#I need that man covered in blood STAT

[phatcatphergus]

remember months ago when you were talking about horror movie final girl tubbo

i didnt see it back then but now i get it

he is the final girl that as the story goes on and things get more dire you realise he could be scarier than the villain itself

No one believed Jesus but he spoke the truth…

He is so final girl coded it’s not even funny like he would be covered in blood and gore at the end and save everyone from the killer only for them to find out that he only made them believe that he killed the killer when he was actually the killer the whole time.

[preciousbarnes]

By Your Side

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You get badly injured on a mission, and Bucky doesn't handle it well.

Word Count: 1.7k

Tags: Established Bucky x Reader, Agent!Reader, Explosions, Bodily Injury, Near Death Experience, Hospital Setting

It had been as routine as any mission could be. You, Sam, and Bucky were tasked to break into an old WWII bunker which held files containing information about a weapon that was at risk for resurfacing. The government wanted the files back in their hands before they could fall into someone else’s.

You all stood in the musky smelling dark bunker, everything covered in a thick layer of dust, not seeming to have been touched in decades. You were quickly gathering the old paper files into your backpack, when there was a sudden, persistent beeping to your right.

“Forget to turn off your alarm, agent?” Sam joked, making you and Bucky laugh.

You shook your head, before your eyes widened in realization. You all had let your guard down upon entering the bunker. With all the dust, you never imagined it could have all been staged to look untouched. You all made the mistake of being too comfortable. Too self-assured. And you were about to reap the consequences.

“Bomb!” You yelled, right as the beeping became constant.

Then, a bright flash and deafening boom, as your body was thrown back from the blast. You felt a sharp, searing sensation in your abdomen, overwhelming the pain you felt in the base of your skull. You laid there on the cold concrete floor, disoriented, your vision blurred as you tried desperately to regain your bearings.  Looking up you see a dark figure running to your side, a muffled sound of your name being called. Once the figure got closer, you could make out that it was Bucky.

His face, once it was in your vantagepoint, worried you. The usually stoic man on missions with the thousand-yard stare was obviously rattled, his eyes wide, hands ghosting over your form, afraid to touch you, like he was in fear he may hurt you more. Your eyes left his face to follow where he was looking, down at your abdomen, where the burning and constant ache was.

There it was. A metal pipe had pierced you during the explosion, now lodged in your stomach. There was blood pooling around the wound and on the floor under you, unsettlingly warm against the cool concrete. You swallowed dryly, before looking back up to Bucky, who looked utterly lost. That’s when Sam finally came into view. He had some scrapes and already forming bruises, but it was clear that you had taken the worst of the blast, being so close to the bomb.

“We need a medic in here, stat. Does anyone copy?” You heard Sam call through the coms, hearing a quick but dull reply you couldn’t make out respond soon after his order.

“They’re coming as fast as they can. How are you feeling?” Sam asks, kneeling on the other side of you, glancing up to Bucky to gage his condition before returning his focus to you.

“I-I’m cold, and s-so sleepy, Sam” You say hoarsely.

This seems to awaken Bucky, he begins sternly shaking his head, hand coming to firmly grasp yours. He recognized the signs. Cold. Sleepy. Signs of massive blood loss. Possible internal bleeding. Early signs of a fate he didn’t want for you.

“Doll, no, y’gotta stay awake. Stay awake for me, okay?” He says quickly, his metal hand coming up to push the hair out of your face and gently tuck it behind your ear. As he pulls his hand back, he notices his fingertips are coated in blood. Your blood. You had an injury to the back of your skull. His eyes widen at the sight of more of your blood, before he schools his expression back as much as he can, trying to look calm for your benefit, when he feels anything but calm.

“I- I don’t think I can, Buck. I’m so tired,” You tell him softly, before a cough works it's way up your throat, the force of it jarring your body and making you wince in pain.

Tears sprang to Bucky’s eyes as he shook his head once again. He knew what it meant if you went to sleep. He’d seen it play out way too many times on battlefields. You wouldn’t wake back up.

“Please, sweetheart, stay with me.” He pleaded with you, grasping your hand tighter, pulling it up to his lips to kiss gently.

“James,” you began, blinking a few times in effort to stay awake long enough to tell him what you felt compelled to tell him. You weren’t stupid. You knew you were in bad shape, with the likelihood of your survival getting slimmer by each passing moment the medics were taking to get to you.

“I-I love you, James. It’s okay. If I have to go, I’d want it to be like this. D-doing the work I believe in, and getting to be with you. You’ll be okay, Jamie.” You told him, voice shaky.

Tears begin to fall down Bucky’s face as he cries without abandon, shaking his head once again, hair flopping around with the viciousness of the shakes.

“No. You can’t leave me. Not like this. You can't tell me you love me like this. Save it for when you’re better. Not like this.” He begs between sobs.

Sam rises to his feet, calling on the coms that they needed help now, that things were looking grim. Your eyes begin to drift shut on their own accord, unable to keep them open any longer. You begin to fall into what feels like a deep sleep, Bucky’s cries being the last thing you heard, each one breaking your heart.

The first thing you heard was a soft and steady beep, accompanied by the sterile smell that medical facilities always had. You felt the weight of a hand in yours, recognizing the callouses belonging to your boyfriend. You slowly blink your eyes open, taking in the soft lighting of the room in the medical bay of the avenger’s compound. Usually it was you siting in Bucky’s place after Bucky did something reckless on a mission. This was the first time things were the other way around. You gently turn your head, wincing at the stiffness in your neck, making you wonder how long you had been out. There he was.

Bucky looked disheveled. His shoulder length hair was tied back in a messy buns, strains sticking out haphazardly all over the place. He was in sweatpants and a wrinkled t-shirt. His head was resting on the side of your bed, head turned to the side, giving you a view of his dark circles and scruff that had grown out longer than he normally allowed it. He looked how your body felt; a wreck.

You gently brought the hand that wasn’t incased in Bucky’s over to his head, gently and soothingly running your fingertips over his face. At the touch, he slowly opened his eyes, his widening upon seeing that you were awake.

“Baby, my god it's so good seeing those eyes again,” He said, voice gruff from lack of use. He had barely spoken since you had fell asleep back at the sight of the blast. He looked so relieved, like he could finally breathe again. If you looked closer, there were some tears gathered in his eyes.

“Hi Jamie,” you said softly, voice also hoarse from lack of use.

Hearing your voice and the nickname, he smiled softly, grabbing a cup of water from the stand by your hospital bed and holding it so you could get a drink. You took a few gulps, thanking him afterwards.

“How are you feeling, doll? Any pain?” He asked you, hand caressing your cheek as you leaned into his touch.

You took a moment to survey your body. You could feel the presence of a bandage wrap around your midsection, no doubt covering the wound and incision from the emergency surgery you were sure you had to have. You also noticed the presence of other bandaged dispersed along your limbs, due to smaller cuts and scrapes from the blast. While you were sure you were quite a sight, you didn’t feel any pain.

“No pain, but what’s the damage?” You ask.

“Two cracked ribs, a large gash to the back of your head that went down to your skull, so you’ve got 7 staples back there. The pipe that went through you luckily missed your major organs. They had to do some repairs to your intestines, and they had to remove your appendix that was damaged from the pipe. You’ve got a nasty concussion and some cuts and bruises. You’ve been unconscious for 4 days,” He lists off your injuries from memory.

A silence falls between the both of you. You look down at your hands held in Bucky’s, his thumb gently brushing back and forth on the tops of your hands.

“God, baby. You scared the life out of me,” He says, voice breaking at the end.

“I’m so sorry, Bucky. I should’ve been more careful,” You tell him, hating the pain you’ve caused him.

His head jerks up at your apology before he scoffs softly and shakes his head.

“No, doll. I should have been more careful. It's my job to watch your six. I’m so, so, sorry I failed,” He says with a sniffle, trying to hold back tears.

“You didn’t fail. It was made to look untouched, undisturbed for decades. We had no reason to suspect anything. We will be more careful next time, all of us. This was no ones fault,” You tell him sternly, willing him to understand that he is not responsible.

“I thought I was going to lose you, baby. I thought I was losing you without ever telling you I love you,” He whispers.

You smile softly, reaching up to tuck an unrulily strand of hair back behind his ear.

“You can tell me now,” you offer.

“I love you doll. I always have.” He tells you, a reverent tone taking over his voice, overcome with emotions he thought he’d never feel again.

You both lean in and softly kiss. You know the road to full recovery is going to be long, but you would do anything with your Bucky by your side.

[impossiblesuitcase]

Hope In It

“The queen is dead! The queen is dead!”

Imperial Adviser Konn Torin’s hand paused mid-air from where it had been directing bodies to a bay of ships.

“The queen!” screeched the young woman, rushing into the crowd of diplomats. She was plainly dressed in a beige tunic—the rank of a servant, and Torin didn’t think he’d ever seen one of Luna’s maltreated servants acting of their own volition.

The clatter of Lunar aristocrats and frightened Earthen leaders filled the loading docks. Since the emperor had threatened to bomb the protective biodomes, the crush of people were practically clambering over one another to board the ships. They hadn’t heard any updates on the situation unfolding in the throne room since Kai had raced off to find Linh Cinder.

“What? What does she mean?” reverberated off the walls. People stopped on the ramps of the ships, watching on curiously.

“Queen Levana is dead! She was shot!” the servant choked out. Her cheeks were coated in tear tracks, her eyes manic. Torin wondered if this state of delirium had arisen from loyalty to the queen, or rather, disbelief that the tyrant could be truly dead.

“No!” cried an older man, whom Torin recognised as from one of the Lunar families. His age was only apparent from the startled slip into his natural, worn voice. Recomposing, he asserted, smooth and youthful, “This is just speculation!”

“Princess Selene shot her!” She circled aimlessly, recycling the news to every guest that would listen. “The queen was shot! She’s dead!”

A hundred murmurs repeated those words under their breath. The Lunars connected eyes in horror—and some—feigned sympathy. 

The Earthens barely held back raucous cheers.

Torin’s ears tingled. He was not a man wont to extreme emotional fluctuations, but this news almost stopped his heart. Could it be true?

Realisation swiftly cloaked him. Kai went in search of Linh-dàren. If the Princess did shoot Levana, what other blood might have been shed? 

Kai.

He abandoned his position as sentinel and reached a fellow Commonwealth representative. “Ensure that everyone remains here until you receive an all-clear,” he instructed. “We cannot yet substantiate this claim. I will go and locate His Majesty.”

“We will wait for your return,” the man replied, bowing.

Torin shook his head as his mind paced two, three, ten steps ahead. Leaving this dock now could very well risk his own life. “I may not be able to. Lend me your portscreen and I will comm Representative Li with updates.” 

The man nodded and unclipped the device from his belt.

Taking it, Torin marched ahead, ignoring the whirlpool of sentiments trying to suck him back in. The cacophony was barely distinguishable, but laughter and crying and cheers spoke much of its meaning. Fury. Rejoicing. Anticipation.

———

The trek to the throne room was much shorter now than it had been an hour ago. The once packed hallways were now absent of officials, flashy nobles, servants, even guards. It was almost ludicrous to imagine that the coronation had been on that very same day when so much carnage and destruction had occured in such little time.

Fierce shouting grew louder as Torin neared the throne room. He began to run, turning the corner to a swarm of bodies blocking his path. Doctors and nurses wearing bloodied scrubs were huddled, shouting, “Pulse is weak! We need oxygen, stat!”

He came to hover nearby but could not identify the victim past the doctors’ tight shoulders. His own pulse faltered as it led him to the worst scenario. Where was Kai?

“He’s inside.”

He spun on his heels towards the magnificent mahogany doors. The voice was heavily accented—American—and weary. 

Torin composed himself. “Thorne-jūn,” 

Carswell Thorne had not struck Torin as a serious or even responsible man in the brief time they’d met. Yet the man in front of him now looked broken and old. He was covered in blood, his clothes ripped. 

“He?” Torin ventured to ask.

“Kai. He’s inside the throne room.” Carswell’s heavy eyes scrutinised Torin—flitting from his white dress shirt down to his dark pants. Pulling an arm from behind his back he revealed a black suit coat draped over his elbow. “I think this is yours.”

Indeed it was. Torin had lent it to Kai’s young friend Crescent, hoping to calm some of her hysteria. But if the small, frightened girl was not wearing it, where was she?

“I had no intention of reclaiming it,” Torin said, taking the jacket into his hands all the same when proffered to him. It was damp and left redness in the creases of his palm. “Where is Darnel-mei?”

“She was hurt,” Carswell said, voice barely audible and tinged with…shame?

He chose to not enquire further as to what this implied. As Carswell’s hazy gaze attached to the retreating backs of the doctors, Torin wondered if the victim was Crescent. And if Carswell Thorne was somehow responsible for what had befallen her.

Partly relieved but not yet satisfied, he straightened. “Is the emperor all right?”

“Dunno. They wouldn’t let him follow her.”

His brow furrowed. Kai did seem to care for Cress, but not enough, he thought, that he would abandon his search for Linh-dàren.

The two exchanged a nod. Carswell staggered away in the same direction as the doctors. He may be in need of a doctor himself, or at the very least, a glass of scotch.

Once the young lad was out of sight, Torin cast the jacket to the ground and thrust open the heavy doors.

A figure lay sprawled on the marble floor. Getting closer, Torin’s blood congealed. It was Kai. Blood pooled around him and over the throne near where he lay, dark like the black strokes of a Japanese ink painting. The stone of the backrest was cracked in the centre.

“Your Majesty!” he cried, racing over and halting just before crashing into Kai. He slid to his knees, examining his body with burgeoning dread. “Where is it?!”

Completely dazed, shock written over his face, Kai murmured, “What?”

He seized his hands into his own. “Where were you injured?” 

Appearing confused, he squinted blearily before following Torin’s gaze to his own torso. His white coronation outfit was bright red, his skin slick with blood.

“Oh,” Kai answered flatly. “Not me. I wasn’t…It’s Cinder’s.”

Torin pursed his lips. …Cinder’s?

Kai tried, weakly, to wipe it from his arms.

Blood. Cinder’s blood.

Torin shifted his hands to the boy’s forearms, pulling him to his feet. “Where is Linh-dàren now?” 

“They just took her.” Kai’s empty gaze drifted to the doors. Ah. It was not Crescent that he’d seen being carted away.

He recovered his sensibility rather remarkably. “Shall we follow them, Your Majesty?”

Kai rubbed at his eyes. Torin hadn’t seen the boy this shellshocked since the death of his mother. “No…I don’t know if Cinder…they wouldn’t let me follow her.”

He scoffed, guiding Kai to the entrance. “You are the Emperor of the Eastern Commonwealth and the King Consort of Luna. You can go where you please.”

Kai dully shook his head. “Was King Consort.”

As they reached the doors, he retrieved the black dress coat from the ground and draped it over Kai’s stained shoulders. “If Princess Selene survives—as she will—you very well may become King Consort again someday. We will not let mere doctors stop us.”

Slowly, a light filled the boy’s vacant eyes, as if waking up from a nightmare. Without notice, he took off.

Torin fell into step, trying to match Kai’s steady pace. But Kai had transformed, emboldened by the promise of again seeing his princess. Flickers of a rowdy ten-year-old and then a slouching fifteen-year-old returned to Torin; along with his reminders to walk orderly, like a prince should.

But this determination was nothing childish. This was the gait of a man in love.

———

Blood had dribbled on the marble floors like proverbial breadcrumbs for their quest. Streaks dragged through it, suggesting fast footsteps. Neither Torin nor Kai knew where the medical wing was located, yet the second they saw that crimson evidence, Kai began running.

Slow down, Torin wanted to call for both their sakes, because the emperor would overexpend himself, and Torin was not a young man. But such a request would be cruel to him now.

They were not the only ones running. Servants fled the hallways while others huddled in trios with nervous murmurings. Just as Torin was about to reach into his pocket for his inhaler, Kai skidded to a halt. A crosspath emerged—to the left, a lavish hallway of purple carpets, ancient moon sculptures and a grand piano at its end. The right, stale white walls, dim lights and no such frivolities. In between these two was a large reflectionless window, slightly ajar. Cries of battle and howling slipped through from below.

“Your Majesty, should we perhaps—”

Kai chose right and sprinted. This time, Torin could not keep up.

As he bumbled after him, he passed Carswell Thorne, standing at a distance from a different mob of doctors. They surrounded a gurney, and when Torin saw a gleam of a shimmering orange skirt, he now knew where Darnel-mei was. Slumped against the wall nearby was a disorientated red-headed girl, cradled in the arms of one of those ghastly wolf soldiers. Torin choked on his tongue but then recognised the particular shade of green in the beast’s eyes. This was Kai’s ally, whom he had met when they concealed the Rampion in their ship on the journey to Luna. He reproached his own thoughts for the snap-judgement, especially when the man held the girl as though she were the finest bloom in a garden.

Turning the corner, Torin found Kai beside a flashing red operating room sign, motionless as a nurse explained the imperativeness that he do not impede their recovery efforts.

Resigned, he bowed his head. “Do your best, please,” came his weak voice. He watched—jealously, Torin thought—as the nurse whisked behind the large double doors.

The port at his waist pinged, an unfamiliar chime that reminded him it was borrowed. He punched in the override access code, opening to a comm from an Eastern Commonwealth officer.

“Kai,” Torin called, gently. “Her Maje–Her Highness, Princess Levana has been confirmed as dead.”

Staring at the closed hospital doors, Kai nodded. “I know. I saw her.”

And then, the memory of the throne returned to Torin. Certainly Cinder hadn’t been seated there. But it too was tainted with blood, and that pool contained much more than a single body could have produced. He drafted the cracks in the seat in his mind, the point of impact small and precise.

Princess Selene shot her.

Her body must have been taken away before Torin had arrived. But not before Kai had seen it.

The raging battle below their feet niggled at his thoughts. Hesitating, he recommended, “I suggest we declare temporary control, until Her Majesty The Queen’s status is known.”

Another slight nod. “Tell them…as King Consort, or…whatever. Just direct them to stop the fighting.”

He bowed and turned. He would first comm the Eastern Commonwealth officials to handle the loading docks, then contact their own fleet of security to instate control. Perhaps they could reason with the Lunar guards to help as well. The wolf soldiers would be impossible to restrain, but if they could at least remove the thaumaturges…

He compelled his muscles to contract, to walk forward, unsuccessfully. His feet were solid beneath him, his conscience arguing.

Torin heard a shaky exhale.

He could not leave Kai.

He spun back around and covered the distance. “Kai.”

Kai’s gaze arrived, weakly, in that of his mentor’s. It was the little warning he received before Kai buried his eyes in his wrists, sobbing.

“I can’t…” he choked. “I can’t…”

Torin planted stabilising hands on his elbows as they trembled with his shuddering breaths. 

Anyone in New Beijing Palace could have attested to the fact that Konn Torin was not known for having a propensity for affection. But Kai, he realised bleakly, guiltily, had hardly hugged a body since the late emperor’s demise. That was unacceptable.

The distance discarded, his shoulder offered, Kai collapsed into him.

“It will be all right,” Torin promised into his hair. “She will be all right.”

Shouting chased them from the closed doors; elevated alarm from hard-wearing professionals that made Kai gasp. Torin covered the boy’s ears. He needn’t know what lay behind those doors. Because none of them knew. There were no protocol-issued, well-worn documents assuring that Selene would live. They could only rely on her demonstrated stubbornness and talent of living to spite all naysayers.

But Kai’s father had been determined. Kai’s mother had been stubborn. And they were both dead. Torin had lost two great friends but Kai had lost his parents. If he let this spread to his heart, he may never awaken from this grief-stricken stupor.

“Kai,” Torin breathed, “You must live.”

“...What?” Kai whispered, confused.

He pulled back, hardened eyes peeling away to reveal softness. “No matter what happens to her, you must live.”

Kai looked to the ceiling. “I know…my people…”

“No. You must live for her. And for yourself. Only then can you have the strength for your people.” He wiped the tears away with his sleeve. “She needs you right now.”

“I can’t do anything for her right now, Torin,” he argued miserably. 

Despite it all, Torin smiled. “Do you really believe that?”

Kai’s sharp inhales syncopated with the beeps and clangs from within. Torin had always answered his questions. ‘Towin, why can’t I play with Daddy in his meetings?’ ‘Torin, why do I have to go to the gala?’ ‘Torin, why is Mama sick?’’

This question, only Kai could answer.

As those eyes had managed every time before, they reached a horizon point somewhere over Torin’s shoulder, and the determination crystallised. Torin masked a sigh of relief. For a moment, he truly believed this time might be so severe that there could be no return.

Another embrace, this one Kai initiated and pulled away from resolved. “Call off the fighting and order the thaumaturges back into the palace. I’ll collect the Eathern leaders from the docks and have them organise the crowds. We need to remove the wounded from the battlefield.”

“Shall I divert medical resources to those groups?”

“Yes,” he ordered, turning on his heel and his feet moved in step with his thoughts.  “Repurpose as many rooms in the palaces as needed. Send”—he paused, briefly, slipped a look at the closed doors, and righted himself—“Send our own medical staff as well.”

Torin followed dutifully. “And…you’ll leave Linh-dàren?”

“This is what she needs me to do right now.”

In this moment, Torin was walking beside his dear friend Rikan. This boy, this emperor, galvanised for a new purpose. To prepare Luna for its queen. To carve out a space for Linh Cinder to fill. To aid her as a friend, an ally, a partner.

The closer they got to the docks, the louder the shouting became. Frantic servants and muddled aristocrats still cried the refrain: “The queen is dead!”

No. The queen would live, and Torin dared to hope in it.

Bonus

Sometimes, Cress felt like she was getting the hang of this being around people thing. Sarcasm was becoming more obvious. Body language more telling. But then there would be a little quirk of human interactions that would demonstrate just how unaccustomed to everything she was. Today, she learnt about sneaking up on people.

Cress was halfway through closing the door to her suite when a voice purred, “What perfect timing.”

She gasped and flung around to the apparition.

“Captain!” she exclaimed, clutching her stomach. The jolt was not kind on her still-tender stab wound. 

Thorne grinned, all purple button-up and dimpled cheeks and bergamot cologne, materialised in the spot that was seconds-before empty. “Hey darlin’.”

Cress pried away her hand before he noticed it serving as an anchor and got that guilt-tinged frown. Any reminder of his (unwilling) role in her injury was a doleful experience for them both. Still, at least she could now walk without fearing her intestines would unravel.

“You scared me half to death.” She batted his shoulder.

A pleased look spread over his face. “Stealth is one of my greater qualities.”

She blinked at him. Repeatedly.

“Okay,” he relented, tone faltering. “Not necessarily.” He jutted a thumb at the door behind him. “But my room is just opposite.”

“So that gives you the right to near knock my soul out of my body?”

“I was simply coming out to say hello. I can’t believe that you’d accuse me of trying to catch a fright from you.” Thorne rested a hand on the door frame, pressing her back to the door as he craned his neck towards her. “I wouldn’t do that to my girl.”

His girl. Her heart began dancing an Irish jig for an entirely new reason. At least if she swooned from giddiness, he was in prime position to catch her. “Did you come to tell me something?” she murmured, unable to meet his eyes.

“Oh, you know,” he drawled. “I was checking out Cinder’s new place, all the bells and whistles. It’s not bad.”

“It isn’t bad,” she agreed. “It’s magnificent.”

“It’s no Rampion.” He retracted his hand from the doorframe to take hers. This time, she could look at him. “I stumbled into the gardens—nice, sure—but something was missing.”

“A waterslide?”

“Your hand in mine.” he corrected. He kissed that hand. “As long as you’re up to it, would do me the greatest honour and accompany me for a stroll?”

Her stomach throbbed. She shouldn’t walk for more than ten minutes at a time, and she’d already walked all the way to and from the dining hall for breakfast that morning. But her excitement rang louder than the ache.

“I know, it’s tough to think of an excuse not to go,” he said. “But I promise it’ll be fun. I even brought a token as a security deposit.” Reaching to his back pocket, Thorne procured a single rose, pink in its petals and tinged with brown at the base.

Cress pulled it into her fingers, awed. “It’s beautiful!” she cooed, burying her nose in the creation. “It’s a rose, right?”

He looked surprised, but only momentarily. “Indeed. You’ve probably never seen one before.”

“No.” She twirled it in her fingers, eyes fixed on the rich, fathomless colour. Oh, now she understood why roses were romance personified. She noticed that they were thornless, though she wouldn’t have minded if they weren’t. She happened to like Thornes a good deal. “Do they have more?” she asked, eyes gleaming.

“Hundreds, sweetheart.” He looked smug. His plan had succeeded beyond expectations. She was too happy to care.

“In that case, yes, of course.” She turned to the door, saying, “I'll just pull on a jacket,” when a knife twisted in her gut. She clutched her side, gasping as Thorne stole her shoulders into his hands.

“Cress! Are you okay?!” 

She gritted her teeth, hissing and attempting to take air into her lungs until the pain finally subsided. “I’m fine,” she said wanly.

He frowned. “No, no you’re not. You should’ve told me the pain was acting up.” He wrapped his arms around her sides supportively, sighing. “You need to lie down.”

“No!” she protested. “No, I want to come.”

He cast her a grim stare then pecked her cheek. “Tomorrow, okay?”

She scowled. Her injury was a poor wingwoman to her romantic life. “Okay,” she conceded, only slightly mollified.

“Here. I’ll help you get into bed.” Thorne pulled a hand away from her waist to push open the door.

Prickling erupted on her skin. She suddenly remembered what lay inside. “Oh, no, I’m fine. It’s not that bad—I can just—”

“Nonsense.”

She barely cried a “wait!” before the door swung open and the evidence spilled out in a rich floral perfume.

Thorne walked them both inside, gaping at the garden on the centre table. A mammoth bouquet of lilies, peonies, gazanias and foliage reached almost up to the ceiling. He plucked the creamy white card from the base and read it aloud:

In hopes of a swift recovery. Best Wishes, Konn Torin.

Thorne hadn’t yet blinked. Cress just about felt his token wilt in her hand. “I still love your rose,” she assuaged.

Thorne lowered the card, staring dejectedly at his intimidated rose. “I need to up my boyfriend game.”

She laughed. Cress tucked the rose behind his ear, giggling at his quizzical look. She leaned up, thirty excruciating stitches be damned, and planted a firm kiss on his lips. She pulled away. “Let’s start with that date tomorrow.”

Notes

This one's for me and @hayleblackburn, maybe the only members of the Konn Torin fan club. We're a small but loyal pit crew 😔✊

@cindersassasin @hayleblackburn @spherical-empirical @salt-warrior @just2bubbly @gingerale2017 @kaider-is-my-otp @slmkaider @luna-maximoff-22 @kaixiety @snozkat @mirrorballsss @skinwitch18 @bakergirl13 @wassupnye @linh-cindy @therealkaidertrash21

[1wh4re1]

Okay so more Ghoap x F!Reader. Just a blurb. Also, these will definitely be in whatever order inspiration strikes me first.

You're covered in sweat, tendrils of hair sticking to your face and you swear you swear you can still feel your left side despite the epidural. You've been at this for what feels like days despite it being less than 10 hours.

This wasn't how you imagined the birth of your baby. One partner whose remains had drifted over that beautiful cliffside and the other god knows where who chose to walk away from you. Still, you are grateful for the man holding your hand beside you now.

John Price never imagined he'd be in this situation. Your hand gripping his (quite painfully god your grip is strong), and him wiping away your sweat and tears. He knows he isn't the man who should be here and he knows that he shouldn't have sent Simon to chase a lead so close to your due date even though the man doesn't even know you're pregnant at all.

He watches you flush, tears leaking from your eyes through another round of pushing, and thinks he is quite possibly the biggest bastard on earth for keeping this secret for you.

You're exhausted. Worn out. Dead beat tired. The doctor between your legs encourages you. Only a few more pushes she says and you're almost there. You sob, heaving breaths as more tears stream down your face. Squeezing Price's hand you start to push again, praying that this is the end.

The relief of hearing your baby cry for the first time is overshadowed by the blood rushing through your ears and the wooziness you feel. You can't make out what the doctors are saying.

"What...what are they saying," you slur, tongue feeling heavier than lead in your mouth as you roll your head over to look at Price. "Where's my baby, why can't I see my baby?"

Price tries to reassure you but the room is erupting into chaos around him. The monitors attached to you start to wail.

"BP is dropping."

"She's hemorrhaging."

"We need an OR stat. Page them and tell them we are on the way."

"Sir, we need to move her please go to the waiting room."

The last thing you feel is Price's hand leaving yours before you slip under into a cool abyss.

@thefictionalgemini @ghostslittlegf @oniiloma @astro-ghoul99

[chaos0pikachu]

why did nobody tell me Kiseki Dear to Me went so hard??

Lemme break down the first 2 mins of episode one where a twink & a twunk walk out of prison and you know it's prison b/c the twinks hair needed some conditioner STAT and then rolls up this boss sports car out pops this gang looking dude with That Undercut Haircut and Thee Eyebrows that anyone who's watched History Trapped or Kinnposche knows what I'm talking about, tosses the Twink over his shoulder like a feral murder kitten and then we're whooshing to a flashback where 17 yr old twunk goes to pick up a quarter like any well respecting poor does (get that money!) when some feral but ridiculous hot dude covered in blood from the tumblr sonnets grabs his arm and Twunk is just channeling the Mariah Carey.I Don't Know Her.gif and Bloody Hot Dude is like here baby take my knife oop now you're implicated in my murder!! and has to take home this bloodied jean jacket 90s levi's commercial man to his house like being broke ain't hard enough

and then!! and then the episode ends with one of the hottest men in gang tv slitting a dude's throat while deep throating a lollipop I am ENTHRALLED

[bangchansslut6]

{Desperate for your love..}

Part one...

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°•°•—Authors note: SO I've been gone..for about a year🙈 i honestly forgot I have a blog and now only remembered. I've had this idea in mind for awhile so..YAY!! Also i decided to make this into TWO parts so i could upload the first one faster!!•°•°—

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°•°•—WARNINGS: fem reader, Smut, Fluff kinda, WATERBORDING, comfort, kidnapping? Blood, vampires, alcohol, breeding kink, blood kink, dom kink, corruption kink, virgin reader, innocent reader, Dom!Chan, Sub!Reader. Chan is a vampire Reader is human and is described as curvy—•°•°

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Chan was known all over the land. His whole family was. The Bahngs the most dangerous vampire family that had ever been reported. Their king, James Bahng was a special type of vampire and had led that onto his three sons including Chan.

They were all extremely feared and nobody dared approached the forest they were said to live in.

Chan was the oldest of three brothers. He was now at the age of 2667 or in human years that would be 26. And still not married. Chan was known as the strict and cold brother. He was known to be extremely quiet and cold but VERY powerful. Chans power stat could go higher then his father.

It was a usual half moon night. The air was gloomy and foggy. Chan was walking around the forest hands behind his back. He had black dress pants on with some black shoes. A red button up and a black royal vest with a black coat on. A silver chain around his neck and some rings on his fingers.

Walking around the gloomy night Chan heard the humans cheering. With curiosity Chan walked towards the sound to see them cheering as a woman. A beautiful woman. Was tied to a tub filled with water. She had a bag over her head and was continually being submerged in the water. Chan could hear her crying from where he was standing.

Usually he wouldn't have cared. But this woman made his heart race and his palms get sweaty for no reason. He looked forward looking at her body. His eyes felt a slight sting before going back to normal..did..he just get a zing?

A zing was a thing that vampires got once they found true love. And there was Chans. About to die. A zing happened only once in a vampires life and Chans was finally here.

Stepping out the shadows Chan made himself present and all the villagers yelled in fear and ran while the woman was still tied. Chan walked over to her and untied to knot letting her fall but catching her before she did.

She was beautiful. Her hair and body and skin. She was breathtaking. Picking her up in his arms Chan looked down at her. His blood red eyes shining a bit in the moonlight.

"Why must humans ruin everything beautiful?" Chan whispered to himself touching readers cheek with his cold hand. "Your so freaking adorable. Like a little bunny. Now your my bunny." Chan grabbed her waist picking her up bridal style.

—Reader POV—

I felt air finally hit my lungs. I trembled the night was cold against my damp dress. My vision was blurry. Who was this man? I didn't know. But his features and his strength made me blush. I didn't fight back. I couldn't I was too weak and out of breath.

When I opened my eyes again I saw we were indoors. In his house I'm guessing. I was on a bed. A big bed. It was black with silk and cotton covers.

The room is dark..too dark to see my surroundings. I can see a desk and a closet though..where am I?

Finally after awhile of quiet thinking I stand up grabbing onto anything I could not to fall because my legs were so sore. But then there's a sound. A sound of a out of tune piano playing a creepy tune. Of course it sounds nice but the echo makes me shiver in fear but also confusion. I needed to leave. Now.

°•°•—AUTHORS NOTE: SOO this is the first part and honestly I think I did horrible! 😭 I've been reading it over and over and I just think it's bad. As you all know I am a new writer so their is definitely some BAD mistakes and I know it's short but I promise part two will be better!!—•°•°

[mediumgayitalian]

I need to know more about the music preferences of Nico and Will from your road trip AU fic it’s really important to me please

i actually have a playlist!! the pop and country stuff is will’s, the rock and emo stuff is nico’s. of course, is not a clean break. they’re both obsessed with queen, they both know the lyrics to every johnny cash song. will’s not allowed to use the internet (and he’s also bad at it) so he writes out playlists he wants nico to make and nico burns the disc for him <3 he is not aware that nico pirates all of it LMFAO. however song stats:

nico’s favourite album: the black parade by mcr

will’s favourite album: changes regularly. right now it’s in the zone by britney spears

nico’s favourite song: hurt by johnny cash. but when he doesn’t want to be sad he likes man in black by johnny cash (he gets REALLY into singing it….gets the deep rumble and the grin and the dramatics and everything. will always gets a little breathless and red-cheeked every time nico sings it to him in the car)

will’s favourite song: also changes all the time. currently he’s singing poker face by lady gaga with his whole entire chest. however he also loves his mom’s cover of and i will always love you by whitney houston

nico’s worst song: if will plays hit me baby one more time he is going to fucking kill him in cold blood

will’s worst song: anything by linkin park. he tries to like it so bad but he can’t he hates it

will also plays the guitar 👀👀 whenever nico’s dad and stepmom are gone & will can sneak out for a night (on the nights his mom is touring and his dad is doing double or triple shifts at the hospital), nico will wake up to will’s humming, to his soft guitar. nico KNOWS he writes his own music, he’s certain of it, there’s no way all the writing will does is actually studying, but will refuses to admit it besides “i mean i wrote some garbage when i was thirteen and convinced i would be a popstar, you know how it is” but nico KNOWS. he knows.

[its-my-whump]

Medwhump May- Day 10

(Hi there, I'm sorry guys, I'm a little behind. Life's just having a blast on my account and additionally my head won't grant me the release through writing, I could really use right now, so duh.)

Emergency surgery

@medwhumpmay

Tw: absolutely no medical accuracy, sorry, cpr, blood, medical whump, surgery

Part 10 (all others here)

"Lets roll!" The doc barked and with a more soothing, but still loud tone, he added. "You're not dying today, hunny!"

xxx

Electricty jumped through the lifeless body and made her jolt on the table. Hands reached up like a ghost was making them, but fell back a brief moment later. Nothing. She was still dead, even though her heart was fibrillating.

"Again!" The doctor yelled. "Clear." Her body flipped again. Still nothing.

"Come on hunny, fight for us!" His jaw was clenched, when he pressed out the words in a tight mubble. "AGAIN!"

Her body jolted, her arms kept laying a bit awkwardly bend, where they fell. Her legs the same, feet fallen to the sides.

"We got a hearbeart!" The grey haired nurse informed the room a moment later.

The little blond came running back, her footsteps getting loud. "OR 3 is ready. Dr. Watson is just scrubbing in." She exhaled out of breath.

The doctor looked from the little blond nurse back at his team, one hand as if steadying his patient on the young woman's shoulder, the other was moving the chest piece of his stethoscope. "Push amiodarone and then get her on the way to OR 3, please." His tone wasn't as loud as before, but still commanding.

xxx

Doc Watson greeted his colluege with a tight nod. "Young female, routine surgery, but she coded on the table. Not sure why till now. Just woke up and we almost lost her again. She's got a pneumothorax left, but decreasing lungfunction on the right side, too. Wouldn't wanna place a chest tube then, but we need to hurry. I suspect a broken rib pierced her left lung due to resus."

"Alrighty. X-ray tech is on her way."

The doctor from the icu left after their short briefing. The young female patient was prepared, preped up under fluorenze lights, equipment attached, being manually ventilated through the et tube down her pipe. O2 stats critically low, but still holding.

In a calm tone the surgeon was instructing his team, what to do and what he needed. An assisting nurse wipped the woman's left side of her ribcage with desinfection. The scalpel was handed over and the man in charge made a vertical cut between 2 lower ribs. Blood welded up and started to flow down her flank. The nurse was back with wipes to garantee a clear view for the surgeon.

The room was calm and professional, when the surgeon pushed his gloved index finger inside the woman's chest through the fresh incision. Her oxygen level dropped and her fast heartbeat sped up more. "You're alright, hunny. We got ya!" The man whispered, pulling his finger out and inserting a flexible tube, one of the assisting nurse had already unpacked from its steril wrapper.

Everything was covered in the woman's blood. The surgeon left fresh red prints on the end of the tube, when he uncapped it.

Blood boobled out instantly. Numbers and monitors were hectically blinking, her heartbeat a fast jumble. An audible hissing tone as air escaped her chest cavity, that had preventing her lungs from expanding.

Tense seconds and her chest literally inflated all by itself. The nurse ventilating her manually exhaled loudly and with every second passing, the patients vitals were climbing again.

They gave her a minute, having a close eyes on her stats. "Looking good." The surgoen annouced.

The x-ray tech was just rolling her cart into the OR. The doctor's suspicion was right. Due to her resuscitation a bunch of ribs were broken or cracked. One had shifted, not traceable when, and pierced her left lobe.

The surgeon called for another assistent and they expanded the already inflicted incision to repair the damage. It was tough and go, her vitals made a ride on a rollercoaster look like a slow walk through the park.

But they got her and made sure, to give her a fighting chance to survive this days, that started out as merely a routine surgery. After another hour, the surgeons had added a new line of black sutures to her belly, closing the entry wound to fixate that rib and seweing the chest tube in place.

->Day 11

My masterlist

[oroontheheels]

I assume that when creating Havik MK1 writer(s) had this whole idea of mocking “twitter libertarians” who always talk about PRIVILEGE and OPPRESSION.

At times Havik does sound like a broken record. And I supposed for fuckboys it must be very funny. “Finally! Somebody brave enough to show how stupid and nonsensical those libs are!”

But for me I really feel a bit enraged the more I think about Havik’s predicament. He was born a slave in a VERY fucked up place. If MK1 Seido is anything like Mk: Deception Seido, I already feel sorry for all of its citizens. Let alone those without any rights in a world of Order.

Havik is covered in scars, suffered deeply and had to make a deal with Quan Chi to get regeneration abilities.

Also Havik is clearly lost big chunk of his sanity along the way. This man is not ok in the slightest. Most of his intros he’s screaming at everyone.

And like ok, let’s analyse his position. First thing we see in Edenia is cops kicking starving and sick tarkata out of the city. No help being provided to them whatsoever.

Edenia is ruled by monarchy. Great. /s

Then Liu Kang shows up and stats criticising Havik delusional dreams of anarchy. Well bitch you could’ve let him chill in Chaosrealm with his homies. But you decided he needs to be born a slave, go trough torture and humiliation, until eventually he would ask Quan Chi for help.

Oh, sorry Liu, you wanted for Quan Chi to rot in coal mines or something. So in your perfect vision of the world, Havik wouldn’t even get any power-up to have a chance to help enslaved people of Seido??

Hello???

And if the whole idea “welp Havik was evil so he have a shitty life now” IT’S NOT EVEN HAVIK. Its just Dairrou with new origin story. Dairrou was a merc who just wanted to kick Hotaru’s ass. Not a blood god who tried to summon Shinnok.

As far as I know Dairrou wasn’t a radical. Wasn’t a terrorist. You made him that.

Fucking heck Liu.

And you have the audacity to come to Havik and complain that Havik thinks you dominate your followers. Yeah. Somebody accusing you of something is a waaaaay bigger problems then hmmm SLAVERY.

Good job Liu.

Good job MK1 writers. Making fun of oppressed (probably mentally Ill) person just to entertain fuckboys.

[dreamerrgirl]

Chenford + it's always been you

Okay, first and foremost, I would like to apologize for this- please don't kill me 😬 I'm sure this is not what you were picturing with this beautiful prompt, but this is the only thing my brain would allow me to write (proceeds to run in the corner and hide). If it makes you feel better, I picture this ending with Tim surviving surgery, and him and Lucy living happily ever after!

____________________________________________

Things are starting to come to him in flashes, which is a solid sign that shit is going south, quickly. He can still feel the cold, hard concrete beneath him, but oddly, his body is no longer registering the pain radiating from the bullet wound currently pouring blood out of his side.

Above him, he can hear the shouting, can see the flashes of light from the firefight still going on outside. Closer to him, he hears Sanchez yelling on the radio about an officer down, and needing an ambulance stat. Tim is pretty sure the older man's hand is still pressed over his wound, but he suddenly feels too tired to lift his head to check.

And then, all the sudden, he hears her, her worried shout coming from somewhere to his left.

"Tim!"

Before he knows it, she's kneeling at his side, her worried face filling his fading vision.

"Oh god, Tim, okay, hold on, help is almost here." She looks over at Sanchez, glancing down at his hands covering Tim's torso. "That's too much blood."

Tim closes his eyes for a moment, his head feeling fuzzy, missing the tense look shared between Lucy and Officer Sanchez.

"No, Tim, open your eyes, no, no, no, Tim!"

Tim's eyes fly open as he feels a not so gentle slap against his cheek, taking a deep breath, letting his vision focus.

This is not good; he's running out of time.

"Lucy," he croaks, his hand flailing at his side, searching for hers. She quickly covers it with her own, her palm flaming against his clammy skin.

"I'm here, Tim, I'm right here." Her voice sounds shaky, and Tim squints up at her, noticing the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Lucy, we might not have much time-"

"No," she interrupts him, her voice strangled. "Don't go there, you're gonna be fine, okay? The ambulance is almost here."

"Luce," he murmurs, noticing the loss of feeling in his legs almost as an afterthought. "I need to get this out."

She takes a gasping breath, raising her head towards the ceiling. "Okay, okay," she says, squeezing his hand. "I'm listening."

His eyes flutter closed again as he feels her fingers running through his hair. He's not sure if Sanchez is still there, but at this point, it doesn't really matter.

"It's always been you, Luce." Forcing his eyes open again, he wills them to focus on her beautiful face. "I'm sorry it's taken me so long to tell you, but, it's always been you. From the first day, long before I knew it, it was always you."

"Tim-" she's full on crying now, Sanchez murmuring, "ambulance one minute out," from his right.

"I love you," she chokes out, leaning down to press her lips against his, Tim tasting the salt from her tears. "Please don't leave me. Please."

His eyes blink closed again, and this time, he knows he won't be able to open them.

"I love you too," he murmurs, right before the world around him fades to black.

[gazs-blue-hat]

Seeing isn't Everything I (D&D AU) Gaz X F!Reader (Medusa)

AN: Inspired by @halcyone-of-the-sea and their FANTASTIC mermaid au. This one is for you love. This whole thing takes place in the Forgotten Realms (Thanks BG3). You can find the stat block for the creature here

Summary: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is a legendary monster hunter. He's brought down dragons and krakens alike. His services have been requested for a particularly dangerous job, perhaps the most dangerous one he has gone on yet. Hunting a Gorgon.

Word Count: 2,574

TW: Mentions of Death, Turning to Stone, fairy deals, (LMK if I missed any)

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO ANYBODY HERE OR ON ANOTHER SITE TO REPOST, COPY, TRANSLATE OR FEED MY WORK TO AN A.I OF ANY KIND.

Being a member of the Shattered Hand was an honor, it truly was! But Kyle "Gaz" Garrick was getting really tired of bandaging burns and stitching up wyvern bites. He had been a member of the illustrious monster slaying guild for ten years now and he had quickly risen up the ranks, making a name for himself as one of the best monster hunters out there.

People far and wide came to bring contracts to his desk in the illustrious guild hall. It had been four weeks since he had seen a decent contract cross the dragon leather desk in his office. All he had received were a couple of contracts for various beasts and large creatures. The most interesting one had been a doppelganger but one of his collogues had taken that contract before he could.

'Why does Ghost get all the interesting ones' He grumbled to himself

Kyle looked at his armor that stood on the stand that hugged the corner of the room. It had been too long since he had sinched the leather straps around his forearms and felt the comfortable weight of his chainmail hugging his form. His sword hung above the door and he couldn't help but frown at the incredible shine on the silver surface. Swords were meant to be used! Not displayed. His sword should be covered in the blood of monsters that hurt the innocent, not hanging above his door.

He groaned and lay his head atop his crossed forearms. The business day was almost closing and there had been nothing promising. Some farmers had come to him asking to take care of a Gnoll den, but he had transferred them to a young hunter who needed a relatively easy job. One of the townspeople swore up and down he had been cursed by a hag, but Kyle had sent him to the local cleric instead.

He was just about to stomp downstairs and order some ale before he heard a soft knock at his door. He sat his head up and fixed his posture.

"Enter!" he called as he straightened his tunic. The large oak door creaked open and a rather finely dressed gentleman entered the room. He wore a nice hat made of expensive leather and a suit made from brilliant cloth that only came from the silk of a dryder. This man had money and he wasn't afraid to flaunt it

"Hello, I'm looking for a master 'Gaz'?" he said in a regal tone. Kyle examined this man as he walked into his office. He instantly knew he didn't like him. Kyle had always prided himself on his ability to read other people and this man absolutely reeked of self-importance.

"Yes, that's me. Do have a seat, sir." Kyle said while gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. usually, he would stand and pull it out for whoever was talking to him, but something about this man put him off.

The man paused, waiting for him to pull the chair out, and frowned when he didn't. The man took his seat and removed his hat, placing it on his lap.

"I've been told you're the best hunter around." He started. Kyle had to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes.

"One of them, yes. What can I do for you, mister..."

"Szordrin. Master, Szordrin." The man corrected. Gaz felt his lip start to curl but he stopped himself. Unlike Ghost, he didn't wear a mask to conceal his face. This man was making Kyle consider getting one, just for the sake of not having to hide his facial expressions.

"Yes, master Szordin. What can I do for you?" he asked politely. The man nodded, pleased with the 'change' in attitude from Gaz.

"I have a...problem that I believe meets your specific skill set." He began, sliding a scrolled piece of paper onto the desk. The runes on the dusk hummed to life as they scanned the paper for magic.

The contract was just that, a contract. Since the founder and proprietor of the Shattered Hand mercenary guild was a powerful Eladrin, all of the contracts that were taken up by the guild were magical in nature. The contracts were binding and it was incredibly hard to get out of one without appealing to the guild master himself.

Dark purple and green runes hovered over the paper before settling back down and depicting the target. The runes were a scrying spell, locked onto the target's soul. It helped the hunters find their quarry without too much fuss. The monster didn't quite look like a monster at first. It looked like a young woman.

She was sitting in a pool of water, trying to catch little froglets that had strayed too far from the main water source.

"Master Szordrin, I am sure you're well aware of the rules this guild has. We do not hunt humanoid creatures unless they have actively caused harm. We hunt beasts, devils, fey, and fiends. Not..." his sentence was cut off when the woman turned and her face was visible.

Her eyes were shielded by a silky black fabric and, her hair was made up of coiling, writhing snakes. She was also absolutely gorgeous. She smiled softly as she pressed her nose against a froglet's back, helping it to jump into the water once more. 

'A medusa that covers their face? Never seen one of those before.' he thought as he looked on at the page.

"You see my predicament now, master hunter," Szordrin said, gesturing to the woman on the piece of paper. Gaz sat back and nodded, intrigued at the prospect of one of the most vain creatures in the realms hiding their face.

"Yes, I do. How many people has she turned to stone?" he asked, setting a magical quill on the contract to write the terms of his mission. Szordrin shuffled a bit, uncomfortable.

"None yet, but she will. Trust me, she will." He assured. Gaz felt a tingle in his spine. There was more that this man wasn't telling him.

"Alright...that doesn't quite fit in with the terms of engagement but I'm sure Master Price has spoken to you about this?" Kyle asked. Szordrin nodded, holding his hat tightly now.

"Yes, Your guild master has made things quite clear. You are not to attack unless provoked or have reason to suspect she may be a danger. I am aware. I don't want her dead exactly, just...relocated." The man amended. Gaz felt better after this statement.

Relocation, he could do.

"Alright, you want this creature relocated to..." Gaz said, waiting for the man to continue before writing it down.

"Just, far away from me and my estate. She's currently outside Wheetleton, where I reside. I want her as far as Mortaris or perhaps even further." The man said, pointing at areas on the world map. Gaz frowned. That was at least a six-week journey from Wheetleton to Mortaris.

"Alright, relocated to Mortaris unless deemed an active threat," Gaz stated, watching as the magical quill scrawled the words in sylvan. All of the contracts of the Shattered Hand were written in the fey language.

"I will pay half up front and once the deed is done, the rest," Szordrin said while placing a hefty bag of gold on Gaz's desk.

"2,000 gold pieces now and another 3,000 when the job is done." Szordrin continued. Gaz nodded, this was an acceptable sum.

"Alright, I'll take the job." He said while pricking his thumb with a pin and placing his fingerprint on the line. The blood acted as ink and seeped into the paper, sealing his part of the contract. He extended his hand for Szordrin's.

"You know the rules. You must sign the contract in blood for the deal to be struck." Kyle said, frustration starting to leak into his words. He wanted to get on the road and find this creature for himself!

Szordrin shakily extended his hand for Kyle to prick. As Kyle lifted the pin he noticed a faint red scar going across the man's palm. Curious

Without delay, he pricked Szordrin's thumb and pressed the print onto the contract. The paper sizzled and cracked with arcane energy as it was infused with magic. Kyle felt a familiar dull weight rest in his chest. The weight of a bargain struck. He smiled to himself, relishing in the idea of a hunt again.

Once the deal was made, Szordrin scampered out of Kyle's office and back down to the tavern below. Kyle shrugged and looked over the contract again. He could dismiss it and summon it at will, now that he was bound to it. The woman's face was still on the paper, smiling gently as she held a lily pad. Her blindfold was off now as she looked at the plant, opening the petals with a delicate finger.

"The curse of beauty. Poor thing, let us hope you don't turn anybody to stone until I get to you yeah?" He mumbled. As if she could hear him, she looked in the direction of the scrying spell. Her eyes were a bright golden color with no pupil or iris. Just a brilliant golden hue that shone in the darkness. Kyle felt another shiver run up his spine and a secondary weight rest on his shoulders.

This weight felt different, more...personal than the contract had been. He had only heard rumors of this feeling. The weight of fate's hands on one's shoulders.

He dismissed the contract and made his way to his armor and sword. He decided that he would leave right away, making the two-day journey to Wheetleton as quickly as he could. If he had any hopes of saving this creature, he had to get there quickly and relocate it to a place where it wouldn't hurt anybody.

As he strapped on his armor, he couldn't help but smile widely. He was on the hunt again, where he belonged.

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

The two-day ride to Wheetleton was boring, to say the least. He had gathered his supplies and left that very night, riding through the dawn and only stopping to eat and relieve his horse for a while. Once he got to the city, he asked around about the creature.

The townspeople didn't have much to tell them, only that they thought the beast had stolen the local Lord's daughter one night. It wasn't until this third day in town that he got a solid lead.

"Goblins! Goblins up the mountain pass!" The traveler had cried. Gaz knew they weren't part of his contract but he wasted to keep this area safe. He trekked up the mountain pass, the climb being somewhat difficult in his armor. Once night fell, he could see firelight illuminating the area inside the mouth of a cave. The weight from the contract in his chest pulsed faintly. His quarry was close.

"We've had nothing but pork for five stinking weeks! When are we going to eat something good?" A harsh voice grumbled from the fire. There was a good number of goblins sitting around the bonfire, about fifteen or so. A large goblin wearing a makeshift crown sat on a log, above the fire, holding a large silver candlestick.

"You'll eat whenever something good comes along! Now quit your yapping! I think I 'eard something." The goblin 'king' said while gesturing over in Gaz's direction. Gaz readied his bow, stringing it as quietly as he could and knocking an arrow. A group of four goblins came over to look but they didn't spot him.

The goblin king mumbled something under his breath as his goons came back to the fire, grumbling about the fact that they were hungry. Gaz was about to let an arrow fly before a soft voice called to the goblins in the dark.

"Hello? Is someone out there?" A feminine voice called from deep within the cave.

"Wha'? Who said that?" The goblin king shouted, hopping off his log throne and looking deeper into the cave. Gaz felt the magic of the contract pull and thump in his chest. His quarry, she was right there. he could see her faintly glowing eyes behind the blindfold she wore. The two golden dots amid a sea of black silk.

"It was...was me. I suggest you all leave before someone comes up here." She warned. She wore a simple dress, a nightgown really. It looked dirtied a bit but was well taken care of. Her hands were clasped in front of her and her feet were bare.

Gaz couldn't help but gasp a bit. He had seen pictures and paintings of angels and celestial beings that roamed the upper planes but this creature was absolutely stunning.

At his intake of breath, one of the goblins loosed an arrow that struck him in the arm. Luckily his armor had taken most of the damage but since it hadn't been used in a while, the rings were loose and allowed some give. Kyle felt the tip of the arrow pierce his shoulder and he grunted in pain.

"Oi! You there! In the shadows!" The goblin king shouted, directing his force to attack. Kyle drew his bow up but struggled to pull the string back. He cursed his luck. The goblins had dipped the arrows in a paralytic!

He drew his short sword instead and began his attack on the goblins. He defended himself well, only getting a few knicks and scratches here and there. As he was facing off the last goblin, he heard a sharp noise behind him. A crossbow being bolted.

"Shield your eyes!" The woman called as she removed her blindfold. Piercing golden light filled the area and Kyle slammed his eyes shut as fast as he could, feeling the coldness of her magic wash over him. The goblin he was fighting, and the one that had loaded the crossbow clunked to the ground, made completely of stone.

Kyle panted and knelt on the ground, feeling the poison slowly start to spread. He was going to pass out, that much was certain, but he never would have guessed what happened next.

Instead of a blade piercing his heart, or a sharp prick of fangs on his neck, he felt cool hands on his shoulders.

"Oh my Gods, they got you pretty good. Let me just..." It was the woman, the Medusa he had been sent to kill. She hoisted him up as best she could, dragging him deeper into the mouth of the cave. he heard the sound of a running waterfall as well as the chirps of young frogs.

"Leave him be! Can't you see he's hurt!" The woman scolded. The frogs went silent and Kyle felt her taking off his armor. He didn't dare open his eyes and he physically couldn't move to resist. Was this how he died? Because of a stupid goblin arrow leaving him vulnerable?

"Don't worry. The water will heal you right up." The woman assured. Kyle felt water beginning to surround him, and instead of feeling the fear of drowning, he felt nothing but peace. The water was shockingly warm and he felt like he could breathe easier.

"Sleep now, I'll make sure you stay right here."

The woman's voice was distant now as Kyle felt his consciousness begin to fade. he was tired, so he should sleep. He was safe here, no reason to fear.

No reason at all.

taglist: @plumteaa-remus

(here's what a DnD medusa usually looks like)

[koolcece22]

It's Not Hate

this one my Short Stoies I made in AO3.

Miguel got hurt really bad during one of his missions and Rio healed him up while having a deep talk

TW: mention of Child Abuse

Having a son like Spider-Man can be anxiety-inducing. Never know when not to come home, having him drag himself back to the room all batter and bruised. But, Rio knows that the city needs her son. The city needs a Spider-man. 

Rio was working at the desk of the hospital for only two more hours till her shift ended. It was a slow night. Fame last word for someone who works in a hospital. Rio got a text message from her son, she used to love getting text messages but nowhere did she pray it was not him to write his last thoughts to her. She read the message:

Mom! Please come home now! Need help!

Rio was having a mental panic attack reading this. She asked her boss if she could leave early as her son had an emergency. She drove as fast as she could back to her apartments. Once she ran upstairs as fast as she could, she busted through down waited to see her son bleeding to death. 

She was surprised to see Miles, his Spider-Man outfit was damaged and he had bruising but nothing too serious well from what she could see. He was panicking and grabbed his mom and pulled her to her room. 

“Miles!  Are you ok?!” 

“I’m fine, it's not me that hurt!” Miles said as he tried to drag his mom to her bedroom. Once she entered her room, she saw Miguel lying on her bed bleeding from his stomach or chest area. 42 was trying to compress the wound so Miguel didn’t bleed out. 

“What happened?!” Rio said seeing her son’s boss bleeding on her bed. Jeff is going to have a field day when he sees this.

“What happened?!” she yelled 

“We were fighting an anomaly that got away and he bombed us. Miguel shielded us from the bomb but he got injured. We can’t call HQ because Miguel is too injured to be teleported back and we're understaffed right now so no one can come.”

Rio quickly rushes to Miguel’s side to see how bad it is. The wound doesn’t look too deep but Miguel looks like he still losing blood and there are other wounds that she doesn’t know about. Miguel looks pale from the blood loss, but he looks like he is still awake just in a lot of pain. 

“Este impactante duele.” Miguel cursed to himself having covered up his unmasked face with his arm. Rio sighed in relief knowing he still talking. She walked up to Miguel who didn’t notice that Rio was there.

“Miguel. What type is your blood?”

Miguel didn’t answer but His A.I. Lyla did.

“Hey! I got you. He type -O. He was not allergic to anything but mint. These body stats are-” Lyla then show Rio Miguel’s health stats. So far everything is low but not dangerous yet. But Rio been working in the medical field knows that anything can change in the blink of an eye. She then grabbed the bloody towel that 42 was using to compress. 

“Miles. Both of. I need you to go to the hospital and steal two packs of that blood. Here take my key card and code #1610. It's on the third floor.” Rio said not looking at them trying to think what else she going to need. 42 nodded

“Got it. I steal it. Can’t have Spider-man be seen as a villain for stealing.” 42 said as he put on his Prowler mask. Miles puts on his as they both jump out of the window a swing as fast as they can. Leaving Miguel and Rio. Rio quickly went to the closet and pulled out some Medkits, after she found out that her son was Spider-man, stole a bunch of medical stuff to help Miles out so that if get too injured he could heal up at home no one could find out. Rio grabs some needles and some of Miguel’s hair as if she is going to snitch on him 

“Miguel? Hey! Still with me papa?”  Rio said hoping Miguel would not fall unconscious. Miguel looked at her with his red eyes that were glowing a bit. Something that Rio never knew about. Well, Miles and they did tell her that Miguel is like a vampire in a way. “You not getting hungry for blood right?”

“Did Miles tell you I’m a vampire didn’t he?” Miguel choked out, Rio smirked at him 

“No that was Hobie.”

Miguel groaned, of course, it was him. “Esos niños”. Miguel then dissolves the arm of his outfit so he can bite down on his exposed skin. Rio’s eyes widen when he does this. 

“What are you doing?!”

Miguel let go of his arm and wiped the blood from his mouth. “I change my venom to make my blood thicker so I won’t bleed out.” 

“You have venom?”

“I’m…half spider.”

Rio raised her eyebrow and confessed what he meant. “Isn’t that all Spider-men?” Rio said as she readied the needle so she could close his wound. When the needle went through his skin he hissed in pain, trying not to claw Rio’s bed sheet. 

“N-No, I’m more…complicated.”

Rio nodded as she continued stitching up Miguel’s wound. They sat there in silence Miguel was trying his best not to hissed in pain and give Rio contraition to stitch him. After about a like 10 minutes she was done. She made sure it was cleaned up so it wouldn’t get infected. She grabbed the blood towel and put it away and grabbed a new one and some alcohol to help with the cleaning. She cleaned the wound and Miguel hissed and both heard a tear, Miguel cursed and realized his talons ripped their sheet.

“Look like you going own me one.” Rio pouted, not liking her bed sheet got ruined. 

“I’ll replace them.” Miguel sigh. “I'm sorry you have…to deal with me.” Miguel knows that Miles’s parent doesn’t like him. After the Spot incident and the fact, he was trying to get Miles’s dad killed for the canon their understanding pissed. They were more pissed founding out that Miles decide to join the spider society after the hell they put him through. Miles explained that everyone apologized to him and he didn’t want to be alone. But the main reason he just wants a watch is to see his friends. 

“You know I don’t hate you.”

Miguel turns his attention back to Rio. Rio helps him sit up on the edge of the bed so she can wrap the wound up. Miguel dissolves his costume to his waist so Rio can wrap it. 

“I said I don’t hate you. I might not like you, but you're still a human being and I’m a nurse, and me not like you won’t stop me from helping you.” Rio remembers the night that she and Jeff had to tell Miles that his uncle Aaron didn’t make it. Miles cried the whole night knowing how much his uncle meant to him. After, two years he was getting better, surprisingly after he started to hang with Society. 

“He looks up to you. See you another Uncle to go to like that Peter guy. You guys are like a second family to him. And I be damn if my son loses another Uncle on my watch. lo, tienes?”

Miguel just stared at her, surprised by her words it caused him to choke up a bit. Wondering if it is because of the blood loss that he feels this way. She sounds like a mother that scrolling a child but not in the hurtful manner that he has gotten used to.

“You make it hard for me not to like you,” Rio said as she finished up the wrapping and helped Miguel to lay back down as she could tell he was getting dizzy from sitting upright.

“I’m sorry.” Miguel choked out, almost sounding like he was about to cry.

“Please, stop that.” rolling her eyes wondering what hit this man in the feeling. Miguel was always stoic or at least serious-spoken. That is what Miles had told her. 

“Sorry, I…I never had a nice mother figure. So you talking to me as…like an actual mother. It's something new to me.” Miguel said, realizing he said it out loud. He hates that the lack of blood is making him lose common sense. Rio just says silent, Miles did mention Miguel didn’t have a great childhood. And seeing some of his old wounds that were more akin to someone who was abused. Before she can be asked how bad his past was, she hears the front door bust open. At first, she thought it was Miles and 42 was back but it wasn’t

“Rio! Miles! What going on?!” Jeff yelled from the living room. Rio forgot that during the panic rush to hear she texted her husband that Miles was in trouble. Jeff burst through the bedroom door thinking he going to see his son seriously injured but was surprised to see Miguel on the bed instead. 

Miguel’s eyes widened and were glowing more red. He quickly crawled away from Rio and Jeff to the far corner of the bed, baring his fangs at them. Rio was so surprised at what Miguel was doing but one look on his face made her realize that he was afraid. She turned to her husband who also was freaking out to see a Spider-man crawling inhumanly fast. To Miguel, due to the blood loss, a vision of his step-father flashes in front of him. Remember how his father would beat him so often for just doing the small stuff. 

“por favor no me hagas daño. por favor no me hagas daño, 

Papá!” Miguel sobbed. Rio got between Miguel and her husband, seeing this a few times in her medical career. Too many times sadly. 

“Jeff. leave the room for a moment.” Rio said calmly not wanting to freak Miguel out anymore. His talons and the look in his eyes tell her he is in ‘fight or flight’ mode. Right now it flight but in a moment it can turn into a fight and she knows her or her husband can’t take down a Spider-man. 

“What?! I’m leaving you with him!” Jeff whisper

“Look, Miguel got hurt bad and he was in the right mind because of the blood loss he had, and right now you look like someone from his past who wasn’t too kind to him,” Rio said inching herself closer slowly towards Miguel that began to shake in fear. Jeff nodded that he understood and trusted his wife as he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. After Jeff did that Miguel was shaking less but still curled up towards that edge.

“Hey, Hey. he gone. The big scary guy is gone.” it was so weird for Rio to sat that since Miguel is taller and bigger than her husband.

“ lastimame a mi, no a mi hermano” Miguel whisper out. Causing Rio’s eyes to widen more. Miguel taking most of that for his brother. If she ever meets Miguel’s father he going to be a dead man. Rio shook her head to try to stay focused and get Miguel to calm down. She saw that Miguel was covering his mouth.

“I won’t speak Spanish again, I’m sorry.”

God, she really going to kill Miguel’s dad

“Hey! No one going to hurt you. me aseguro de eso.”  Rio said as she took Miguel's arm pulled him up from the corner of the bed and lay him down, a not moment too soon Miguel almost collapsed back down on the bed. The blood loss finally caught up to him as the room was getting more dizzy.

“No…no one will hurt me?”

Rio shook her head as she pulled a blanket on him so he wouldn’t get cold. She looked at his viral sign seeing everything was still low. Hoping Miles and 42 come here soon.

“No, descansa un poco, ¿vale?”

Miguel didn’t say anything but his eyes felt heavy. He sensed no danger as he fell into deep sleep.

~

Miguel groaned as he tried to open his eyes. The first thing he noted when he woke up he not hurting anymore. His healing was working now and he didn’t feel so dizzy. He realized why as he saw a needle in his arm that led to an almost empty blood bag. So at least he knows that his blood was replaced so that's good. Miguel also realized he was not a HQ but in a room.

“Lyla?” Miguel said his voice so froggy from the lack of water. Lyla popped in front of him with her cheerful self. 

“What you need chief?”

“How…how long have I been out?

“Three hours. You were out like a light. You look less paler now so that's good.” 

Miguel rolled his eyes and was about to get up but Lyla popped in front of him fast

“Whoo, big guy. Let's not get up too fast. Here!” Lyla said as she sent a message. As she did that Miguel heard thumping heading his way. As the door burst open to saw Miles and 42 rush to his bedside. 

“Miguel! You ok!” Miles said hugging Miguel who grunted in pain. He healed but he is still a bit sensitive. 42 to pull Miles away so he doesn’t hurt Miguel anymore. 

“Are you two ok?” Miguel asked only able to remember something after the attack. He remember taking the blast and was trying to teleport back but was too hurt to be teleported. 

“We should be the one asking you tio! Mom said you lost more blood than we thought and if you hadn’t bitten yourself you would have bled out!” Miles said trying not to freak out but failing at it. Miguel felt guilty not wanting to make the young spider worry. Miles doesn’t want to be treated like a kid but sometimes he forgets he is still young. Losing one of his closest family members doesn’t help giving the teen PTSD. Miguel also can tell he worries too, 42 just not the type to show it. 

“I’m fine. Just need some water.” 

“I figure much.” everyone turns to Rio at the doorways with a plate of food and some water for Miguel. “I will be guessing you be hungry. I know Miles to be when he gets hurt like that.” Rio said causing Miles to blush a bit thinking his mom said something embarrassing to Miguel. Miguel nodded took the plate from Rio and drank the water to feel more better.

“I’m sorry if I had been a bother to you.” Miguel looked at the bed and saw the sheets under him were ripped figuring he had caused them. 

“Don’t mention it. You didn’t cause too much problem.” Rio said surprisingly cheerfully to Miguel who was a bit taken back from it. He looks at 42.

“Once I’m done, will head back to our earth. We bugged the Morles enough as it is.” 

“That and I kept kicking Miles's ass in his videogame.” 

“Hey! I was winning!” Miles said while 42 smirked. Rio laughed they were fighting like the two were twin brothers.

“You two go back and get some rest and you Miles better doing some homework, not gaming. Both of you.”

“Yes, mom.” Both Miles and 42 left the room. Leaving the two adults. 

“Did I do or say anything weird to you?” he wanted to make sure he didn’t hurt Rio or anyone. He is sometimes not in the right frame of mind when he is too hurt. Rio shook her head and put her hands on his shoulder to reassure him.

“ nada que pueda manejar. Miguel.”

Miguel looks at Rio “You are a good guy, and you are doing your best.” Rio said as she took his empty plate. “Also, I like green bed sheets.”

Miguel smile.

[tigerkirby215]

5e Ashley J. Williams, The Hero from The Sky / El Jefe build

(Artwork from Evil Dead: The Game.)

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(So I found this track by accident when trying to search for the Evil Dead Movies main themes, but it turns out the original movies have kinda boring music so you can have this instead.)

Of course I’m rounding out my Evil Dead characters with the main main himself! Ashley Joanna “Ash” Williams played by the one and only Bruce Campbell. Even if you haven’t watched an Evil Dead movie the imagery of chainsaw arms and double-barrel shotguns have been solidified in horror media thanks to Campbell and Rami’s genre-defying work.

It also helps that Ash is probably the textbook horror movie protagonist, helped even more by the fact that he’s gone through every horror movie trope available. From terrified fish-out-of-water to expert man-of-action to grizzled disgruntled veteran of evil. Oh and we can’t forget his brief stunt as more of a walking punchline in the body of Duke Nukem than a proper protagonist.

But regardless of your opinions on Ash one thing’s for sure: he’s a very compelling character and character archetype to play in D&D. The grizzled, charming hero with a blade (attached to) one hand and a gun in the other. Up to you if you’ll run from evil or face it head on.

GOALS

What? Never saw a guy with a chainsaw hand before? - Chainsaws are a bit hard to come by in D&D, but you’re certainly talented with various cutting implements.

And this is my BOOMSTICK - Ranged backup is always nice to have, and a sawn-off shotgun pulls double duty of being quick to grab while also scaring any primitive screwheads who might want to lock you in a pit.

Hail to the King, baby - If you were just some cripple with good aim you wouldn’t be the Chosen One, now would you? No we need fate itself to keep you fighting Deadites. Yeah building a D&D character with literal protagonist powers will be hard.

RACE

Ashley J. Williams is just a man, but he’s also the Chosen One as written in the Book of the Dead, so I think making him a Variant Human is justified. Increase both your Charisma and your Strength by 1, the Deception skill (I guess since you can get Persuasion from elsewhere) to make a convincing argument why you’re covered in blood, and the Infernal language to recite ancient arcane texts... as long as you remember the words.

5e has a particular way of making ranged weapons needlessly unwieldy but the Crossbow Expert feat helps alleviate some of that. You can ignore the loading property of any weapon with that property, and you can also shoot enemies within 5 feet to make sure they “Swallow this.” But most importantly if you make an attack with a one-handed weapon on your turn you can shoot a Hand Crossbow with your Bonus Action: this not only includes shooting your Hand Crossbow but also includes any one-handed melee weapon you may be using.

Even if your DM allows firearms in their setting Crossbow Expert might be more useful than Gunner due to the Bonus Action attack. Depending on the types of firearms the DM allows and the rules your DM has for dual-wielding a melee weapon and a gun take either Gunner, Dual-Wielder, or possibly just bump up your Constitution with Resilient Constitution if you don’t need any feats to get around 5e’s arbitrary rulings.

ABILITY SCORES

You need to be particularly suited to take on the forces of darkness, which is my way of saying that if I built Ash with Standard Array this build would be incredibly lacking in stats. So for the first time in (awhile? ever? I actually don’t know if I’ve ever used Point Buy before) we’re going to make our character with Point Buy instead of Standard Array!

15; STRENGTH - Ash is a fairly lithe fellow but you need Strength to operate heavy machinery, which is my way of saying “we need Strength for the chainsaw”, which is my way of saying “5e makes melee Finesse characters needlessly weak unless you’re playing a Rogue and if you were to opt for full Dexterity instead of Strength it would make some aspects of the build better but the main classes flat-out wouldn’t function.”

12; DEXTERITY - Ash is no acrobat but he’s fit enough to dodge some hits.

13; CONSTITUTION - Ash has been through three movies and a TV show’s worth of battering; it’s safe to assume he can take a few hits.

8; WISDOM - Ash is easy to fool, especially by demons who dedicated their lives to manipulating the living. I mean really how many times can you fall for the same “pretend not to be possessed” trick?

8; INTELLIGENCE - Ash is also quite forgetful and prone to dumb ideas. But hey: “dumb” is the first half of “dumb luck!”

15; CHARISMA - Ash is played by Bruce Campbell, a man who has an IRL 20 in Charisma.

BACKGROUND

If there’s any background for Ashey Slashy, Elk Grove’s boogeyman who went up to a cabin and murdered all his friends with a chainsaw, Haunted One is probably the way to go. You get proficiency with a handful of skills but I personally opted for Survival and Arcana. You can also learn one regular language (Elvish, I guess? Look just take whatever you think fits) and an exotic language (Abyssal, in case the magic words aren’t actually in Infernal.)

Your feature Heart of Darkness will ensure people listen to you instead of throwing you into the cellar. “Though they might fear you” (and trust me: they probably will) most folk will try to help you, unless you're swinging a chainsaw and boomstick around in their face. They will even fight alongside you if you’re facing an enemy alone.

(Artwork from Evil Dead: The Game)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - PALADIN 1

Weird choice to make Ash a holy man perhaps, but I’m sure as shit not going to make him a Champion Fighter. I’m not that boring. Regardless I’m starting with Paladin levels primarily for saving throws, but proficiency with Athletics and Persuasion is also nice.

As a Paladin you get Divine Sense to know if any demons, deadites, zombies, or monsters are around. (Well, celestial, fiend, or undead.) The ability extends to 60 feet but doesn’t go through walls, and while you know where they are you don’t know who they are. You also get Lay on Hands, because I hope you learnt some basic first aid before heading out for a night in the woods.

LEVEL 2 - BARBARIAN 1

Grabbing Barbarian levels to be indestructible, much like that bright blue shirt. Speaking of that shirt: Unarmored Defense will let you wear that shirt with pride with AC equal to 10 + your Dexterity and your Constitution, with your poster-ready muscles protecting you perfectly from the rips in your shirt.

Additionally if you’re in the thick of things Rage will let you go a bit insane with that chainsaw. You can enter Rage as a Bonus Action for advantage on Strength checks and saving throws, a bonus to melee damage, and resistant to Bludgeoning, Piercing, and Slashing damage. Most Deadites aren’t going to be doing Fire damage anytime soon so this will give you resistance to most damage you’ll be taking! You can only Rage a limited number of times though, so be sure to use them when you need them.

LEVEL 3 - PALADIN 2

Now that your AC has gone from mediocre to... still mediocre (look you’re still allowed to wear Medium armor) it’s time to grab a Fighting Style from the second level of Paladin. Because WoTC hates the idea of ranged Paladins the only option that’s really available for you is Dueling: it’s still an incredibly good option though, giving you a flat +2 to all damage rolls with your “chainsaw.”

I may as well mention this now: the weapon that best fits a “chainsaw arm” would probably be a longsword, as it does slashing damage and can be wielded in one hand.

Depending on if your DM is cool though there’s a Common Magic Item from Eberron known as the Armblade, which is meant to be exclusive to Warforged but you could probably justify it as an arm attachment of sorts for your weapon. Basically if your DM knows you’re playing Ash and are okay with it then hopefully they will buy into the fantasy.

You also get access to Spellcasting, which is admittedly a bit weird for Ash but you can probably justify it with enhanced Chosen One abilities. You can prepare a number of spells equal to your Charisma modifier plus half your Paladin level (rounded down), so 4 for now. Grab spells that don’t rely too much on your spellcasting modifier to be good, like Bless, Cure Wounds, Heroism, and Shield of Faith. Okay some of those spells do still need a good casting modifier, and it’s also important to mention that you can’t cast spells or concentrate on spells while Raging as a Barbarian.

Of course you could ignore all that for Divine Smite, which is what I’d do if I was playing Ash. Instead of going through all that “spellcasting” jazz turn your spell slot into extra Radiant damage on melee hit. A 1st level spell slot will do 2d8 Radiant damage and every spell slot above that will do an extra d8 of damage. Additionally if you hit a fiend or undead (so what Ash is likely fighting) you’ll get another d8, for 3d8 baseline! Flavor it as revving your chainsaw real hard before digging into whatever respective Deadite you’re fighting and letting blood fly!

LEVEL 4 - PALADIN 3

3rd level Paladins get to choose their Sacred Oath, and while Ash isn’t really one to make an oath to anyone Oath of Devotion actually has some good abilities for us. For a start you get Protection from Evil and Good added to your spell list, as well as Sanctuary. (One of these spells is likely going to be far more useful than the other.) But more notably you gain access to Channel Divinity with a few options:

Turn the Unholy is a good way to keep the evil dead off you for a scene or two, working much like the Cleric’s Turn Undead feature but... well actually it basically works exactly like a Cleric’s Turn Undead, except it also works on Fiends. Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything also gives you access to Harness Divine Power once per Long Rest to exchange your Channel Divinity for a spell slot equal to half your proficiency bonus. So for now that’s only a 1st level slot, but hey more chainsaw fuel never hurt!

Most notably however as an action you can turn one of your weapons into a Sacred Weapon. Along with making the weapon glow in the dark (which may or may not be helpful) you get a bonus to attack rolls equal to your Charisma modifier, allowing you to hit a deadite right between the eyes when this counts! Since this scales off your Charisma and can be applied to any weapon it can be a good boost to both your boomstick or your chainsaw; you probably aren’t going to hit any ranged shots without this boost (what with your measly +1 to DEX) but going all-in with the melee weapon is probably a good idea too, especially this early on.

Regardless of what you choose remember that your Channel Divinity is only available once per Short Rest, so use it wisely! And to top it off you get Divine Health, because it sure would suck if the Hero from the Sky died to the plague.

(Image from Entertainment Earth.)

LEVEL 5 - PALADIN 4

4th level Paladins get our first Ability Score Improvement and you probably noticed our uneven Constitution score. Let’s nip that in the bud right away and grab Resilient Constitution to round out some scores and also ensure no deadite puke gets us feeling funky.

You can also prepare another spell but I’m going to wait for...

LEVEL 6 - PALADIN 5

5th level Paladins get a bunch of fun stuff! For one you can swing your chainsaw twice thanks to Extra Attack! Secondly you get, well, 2nd level spells. As a Devotion Paladin you gain access to both Lesser Restoration (which can be good) and Zone of Truth (which is less immediately useful for the character.)

You can also prepare Find Steed to always have a getaway at the ready. But what might steed would Ash Williams ride into battle? Why the Delta of course! A good ol’ Oldsmobile Delta 88 Royale. Which is my way of saying “just grab a damn warhorse.”

LEVEL 7 - WARLOCK 1

You probably noticed your godawful Dexterity modifier and were wondering “how the hell am I going to hit with this Hand Crossbow?” Well here comes my favorite part of D&D character building: “um akchually” time, otherwise known as “scouring through classes to find a way to make this build works”, or “multiclassing madness for short.”

Anyways funny Warlock levels! Even if you’re against the Book of the Dead you did still read it, and it eternally changed you for the better. For convenience’s sake we’ll say it made you a good shot! The Hexblade patron is the best martial class thanks to Hex Warrior which does a bunch of stuff that doesn’t matter, but more importantly allows you to “touch one weapon that you are proficient with and that lacks the two-handed property“ to allow you to shoot it with Charisma.

Notice that wording? Hex Warrior says nothing about ranged weapons. And you know what’s a one-handed ranged weapon? The Hand Crossbow! So thanks to Hex Warrior you can now shoot your Hand Crossbow with your Charisma!

Other than that Hexblade’s Curse will let you mark a target with your Bonus Action. During that time you do extra damage to the target on-hit equal to your proficiency bonus, you crit on a 19 or 20 against them, and if they die you regain health equal to your Charisma modifier plus your Warlock level (so... not much.) It’s a nice trick to have in your back pocket, and much like your Channel Divinity it comes back on a Short Rest, meaning that you need only settle down with a beer for a minute before you can come back swinging!

Is there something I’m missing? Oh yeah Warlocks have Pact Magic which means you’ll have a 1st level spell slot that comes back on a Short Rest due to multiclassing madness. It does also mean you can grab 2 cantrips and 2 spells from the Warlock list: for cantrips take Mind Sliver to borrow some tricks from Eligos, and Mage Hand because you have a particular knack for dropping your weapons mid-fight. For leveled spells meanwhile Shield is universally useful even with your limited spell slots, and Hex can be good if you want to lay in even harder onto a particular Deadite.

LEVEL 8 - PALADIN 6

Hey look at that: the main reason we went for Paladin. Aura of Protection makes you so awesome you just don’t get hit by things, adding your Charisma to your saving throws and the saving throws of allies within 10 feet of you. The stuff that would scare the pants off a regular Joe Shmo? It don’t bug you as much anymore!

Additionally you can prepare another spell and oh boy you sure do have real spell slots. Take Thunderous Smite I guess for more burst damage in a pinch as you saw into your foe before blasting them away with your boomstick.

(Artwork from Evil Dead: The Game)

LEVEL 9 - BARBARIAN 2

Now that fate wants you to die slightly less it’s time to abuse that privilege as much as possible. Reckless Attack will let you swing your chainsaw around like an idiot with advantage, all for the low low price of making it easier for a deadite to grab you. Buuuut if you’re only rocking a blue dress shirt maybe it’s better to go all-out.

Additionally Danger Sense is like having proficiency with Dexterity saving throws, except only when you can see them coming. If you know an attack is coming your way you’ll have advantage on the DEX save, which combined with your Aura of Protection will keep you safe from a lot of fireballs. Relatively.

LEVEL 10 - BARBARIAN 3

3rd level Barbarians get to choose their subclass, and Path of the Zealot is funny because you get literal protagonist powers. Warrior of the Gods will let anyone with the power to revive you do so easily, not having to spend expensive diamonds to do so. It won’t let you leave!

Well at least it also gives you Divine Fury, letting you deal extra Radiant or Necrotic damage (trust me: take Radiant damage) the first time you hit someone with your chainsaw (not your boomstick) equal to a d6 plus half your Barbarian level. More fuel for more bloody kills, especially with one more daily Rage in case of those dire circumstances!

And to top it off Tasha’s Cauldron of Everything gives you Primal Knowledge for more skill proficiencies. Intimidation is the only thing you’re going to truly make an impact with currently, so proficiency with more Charisma skills can help to get control over a room.

LEVEL 11 - BARBARIAN 4

4th level Barbarians get another Ability Score Improvement and what’s fun about this build is that you can actually spec around what you want to do with your Ash. Want a more deadly chainsaw? Take more Strength. Want to be able to take more hits? Well Constitution can help with that. Want a prettier face that doesn’t get scratched up by saving throws? Charisma will help with that and also make your Channel Divinity better.

I’d personally recommend more Strength but the choice is entirely up to you as to the Chosen One you want to be.

(Image from CBR.com)

LEVEL 12 - BARBARIAN 5

5th level Barbarians get an Extra Attack... that doesn’t stack with your other Extra Attack. Oops. Well at least you get Fast Movement for 10 extra feet of movement while not wearing heavy armor.

LEVEL 13 - BARBARIAN 6

Were you failing saving throws? I sure hope not, because Fanatical Focus will let you reroll a failed Saving Throw once per Rage. More life insurance for the Chosen One to accommodate more uses of Rage!

LEVEL 14 - BARBARIAN 7

7th level Barbarians have been hunted by evil for so long fighting it has become a Feral Instinct. You have advantage on initiative rolls, and if you are surprised at the beginning of combat (and aren’t incapacitated) you can act normally on your first turn as long as you enter Rage before doing anything else.

Speaking of Rage: Tasha’s Cauldron gives you an Instinctive Pounce to move up to half your movement speed when you take the Bonus Action to Rage, letting you jump up for that decapitation!

LEVEL 15 - PALADIN 7

Quickly taking a value level in Devotion Paladin for Aura of Devotion. Possession sucks, and while charms aren’t quite possession this aura will keep your mind from being tampered with. Also you can now use Harness Divine Power twice per Long Rest, giving you a few more 2nd level spell slots to play with!

LEVEL 16 - BARBARIAN 8

8th level Barbarians get another Ability Score Improvement. Again: Strength, Constitution, or Charisma. Take whatever you think will help you the most. Probably Strength really but it’s up to you.

(Artwork from Evil Dead: The Game)

LEVEL 17 - BARBARIAN 9

9th level Barbarians can get even more blood! Brutal Critical lets you roll 3 damage die when you crit instead of just two. And if you don’t happen to crit? Well your Rage now deals 1 more damage per hit, I suppose.

LEVEL 18 - BARBARIAN 10

10th level Zealot Barbarians can be a source of inspiration without being a Bard. With the use of a Bonus Action your Zealous Presence will give up to ten(?!) other Survivors you choose that can hear you in 60 feet advantage on attack rolls and saving throws until the start of your next turn. You can only use this feature once per Long Rest, but in the face of hell you can show the demons the mettle of man.

Additionally you gain another skill proficiency from Primal Knowledge: take Perception I guess? By this point your proficiency bonus is probably enough to make this meaningful. Your low Wisdom won’t make you the main source of insight in the party, but I won’t look a skill proficiency horse in the mouth.

LEVEL 19 - BARBARIAN 11

11th level Barbarians get knocked down, but they get back up. Relentless Rage will let you roll a Constitution save when you hit 0 HP (while raging, as long as you don’t immediately die) to instead drop to 1 hitpoint. The first time you do this the DC is only 10 but it increases by 5 every time you have to use it until you take a Long Rest (when it resets to a 10 again.)

Aura of Protection does help you with this, along with your proficiency thanks to Resilient Constitution. You actually have a fairly good chance to survive being knocked dead quite a few times thanks to this ability!

LEVEL 20 - BARBARIAN 12

Our final level is the 12th level of Barbarian for one last Ability Score Improvement: again Strength, Constitution, or Charisma.

But the real capstone is having 5 total uses of Rage! Maybe.

FINAL BUILD

PROS

Shop Smart, Shop S-Mart - Despite not having maxed out combat stats you can both swing a chainsaw and shoot a shotgun (crossbow) pretty well, as long as you have some time to rev up the chainsaw first and give it a Charisma boost to hit. Having the flexibility to shoot and swing in the same round is also an obvious boon, giving you more combat pressure at all ranges. And of course being able to put full-gas in your chainsaw swings will really let you get to the blood and guts.

Hey granny! I hope you took your Geritol, 'cause it's time to dance! - The tricks you have up your sleeve can really augment your standard combat. While your Channel Divinity is likely going to be your bread-and-butter for tougher foes the few spells you can cast while not raging can really come in handy. Not to mention your Smites.

Who's laughing now? Who's laughing now?! - It wasn’t really my intention but it turns out when you built towards “fate literally not allowing you to die” you get some really good saving throw protection, which also translates nicely onto your party! If you fight against witches or magical deadites you’ll have plenty of confidence knowing you can shrug off most dangerous magical effects, and dodging any thrown chairs or bodies helps as well.

CONS

Klaatu, Barada, Nikto! - You have spell slots, yes. But they are extremely hard to use since you can’t cast or concentrate while Raging. And if you instead want to use them for Divine Smites you’ll also find yourself lacking over a long day as your chainsaw runs low on fuel.

And I don’t pay my taxes, so all I know is death - I can not stress enough how genuinely bad Unarmored Defense is. Like, you’d get so much more mileage out of just putting on a breastplate. But then you wouldn’t get to show off that lovely blue shirt now would you? Honestly unless you can get a decent CON from somewhere I’d just go for 14 DEX and accept the flavor confusion of putting on some proper armor.

Your shoelace’s undone - This build has to go through a lot of contrivance to work: you need high stats in multiple abilities to use both melee and ranged weapons, you can’t cast spells while Raging which limits your options for backup ranged attacks, weapon swapping rules are archaic meaning you can’t easily swap to two-handed ranged weapons, and the loading property gives you even more to dance around if you want to fire both barrels of your boomstick...

Look there’s a lot of simpler ways to get the theme of Ash (chainsaw in one hand and boomstick in the other.) My recommendation if you’re playing a low level character (which you probably are) is to take a level (or three to get Pact of the Blade) into Hexblade Warlock and invest the rest into some form of Paladin. This would let you concentrate on just Charisma (which best fits Ash) while rocking Medium armor and Agonizing Blast to take place of your boomstick (dealing as much damage as a Heavy Crossbow per shot.) (Heck you could even take a Greatsword for the chainsaw.) But on this blog I strive for A. level 20 builds and B. as much character accuracy as possible, meaning a lot of sacrifices have to be made for flavor. I can’t just make it easy for myself by picking Warlock all the time (despite what the general trend of this blog may indicate) and for Ash in particular it felt all types of wrong to say “oh yeah invest in Warlock use Shadow Blade as your chainsaw to rip and tear until it is done!”

tl;dr this build is meant to make a level 20 Ash Williams, not exactly a good build I’d play at a real table. If you want to play Ash in a campaign that doesn’t go to level 20 I’d probably make a Hexblade / Paladin multiclass and flavor Eldritch Blast as your boomstick.

But hey: just because you were the Chosen One doesn’t mean you were built to be a hero. You built yourself through all the highs and lows, and now are a one-man force against evil. But one man doesn’t have to do it alone: Ghost Beaters never leave a man behind and an alone wolf winds up dead by dawn. Be the face everyone can look up to when faced with any demon, deadite, or she-b#!% evil may throw at you. “Groovy.”

(Artwork from Evil Dead: The Game.)

[opaleyedprince]

-quaking in my slippers- i need a man who is covered in blood. STAT

[tferillwrites]

Here’s the full first Chapter.

Chapter 1 - Luna

Sweat beaded from my forehead and down my neck. The cramped bar was sweltering and I needed some cool air, stat. My heavy curls were a nightmare to deal with in the heat. The hair on my head added a few more degrees of heat to my body. I shot back the last remnants of the alcohol in my cup, “I’m heading outside to cool off.” I yelled over the music at the girl standing beside me. She gave me a confused look and shrugged her shoulders. Probably because I’d literally just met her ten minutes ago, and decided to spill my life story in an alcohol induced therapy session. I side stepped a couple drunken dancers and howlers before slamming the metal door to the back of the bar open. The cool air rushed me in seconds, making me groan. I gathered my loose hair in my hands letting the gentle breeze hit the back of my neck. The alley was quiet, the streetlights casted small shadows across the pavement. The faint smell of pot hit my nose and I looked around the lonely space. Dark shadows bathed the corners of the brick walls making it impossible to see. All but the tiny red ember right across from me. I stared at it a moment, wondering if I had more to drink that I thought I did or I was seeing shit. Blinking rapidly I made out the tall body leaning against the brick wall ahead.

“Sorry, I didn’t know someone else was out here.”

“Na, you’re good.” His rasp was muffled by the smoke billowing out of his mouth. That voice triggered an onslaught of deep seeded memories. I shook my head. No, it couldn’t be him.

His body shifted so the sliver of light hit the bottom half of his face. Close cropped facial hair covered the bottom half. The smirk on his lips made my belly flop. There was only one smile that could do that to me. And I refused to think it was him. I must be drunk. Maybe the chick roofied me in the bar.

“Well, goodnight.” I spun on my heel and took a step before his voice made me pause.

“Aw, come ma. That any way to treat an old friend?” My blood ran cold as I turned back around to face the man behind me. He cocked his head giving me a perfect view of his face. I blinked back the shock as I stared into the dark depths of Zander Mesias eyes. It had been years since I’d seen him.

“Little star,” he drawled in that stupidly deep voice of his. The ass hat couldn’t even get my name right after all these years. He leaned back casually against the brick wall of the bar. A joint poised into his mouth, and a tiny sliver of a smirk upturning his lips. His dark hair was perfectly mussed at the top, the sides were clean cut and faded. He took his forefinger and thumb to pluck at the joint. The darkness of the alley obscured his tall body, and his clothing cloaked him perfectly.

“What the hell are you doing here Mesias?”

He took another lung full of smoke before he retrieved a metal case from his leather jacket, and placed it in there before clicking it closed.

“Came to visit a dear friend.” His teeth gleamed in the night like a predator’s. It only made my fists curl in on themselves.

“And yet your Neanderthal brain can’t get my name right.” I bit back.

A slow deep chuckle rumbled from his throat and I swallowed hard at the sound of it.

“Still as fiery I see.” He pulled off the wall and walked toward me. I held my ground, there was no way I’d let the asshole see how much he still affected me after all of these years. Fuck him. The way his tall body walked, excuse me, it was more like a prowl really. Who the fuck prowls? I mean seriously. But, that was the only way I could describe it. He was tall, his shoulders were broad on a lean athletic frame. I tipped my head back to meet his eyes, my nose was filled with his scent. The earthy smell of his joint lingered on his clothes with something else; sweet and faint like sandalwood.

“I asked you a question, what the hell are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be running circles on your little bike somewhere in Raymont?”

His smile only grew from there and it infuriated me.

“Is that what you think I do? Run circles on my little bike?” There was a tinge of an accent on the word little as he emphasized it.

“You’ve got something I need.” He mused. My eyebrows crinkled in confusion.

“What could I possibly have that you need?” I retorted. A small little smile graced his lips, “That pretty little brain of yours of course.”

“Excuse me?”

He licked his lips before he continued, “You’re some sort of IT genius, no?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do. And I need you to do a job for me.”

A short burst of laughter bubbled out of my throat followed by a full blown belly laugh.

He cocked his head like a curious puppy, “Something funny?” His face was serious as if he really didn’t understand why I was laughing.

“Your fucking with me right Mesias?”

“Why would I do that?” He asked.

I shook my head and scoffed, “Because you’re the last person I’d do a job for. I’d rather sit my bare ass on an Arizona sidewalk in the middle of a heat wave before I did anything for you. Besides who says I’m still doing that shit anyway?” I shrugged off the question.

He stepped in closer, “Well for one, I know you're working your little hacking skills to pay your way through college. You hate that your parents wanted to pay off your tuition and you want to break away from the status quo of being the spoiled little rich girl everyone sees you as.”

I ground my teeth, “You couldn’t possibly know that.”

He laughed, making my body feel on edge. “Oh, but I do. You don’t think you’re the same little girl I knew back then? That little rebellious streak in you is still kickin’.” My mouth dropped open and anger rose up in me, “You don’t know shit. I’m making my own way in this life with my earnings and no one else’s. How I get my money is none of your fucking business.”

He tsked at me in a patronizing manner, “Everything you do is my business and will be my business from now on.” He took another step closer, making me relent and take two back. The rough exterior of the brick wall met my hot skin as I stared up at the man I was unfamiliar with now. We used to— he was my— I — my brain seized at the thoughts coming back to me. The memories that I had of him from years ago. When I knew him. When it was us and we were careless and on top of the world. We were so young back then. He looked so much older now, a dark energy striking through him like lightning. He still had that sinful boyish smirk on his face but his eyes held something menacing. Almost inhumane. I knew what he was. I’d be stupid to think his hands weren’t stained with the blood of the people that stood in his way. That’s what he was. A killer. A man who’s only job was to hunt, torture and kill. Being a Hades Hellhound came with a price. And I was convinced he sold his soul to Hades himself to get that look in his eyes. My body shuddered at the thoughts swarming my head.

“Fuck off Mesias. Like I said, I’m not doing shit for you. So go back to your little club and go play bad guy somewhere else. I’m uninterested.”

I began to skirt away from his imposing form before a strong hand clamped down on the back of my neck and hauled me back. The force was so hard it sent my body tumbling backwards, and I crashed into his body behind me. As soon as he steadied my fall, he spun me around and pinned me to the wall. His large tattooed hand covered the base of my throat. I swallowed hard as I met his dark eyes and tracked his arm all the way up to his neck. His hand rippled, fingers tensing making the ink on his skin swirl like smoke.

“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying little star. I’ve got a job for you, you work for me now, and I will use you as I see fit. Entendido?”

The blood in my veins nearly boiled at the anger coursing through my body.

A smile graced my lips, making sure he could see the pearly whites of my teeth. For a flash of a second I swore I could see the confusion on his face. He was quick to school his features though, I’d give him that. I’ve alway been a people watcher, I’ve learned every tick, smile, reaction from the human body. Something that came naturally as an outsider. You had all the time in the world when you were left alone. Even the slightest shudder of the eye was something I caught.

“Make me,” I challenged. My smile was wide and gleaming now. I loved to call people’s bluff.

A sadistic smile quirked his lips and in the next second the cold press of a gun met the side of my temple. My blood ran cold as I felt the hard muzzle against my skin. His hand on my neck didn’t falter, in fact he squeezed harder, giving me a lightheaded feeling.

“I’m not the same person you used to know,” his voice was pitched low and rough, “You thought you knew me back then, but what I do leaves no room for humanity.” The gun moved from my temple and began coasting down the middle of my chest and down my belly. “So when I see you, I feel nothing.” The gun continued coasting lower until it met my pubic bone, making me gasp what little breath I had lodged in my throat. “I could pull the trigger right now and walk away. Leave your body for the next unsuspecting fool to walk upon it.”

My body trembled with his words as I watched the dark pits of his eyes. His leg came up and parted my thighs, high enough for me to feel the rough fabric of his jeans rub my clit over my panties. My body trembled with the action.

He finally pulled the gun away and tucked it back into the holster he wore underneath his jacket. The warmth of his body dissipated all at once as he retreated back a few steps. The light of the street lamp caught his shiny dark hair.

“Great interview, you got the job, little star. Meet me at Hell’s shop next Friday night, I’ll send you the details.” He called out with a picture perfect smile on his face. He turned on his heel and walked down the street until he vanished from my sight. I leaned on the brick wall trying to piece together what the fuck had just happened. The familiar roar of an engine started up and I walked toward the lonely street lamp casting everything in yellow.

I watched as he sped by in a black skull balaclava covering his face, his head swiveled to watch me. Everything felt like it was going in slow motion. The cold wind swept the hem of my skirt. The shiny flash of chrome from his bike glinting in the night. Even the way his eyes seemed to stick to me. Seeing Zander again was like a bad Omen. I was fucked.

[bacon-sandwich-of-dionysus]

Baying Dogs (Rewrite); Chapter Five: Diagnosis

Hello! Sorry for the delay in uploading this, exams are well under way which I've been prioritising. I've also had a freak accident with boiling water and now I have a huge second-degree burn covering one of my arms... that's probably going to take some time to heal.

In the meantime, because I know there's going to be more delays in writing and uploading chapters, lol, have a cheeky lil reread :P. See if you need to rethink your suspects :).

Warnings for: Strong language, gore, body horror (only slight), mentions of violence and menstruation (this isn't me stigmatising, but I know it can still be a sensitive topic for some people so I am giving a heads' up)

Word count: 4, 972

He was horrified. He wanted to gag.

Eyes were wide, bulging.

All he could do was stare.

Price thought he was accustomed to violence and brutality, having been in this line of work for a while now. Even he himself had committed a few atrocities of his own. And yet, here he stood, at a loss for words, like he had just seen death for the first time.

The gore was almost… gratuitous.

“Gaz…” He finally managed to croak out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dougs hadn’t uttered anything. She couldn’t. All she did was cover her mouth in shock as she knelt before the corpse, hoping if she stared long enough… his eyes would stare back.

Flies hovered above the body, occasionally swooping down to take fresh pickings of drying blood.

There wasn’t any heat to him anymore, guts no longer steaming.

Price drew in a shaky breath. He swallowed hard. The horror was subsiding and replacing it was grief, grief which bubbled just under the surface, just waiting to boil over into a froth of anger. The captain could feel it. He was inconsolable. Any mutterings of assurances, any condolences given in goodwill, would only piss him off. Whoever did this... because he damn well knew it was ‘who’. He had known it was a ‘who’ from the start. Only now, as he fell before Gaz’s eviscerated corpse, did he truly care.

This proved that the man hadn’t been hardened at all, nor had he grown numb.

Inside him was a heart which pounded in his chest and a stomach which growled for blood.

They would pay. The murderer would pay.

Slowly, he turned to Dougs.

“You found him like this?”

That wasn’t a question, that sounded like a demand.

His teeth were clenched, lips peeled back in a snarl.

“Yes, sir.”

“Just now?”

“I screamed when I saw him.”

“You better be telling the truth.”

She gulped.

“I am.”

Price exhaled and looked behind to the others.

“Who did this?”

“Sir, we need to report-”

“WHO DID THIS?!”

They straightened up, remaining silent.

Price looked back at the body. Protocol would demand he report to Shepherd and inform him of the death but… God! He needed time. Time to think. He had already acknowledged the reality of the situation but what to do about this information which sat before him, red and raked with gaping wounds.... had yet to be seen.

Gaz had been through a lot with him. Gaz had been his righthand man. Price had kicked off his career in this line of work, mentoring him from the very beginning. This wasn’t how things were supposed to end. Price should be in his place, with his guts out, bathing in the morning sun as it warmed his pallid skin. Gaz was the one who should be living.

The captain had had his heyday, his adventures, his progression.

Gaz hadn’t.

Graves knelt by him.

“Price, we need to report to Shepherd, now.”

Price was paralysed.

Graves shook him a little.

“Shepherd needs to know. Stat.”

Price nodded and got up.

He made to address all of them.

“Whoever’s done this. I’ll fucking find out either way so one of you better start thinking about fessing up. And when you do,” his voice was pretty much a growl, guttural with barely contained rage, “I’ll kill you.”

With that, he took his leave, letting Graves walk him back to the barracks.

And then, there were three.

Dougs could see something white amidst the red once more.

Another tooth?

She looked back to the two men standing behind her.

Soap met her eyes and quickly moved to avert her gaze. Eventually, he decided to head back into the dilapidated base.

Ghost lingered for a few moments longer, staring at the body… like he was in some sort of trance.

He was probably having a rude awakening, much like Price.

Soon, he too left.

I hope you stay put, Gaz.

The medic scurried off but came back in a flash. On both her hands were a pair of gloves, and in her dominant hand, a pair of tweezers. She did what she had done with Weir.

A little bit of twisting, some tugging, the occasional wrenching and hey presto!

In the pinch of her metal grip was another tooth.

Dougs sat by Gaz, cross-legged as the sun was beginning to sit high in the sky.

“I’m sorry, Gaz…” She sniffled, “I’ll find who did this. They’ll be sorry.”

The woman got up, tucking the tooth away into her breast pocket.

“And if I don’t. Make sure you haunt them for me, yeah?”

Dougs headed for the medical room, hoping she could compare the teeth and maybe sneak in some time to begin copying those files into her notebook. She needed to compile all the evidence she could get, because now she was certain this had been a set up.

And she had a feeling Weir did too.

Everyone around the woman was saying men had attacked, or figures of men at least, but Gaz had given Weir a different account. 

“You know, it’s odd you two are saying men struck you because Sergeant Garrick over there said it was animals.”

Price had looked over to Gaz, who now had his head in his hands, leg jigging up and down. 

“Animals?”

“Aye.”

Soap lowered his voice. 

“Gaz is saying animals hit us?”

Weir shifted uncomfortably, rising to her full height from her previous position squatting by the bedside. 

“He was the first of you to come to, all of you completely crashed when your bodies hit the beds.” Weir gave a small laugh, shaking her head before continuing, “When I asked about what happened and what I should build my report to General Shepherd on, Garrick said that Task Force 141 had been struck by a pack of animals.”

Price sighed, running a hand over his moustache. 

“I think Gaz is pretty shaken up.” He proposed, “I think we all are. None of us were expecting this.”

“If I’m honest,” Weir ran a hand through her hair, “I think this whole thing is a botched job. Clearly, something’s off because we were told one thing and you were told-”

Once she was out of here, maybe Dougs could build a case? Get someone to look, get the right people to look at this.

She sighed.

All she could do was hope.

***

“This is Gold Eagle Actual.”

“Sir, Sergeant…” He took a deep breath, “Sergeant Kyle Garrick has been murdered.”

“Murdered?”

“Yes. Sergeant Garrick has been murdered. Don’t know exact time of death, but we found him in the morning just outside the base, Sergeant Burman-Douglas was the first to spot his body.”

“Garrick’s dead?”

“Yes, sir.”

Shepherd paused for thought.

“Garrick will be noted as K.I.A just as Weir is. Any questions?”

Price sighed. A silence fell between them.

“Status on transport?” He finally asked.

“Can’t say for sure. Northolt have been notified but we haven’t got confirmation on whether we can move into Ashdown Forest or not.” Shepherd was awfully blunt, “No transport has been officially scheduled.”

“But-”

“I’m sorry, Bravo 6. There’s not much I can do.”

Captain Price felt a pit in his stomach form.

Shepherd rubbed his temple, looking back to the beautiful view of the night sky behind him. The man was miles away from the crime scene and yet, he could imagine Price beginning to narrow his eyes.

“Do you suspect foul play?” The general decided to take the plunge and ask the question, his voice crackling a little on the radio.

Graves and Price looked at each other.

“Yes.” Price said, “I do.”

He only got a hum in reply. Whether it was of agreement or acknowledgement could not be determined.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Captain. Keep surviving and keep me posted.

As Price chucked the radio out of his hand, letting it land on the rucksack by his bed, something caught his eye.

Across from him, on the other side of the aisle, the bedframe was off. The metal looked a little bent, there were strange marks on the floor. Marks, which upon closer inspection, revealed themselves to be claw marks.

His eyebrows raised.

Graves watched him get up from his seat and head over to the other side, squatting before the odd one out. The man had shrugged off this sudden bout of curiosity from the captain, just glad that Shepherd had said he’d make sure Northolt would start hauling ass to get someone to them soon.

Price looked about the bed for more clues.

There were claw marks on the floor, along with scratches on the wall behind the headboard.

And whose bed was this?

Well, according to the bag and if memory served well, this was none other than… MacTavish’s.

His breaths grew a little unsteady.

He would wait until the evening, give the murderer a little time to feed his ego, to think he had gotten away with it but, once they were having dinner, Price knew what he’d do.

Graves did too.

Phillip decided he’d use the time Price had given Soap to deliberate on whether he should let John do what he was about to do.

***

A small knock sounded on the doorframe of the medical room.

“Come in!” Dougs called, as she finished packing away her notebook.

Footsteps tentatively crept in, and she turned around to see Soap. However, he wasn’t looking too great. All the colour had drained from the man’s face and he seemed skittery, eyes darting about. She rose up from her squatted position by her bag, not entirely facing him, almost in a combat-ready stance.

“Soap… what’s wrong?”

He seemed almost reluctant to tell, his face twisting a little as an internal debate ensued.

She noticed he kept his right arm close to his chest, hidden with his left sitting on top of it.

“Soap?” She asked, softening her voice a little.

With tears welling in his eyes, he made to meet her gaze.

“I think it’s me, doc.”

He revealed what he had been hiding.

Dougs’ mouth was held agape.

Be professional. Don’t gawk. Don’t gawk.

Alarm bells were going off in her head, though.

His nails were beyond recognisable, blood crusting the edges where keratin met skin. His hand shook as he raised it up for her to get a better look. As she examined more closely, she realised that his nails had in fact been virtually destroyed, split apart by the rupturing of blackened claws.

“Holy shit…”

What she also spotted was strange black veins which spread from his newly emerged claws. They were faint, almost looking like they had been painted on by a thin makeup brush. Except there was a warmth to them, like they were organic structures, with blood flowing through them… a stark contrast to the paling skin they sat under.

“Sit on the bed, Soap.”

He nodded and hopped up.

Dougs sanitised her hands and slapped on the third-to-last remaining pair of gloves. She gestured for him to rest his hand in hers as she eyed them closely, getting a feel for the claws.

“Does it hurt when I press them like this?”

Gently, she applied some pressure to the skin around one of the talons. Soap winced.

“Yep.”

“Okay…” Dougs chewed on her lip, “Could you tell me when this happened?”

“Just now. I… I was in the bathroom, washing my hands when I felt this itching. I gave in, scratched at the back of my hand, around my knuckles when…”

“When what?”

“My hand just locked up, like it was spasming. And then, these pop out.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Yeah, but only for a moment. Now, they just sting.”

She really wasn’t sure what to do, nor was she sure what he wanted her to do.

Dougs sighed, though, in her exasperation and indecision, it came out more like a snort. Had she not have her gloves on, she would have scratched her head or stroked her chin. Instead, she resorted to spinning on the wheeled stool she sat on by Soap as a way of fidgeting as she thought.

MacTavish watched her slowly spin side to side, face making an array of ponderous expressions as she considered each and every action she could and couldn’t take.

Dougs definitely couldn’t remove the claws, they looked fixed in place, like his nails would have been. Alsos, removing them could cause more trouble anyway: more pain, increased risk of infection and so on. That was an abysmal idea. She could clean them up a little, though, which might help with the stinging in the long term and prevent infection from getting into the little open wounds from which those talon-like protrusions sprouted from. It was also the easiest thing to do.

Let’s go with the manicure.

“Okay, so, I can’t remove them, but I can clean them.”

Soap didn’t really look satisfied with that.

“Is… Is that it?”

“There’s not really much else. Plus, it might help with seeing what exactly is going on. That dried blood could be obscuring some information.” She suggested.

He shrugged but seemed to agree.

Dougs smiled and swivelled round before scooting over to the kit to grab a few alcohol wipes, some cotton balls, TCP, should it be required, and a bag to dispose them in.

Soap held out his hand. It quivered, which put Dougs at unease. As she tore open a wipe, she noticed the hand beginning to shake more.

Oh no… Don’t do this to me again.

She had to see it through, though! She had gotten everything out now, and she was also a tad bit curious to see what was under the blood. At this point, Dougs was ready to do just about anything if it would shed some light on this absolute disaster of a situation. Her hand hovered above Soap’s.

It was really shaking now.

“Soap, can you try and steady your hand?”

“I can’t.”

He was going to break her wrist, wasn’t he?

Was this a trap?

Was she taking the bait?

“Soap, do you want me to steady it? I can hold your hand still if need be.”

At least then she’d have some control over his arm.

And she was prepared to leap out of the way if he struck out with the other.

Dougs looked calm on the outside, taking steady breaths as she gestured for him to lay his wrist on her open palm, but make no mistake, outward appearances can be deceiving. Inside, she was screeching, a voice repeating in her head over and over for her to not do this. However, like with a wild animal, if you make a sudden move, they’ll respond. Dougs hoped if she gave out a calm aura, Soap wouldn’t freak out.

“Okay, so I’m just going to lightly dab-”

CRAAAACK!

“AHHHH!”

“AHHH!”

Both her and Soap jolted backwards.

His hand had steadied a little, before locking up, fingers tensing, then releasing and with that release… a new length of claws extended upwards. They pushed out with this awful sound, like some bones deep within Soap’s hand were snapping. With that, small tears had also formed on the back of his hand and on his forearm. Tears which bled a little, and also had… hair sprouting from the gashes.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” He shrieked, scrambling backwards, almost falling off the edge of the bed, “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!”

Dougs tried to shush him, not wanting to alert the barracks.

“Soap, let’s not panic, panicking will make this worse-”

“Dougs, look at my hand!”

He shoved it in her face.

“Look at it!”

Okay, yeah… looking.

Dougs gently moved his hand aside and rested it on his lap.

“We can’t lose our heads. You can’t lose your head, understood?”

His eyes were reddening with brewing tears, lip quivering. Blue eyes stared right into her soul, pleadingly.

“It’s me. I killed them, didn’t I?”

His voice was hoarse, whistling out his throat.

“What have I done, doc? What’s happening to me?”

Dougs paused for thought, wanting to avoid his eyes but they just followed her wherever she went. It was clear he had come to her for a diagnosis, for an answer, whether that confirmed his fears or not. She was his key. And yet, Soap found himself grinding his teeth, impatient, as she cursed him with unbearable silence. Dougs kept her eyes on the ground, once again swivelling side to side on her chair slowly, trying to think. It would be wrong to just regurgitate some falsehood and send him on his merry way but on the other hand, she hated to be the bearer of bad news which was ironic seeing as she was a doctor and that was part of the job.

She had to admit, if it was him, it was strange he had come to her. Sure, maybe telling everyone, especially Price would be a death sentence given his current state but… her?

Well, she supposed maybe the beast knew she had been snooping around. Actually, she didn’t suppose. She met him. Last night, down the hall.

This admission of guilt… Slowly, Dougs’ gaze rose to meet Soap.

He looked almost like a lost pup, eyebrows raised, peaking in the middle, while his eyes remained big and alert. A small flush was building on his face, distress and no doubt illness contributing to the slightly ruddy complexion.

She sighed and looked away briefly.

“It was me, wasnae it?”

“Are you asking, or telling me?” Dougs tilted her head to one side.

“I-”

“Honestly.”

He hung his head low.

“I don’t know.”

She leaned in, looking him in the eye, closely.

Soap held his breath, unsure of what to do as the medic just stared right into his soul. He backed up a little, as Dougs inched a little closer, eyes narrowing.

“It’s not you. It can’t be you.”

He was taken aback.

“What?”

She sighed and got on with cleaning up his bloodied hand.

“Dougs, what?”

The woman simply shrugged.

“It’s not you.”

He scoffed, letting out a small, hysterical giggle.

“What do you mean by that? It could be me. Dougs, A’ve got bloody claws!”

To his surprise, she shook her head.

“Just making sure, this is the first time this has happened?” Dougs queried, gesturing with an alcohol swab in hand.

Soap nodded.

“Yeah,” she chuckled, “I don’t think it’s you.”

What the…?

“Do you know something?”

Oooh, that was a good question. Dougs’ lips were pulled tightly into a thin line as she deliberated. She didn’t take Soap as the kind of guy to keep his mouth shut, especially when it came to something like this. He could very well oust her to the whole group if he thought that was the right thing to do, or perhaps share it with a confidante and who would then pass it along. There weren’t many of them left, if someone told someone and then that someone told someone else, it wouldn’t take long for the word to circulate.

A pang of guilt tugged at her heartstrings. He was scared, she could see that clearly.

Well, let’s see if he’s one for confidentiality.

“Can you keep a secret?”

He nodded, raising an eyebrow.

Dougs turned around and, to his surprise, took out the files like there was nothing to them.

“Uh… Dougs?!”

“Shh!”

The way she just brazenly put them on his lap, bold as brass.

She then walked up to the door, checked the hallways for any spies, before closing it.

“Open them.” She pointed to them.

Soap did so.

His eyes widened.

This… this was him. All these symptoms were him now and him to come.

Like an oracle telling the dreaded truths to come, the files bore details that filled his gut with dismay. His throat grew dry as he swallowed hard. Panic fluttered in his stomach.

Gently, he turned the page, only to be met with graphic images of bloodied jaws and… clawed hands.

“Oh my God…”

Dougs sat in front of him, tucking a lose braid behind her ear.

“Shepherd burned us.” Her face was serious, “More specifically, he’s burned you lot.”

“I… I’m going to…”

Soap’s grip on the files tightened a little.

“Hey! Don’t damage ‘em!” She quickly took the manila case from him, “Last thing we need is sticklers realising we’ve been meddling with them!”

His breaths had grown a little ragged. He clutched the sides of his head.

Dougs looked back to see he was beginning to freak out. Really freak out.

“Hey… Hey…” She knelt before him, gently removing his hands before he could hurt himself, “We’re going to survive this.”

“What if they take me away?! Do shit to me?! You’re fine! You’re immune!”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, letting out a small sigh of resignation.

“Soap, I’m on the menu.” That took a lot for her to say, “My fate isn’t either I live to be infected or die. Mine is just death.”

A lump formed in her throat.

Her worst fears were coming true.

This was a whole other level.

Hungry eyes were going to have a whole new meaning.

She stood up, trying to compose herself so she could comfort him properly. As Dougs was about to turn around, to briefly take her mind away from the present, Soap seized her. Her body gave a small jolt backwards at the sudden movement and consequent entrapment. His arms tightened around her waist.

That’s when she heard it: quiet sobs.

MacTavish had finally cracked.

He cried into her, sniffling, voices circulating around his head telling him he was doomed, telling him he was a disgusting animal.

Even if nothing happened… he’d still kill innocents either way.

That was his diagnosis: cursed.

Her hands hovered over him. She was still taken aback.

Only, to realise, as the sobs became more intense, she should probably be kind.

Dougs hushed him, letting him weep into her uniform. Despite feeling the sensation of cold as his tears soaked through, Dougs could also feel heat.

“I’m sorry…” he mumbled, gulping for air, his breath trying to catch up.

Softly, she placed her hands on his shoulders, rubbing circles with her thumbs as she looked to the door, staring idly off into the distance.

***

Ghost watched Soap hurriedly leave the medical room, wiping his face. He followed the man with his eyes, only for his attention to be diverted by new movement from his periphery.

Dougs leaned out of the doorway, looking drained.

He saw her drop her shoulders as she held the frame of the entrance.

Then, she stretched her arms out, deciding to head for the barracks.

Ghost spotted red.

A light tap was felt on Dougs’ shoulder. She turned around to see Riley looming over her.

He seemed awkward though, robotic almost, as he did his best to meet her gaze.

“Uh… Dougs,” he cleared his throat, “Dougs, you’re… bleeding.”

She looked up at him quizzically. Then, she looked down at herself and realised.

“Oh… fuck.” The woman groaned, “Rhaatid!”

She shouldn’t have ignored the cramping in her legs yesterday and this morning. She was also feeling fairly bloated, but she had just chalked that up to the shitty camping food. A sharp wave hit her, pinching right at her navel. And what followed was cold.

Toilet! Toilet! Toilet, now!

She began heading straight ahead, for the latrine, only to then change direction sharply for the barracks.

Spare trousers! Get spare trousers! No, toilet! Toilet after!

With that change of plan, Ghost watched the medic stop waddling ahead to then spinning on her heel to make for the barracks. Only she stopped, stood by the wall adjacent to the entrance.

She had no shame regarding this but… well, she sort of did, and the not-so-distant chatter between Price and Graves in the room punched a pit n her stomach. She didn’t want them to see. Didn’t want them to ask questions. They probably would pay no attention but… she didn’t know for sure.

This wasn’t supposed to be complicated. Dougs was overthinking it. A twinge of guilt flicked at her chest.

Her heart began to beat a little faster.

Dougs counted herself down. This was going to be quick. In and out. Get her spare clothes and whatever sanitary product was stashed in the depths of her rucksack and run away.

3… 2…

As she was about to go in, Ghost stopped her.

“Go to the bathroom.” He said, “I’ll get your shit. What do you need?”

Well… I mean… Okay!

“Spare trousers, underwear and see if there’s like a tampon or pad somewhere. I can’t remember if there’s a pack stashed or not but… yeah.”

“Copy. Go clean yourself up, Dougs.”

She smiled.

“Affirmative.”

Dougs found herself sitting on the toilet of the ramshackle bathroom just feeling grateful that they had running water. This place was a shithole, yes, but at least it was a functioning shithole.

There are worse shitholes.

She jigged her leg up and down, filling her cheeks with air and then blowing it out as she waited. The room was cold, and she felt that on her bare skin. Across from her sat her soiled garments, glimpse of red appearing between the folds as they sat sadly slumped in a pile.

She knew this would happen, seeing as the documents did say being in the presence of someone infected would cause menstrual bleeding for whatever reason; but she thought her birth control would save her from that.

Apparently not.

It would seem that lycanthropy trumps birth control.

A small knock sounded on the door. Then, it creaked slightly open, just wide enough for Ghost to get his arm through.

“Got your things.” He stated, waving the items in the air.

“Thanks.”

She leaned forward to grab them off of him.

***

“So,” Graves sighed, looking over his cards, “you still don’t want to open those files?”

Price shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not bothering to make eye contact.

“Shepherd will find out someone’s looked at them and that’ll cause us even more trouble.”

Graves sighed, poking his cheek with his tongue.

“I think we should. Something’s not right here.”

“Something’s not been right from the beginning.” The captain replied, stroking his moustache, just above his upper lip.

With a growl, Graves chucked the playing cards onto the ground and got up, marching to the medical room.

“Graves!” Price called after him.

He began to follow the man, occasionally reaching out to try and grab his arm, only to sorely miss.

Soon enough, he had been led to the dreaded room. Graves grabbed the waterproof bag and set in on the table. Then, like the implications and possible consequences of this action would mean nothing, he pulled out the manila files and spread them on the examination bed.

“We’re fucked.” Price shook his head.

“Ah, we were fucked from the start. Besides, it’s not like I wasn’t gonna get my hands on these files anyway.”

The captain cocked his head to one side.

“What do you mean?”

“I suppose a confession is in order, Captain.”

Price’s stomach twisted itself into knots as his muscles began to tense.

“I was going to steal these files off of y’all. Now, don’t do anything rash. I can explain. Shepherd hired my Shadows and I to get them off of y’all should things go wrong. My company is to be granted some of the spoils either way, whether you survived or not. Of course, we all know what happened to the Shadow team…”

Yep, they did all know. Graves was the sole survivor, getting dragged in by Dougs and Weir, howling at the top of his lungs in agony. His team had gotten it good, and the poor man would have most likely died if he hadn’t been found.

There were no more Shadows, but there was still Graves. He’d still get his prize if he lived.

“This is all a set up?”

“What do you think?”

Price paced back and forth. He should have known. No, he did know. He knew damn fucking well. He just didn’t want to admit it because he was scared. Weir’s remarks and her subsequent death had made it clear, but Price didn’t want to pay attention to it until the truth smacked him in the face.

“Fuck it. Open those files. If I’m dying, I’m dying in the know.”

He pulled up Dougs’ wheeled stool and took a seat.

The two men scanned over the pages, making all sorts of faces as they tried to miss the images that came along with the text. Price had never been good with graphic visuals; he would much rather have those things left to his imagination.

As Graves flicked over to the next page, Price grabbed his hand.

“Wait, go back.”

Phillip did so.

“The female participants instead experienced altered menstrual cycles… which resumed to their normal cycles once women were taken out of the experiment and away from the infected.” He read aloud.

Graves looked up to meet him, eyebrows raised.

“We can figure out who it is.” Price declared, a little glee glinting in his eye.

“How?”

“Whoever was in Dougs’ company when she started bleeding.”

“Are you sure that’ll do it?”

“Worth a try, ain’t it?”

Graves shrugged, scrunching his face up a little.

“How do we even know if she’s gotten her period?”

“We can ask.”

Graves burst out laughing.

“Ask?” He chuckled, “You think you can ask that and get an answer?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

The captain looked genuinely confused.

“Please!” Graves did his best to catch his breath, “You can’t ask. We got no time to ask.”

“Graves, what are you suggesting?”