deal with ao3’s tagging weeping

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ladybirdswritings · 11 months ago

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Silken Webs & Pirouettes - Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary - You have landed yourself on Miguel’s bad side… or have you? Ballerina!Reader & CEO!Miguel. Alternate Universe with most of the characters included as seen in "Across the Spiderverse." Many cameos ahead. Miguel is a successful business owner but personality is canon. This is a steamy reader insert, Miguel x You! Enjoy and pls leave me lots of love and comments as it keeps me motivated <333

five

Oh, you’re stupid. You’re so, so horribly stupid. Be it for the fact that you talked back to your boss, didn’t follow orders, the fact that you’ve been a liability twice now, oh no no- maybe the fact that you knowingly allowed yourself to get fired though you’re in debt and really— you willingly walked out. Maybe it’s all of that.

Or perhaps you wish it was all of that.

You tense as your finger hovers over the small triangle, afraid to press play on the glowing screen in your lap. It taunts you like the apple of Eden, dripping with droplets of temptation that render you curious. How much longer will you wait?

You press play without second thought, burying your face to hide away in your hands, only allowing your eyes to peek on behind your fingers.

“Good Evening John yes, breaking news this evening coming out of Nueva York. Infamous O’Hara Enterprises’ CEO Miguel O’Hara’s home was broken into late last night. Police say this occurred when Mr’ O’Hara was out on business, but he soon returned home to find his housemaid and six-year-old little girl shot dead in his home.”

The air thins.

Your body chills like it’s been cased in the waters of the arctic, bile rising at your throat as the blonde newscaster continues. A part of you, a very strong part is just begging you to toss your phone across the room and forget this ever happened, you can’t. You’re struck frozen when you see his face on screen.

Christ.

He looks disheveled, lost, broken. So different from the man who belittled and questioned you in his leather throne.

“Mr. O’Hara!! Sir!! Do you have any idea who’s responsible!?”

“Sir! Please just a word!!”

“Mr. O’Hara!! Mr O’Hara!!”

“Was it you!? Did you have your daughter killed!?!”

You gasp, eyes pooling with shameful tears and lip quivering as you watch on screen. The once composed man, towering over everyone in sight who crowds him, turns in fury.

That look.

You know that horrible look because he gave it to you.

He didn’t grab you, though. Maybe he should have…

Mr. O’Hara… he looks like a man destroyed. You understand now that gaze beyond his anger when you mentioned his daughter. His daughter you very much thought was alive and well. Stupid you for not finding more time to fall down the rabbit hole.

You watch on screen as he grabs the newscaster by his collar and tugs him up off his feet like he weighs only but a feather. Panic ensues around him, his lawyer who wears red, round glasses and holds a metal cane is begging him to place the dangling idiot down. His jaw is tense, spitting inaudible words at him through clenched teeth. He tosses him down to the rough concrete eventually though, swiftly passing by the shocked crowd without another word once he does.

“Yes John as you can see in that short video, O’Hara’s emotions were high this evening and he couldn’t keep control of his temper…”

They flash one final picture at the end. It’s him. He looks lively, human… happy. His little girl looks so small on his shoulders, grinning from cheek to cheek like she’s the luckiest thing in the world.

You have a strong feeling she was.

Two droplets of shame fall upon the luminous picture, your eyes staring into the dark brown orbs of a dead girl.

“M’ so sorry I didn’t know…” you whisper to her, running your thumb over the glow of her cheek.

How dare you mention her? Over a stupid, hideous Christmas tree that’s probably been torn to the ground by now. Over silly pink ribbons.

You don’t know how long you sit like that, head hung in shame with an ache biting at your neck. It seems like you just have a talent for ruining the lives of people who take a chance on you… it saddens you.

Your mind flashes to Katerina, the anger in her eyes when she found out. The twisted wire hanger in her hand…

“You deserve this! You stupid, ungrateful girl!”

Your back aches.

Though… by some higher grace, your darkest memories and moments are interrupted once the doorbell rings. It startles you. Not until it rings twice more. Oh, you immediately know who it is.

With a sniffle and harsh wipe at your flushed face with frayed cotton, you throw a sweater upon your shoulders and rush to the door, unlocking it with much relief.

You needed a distraction.

“Uhh te tr- tra? Tra hee? un… un empanada!”

Miles stands with a warm foam plate in hand and a big smile plastered upon his face. He’s proud of his attempt at Spanish. Christ, you’re grateful now more than ever that your neighbor is a kind and chatty teenager with a Hispanic mother. The plate smells delicious.

You smile warmly at him, even through your sadness, thanking him softly as you grab the plate and make your way to your countertop. He follows promptly, taking a seat on the stool and squinting once he gets a clearer look at your face.

“Have you been crying?” He asks, curiosity laced like ribbon in his voice.

“…no.” You whisper, opening the microwave to warm up the delectable treat in your hand. Your stomach grumbles impatiently but through your peripheral, Miles shoots his hand out in panic.

“Waitdontmicrowavethat!!”

You halt, knowing immediately why not. To be sure, you flip open the foam plate and are very much unsurprised to see a hundred-dollar bill taped to the top, adorned with a cursive note that reads: “for groceries.”

Rio…

You shake your head, pulling the emerald bill out from the place where it is snugly taped before you attempt to hand it to Miles.

“Nope!” He dodges your hand swiftly. You’ve done this with him before. However, you just can’t today.

With a defeated suck of your pretty teeth, you shake your head.

“Miles I can’t accept this, I’m fine!”

His hands are raised in protest, “well that’s too bad because mom said if I come back with that hundred-dollar bill, she’s gonna beat me with her chancla…”

Christ… you’d laugh if a certain CEO and his beautiful, deceased daughter wasn’t looming— poisoning the back of your mind.

“I— alright… thank you.” You breathe. You just don’t have it in you to protest today, and you are beyond grateful. Besides, you’ll most definitely be needing this soon, anyways.

Your response must confuse him because Miles furrows his brows, crossing his arms over his chest in overwhelming suspicion.

“No more fighting? Alright, what’s going on? I thought you were happy cause you got that new fancy job.”

You frown, turning your back and gathering your thoughts as you microwave the first thing you’ve eaten since sunrise. You stay dead silent as it heats, only allowing yourself to respond once you’ve stuffed your mouth full of a bite of warm, soft dough, meat and cheese. You nearly moan. God, Rio can cook. It’s times like this where you truly wish you had a mother like her, growing up.

Miles is waiting, you remember.

“I got fired.” No bullshitting, no avoiding. Straight to it no matter how big the pit in your stomach is. No way to sugarcoat that with pink ribbons and pearls.

His chocolate orbs go wide, “What!? It’s your first week!”

The realization makes you groan, soothing your pity with another big bite of warm comfort to drown away the reality you’re forced with, now. All by your own hand… or mouth, rather. How history repeats itself.

“Pissed the boss off…” you mumble before swallowing down the food. Another bite, and another. Miles waits anxiously for more context, and although you’re aching to forget all traces of your idiocy… you give it to him.

“I mentioned his daughter who is very much-”

“Gone…” he interjects, “Yeah, everybody knows that. It was some guys that had a vendetta against him or something. At least, that’s what kids on the block used to say back when we were in Nueva York...”

God, does everyone know but you?

You groan, stuffing your mouth full of one last bite before burying your aching head in your hands. You slowly, far too softly and repeatedly bang it against your palms.

Miles places a comforting hand on your shoulder,

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up. You didn’t know! Besides, working for big shots like him is a waste of time anyways. You’ll get so rich you’ll leave this place and then who will my mom have to send half of her tip money to?”

You know he’s trying to cheer you up, but it only makes you groan again. You feel pathetic. Completely and utterly. Living off of credit cards now, credit cards and groceries from Rio. You never imagined your life to amount to this… At least you’ll have a day’s worth of pay. It’s certainly not small.

But god, it baffles you sometimes… how one stupid choice led you right here. One choice took everything from you. One choice, but all your fault.

The sound of “Sunflower” emits from Miles’ cell, and you glance at the screen to see a picture of a grinning blonde with a bob and a piercing.

Gwen.

The new neighborhood girl who skates out front sometimes, Miles has clearly taken a liking to her. You grin, and he gives you a look that stops you before you can poke any fun.

He immediately reaches to mute it, but you shake your head.

“Go. I’m fine, promise.” Oh, you’re very much lying but, you don’t let him know that. It’s clear there is uncertainty laced in his eyes as he nods and gives you a hug, leaving the bill on the counter before making his way outside.

You shut the door with a huff, resting your forehead against the cool kiss of December’s snowfall.

It feels like pins and needles have nestled all over your skin. Your anxiety plagues at your fingertips and heart and you truly wish you could just sink into your sheets and never rise again.

Every position available. You applied to every position available and were a lucky, lucky girl to land one at the highest paying company that sits in a castle above the clouds. But you were lucky then, too. Dancing. Just look how you strangled that…

You know that if you don’t move from the door, you’ll be glued to it… so you do.

Off to grab your phone to do the dreaded and delayed.

Call home.

Your finger shakes as you pick the devil’s box up from the countertop, throat constricting like a serpent has coiled around it. That would be a far better fate, you’re sure. Eyes swell with tears that you slap away with cold hands.

You did this to yourself.

Your body begs you to toss the phone, begs you not to call and to just sink into those cool sheets but… you have no choice.

You can’t bury yourself in more debt, you can’t depend on Rio, you can’t depend on anyone but you. God knows that your denial of the day looming was just stupidity. Your mother told you you’d come crawling back. Today must be that horrible day that sat upon the horizon. Taunting you.

Perhaps you thought too soon.

Because maybe, just maybe your guardian angel is giving you a break, today.

A call interrupts you. A call from Cindy Moon.

Your shaky hands accidentally prompt you to pick up, body heating in embarrassment. She’s definitely called to confirm the news, or to shame you for your disgusting words. That must be it…

With a breath of preparation, you place the phone against your dampened cheek,

“Uh- hello?” You sound mousy, pathetic.

“Oh, hey! I was just calling to see if you got the ornaments yet? No pressure or anything but I’m just here at a gift shop downtown and I found some really cute ones that might go with the bow theme.”

Oh… lovely. She doesn’t know.

You wince, pinching your skin hard enough so that your tears subside. A trick taught to you by Katerina. Well, less of a trick and more of a punishment.

“Cindy… I don’t think I’m gonna be working with you all anymore.” You force.

She pauses and god, your fluttering heart stops as you await any response. Yet you only hear the tapping of quick fingers against a screen on the other end. Time passes deathly slow as you wait for something, anything. You’d hang up, but this gifted agony is far better than the agony of calling home.

“Have you checked the schedule? I showed you how, right? You’re booked for all of next week. If you weren’t working with us, Mr’ O’Hara would’ve definitely voided your hours… actually, looks like he extended them!”

What?

No, no that can’t be right...

“There must be a mistake…”

She interrupts, “Nope! Trust me, you’d know if Mr. O’Hara was doneso with you. One time, a girl stole from him, and he screamed at her so loud that she had permanent ringing in her ears for the rest of her life.”

You’re silent. Confused, baffled, amazed? You don’t know. You don’t find the right words to respond with, so Cindy just continues,

“Did Mr. O’Hara say something? Look, he’s not a soft guy. He’s almost fired me at least a dozen times now. You’ll get used to it. Just keep your head high and do your job without complaints and you’ll last here. Promise.”

She’s so lively when she’s not in the office, so much more human. Less nervous. It all makes your head spin, strikes you silent.

You have fallen at an utter loss for words, so you simply offer a, “Thanks, Cindy. I will see you Monday.” Before hanging up the phone and facing it down, away from your sight.

God…

You are left with as many questions as there are ribbons on that stupid tree. Left with confusion, fear even. You are simply completely and utterly baffled.

Well, unless it’s a grave mistake on his part…

… it seems like you’re stuck with him after all.

🏷️’s: @reirain @needybitez @laysmt @migueloharastruelove | chap 5 song 🎧:

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tomatoluvr69 · 1 month ago

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Brief check in re: Helene. TLDR I’m alive but my world has been upended and I’ll be off this website for awhile, even if I wanted to we barely have communications in our flood ravaged city. Don’t read this if you have any sort of disaster trauma I guess, I probably should’ve kept this shorter but it kind of got away from me. I may delete/edit later but I don’t really have the capacity for self censorship At the moment, i guess it was good for me to get some of it out stream of consciousness style? Lol idk guess I’m just using my blog as a blog. Anyways I lived bitch

Hi guys, thanks to the couple people who messaged me checking if I was ok, I don’t really have capacity or time to reply to them all, but I’m doing ok all things considered. Basically I live in Western North Carolina and our city has been utterly shattered by flooding after Hurricane Helene. We made it safely to Durham but we are going back tonight with a car full of mutual aid supplies like childrens medicine and chainsaw fuel and cooking oil. I don’t really have the words to describe what I’ve been going through, being cut off from all communications and information for days and have no way to reach your loved ones, to walk through a friend’s house to try to reach their water and food stash and look up at the tree in the ceiling, to stand on a railroad bridge and look down at an entire neighborhood swept away, to know that your family back home hasn’t heard from you in four days and has no way to know if you’re dead. Five people with one degree of separation to me drowned in flash floods, including two children. A college friend had his entire home swept down the river. It’s just all so uncertain. I cry at nothing. Wandering around unscathed Durham and watching people mow their lawns and go to brunch has been a surreal dream and I can’t believe I am going back. But we got some clean underwear, our first shower, and I even got my favorite taqueria order, a torta de lengua and Jesus Christ you can’t imagine how good that tasted

We’ve been without power for 10 days and the water is likely to be out for weeks, the groundwater people are using to drink and bathe may be contaminated by chemicals from manufacturing plants and you just have no way of knowing, and because the city’s water and septic systems were obliterated there is going to be untold amounts of human waste and waste-borne diseases threatening public health, we just don’t know yet. My brain and body have been wracked by it all, there are times when I am somewhere safe and feel mentally calm but note with this weird sense of detachment that my body is trembling. It’s just indescribable to have your city be unrecognizable and underwater, I’m really shaken. Before we got some texting capacity back, if your roommate just failed to come home one night, you had no way to know that she wasn’t killed out there. We will be without drinking water for weeks when all this is over but that’s peanuts compared to the cars you pass by with the search and rescue symbol for “we found a body here” painted on them.

All of which is just to say I’m alive but things are still very bad and I’ll be without reliable communication for the foreseeable future, not to mention no water, and so obviously I’ll be off here awhile. I’ll be back soon enough complaining about mundane inconveniences but frankly it’s difficult to even talk to anyone outside of Helene’s destruction, I’m going to be reeling for a long time. Don’t reblog this because I won’t have the capacity to monitor this post but I guess donate to the Asheville Survival Project if you have the inclination, that’s a way for people like me who are relatively unscathed to get direct needs like formula, insulin, underwear, and shelf stable goods directly into people’s hands who fared worse, without jumping through the impossible hoops of things like FEMA. But I’ll probably be stepping back from mutual aid stuff to support my best friend who is now responsible for arranging the burials of a family of four, including his friend/coworker and her two boys, whose upcoming wedding he was going to will now be their combined funeral date. It’s really insane out here and leaving the stability of Durham with its electricity, grocery stores, toilets, and internet is honestly a bit devastating. But weirdly it will also be a relief to be back in a place where the grimness in your heart is not at odds with your surroundings and you talk to people without preface, with dirty hair and dirty clothes and break down in tears in any given conversation with a stranger, if that makes sense? I also can’t really imagine evacuating cause that’d be incredibly jarring in a different way. It’s so hard to explain. I’m so irritable and angry and numb all the time. I’m yelling at the person who loves me most in the world, so many of the emotional issues I had before this exploded to a boiling point in shocking and unpredictable ways. I go around floating in a daze.

But I’m very, very lucky to be alive and none of my loved ones killed, I just don’t really know what the next few weeks will hold and if, like, cholera is gonna break out, or people I know will die of things like food allergies because they can’t get a new epipen. There’s absolutely no way to convey what this survivor’s guilt is like, of having survived through sheer random luck of the draw. And the things I have seen with my own eyes will never leave me, and the gruesome phone calls I sat with my friend as he received, with the trauma unfolding in waves as the family’s bodies were identified one by one, and all the graphic details we absorbed of the eyewitness account of their panicked attempts to escape the floodwaters before they were swept to TN. I did not witness it but I cannot shake it. I can’t go more than a few minutes before the phrases ring through my head again. And I work at a school and I have no way of finding out if all my students survived, because they are children without their own contact info, until the school is able to contact me with any deaths. That uncertainty is weighing tremendously on my shoulders right now and I can’t believe I’m sitting in a cafe and I still don’t know the extent of the death toll or if the kids I’ve known and worked with every day for so long we’re able to escape their homes.

I guess just keep Western NC in your thoughts, the devastation is going to take years to crawl back from, but also keep paying attention to Gaza, the trauma and devastation there is so much more unimaginable and this has given me a new perspective on what it’s like to watch from afar as people continue their lives while yours is unrecognizable. Idk how much longer I’m gonna have the capacity for mutual aid stuff here but I’m going to try. I may yet decide to evac, but you must understand this is my home and my community, and I want to be here to support my closest friend through this unimaginable loss, and the fact that he is responsible for arranging all four of their burials. Unless the city orders non essential personnel to leave then I will probably stay.

And there are of course moments of levity and fun, especially before we found out about the people, like breaking into a NC state extension agricultural experiment field and stealing some veggies off the vine, or cooking up big giant feasts of whatever we could save from the fridge.

I’ll check back in when I can and if any of you guys also live in southern Appalachia and need to be put in touch with aid I’ll check my DMs here when I can, we can get people out to you with whatever you need. But yeah just keep us in your thoughts I guess, things are still really bad. I’m going back to shop for more mutual aid stuff but then we’re leaving again but I’ll check in when the internet’s back I suppose

Eat a nice hot meal for me, don’t take ice cubes or your shower for granted, and watch something pretentious. xoxoxoxoxox ur favorite natural disaster survivor, tomato lover sixty nine

#don’t reblog

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sleepiexx · 2 years ago

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My Hero

Carlos Oliveira x fem!Reader

Note: been dying to write for resident evil!! Especially Carlos bc he has a special place in my heart right next to Valeria Garza, here it is :))

Summary: Carlos saves a pretty FBI agent and can’t help but flirt with her

Warnings: mentions of drugging, mentions of serial murder, mentions of taxidermying people, descriptions of a wound and stitching it, lmk if I missed any

Word Count: 1561

He’d found her in the hallway of the police station, bulletproof FBI vest ripped through as though it were paper. He hadn’t even considered that she was alive until he realized that the sad little wheezing noise that had non-stop been plaguing his ears came from her mouth.

“Holy shit,” he whispered as her eyes shot open. She attempted to move but stopped short, groaning.

Carlos stilled for a second, gun aimed at the woman, trying to determine wether her groans were that of the inhuman creatures he’d been desperately trying to survive against but ultimately decided against that as a pained whimper passed her lips. He quickly shoved his gun into it’s holster and grabbed a med kit off the wall before running to her side.

“Hey, hey, hey, stop trying to move sweet thing. I’m Carlos and I’m gonna help you, okay?”

“Hurts,” she whined, tears free falling down her face.

“I know, I know. I’m going to fix you up, but first, I need to take this off. Think you can hold your breath for just one second and tough it out?” He asked, knowing that no matter the answer she gave, he was going to have to convince her to let him take off the vest and let him stitch her up. Her life depended on it.

“Yeah” she breathed, jaw clenched tight, “yeah, just do it fast.” She moved her hands away from where she was clutching claw mark-shaped open wounds ranging from rib to shoulder.

“Will do,” his hands made quick work of the velcro, shimmying the loosened vest over her head. Underneath was a bloodstained white button up blouse.

“Is it okay if i unbutton your shirt so I can reach the wound?” Once again, something he would have to convince her of if she said no but Carlos refused to make her feel any worse than she already did by taking away her decision and just stripping her with no warning.

In response, she nodded. She was handling the situation very well, Carlos assumed that might have something to do with the vest, or rather the letters on it, what it meant she was. He quickly undid the buttons on her blouse, carefully sliding it off, attempting to not expose her. Thankfully, her bra had been narrowly missed by the claws on the creature, edges just slightly tattered, so she wasn’t completely bare.

Digging through the med kit, Carlos pulled out disinfectant. “I’m going to-“

“Please just get it over with,” she strained.

“Gotcha, no more talking,”

A pang of guilt rushed over her, “‘m sorry,” she cried, wincing as Carlos cleaned the wounds with harsh disinfectant. “I’m so thankful for your help, this just hurts really bad.”

“Hey, no hard feelings. I wouldn’t be feeling particularly chummy either if I was just- stabbed? Cut? Clawed? Jesus what happened?”

She took a long sigh, “There was a creature here earlier, like the ones outside but less human, more monster. Slashed the shit outta me with it’s claws and then smashed through the window.” She explained, gesturing to the broken window to her side. Carlos made a mental note to check her hands and legs for glass shards later.

“Christ,” he let out an exasperated sigh, “were you here to help with the zombies?”

The girl shook her head, “I mean not technically, they would have sent someone other than me had anyone known. We thought it was just serial murders to begin with. Which partially, it was.”

Carlos shot her a curious look, “I’m about to start stitching, but keep talking. It’ll help keep your mind off the pain.”

She gave him a respectful nod. “The RPD chief of police, he was killing various women and then turning them into taxidermy for his own sick enjoyment.” She elaborated, face turned sour, “I’d been in his office to discuss my findings about the murders with him, I only put together that he was the one committing them when he gave me a glass of water. After a few sips, I got woozy and realized he’d drugged me. Before I could do anything to stop him, I crashed on the floor. When I came to, Irons was long gone.”

Her face felt unusually flush as waves of chills ran through her bloodstream, causing her to stop her story for a second and rub her face with the palm of her hand opposite the side that Carlos was fixing up.

She continued, voice wary, “I wandered the police station still drugged up, but conscious. I was looking for help, but I was met with flesh eating zombies. After fighting them off, I ran in here to get away. Little did I know there was some big fucked up creature in this hallway too.”

Carlos frowned at her story, “that sounds awful, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before, other than the whole zombie thing.” She laughed a humorless, dry laugh. Carlos smiled along, attention still on the claw marks which at this point were dripping quite a bit of blood.

Her chills and flush-ness morphed into a skull shattering headache. She felt weak, incredibly weak. Her body sank lower on the wall she was propped up against.

“What’s your name again?” She asked, speech slurred ever so slightly but not enough to cause immediate alarm in him.

“Carlos, what’s yours?”

“I- I don’t know, Carlos. But…but.. but I’m tired, so ’m g’nna take a nap, okay?”

Carlos’s head shot up, his eyes meeting hers which were fluttering closed. Panic reared its ugly head in Carlos’s gut.

“Hey, hey none of that. You gotta stay awake.” He lightly smacked her face a few times, making her squint them open at him. “Keep those puppy dog eyes on me, okay?”

She didn’t give a response but he took her still open eyes as an okay. He hastened his stitching pace, flicking his gaze between her face and collar bone. As he was about to make his last few stitches, he noticed her eyes beginning to close again.

“C’mon, puppy, eyes open. I only got a few more stitches to do. You can rest later.”

She blinked a few times, silently trying really hard to stay awake as exhaustion washed over her body.

He decided to continue talking to her throughout the final stitches so she could keep focused on staying awake.

“Gotta stay awake so you can tell me your name later. And I gotta keep you alive so you’ll go on a date with me after this, how’s that sound?”

“You’re asking me out as I bleed all over your hands?” She strained.

He smiled, happy to have gotten her talking again, and while it wasn’t his top priority at the moment, he was really hoping to get that date. “If it makes you feel any better, you look really sexy covered in blood.”

She giggled faintly, “keep sweet talking like that and maybe I will let you take me on a date.”

“Is that right? Well in that case, has anyone ever told you what beautiful eyes you have?”

She scoffed with a smile, “just you and your weird nicknames.”

“I think it’s fitting, puppy for the girl with those sweet little puppy dog eyes. Besides, it’s not like you’ve told me your name yet.”

She would have likely responded had she not been occupied by realizing he finished stitching her up. Carlos set the thread and needle back into the med kit, reaching for gauze and tape before turning to wrap the girl’s freshly-stitched wounds.

“I thought you were a zombie there for a second, I’m glad I found you. Just one more combat trained person to add to the team.”

“How many else are there?” An attempt to gage how much of a chance they had of getting out. She wasn’t opposed to the idea of a small team, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt having some extra help.

“Well there’s you, me, my friend Tyrell, and that S.T.A.R.S. lady.” He listed off.

“S.T.A.R.S.? So we do have a fighting chance. Jill Valentine or Rebecca Chambers?”

“Jill.”

She nodded in response.

They stayed in a comfortable silence the rest of the time it took Carlos to wrap the wound. The agent focused on her breathing, trying to get it back to normal.

“All done.” Carlos gently patted the gauze, smiling and helping her onto her feet. He re-buttoned her shirt and even helped her slip her vest back on.

She shot him a smile back, “(Y/N).”

He cocked his head in confusion, “huh?”

“You said I needed to stay awake so I could tell you my name, well you’ve successfully fixed me up. I’m (Y/N).”

His smiled returned tenfold, “pretty name for a pretty girl.”

She laughed, “How did I already know you were going to say something cheesy like that?”

“You’re FBI, you’re in my mind, picking my brain.” He replied, making her scoff. He smirked in return, “So.. you want to fulfill my other wish?”

“What’s that?”

“Let me take you on a date”

A different route from both of their joking tones, (Y/N) smiled, a real, genuine smile. “If we get out of here, you can take me on as many dates as you want. After all, you’re my hero.”

#carlos oliveira x reader #carlos oliveira x you #carlos oliveira #resident evil 3 remake #resident evil

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bee-named-alex · 5 months ago

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Ok so the promised thoughts about Interview with the Vampire s2e5 (keep in mind that i haven't read the books, i've only seen some posts by people who have) SPOILERS

This episode was... heavy I guess is the right word. Pretty dark. Some things real fucked up. But also like emotionally.

I'll start with the nice thing, which is the Daniel and Louis dynamic; I really enjoy their present selfs, finding out their memories together. I like that Daniel even seems to be disappointed when Louis say that they didn't do anything lmao. Yeah and them in past is super fun too, at least at the start; Louis being happy with, Daniel "I did what I had to" Molloy taking of his shirt the moment he gets an excuse to do so.

It's interesting tho, the way Louis talks about Lestat has changed. But yeah, time passes and changes perspective (or maybe they have met after this sometimes and that changed it, but in that case i would have to ask where is lestat now)

And I think talking about the 70s takes immense trust on both parts, but especially Daniel's. I mean uncovering what he knows is risky, even without Armand in there.

Speaking of, I like that we get to hear how he likes to hunt; they tell us ("he's gonna be begging for it in an hour" or something like that) and show us with Daniel, that Armand likes his victims to be so mentally broken by him that they basically offer themselves up to him (similar to what Santiago does on stage)

Now that I've opened up Armand's behaviour, I'll talk a little about their fight. Like I get it. I get them both, Armand more than I thought I would. But fucking christ. They are both saying the hard truths (which i doubt is common in their relationship) and so it's spicy.

Louis bringing up Armand's past is fucked. But also Armand being so jealous of Lestat, like he's been their whole relationship; i like to see that, this seed of hatred and resentfulness that keeps hurting them even in present day.

And then Louis runs out and that is something i did not see coming and i feel so bad for him, like omg. And the way Armand acts towards him then feels really cruel but in the light of their fight i guess he gets to be angry (but i still dont like it)

Armand listening to the tapes and promptly torturing Daniel for four fucking days. Crazy. I mean yea this is "Torture as foreplay, the show" but still? Mental.

I wholeheartedly agree with "Fuck your boyfriend"

I'm not actually tho sure if he's torturing him for the fun of it or out of jeaulosy or if he actually wants to find out "what makes him fascinating" but still, jesus (He really said, you could be on your knees in a second and you WILL, lol)

The Lestat-Armand scene broke my heart. This means that they both know that Lestat is alive because Louis didn't look at all surprised that he is, only shocked that Armand knew where he was. So id like to know if he actually found out (when? how??) or if he just assumed.

Now, what is Armand trying to do here? If it's to hurt Louis, he's successful but it hurts me to think that's it. If it's actually to make Louis happy, than he's doing it all wrong, like Louis tells him like a million times to stop. If it's to show that he's better, or like to give Louis a choice and hope he's the chosen one, I mean I guess? Still don't get it tho.

I really like that he refuses to say the "I love you", because, well, I'm not sure about the intentions, but to me it shows that he is scared that Louis would leave him if he knew. Which is not an unfounded fear really, not from the point of view of someone who's been listening to the tapes and hearing Lestat, Lestat, Lestat... over and over again. I think that the tapes kinda confirm Armand's fears that he isn't "enough" for Louis and could never be enough because he just isn't Claudia and he just isn't Lestat.

And the talk after that scene, "he is just my maker" yea no we both know you're lying. But then they explain why Armand's acting kinda like a servant to Louis (because to be tired of cleaning messes, you would have to have cleaned a lot of messes), because he's trying to undo something that happened in Paris? (Claudia is in danger, i fear)

Speaking of Lestat, where is he?? I mean he doesn't know where Louis is and Armand refuses to tell him, but I don't think that's just it. Like, I'm pretty sure if he could, Lestat would burn the whole word to find Louis. So it might be that he's been locked up somewhere? (i have seen people who know the books talk about some dungeon i think?? but idk)

Next thing I find quite fascinating (haha) is the very confusing Loumand power dynamic. It mostly comes from Armand and the way he seems to have two conflicting personalities that he switches between; one of them is the "cold, dark, manipulative, always in power, will torture you mentally", you know like he was acting with Daniel for most of the episode, and then there is the "devoted servant, looking to please and get love, yes maitre, of course maitre" or as Louis calls it, very 'tactly' I might add, "the bitch he was groomed to become", (it is obviously a horrible thing to say, i mean come on, louis.)

And I'm not sure what causes him to switch, if it just happens inside him or if the change is somehow (intentionally or even unintentionally) caused by Louis. It also kinda reminds me of the way Lestat has the mental stability of a rocking horse, but instead of it being "Everything is fine -> Rage", it's "I'm in power -> I will do literally anything you say".

Also idk how Louis feels about this. Because he will certainly use this side of Armand to get what he wants, but I'm not all that sure that he necessarily enjoys that power. Whatever it is, he saved Daniel thanks to it so yeah, good.

The ending, i am a little scared about, i will admit. Not sure how fast Armand can figure out what they know, and when he does, if they will know that he knows that they know. Dubai scenes are gonna be fun is what im saying.

Lastly, the trailer. Looks great again, more Loumand scenes that will hopefully be healthier than whatever this was. I am scared for Claudia as per Armand's "Have I atoned for my part of Paris?" i think the girl is done for. Also Santiago clearly play part in that, i've seen some people talk about a court?? and it looks like he's gonna do just that, probably court for Claudia and Louis (and possibly Armand?)

This didn't fit anywhere, but this episode somehow made me like Armand more? Not as a person, but as a character. I was always team Lestat and it might be because he was there first and i tend to be biased towards that, but maybe it's the fact that he was just more fun to watch. Like both his "normal" and his "fucked up". Armand was really cool too, but his "normal" i just didn't enjoy as much. But his "fucked up" was horrifying and also totally fascinating to watch so now i like him a little more than before (lestat still remains above him tho, idk what to tell you)

So anyways I hope you enjoyed my rant. I will happily read any responses also I might add to this if I remember something later.

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #iwtv s2 #iwtv spoilers #louis de pointe du lac #armand #lestat de lioncunt #loustat #loumand #iwtv s2 ep5 #daniel molloy

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idkwhatimdoinghere1655 · 8 months ago

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Australian GP 2024!

Mads' Race Recap!

Oh my jesus lord christ alive this was a goddamn good day. OK, I'll try to remain calm, but that is VERY difficult under the circumstances of my 3 best boys getting the podiums. But, I shall do this in order of constructors. Also, thanks to @lipringlrh for edging me through the entire bloody race cause she knew what happened, I swore I was going to be sick.

Red Bull - Nice qualis from Max, and I can't say I wasn't happy with Checo's three place penalty, just because I definitely think it helped the main race. Everything was all honky dory, then Carlos overtook and I was just like 'OK Carlitos, sure'. Then Max was slowing down... Then Lando and Charles passed, and the everyone else. The brakes were smoking, I was screaming out of pure joy. Now, don't take this the wrong way, I love Max. BUT, this provided my boys some very good opportunities. I reckon if Checo hadn't gotten the penalty, he could've tried to pip in front, but I won't dwell on what didn't happen.

Ferrari - WE GOT A FUCKING FERRARI 1-2 BABYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!! HOLY FUCKING SHIT WHEN I TELL YOU I LOST MY GODDAMN MIND IT IS UNPARALLELED! Anyway, I'll be constructive, for a moment, at least. Charles and Carlos had some mental quali pace, so how they didn't get pole is a little crazy to me. Alas, none of that matters now. The second I saw Max go, I was like 'oh fuck we've got it'. Carlos DOTD and race winner, barely 2 weeks after having his appendix out and he doesn't have a seat?! Absolutely diabolical. It was sweet how he went back to singing Smooth Operator, I was waiting for it. When I heard the commentators saying that they may swap the positions so that Charles could lead the WDC, I was shitting it. Yes, I wanted Charles to win, but I didn't want it to be because of something stupid like team orders. Charles can win without needing it handing to him, and it would've been so damn disrespectful to Carlos. Every year that a team has finished 1-2 in Melbourne, they've gone on to win both championships... It's our year, I'm telling you.

So happy to see them back at the top, both of them did incredibly, Charles was pulling pace out of God knows where for that fastest lap. And the strategy was good???? Like, bringing Charles in when he said he needed to? Listening??? Nice stuff. Hearing the Spanish and Italian anthems was absolutely amazing. Also, I feel like this really highlights how special Ferrari is. The team were screaming that Italian anthem like there was nothing more important to them, and they were all hugging and having a whale of a time. It was just so fucking nice to see Charlandos up there, so fucking good. So so so so so happy, Forza Ferrari. Everyone is a Ferrari fan.

McLaren - OK, so, quali wise, Lando kinda came out of nowhere. I feel like Oscar was just... There? We were racing, it was the 'rarri 1-2 with Oscar in P3 at his home race, it was lovely stuff. Then they swapped the positions. Can someone please tell me why they swapped the positions? Pretty sure it was something to do with either less pace or more recent pitting or something, but I'm not 100% sure. As much as I love Lando, I wanted him to stay down in P3 just for that Ferrari 1-2. I needed it. The last few laps, I was looking at the delta between Charles and Lando, and I was relieved to see that it wasn't changing. Super happy for Lando, Oscar did loads better at his home race, nice one for all.

Mercedes - What the hell is going on here? Like, Lewis' qualis weren't good, George's were fine, nothing bad but nothing spectacular. Now the race was something else. I can't really blame Lewis for his problem, since it was a mechanical issue obviously as opposed to driver error. From what I saw of George, he didn't even do anything that bad. One minute he was fine, the next he was turned on his side. I may not want Merc to get points, but I don't want a crash to be the reason why. He's OK, so that's all that really matters. But, as for the car in general, there's something wrong with it. It's not just a one week thing where it's a bit off, this has been consistent. Yes, George had a nice P3 in qualis the other week, but the pace just wasn't there at all in the race. I just don't know what's going on with them at the minute, and the fact that they're so behind the Ferraris and McLarens is concerning.

Aston Martin - Pretty mediocre all together, I've seen varied opinions on Fernando's 20 second pen. Some said he was kinda to blame for George's crash, from what I saw, he was just avoiding George after the fact. I don't really know, so I won't comment until I watch another replay. But yeah, nothing too special, but they do need to up their game.

VCARB/RB/REDBULLSHITTYEDITION - Yuki Tsunoda. Well bloody done babe. Got extra points thanks to the Fernando penalty, even if I didn't really see him during the race like... at all. But, he must've done a pretty damn good job to end up all the way in eighth before the end of the race. Now, Daniel. What is this man doing? 12th is not bad, but when your teammate with less experience in the same car is doing that much better than you in your home race, you know something's up. I love Danny Ric, but Carlos is more likely to get that Red Bull seat than he is at this rate. Slightly disappointed, I won't lie.

Haas - Both drivers getting points? OK, OK. I actually think Kevin could've gotten higher in qualis if Checo hadn't impeded, but I'm glad Checo was put down on the grid. Overall though, nice drive from both, nice to see them get points.

Williams - Right, realistically, what harm would it have done to let Logan drive? It wasn't his fault, Alex has fucked it at that circuit so many times at the same place, and Alex didn't even get points. It wasn't fair, and he took it like an absolute champ. #justiceforlogiebear #cancelwilliams

Kick Sauber - These guys need to fix their pitstops I swear to God. How many times are they going to get that wheel nut stuck on? They did 1 good one for Valtteri, but they screwed up all the others. Zhou's pitlane start was unfortunate after it looked like his front wing just... fell off. Someone said the car reminds them of a wheelie bin, I completely agree and can't see it any differently.

Alpine - Pierre 's fault for getting the 5 second penalty, but other than that, they were shit as usual. Pierre was running pretty high for a little while, then just kind of... fell back. I can't help but laugh at them, I know it's mean, I just find it so bloody comical. I think FC Versailles is just a distraction, but he has just invested in a Tier 3 league, unheard of French football team... Nice one, I guess.

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chirpovs · 2 months ago

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episode 7 uh…. truly fantastic episode but worst fucking choice made by the writers, I’m so fuckin pissed

The Good

- Annatar the manipulative bastard that you are. like every scene where he’s manipulating reality and fucking with everyone’s head just had me on the edge of my seat

- Elrond and Durin my beloved

- I wasn’t sure about the Sauron’s blood to make the rings thing at first, but I’ve decided I like it and it makes the corruption and Nazgûlification of the nine fun

- okay so like I clocked what Celebrimbor was gonna do the moment he started messing with his chains but oh boy the poeticness of a crafter cutting off a finger to escape is so good (also reference to Maedhros my beloved?)

- for once there was a good speech in this series that was not lifted from the movies (I’m talking about Celebrimbor saying how only light can defeat darkness)

- Adar comparing Elrond to Melian? same bro, same

- I will not wax poetic about how good Elrond was in this episode but I want everyone to know I’m thinking it (also thank u to whoever let his hair go this season, I’m living for it)

- siege of eregion battle overall, no notes tbh. surprisingly only felt a little like the siege of minas tirith and like I mean that in a good way because it didn’t feel like a copy

- yet again, this episode benefits so, so much by there just being effectively one storyline going on. it all ties together much, much more smoothly and it allows you to actually immerse yourself in the story instead of getting taken out of it when the storyline changes

The Bad

- the cut when Gil-galad has just joined up with Elrond to the sunrise was really weird imo because it made it seem like no time had passed and it was just like sudden light change?

- I’m not sure if this is actually bad because it kinda makes sense, but Arondir really made the Eregion archers look pathetic. like maybe it was intentional cause they’re not really supposed to be warriors but it was definitely noticeable if it wasn’t

The Ugly

- as taylor swift said “it was unnecessary, should’ve let it stay buried.” you know what I’m gonna say, you know. the amount of unnecessary it was. the way it makes for weird implications. like yes, it was a distraction, yes Galadriel’s confused af face afterwards matched my confused af face, but also I will personally just be pretending it didn’t happen, because you cannot fucking tell me that they couldn’t think of any other way for the pin to be passed to her. honestly I cannot think of a single reason those writers would have sat in a room, discussed this, and then come to the conclusion that it was the right choice (and I wonder slightly if it reeks of executive meddling to create drama a la the whole Tauriel debacle back during the hobbit)

Other thoughts

- ngl guys I did not think that Mirdania would die like that??? rip to the Mirdania is Celebrian theory but I guess rip to that one anyway given the writers fucking choices

- Rían dead too????

- so I don’t think Arondir is dead at all btw guys, he was still moving and to me that means he’s alive

- I did truly think that the orcs were gonna turn on Adar because he’s leading them to death and they’re not convinced, so was surprised when they all join him at the end of the episode, but maybe that’s leading up to them choosing to join Sauron instead

- Elrond’s really goin through it this episode. like friends are either dead or seemingly abandoned him, ring he’s supposed to keep safe stolen, he had to fight a troll, give my boy a break (the way he will continue to go through it next episode when Celebrimbor gets Celebrimbannered 🥲)

- y’all should have seen my face throughout this episode, I was unwell, there are nail marks on my arm, jesus actual christ

#trop #trop spoilers #rings of power #me @the writers: I coming for u #also I’m gonna watch the ep again now even though I only finished it an hour ago lmao

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foulbearobservation · 2 years ago

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For Lilith prompts, how did Lilith react to finding out that Ava accidentally killed Sister Frances? Proud? Annoyed that it was an accident? Mad because she didn't get to do it for Ava? Jealous because Ava got to confront her captor/tormentor and Lilith never truly got to do that to hers (aka her mother?)

She finds her staring out the window morosely. The expression fits Ava's face strangely, like a macabe clown attempting to draw out a laugh at a funeral.

"I know why I'm up, but what the hell are you doing here?"

Ava startles, jumping slightly and knocking her head against the window. "Fucking christ, make some noise next time." She whisper-yells.

"Why are you whispering?" Lilith humors her and drops her voice to a whisper.

"Bea is passed out on the couch." Ava gestures behind her where Beatrice is curled into herself on the couch.

"And why aren't you over there being sappy and disgusting and cuddling in your sleep?" Lilith asks, gently moving Ava's legs over so she can sit on the window sill next to her. Ava waits for her to get comfortable before throwing her legs back over Lilith's lap.

"Couldn't sleep." She says, resuming her window staring.

"Usually when you can't sleep you run around the block, not stare into the sea like a byronic prince." Lilith says. Ava arches an eyebrow, wordlessly asking for her to explain, and Lilith just rolls her eyes. "You're more angsty than usual. What gives?"

Ava glances out the window again then back to Lilith. "Did you ever like it?"

"Like what?"

"When you killed someone." It comes out as a horrified whisper.

Lilith shrugs, looking out the window and finding a low swooping bat to focus her attention on. "Sometimes. I did it so they didn't have to. I liked myself better that way, even if I didn't like the act every time."

"I think I liked it once."

The statement floats out in silence and Lilith lets it settle.

"Tell me about it?" She asks eventually.

"It was an accident, but it also wasn't. Do you remember the orphanage?"

It suddenly clicks. "The woman who killed you." Lilith looks over to Ava but the other woman won't make eye contact with her. "Ava."

"No just..." Ava pouts. "I don't know how to feel about it. It wasn't necessary but it just felt good—"

"It was necessary." Lilith cuts her off. "If you didn't do it, Beatrice would have."

That startles Ava enough to make her look back at Lilith. "What?"

"Beatrice would have killed her if you didn't." She states blandly. "And it would've destroyed her, because at her core Beatrice is a very good person."

"I don't —"

"I am not a very good person." Lilith continues. "You're a fairly okay person, but you deserved that revenge. You deserve to enjoy it. It would eat Beatrice alive if she had to do that for you because she would have liked it too. That woman," Lilith spits out, "she killed you Ava. She tried to do it again when you were brought back to life."

Ava shifts her legs to hug them against her chest. "You think I'm a fairly okay person? Careful Lilith, a girl might think you're sweet on her."

Lilith stands. "Sweet on you? Beatrice is really rubbing off on you." She grabs Ava's head, leaning in to kiss her forehead. "You're a good person Ava. Liking one bad thing does not make you irredeemably evil, otherwise I sure as hell wouldn't be here. You're okay."

Ava looks up, capturing Lilith's lips in a longer kiss. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Seriously."

#avalil #background ot4 #but they're not important right now what's important is lilith being a very good bad person #mwah anon I am kissing u on the mouth this was delicious to think about #also lilith saying beatrice would've killed sister frances to obfuscate the point that lilith would have helped #lilith would've made it last and made it very painful

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leafnyx · 23 days ago

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Whumptober Day 21: Body Horror - Kieran Duffy - Part 1

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Eye horror, implied/referenced torture, cuts, bruises, depictions of gore

Setting: Chapter 4 - Shady Belle

A/n: I have literally no knowledge of medical stuff around the time of rdr so keep that in mind when reading the last few lines of this fic

Kieran can barely register what’s happening anymore. He hears voices around him, shouting? He thinks. But he doesn’t really know. Everything is fuzzy, his hearing especially. He can’t see, he’s tired, even though he’s spent most of his here unconscious.

He doesn’t remember much of the past few days, or weeks, he can’t tell how long he’s been here. The last thing he remembers is Jacks party. He finally let himself relax a bit, for the first time since joining the gang.

He’s always been awkward with parties, preferring to be on the sidelines. Especially in a party held by a bunch of people who hate his guts. But this time he decided to at least attempt to join in the festivities. Shockingly, it didn’t go all that bad. He drank some and actually managed to talk to some of the gang members.

He remembers talking the most with Sean. Although the man had been one of the first to throw insults at Kieran once he had been brought back to camp, Sean doesn’t seem to mind Kieran all that much.

But the good faith of the night had been destroyed for Kieran when he went out to the forest to take a piss. He hadn’t gone to far off from camp but a group of O’Driscolls found him and knocked him out.

They’ve been messing with Kieran the past few days. He knows they’ve beat him a shit ton, and they even stabbed his eye, with a needle he thinks. That’s about the only thing he can clearly remember.

It hurt like shit and he felt the eye itself slowly deflate. He can still feel the leftover liquid, which is already half-dry and sticky, on his cheek. He’s in so much pain, everywhere. He feels hot and cold at the same time.

The shouting and bangs get louder and closer. Kieran would be scared, but he has nothing left in him to fear, he’s fully out of it. Suddenly, the door of the cabin, room? Whatever it is, shoots open.

He hopes it’s the Van Der Linde’s coming to save him, but he doesn’t hope too hard because he doesn’t think any of them care enough to come for him.

He hears muffled words around him and sees blurred faces walking towards him but Kieran passes out before he’s able to tell who’s they are.

“Jesus Christ…” Arthur mumbles, being the first to step into the cabin Kieran is being kept in.

He sees the scrawny man on a chair, leaning forward since he’s not able to keep his body upright anymore. Kieran is covered in cuts and bruises on the skin that is visible and Arthur can’t even imagine what is under his clothes. The worst part, that makes Arthur grimace and look away, is one of Kieran’s eyes that is deflated in its socket, covered in blood and what seems like puss, or whatever liquid, streaming down from it.

Bill enters the room soon after, being the second to see Kieran’s body.

“Fuck.. is he alive?” He says, in an unusual tone, seemingly worried about Kieran.

“Dunno, haven’t checked yet,” Arthur replies, walking over to Kieran’s limp body and grabbing his wrist. “Barely, we need to get him to camp. Quick.”

Arthur begins to undo the ropes binding Kieran to the chair, Bill quickly scurrying over to help him.

Arthur picks Kieran up, not needing Bill to help because of how light the younger man is, and walks out of the cabin.

Charles, the only other man willing to join them in getting Kieran, is standing by his horse Taima and Branwen who he found off to the side. When he spots the two holding Kieran he moves towards them.

“They got him good huh.” Charles says, commenting on the body.

“You think he said anything?” Arthur asks.

“Doubt it, he didn’t seem to care much for the O’Driscolls.” Charles replies.

Bill stays quiet, watching Kieran intently as Arthur places him on the front of his horse, getting on behind so he can hold the man upright so he doesn’t fall off.

Bill and Charles mount their own horses, the latter leading Branwen along behind him, and the group begins their short ride back to camp.

The ride is quiet, it has an almost sad aura. They had begun warming up to Kieran the past few weeks, so it was hard seeing him like this.

As they make it to the front of camp, people begin noticing them. They hitch up their horses and Arthur gets off his own, holding Kieran.

“Mrs. Grimshaw!” He yells out. “We need help, he’s boutta die!”

“Holy hell, they fucked him up bad” Sean exclaims as he looks at the body.

Sadie quietly watches everything go down, feeling a bit bad for Kieran now that they’ve both gone through things due to the O’Driscolls.

“Well looks who’s back!” Dutch says, walking towards the group. “The O’Driscoll, went scurrying back to his own.”

“Dutch” Arthur says, wearily.

“Looks like they don’t want him no more, I bet he talked all about us.”

“Dutch. Lay off on him”

“Once an O’Driscoll, always an O’Driscoll , don’t tell me you’ve softened up on him Arthur.”

Arthur doesn’t reply, walking to his tent still carrying Kieran, followed by Mrs. Grimshaw and Reverend Swanson.

Arthur places Kieran on his cot, Grimshaw closing the tent flap behind them for some sort of privacy.

Reverend prays over the body quietly, clearly horrified by the sight of it.

Reverend and Grimshaw quickly get to work trying to keep Kieran alive while Arthur stands off to the side silently watching.

They take the top layer of his clothes off, assessing the damages, bruises littering Kieran’s body, along with cuts, some deeper like one across his side, and some just scratches.

Deeming the eye injury the most important problem for now, they get to trying to fix that.

Mrs. Grimshaw pours gin on her hand and begins moving to Kieran’s eye socket to get the deflated eye out. As she touches it Kieran wakes up, screaming.

“Jesus Christ! Arthur! Hold him down!” Mrs. Grimshaw exclaims as Arthur rushes over to hold Kieran down to the cot.

Revered quickly moves to get morphine, injecting Kieran with it who passes out again, quickly.

The rest of the procedure goes well enough, Kieran now lying on cot, still unconscious, with almost all of his body bandaged up.

“He might not make it” Reverend says to Arthur and Mrs. Grimshaw who are still in the tent, just having finished.

“We’ll make sure he does, he’s useful around camp” Grimshaw replies, trying to not show too much care for Kieran.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #whumptober2024 #whumptober 2024 #no. 21 #kieran duffy

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