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bookworrm1999 · 7 days ago

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How Far Away? Part 12

Caleb x Mc

Tags: unplanned pregnancy, presumed death, depression, miscommunication

Mentions of suicide

Summary: Mc and Caleb fight right before he goes on a long mission into space. Caleb ends up MIA while Mc finds out she's pregnant. She struggles to deal with the grief while Caleb is fighting for his life to make it back home to her.

AO3

Epilogue

Laying on the couch with a bowl of popcorn on your belly, you absentmindedly put a handful into your mouth.

An old cartoon movie playing on the Tv in front of you, it was nostalgic but you were only partly paying attention.

Your little girl was currently dancing the samba inside your tummy. Her little head pressed up firmly into your right side of your ribs.

Reaching down you could lay a hand over the pressure and feel the hard little curve of her head.

She was quite insistent on making her presence known.

Maybe it was to comfort you.

Her little movements made the bowl on your tummy wiggle up and down, like it was laying on jello instead of your firm belly.

Wondering about names, you briefly thought about naming her Apple as a joke. But no, you’re not a celebrity and while her dad may like apples, she didn’t need to be saddled with a name based off an obsession with food.

Ah well, you’d come up with something. Your stomach grumbled despite you shoveling popcorn into your mouth.

It wasn’t especially filling but the baby made you feel so hungry despite popcorn starting to fill your stomach.

Wandering into the kitchen, you scanned the fridge for leftovers. Oh there, there’s some leftover chicken. Dumping it into a pan to warm it up, you set it on the stove and wait impatiently.

The smell started to fill the house and made your mouth water with anticipation. God, you were so hungry you could eat a whole cow.

You’d think that a baby so small still, wouldn’t cause hunger like this.

Arms came up behind you, wrapping around your belly. A sleepy head laid onto your shoulder, breath hot against your skin.

A low voice next to your ear

“You could’ve gotten me up, I would’ve made you something.”

“You’re still recovering, besides we have leftovers so I’m not exactly exerting myself too much here.”

“I thought I was supposed to be your personal assistant for the rest of your pregnancy.”

“That was before your heart stopped and you refused to come back for a while. You took two days to wake up Caleb. That doesn’t exactly make me want to ask you to hop to it and make food for me.”

Yes, Caleb was stubborn even in death it seems as it took 10 minutes for his heartbeat to come back.

Maybe he subconsciously thought that you would be ok without him, maybe you screaming at him after coming to your senses to come back or you’d beat his ass, helped him come back to the light.

It took another two days for Caleb to regain consciousness. You had nearly strangled him for doing it to you once again but the sight of him finally awake with a sleepy smile, had just sent you, tears and all, into his arms.

He had only been awake for a day and he was still recovering. The nano probes seemed to be hard at work as Caleb had reported to Sylus that it no longer felt like ants beneath his skin.

You had caught them nerding out together over his arm just a few hours ago over a video call.

They had been talking all morning and it made you feel lonely…

“So you have a bird that you built yourself?”

“Yes, I’m quite proud of him. I named him Mephisto and he’s quite a beauty. I only wish that he wasn’t so sensitive to water. I’ve tried to tweak him but the solution still eludes me.”

“He looks magnificent. I’d love to help you with him, you’ve already helped so much with my arm. It’d be a way to pay you back!”

You watched from the doorway as the boys gushed over technical stuff that flew over your head a bit.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you’d never think that Caleb had basically hated him not too long ago.

They sounded like long time friends.

“Hey, what are you thinking about?”

“Just thinking about when you wanted to set up your next play date with your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?”

You blink innocently at him

“Yes, your boyfriend. You two spent all morning talking, it seems a shame that we should keep you two apart.”

“Oh for- he’s not my boyfriend! I was just giving him an update on the progress on my arm.”

“Uhuh, for three hours. ‘Oh Sylus! I’d love to help your with your bird! You’re so smart! Thank you for all your help, you’re my savior!’ Don’t worry, I’ll set up a play date for you two boys soon.”

“Really? You’re going to regret that!”

You pretend to think with a finger on your chin

“Mmmm, no I don’t think I will.” Laughing as you plated your chicken and tried to move towards the table.

A hand takes the plate from you, placing it on the counter.

Lips meet yours in a flurry. Sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, his hands coming around your back and your head. His thumb drawing small circles on your bare skin left by your shirt riding up.

This quiet intimacy was one of the many things you had missed while he was gone all those months.

Pulling away to rest your foreheads against the other, breathing each other in.

“I thought this was supposed to be a punishment?”

“Do you want it to be? Cause I can take things to the bedroom.”

“Mmm maybe when you can prove to me that you’re all better.”

His hand slides down to cup your backside

“Oh I can prove that just fine.”

Rolling your eyes, you push his face away and turn to your food.

“I’d rather eat.”

“Rude.”

“Who got me pregnant?”

“Point taken.”

Sitting down at the table, you start to devour your chicken with zeal.

“Actually, I was thinking of going to scout out Ever’s Headquarters here in Skyhaven.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for that? Seems a bit soon.”

Coming over to stand behind you, he puts his hands on your shoulders, large enough to reach down to your breasts. His hands began to massage you and you almost melt against the table.

This was playing dirty to get you to be putty in his hands.

“I’m not going to actually kill him yet. I just want to go take a look, see where the best place would be. I have an idea of what I will most likely do but I need to double check.”

Looking at him with suspicion in your eyes, the emotion coming through in your voice

“That’s what happened the last time you went out, it can’t be a spur of the moment thing. This guy is the head of a big company and we can’t take it lightly.”

“I promise I won’t.”

“I’m choosing to trust you.”

Caleb comes down and kisses your cheek, smoothing your hair down.

“I promise your trust isn’t misplaced.”

Caleb looks up at the building with trepidation. He hadn’t been lying when he said that he wasn’t going to do anything today besides do some scouting.

He hadn’t told her yet but his brain felt a bit like mush. Like he had received a concussion which made sense since he did receive some amount of damage to his brain.

Caleb hadn’t realized how much that chip was affecting him. He felt so light and all of his emotions didn’t have to be tamped down.

Anger, joy, sadness, all of it was there at the tips of his fingers.

That chip had really made his worst qualities come out into full force.

Hopefully it would let him make this plan with a clear head.

With his brain feeling like mush, his Evol felt weaker for the moment.

That was worrying but he’d give himself some grace.

Okay, it was showtime.

With his uniform in place, the blank mask on his face, he made his way up to the secret top floor.

No one paid him any mind but his brain kept whispering that everyone knew. They could tell that he was a dog unleashed and that they would try and get him back under their thumb once again.

Taking a subtle breath, he gets his anxieties under control.

The head of Ever wasn’t always on the premises but with the Professor dead. The man in charge was here to take care of part of the void left behind.

Caleb had an idea of what he wanted to do when it came to assassinating him but he’d need access to that man’s office first.

Well, that’s when an opportunity presented itself.

“Hello, Caleb. Fancy sssseeing you here.”

“Hello, Viper.”

“Wow, I’m sssurprised you haven’t attacked me yet.”

Caleb twists the other man’s hand behind his back in response.

“Uncle, uncle!”

Such drama, his evol is weak right now. He lets Viper go with a flourish.

“Now, what a way to greet me. After I came here to tell you that the big man wantssss to talk to you.”

“Thanks ever so much.” Sarcasm coming from his tongue with a heavy tinge. As Caleb walks away, the other man calls out to him.

“There’ss sssomething different about you.”

He did not need this, he needs to bring Viper to his side somehow before he blabs his mouth.

Viper loves to call him his friend but really he just appreciates the strong.

“Do you think that I’m strong, Viper? Who will you choose to follow in the end, I wonder?”

Leaving him alone to think on that, he heads to the head of the company's office.

Caleb stands in front of the large desk with his hands folded behind his back.

It was always dark in this office, the only light coming from the doors leading to the balcony.

The building was quite high so it left this impression of a billionaire looking down on the rest of the world from his solitary dark room.

The other man sat in front of him, his hands folded in front of him on the desk

The two regarded each other with vague interest, waiting for the other to break the odd silence.

A battle of who will give first.

Caleb has a lot of patience in this department, he’d stand here all day. This was all for her sake after all.

Standing there, he surveyed the room for anything he could use.

An alcohol cart in the corner, self help books and poets like Samuel Beckett and John Keats on the bookshelf, the way the room is always kept dark, energy boosting drinks, the way the room seems to feel so bleak.

An idea had already been formed in his head but what he had collected so far just helped it along.

Yes, this would do nicely.

He had promised not to do it today, he’d go home and wait for another day but taking the time to survey was worth it.

The man in front of him broke first

“Colonel Caleb, we don’t usually talk in person, one on one like this, do we?”

“No, sir.”

“I’m glad to hear that you returned from that deep space mission alive and in one piece. The Professor seemed quite distressed about the whole ordeal.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I seem to remember that the day of his demise also coincided with his check up on you. The time of his death happening almost not an hour after you left.”

“It was unfortunate, sir.”

“Mmm, yes.” As if the death didn’t really bother him, but Caleb caught the tightening of the other man’s fingers on the chair he was in.

“It has left me with quite the predicament. No one left as capable as he was, to head the Fountain of Atei project. We frequently send you out to keep our dogs in line and it puts your life on the line.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It honestly leaves me with so few options that it brings me back to a plan that we had kept on the back burner. You know the one that I’m referring to?”

Caleb tells himself not to react, this man wants to see him break, show a feeling.

“Yes, sir.” Keeping calm was like keeping a lid on a boiling pot.

“Mmm, I suppose you do. Well, I’ll be putting together a game plan to bring in our new asset. It will need a new team to bring it under control. Which is where you’ll come in, you were manufactured as a pair after all. Your sole purpose was to keep it under our control.”

“Yes, sir.” Murdering this man would never be able to sate his lust for bringing these arrogant bastards to heel. They think they can just walk over everyone in this world, modify humans, control wanderers, play the chess board so that they alone come out on top.

It was sickening.

“That was all I had to say to you, you can leave now.”

“Sir.” Caleb turns to leave and is stopped at the door.

“Good to have you back… Caleb.”

It sends an eerie shiver down his spine. Not gracing this man with an answer, he leaves without a word.

Coming home, he feels exhausted. Putting on a front, for work and for his love was draining.

It must not be enough because she notices how he really feels in an instant.

“Bed, now.”

Caleb doesn’t have the energy to argue and goes to sleep instantly.

The next day, he’s talking with Sylus once more and goes over his preliminary plan with him.

“May I ask why you’re going over this with me and not her?”

“She tends to want me to put my safety as the utmost priority when she is. I want to do this, this way because it’s fast and efficient. It will save her. I told you what they want to do with her. Can I trust you to help me?”

The unspoken words being, can I trust you to help me which is really about helping her.

They each knew the other's feelings towards her, it wasn’t a topic up for discussion but they could trust the other when it came to protecting her.

“Yes.”

So the plan began, Caleb gave a rough outline to her but kept the finer details to himself.

If this went downhill, she needed plausible deniability if they decided to question her.

Caleb waited at a corner store on the street below the balcony of the building containing Ever’s headquarters.

The very balcony of the office he had visited a few days ago.

This is where Sylus came in, sending Mephisto in to do surveillance and relay information to Caleb.

They need to wait for the right moment, their target needs to be on the balcony alone.

He had been sitting here for an hour, looking unbothered with a book in hand and a coffee on the table in front of him.

It had taken some convincing to let her let him out on his own for leisure for so long, but having Sylus come along convinced her.

Not that Sylus was physically present, but she didn’t need to know that fact.

“Target in sight.”

Showtime

Caleb gave no indication of being bothered, the only signal being a nod of his head as if agreeing with what he was reading.

A small pad nestled in the pages of his books gave him a view of what Mephisto was seeing now that the target was in view.

The man was watering a plant, how quaint.

“Beginning now.”

Slight red energy creeping around the target’s legs, manipulating them so that the man walked haltingly and unwillingly to the edge of the balcony. Coming up to the man’s waist but it was no matter for Sylus.

“In position.”

The man pulled himself up onto the railing, standing with uneven balance. The energy just barely showing through Mephisto’s eyes, manipulating the man’s body. Caleb’s power pinching the man’s mouth and paralyzing his tongue over the distance, seen only through the screen.

“Now.”

The energy lets go, the man falling forward, no longer being held up.

The fall was not fast enough for Caleb, wanting the man to suffer and make sure that the fall really killed their target.

Placing gravitational pressure on the falling man’s back, speeding his process, already starting to crush his bones. Keeping his tongue paralyzed, so no one noticed the man falling yet.

The illusion that it was this man’s choice being supported as he didn’t make any noise, as if he accepted his fate.

The man hit the ground with a small splat and boom. Concrete cracking and blood blooming, like a flower of hope for a new world.

All happening across the street from the corner store that Caleb was at.

“Confirming no vital signs.”

That was all he needed to hear, getting up and gathering his stuff unbothered. The sounds of a siren in the distance, the crowd gathering around the fallen body, it was as if none of it existed to Caleb.

Tasking the clean up and crushing of Ever to Sylus. Recruiting Viper to help take it down from the inside as it was no longer the all powerful cooperation that he had been interested in, in the beginning.

It was all over on Caleb’s part.

He was finally free and so was she.

Only one more part and it’s the epilogue!

Tags: @moonberry69 @supermyeon22 @tinnyrabbit @gavin3469 @marina27826 @crowleysthings @tabi-callico @midiplier

@his-ocean-emissary @rosalyne08

@xaviers-pookie-bear @tsunamethyst @thejujvtsupost @cherrybeomgyu

@gojosballsack69 @apple-lov3r @dinochocochip @violetpurplez @raiyuxa @nickibunny23 @sh3sa1dwhat @playboygeniusphilanthropist @flwerie @lynnlovesthestars @twilightsmissingfur

@kasuumi @i-messed-up-big-time @mcdepressed290 @mc-cos-charm @needsleep3000

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #fanfiction #caleb x mc #caleb x reader

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daryltwdixon · 3 months ago

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Part IV

Warnings: only slightly nsfw, overall pretty angsty

word count: 6.3k

The next day, the sun beats down mercilessly as you make your way through the yard, the air heavy with heat and dust. Saviors bustle around, stacking crates, hauling debris, and organizing supplies. It’s chaotic, as usual, but your eyes land on Daryl almost immediately.

He’s hunched over a pile of rubble near the fence, his shoulders taut with exertion as he shovels the debris into a wheelbarrow. Sweat drips from his brow, streaking through the grime on his face. His movements are mechanical, his gaze fixed downward, but you can tell he’s aware of every pair of eyes on him.

Including yours.

“Mrs. Smith,” one of the guards– Joe–says, nodding in acknowledgment as you approach. He’s leaning against the fence, his rifle slung lazily over his shoulder. “He’s been workin’ hard. Barely said a word.”

You glance at him briefly before looking back at Daryl. “Good. He’s supposed to work hard.” Your voice is steady, cool, but your chest tightens as you watch him. “You’ve got other things to do, don’t you? Get over to the loading dock. I need those crates inventoried before sundown.”

The guard hesitates, clearly reluctant to leave his post. “Negan said to keep an eye on him.”

“And I’m saying I’ll keep an eye on him,” you reply sharply, your tone brooking no argument. “Go. Now.”

He nods quickly, straightening and heading off toward the dock. The other Savior who had been watching the scene follows without a word, leaving you and Daryl alone in the yard. The air feels heavier now, the silence stretching taut between you as you watch him work. His movements are stiff, his body worn down by exhaustion and sweat, but he doesn’t falter. Doesn’t stop.

You don’t call out to him right away. You just watch, your chest tightening as the seconds drag on. He’s changed, and yet he hasn’t. That same quiet strength is there, the same determination, but it’s buried beneath layers of pain and fatigue that weren’t there before. And it’s your fault. Not directly, maybe, but that doesn’t matter. You’ve been standing on the wrong side of this for far too long.

“Daryl,” you finally say, your voice quieter than you intended.

He straightens slowly, the deliberate way he turns to face you making your breath catch. His blue eyes lock onto yours, piercing through every shield you’ve spent years building. They’re darker now, stormy and turbulent, filled with anger, exhaustion, and something else you can’t quite name.

“What the hell are you doin’ here, Y/N?” His voice is low and rough, like gravel, but there’s no mistaking the bite in it.

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you can’t find the words. His gaze feels like a spotlight, exposing every choice you’ve made, every line you’ve crossed. You’ve faced Negan’s enemies, his critics, even the people you’ve condemned to their deaths, but none of that prepared you for this—standing here, face-to-face with the man you thought you’d lost forever.

“It’s complicated,” you finally manage, but the words sound hollow even to your own ears.

He’s silent, like he’s waiting for more, a real answer. One you’re not sure how to give.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’ve been here for a long time,” you say, your voice faltering under the weight of the truth. “For nearly the whole time, Dare. It was how I survived.”

His bitter laugh cuts through you like a blade. He shakes his head, his jaw tight as he takes a step closer. “You call this survivin’? Standin’ next to a guy like him, lettin’ him do whatever the hell he wants?”

“Don’t,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended, the anger rising unbidden. “You don’t know what I’ve been through. You don’t know what I’ve had to do to keep myself and others alive.”

The words feel weak as they leave your lips, but you press on, desperate to justify something you’re no longer sure can be justified. You want to tell him that you built the Sanctuary to save people, to give them a chance when the world had taken everything. But the truth is more complicated than that. You’ve made sacrifices, compromises, and somewhere along the way, the lines blurred. What started as survival turned into something else, something darker.

“Then ya must know what he’s done,” Daryl retorts, his voice dropping to a growl. His eyes burn into yours, and you can’t look away. “He killed my friends. Good people, Y/N.”

The words hit you like a blow, and your resolve falters. You knew about the people Negan killed—he’d told you himself, not with smugness or bravado but with a weariness that night. He’d been tired, frustrated. He justified it as a necessity, part of the rules, part of keeping order. And you let yourself believe it because it was easier than facing the truth. But hearing it from Daryl, seeing the pain in his eyes, makes it feel heavier. Realer. Like a wound you thought had healed but never truly closed.

Your stomach churns, and your fingers curl into fists at your sides. What can you say to him? That you’re sorry? That you didn’t know? That you thought it was the only way to survive? None of it feels good enough. None of it feels right.

None of it feels good enough. None of it feels right.

“Daryl, I—” you start, but the words stick in your throat. What can you possibly say to undo the weight of this moment? To undo the choices that led you here? “It’s not that simple.”

“Never is, huh?” Daryl steps closer, his voice low and sharp. “You jus’ stand there. Defend ‘em. Like ya don’t give a damn about the people he’s hurt. The people he’s killed.”

“I do care,” you snap, the words bursting out of you before you can stop them. They hang in the air, trembling, brittle. “You think I don’t? You think this is easy for me? Seeing you like this?”

“Then why the hell are ya still here?” he demands, his voice cracking. He takes another step toward you, his eyes blazing. “Why’re ya standin’ by his side?”

“Because I love him,” you blurt, your voice rising with the frustration bubbling over. He flinches at the statement, and your chest heaves as you struggle to keep your composure, but the words pour out like a dam breaking, “When I lost you—when I had to leave our house that day—I thought it was over. Everything was gone. The world had fucking ended, Daryl. And then I found Negan after a while, and we built this place. Together. The Sanctuary isn’t just about him—it’s about the people here. The workers, the families. The ones who don’t have to starve because of what we’ve created.”

Daryl stares at you, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides. “You really believe that, huh? That you love that asshole? That all of this is for some greater good or some shit?”

Your voice trembles as you answer, “it’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing. And it’s better than wandering out there, waiting to die. It’s safe here.”

“Safe?” he growls, his voice rising. “For who? For you? For Negan? Sure as hell ain’t safe for the rest of us.”

You flinch at his words, your chest tightening as his anger crashes into you. “I know it’s hard to see–” you start, your voice quieter but no less sharp, but you take a steadying breath, “That the decisions we’ve made have been for something bigger. You think I don’t live with it every day? But what he’s done– what we’ve done–it’s for a reason. I’m still here, Daryl. I have to be.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, you’re here, alright. Standin’ right next to him. Like the people he’s hurt don’t matter.”

“They do matter,” you say fiercely, your voice breaking slightly. “But this place isn’t just about Negan. It’s about our people too. It’s about all of them. And those at Hilltop, the Kingdom and beyond–they’re all a resource.”

Daryl’s eyes burn into yours, his hands twitching at his sides. “And what about me?” he asks quietly, the words cutting through the tension like a knife. “Do I matter?”

The question takes the breath out of you. Your throat tightens, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, and you open your mouth to respond, but the words don’t come. What could you say that would make any of this better? Of course he matters, more than anything, more than maybe you’re ready to state. So, instead, you just stare at him, the weight of everything unsaid hanging heavy between you.

Finally, he shakes his head, turning his back as if distancing himself from the wreckage. “You ain’t the same,” he mutters, his voice soft but full of hurt as he throws his shovel into more rubble. “The person I knew—my wife, goddammit. She’d never stand by and let this happen.”

You want to tell him he’s wrong, to make him see the person he remembers is still here, buried beneath the choices you’ve made. But the truth is, you don’t even know if you believe that yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper finally, the words hollow and inadequate. “I’m so sorry, Daryl.”

He doesn’t respond. He just stares at you for a long moment, the silence stretching between you like a chasm too wide to cross. His eyes bore into yours, wild and hurt, and it feels like he’s waiting—waiting for something you can’t give him.

The weight of his gaze becomes unbearable, and your chest tightens as you take a shaky step back. “I have to go,” you say quietly, your voice trembling. “I can’t—”

Your words falter, and you turn sharply on your heel, walking away before he can see the tears threatening to spill over. Each step feels heavier than the last, as if the distance between you and him is sinking into the pit of your stomach, twisting like a blade.

You don’t dare look back. You don’t know if you could handle what you’d see if you did—whether it’s his anger or his pain, or worse, him watching you leave like you mean nothing. Like this means nothing.

Your legs carry you toward the main building, your pace quickening as you push through the ache clawing at your chest. By the time you reach the door, your hands tremble against the handle, but you force yourself to pause, to take a breath, to pull the mask of composure back into place. The Sanctuary’s walls feel cold and unyielding as you step inside, their familiar chill a stark contrast to the fire still burning in your chest.

You’ve made your choice. You’ve told yourself that over and over again, but for the first time in years, you’re not sure you believe it.

You don’t stop walking until you reach Negan’s quarters. The sting of Daryl’s words still lingers, cutting deeper than you want to admit, and your chest feels like it might collapse under the weight of it all. You need to feel something else—something that doesn’t hurt.

Negan is lounging in one of the leather chairs when you push the door open. Lucille leans against the wall nearby, and a half-empty glass of whiskey rests on the table beside him. He glances up at the sound of the door, his grin lazy but sharp as his eyes sweep over you.

“Well, don’t you look like hell warmed over,” he drawls, setting the glass down and leaning forward. “Rough day, baby?”

You don’t answer, not with words. Instead, you stride across the room, your hands going straight to his shirt as you climb into his lap, your lips crashing into his with desperate force. He huffs a laugh against your mouth, his hands gripping your waist to steady you.

“Damn,” he mutters between kisses, his tone shifting to something softer, though still teasing. “Someone missed me.”

You don’t stop, your hands sliding beneath his shirt, fingers digging into the warmth of his skin as if grounding yourself. His grip tightens, his body responding instantly to the need in your touch, and for a moment, you lose yourself in him, in the way he feels, the way he always makes you forget everything else.

There’s a sharp knock at the door, and you freeze, your breath hitching as Negan lets out a low growl. “Who the hell is it?” he barks, his voice laced with annoyance.

The door opens hesitantly, and one of the guards steps inside, his expression tense. “Sir, we’ve got a problem with the prisoner.”

Negan sighs, his hands leaving your waist as he leans back in the chair. “What kind of problem?”

The guard shifts uncomfortably, glancing at you briefly before looking back at Negan. “He was left on his own. When we went to collect him, he fought back. One of the guys got hurt pretty bad.”

Negan’s expression darkens, his grin fading into something more dangerous. “Left on his own?” he repeats, his tone deceptively calm. “And why the hell was that?”

The guard hesitates, his eyes flicking to you again.

You swallow hard, “It was me,” you sigh, your hands now resting against his chest, no longer playing along his hot skin but out, supporting yourself up, “Something came up, I didn’t think–”

“Fat Joe?” Negan interrupts over your shoulder.

“Yes, sir?” Joe says eagerly.

“Get the hell out.”

“Yes, sir.” he turns tail as quickly as he can, shutting the door behind him.

“You ‘didn’t think’,” Negan snaps, standing and setting you back on your feet as he towers over you. His tone isn’t loud, but it carries enough weight to make you feel cornered. “What the hell was goin’ through your mind, leavin’ our newest prisoner—our greatest asset against Alexandria—on his own?”

You flinch, your shoulders tightening as you meet his gaze. “I made a mistake,” you admit, your voice steady despite the heat rising in your chest. “It won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t.” he says, stepping closer, his presence looming but not oppressive. He lifts your chin with a single finger, his eyes locking onto yours. “You’re better than that. You know this place doesn’t run on mistakes.”

There’s a beat of silence before he exhales, the sharpness in his gaze softening slightly. “We’re takin’ a trip to Alexandria tomorrow,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “And you’re stayin’ here this time.”

Your head snaps up, your expression hardening. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he replies, his tone clipped, the sharp edge of authority unmistakable. His fingers remain under your chin, holding your gaze firmly as his eyes bore into yours. “You’re stayin’ here, end of discussion.”

Your chest tightens, heat rising as you step closer, your jaw tightening against his hold. “I should be there, Negan,” you argue, your voice low but unwavering. “I’m your second. If this is about Alexandria, I need to be part of it.”

He huffs out a short laugh, but it’s devoid of humor. “You don’t need to be anywhere but right here. The Sanctuary runs smoother when you’re around, and I’m not riskin’ that. It’s not up for debate. You’re stayin’ put.”

“You’re not ‘risking me’,” you bite back, your voice sharpening as you take another step forward. “You’re keeping me in a box.”

“Maybe I am,” he counters, his voice calm but weighted with finality. “You think I haven’t noticed? The way you’ve been stretched thin, the way you’re actin’ all… distracted lately.” His hand shifts slightly, the grip on your chin softening, his thumb brushing against your jaw. “You’re thinkin’ too much about things that ain’t your problem.”

Your stomach churns, but you keep your expression steady, your glare locked on him. “This is my problem. Everything here is my problem. You can’t shut me out of it.”

Negan sighs, the tension in his shoulders softening just slightly as he leans closer, his forehead nearly brushing yours. “Baby, I ain’t shuttin’ you out. I’m keepin’ you right where I need you—alive, safe, and in one damn piece. Is that so hard to understand?”

For a moment, you don’t respond, the weight of his words settling between you. His grip on your chin doesn’t falter, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate path along your jawline. You hate how it disarms you, how the frustration inside you starts to fray at the edges under his touch.

Finally, you let out a shaky breath, your voice quieter now. “I can handle myself, Negan.”

“I know you can,” he murmurs, his tone softening. “But you’re not goin’ this time.”

The tension lingers for a moment longer before he exhales, his hand shifting lower, fingers trailing down the column of your throat. You stiffen as your back presses against the wall, his palm settling against your neck with just enough pressure to keep you rooted in place.

“Always gotta argue, don’t ya?” he mutters, his lips curving into a faint smirk as he leans in closer. “Drives me crazy, you know that?”

You can feel his breath against your skin as his mouth brushes the curve of your jaw, then your neck. The heat from his touch seeps into you, his fingers firm yet careful as he holds you there. The shift in him is palpable, the earlier sharpness giving way to something deeper, something primal.

“Negan…” you murmur, but whatever protest you were about to voice dies on your lips as his mouth finds the sensitive spot just below your ear. His teeth graze your skin, drawing a soft gasp from you that you try to swallow back.

“Yeah,” he mutters against your neck, his voice rough. “That’s more like it.”

His other hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer as his lips trail lower, pressing firm, possessive kisses along the column of your throat. The tension between you melts into something else entirely, the heat of his body against yours grounding you, consuming you.

His lips trace a deliberate path down your neck, leaving a trail of heat that spreads through your body like wildfire. The wall at your back grounding you even as everything else feels like it’s spinning out of control.

“Always pushin’ me,” he mutters against your skin, his voice low and gravelly. “Always gotta make me work for it.”

You gasp softly as his teeth scrape over the hollow of your throat, a mix of pleasure and tension coiling in your chest. Your hands find their way back under his shirt, your fingers curling against the heat of his skin, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“You love it,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling slightly, and his responding chuckle sends a shiver down your spine.

“Maybe I do,” he murmurs, his mouth moving lower, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. “But you still drive me fuckin’ crazy.”

His knee presses between your thighs, urging them apart, and the pressure is enough to pull a quiet whimper from you. His lips return to yours, claiming them in a kiss that’s as demanding as it is consuming, leaving no room for doubt about who’s in control.

Your hands tighten on his chest, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in him—in the way he feels, the way he takes and gives in equal measure. But just as the heat threatens to overwhelm you, the door creaks again, a faint sound that yanks you back to reality.

Negan’s head snaps up, his glare shooting over his shoulder. “I swear to God,” he growls, his voice sharp enough to cut through the air, “if it’s Fat Joe again, he’s gettin’ a date with Lucille.”

The door doesn’t open further, the silence outside heavy as whoever it is clearly rethinks their timing. Negan’s hand stays firm on your waist, his body still pressing you into the wall as his attention shifts back to you.

“See what you do to me?” he says, his tone lighter now but no less intense. “I can’t even have a second to myself with my wife without someone interruptin’.”

“Maybe they’re scared of you,” you tease, though your voice is breathless.

His grin returns, wide and wicked, as his thumb brushes along your jaw. “They damn well should be.”

The hand at your waist slides lower, gripping your thigh and hitching it up against his hip as his lips find yours again. This time, the kiss is slower but no less consuming, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that sends heat pooling in your stomach.

“You’re stayin’ here tomorrow,” he mutters against your mouth, the words a reminder of the conversation you’d been having moments before.

“No, I’m not,” you whisper, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer.

His laugh is low, almost dangerous, and his hand tightens on your thigh. “We’ll see about that.”

You want to argue, to push back again, but the way his mouth trails down your neck, the way his hands grip you like he can’t let go, makes it impossible to think straight. You don’t want to think about Alexandria, about Daryl, about anything but the way Negan is making you feel right now.

For now, you let yourself give in, your body arching into his as his name falls from your lips in a quiet, breathless plea. And for now, that’s enough.

In the end, you had convinced him to let you come.

“Hot diggity dog, this place is magnificent!”

Negan's voice booms as your caravan is let inside. You have to admit, he’s right. The suburban community of Alexandria is picturesque—trim lawns, pristine white houses, and quiet streets. Of course, the quiet likely has more to do with terrified parents pulling their children inside.

The leader—Rick, now that you can put a face to the name—stands at the forefront, his icy blue eyes locked on Negan.

Negan struts forward, grinning like a kid in a candy store. “An embarrassment of riches, as they say! Yes, sir, I do believe you are gonna have plenty to offer up.”

You step forward, keeping close to Daryl. Your thoughts spiral as your gaze flickers to him. These were his people. Never before had you considered the full implications of taking from the communities Negan had subjugated. You always justified it as survival—a necessary evil for the greater good of the Sanctuary. Protection. Resources. Options. But now, seeing Daryl’s averted eyes, his shoulders hunched like he’s trying to make himself invisible… something inside you twists painfully.

Rick’s attention shifts to Daryl, his expression flickering with something you can’t quite place.

“Daryl—” Rick begins, stepping forward.

“No,” you and Negan growl in unison. Negan’s tone is chipper and mocking as he echoes the word again.

“Nope!” He steps between you and Daryl, his leather jacket glinting in the sunlight. Lucille rests casually on his shoulder as he faces Rick with a smirk. “He’s the help. Tell ‘em, honey.”

Negan’s grin slides to you, his tone light, though there’s a hint of steel beneath it. His arm loops casually over your shoulders.

“You don’t look at him,” you say, your voice cold and deliberate. “You don��t talk to him.”

“And in return,” Negan adds, leaning in close to Rick, “I don’t make you chop anything off of him.” He chuckles, then pulls you into a rough kiss. “Pretty sweet deal, huh?”

You shove him off, ignoring the way his smile widens at your annoyance. “Let’s get to work.”

Negan straightens, turning to face the group of other Alexandrians, “Same goes for everyone!” he sings, his voice deceptively light as he zeroes in on a young woman nearest to him, her dark hair up in a tan hat. Her lips are full, pulled into a disgusted scowl as she looks at him with arms folded tight across her chest. Something burns in your chest, how much you’d like to rip at her ungrateful face.

She doesn’t answer, just glares harder and stalks off.

To your surprise, Negan doesn’t stop her. Instead, he looks delighted, his grin stretching wider as he turns back to Rick. He exhales dramatically. “A lotta suspense there. I don’t even think she knew how much!”

“Alright,” you say, cutting through the tension as you look over your shoulder. “Let’s get this show on the road. See what they’ve got for us.”

“We set aside half of the supplies—” Rick starts, his tone controlled but biting.

“No!” Negan snaps, Lucille’s tip tapping against the asphalt. His voice is no longer playful. “No, Rick. No. You don’t decide what we take. And you sure as hell don’t talk to my goddamn wife unless she speaks to you first!”

He shifts his gaze to you, a proud grin spreading across his leering lips, “Shall we?”

“You heard him,” you bark, turning to the group. “Let’s go!”

Eventually, you find yourself inside one of the houses, scoping out the place for furniture to take back. The house is pristine, a quiet luxury in the apocalypse that feels jarring. The walls are lined with family photos, smiling faces frozen in time, untouched by the horrors of the world outside. The smell of lavender lingers faintly in the air, likely from the carefully placed diffusers still sitting on the side tables. The people who stay here have built something warm, something safe. And now you’re tearing it apart piece by piece.

Your stomach churns as you glance at Daryl. He’s in the living room with Dwight, silently dismantling the carefully curated space. Paintings are taken down, tables and couches examined for worth. The atmosphere is tense but quiet, the only sounds are the occasional creak of floorboards and the shuffle of furniture being moved.

Daryl’s movements are slow but deliberate. His shoulders are tight, his jaw clenched, and though he doesn’t speak, his disdain for all of this is palpable. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even glance your way, but you can feel the weight of his anger like a shadow between you.

You steady yourself, drawing a deep breath before turning to Dwight the next time he walks through the doorway, arms full with a framed painting and a decorative lamp.

“Leave us,” you say curtly.

Dwight stops mid-step, his brows shooting up in surprise. He glances between you and Daryl, hesitation flickering in his eyes.

“Need me to repeat myself, D?” you enunciate his nickname with sharp mockery, your tone daring him to question you.

Dwight’s lips press into a thin line, and his gaze lingers on you for a beat too long, his discomfort clear. He knows better than to argue, but the tension in the room is unmistakable, heavy like a storm on the verge of breaking.

“No, ma’am,” he mutters finally, his voice subdued. He shakes his head, setting the painting and lamp down by the door before stepping onto the porch without another word.

“Then get out,” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended. Dwight doesn’t look back, and the sound of the door clicking shut behind him feels deafening in the quiet that follows.

Daryl’s eyes track Dwight’s retreat, his posture tense as he slowly turns to face you from the threshold. You glance outside, taking stock of the Saviors milling about, their arms full of furniture and boxes, before shutting the door firmly.

“Get in,” you order, jerking your head toward the staircase. “We have to check upstairs.”

Daryl doesn’t respond, but he follows you without question.

Once upstairs, you set your gun down on the edge of a dresser, the weight of it making a dull thud against the wood. You watch as Daryl begins rifling through drawers and cabinets, his movements mechanical, avoiding your gaze.

“Daryl,” you say softly, the sound barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t look up.

“Daryl, please,” you repeat, your voice louder, a tremor breaking through.

His hands still, though he doesn’t turn to you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words heavy, thick with everything left unsaid.

Daryl’s scoff is low and bitter, his head shaking almost imperceptibly as he turns back to the drawer in front of him. His fingers scrape against the wood, rummaging aimlessly. “Sorry,” he mutters under his breath, like the word is a bad taste in his mouth. “Don’t mean much now, does it?”

The sharpness of his voice cuts deep, and your chest tightens. You take a step closer, hesitant, watching the way his shoulders hunch as though he’s bracing for something that won’t come.

“It means everything,” you say quietly, barely able to trust your own voice. “At least, it does to me.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, low and humorless, his hands gripping the edge of the dresser. “Yeah? Meant somethin’ back then, too. What the hell happened to you?”

Your throat tightens as his words land heavy between you, full of hurt he won’t name. You glance down, your hands trembling at your sides. “I didn’t mean to run, Daryl. That day… everything went to hell so fast. I thought—I thought if you were gone, that if somehow you did manage to live, you’d be safer if I got out. To find Merle. I didn’t know how to—”

“Safer?” he growls, spinning to face you. His eyes are dark, full of something too raw to name. “You left before I even made it home. Blood all over the floor, walkers still there. Thought you were dead.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs. The memory of that day—the day everything fell apart—burns fresh and vivid in your mind, clawing its way back to the surface despite years of burying it.

“I thought you’d find me,” you whisper, the words trembling on your lips. “I waited, Daryl. I waited as long as I could.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and jagged. “Waited? Don’t sound like it. Don’t look like it now, neither.” His knuckles whiten where they grip the edge of the dresser, his body taut with barely-contained anger.

Your chest tightens, and your gaze drops for a moment, the weight of the memory crashing over you. You can still see the living room as it was that day—your living room, once filled with warmth and life, now smeared with blood. The shattering of glass as walkers broke through the windows. The metallic tang of blood in the air. Your own shaking hands as you grabbed what you could—your bag, your knife, Daryl’s jacket off the hook by the door—and bolted.

“I tried to fight them off,” you say, your voice breaking as you meet his gaze again. “I did everything I could to keep them out. But they were everywhere, Daryl. The house wasn’t safe anymore. I thought—” You stop, your throat tightening. “I thought I’d have more time.”

“Time,” he repeats bitterly, shaking his head. “You had time to run, didn’t ya? Time to leave blood all over the damn floor.”

“I thought you were dead!” you snap, the words exploding out of you before you can stop them. Tears sting your eyes, but you press on, your voice rising with the emotion clawing its way out. “I thought—I didn’t know if you were coming back! There was blood, there were walkers, and I panicked. I was alone, Daryl. You don’t know what that felt like.”

His jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line as he glares at you. “I made it back,” he says quietly, his voice rough. “I made it back, and you were gone. I searched that house, Y/N. Looked for signs—tracks, somethin’—but all I found was a mess and no damn clue where you’d gone.”

The image of him searching the house for you, calling out your name to silence and ruin, twists your heart in a way you can’t describe. “I thought you’d find me,” you whisper again, weaker this time. “I thought you’d know where to look.”

His blue eyes blaze as he takes a step closer, his voice trembling with barely-controlled anger. “You thought wrong.”

The words hang heavy in the air between you, cutting deeper than you thought possible. The silence that follows is thick, suffocating, filled with the weight of everything left unsaid.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” you say quietly, your voice trembling. “I never wanted to leave. But that day… I thought it was the end. I thought if I stayed there, I’d die.”

You pause, swallowing hard, then shake your head, your voice gaining strength. “I never thought it would end up like this, that this is how we’d find each other again. God, i’d dreamed of it for so long, Daryl. But then…I had to let go, I had to move on. Didn’t you? After I left, after I realized I couldn’t go back, I had to keep going. I had to do something, make something out of the mess I left behind. That’s why I kept moving, why I ended up here. I thought—” You falter for a moment, your words catching.

“I thought if I could build something strong enough, something that mattered, maybe it would be worth it. Maybe it would mean I didn’t run for nothing.”

Daryl’s expression hardens, his lips pressing into a thin line. “And this is what you wanted?” he growls, his voice low and sharp. “This? Workin’ for him?”

“I don’t work for him, Daryl.” you say softly, “It was him and I that created this. Together. We found a way to survive, to protect people. To keep the world from swallowing me…us…whole. I didn’t realize what it was costing me until…”

Your eyes lock on his, the weight of everything between you heavy in the air. “Until I saw you again. Especially like this.”

Daryl shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “So now what? You just decided it don’t matter no more? That you’re gonna fix it all like none of it happened?”

“I’m not pretending it didn’t happen,” you say, your voice steady despite the crack in your chest. “I’m saying it doesn’t have to stay this way. I’m saying I’m going to do what I should’ve done the second I saw you.”

His eyes narrow, his breath coming sharp and shallow as he glares at you, his walls still firmly in place. “And why the hell should I believe that?”

The question slices through the air, his voice rough and filled with doubt. You hesitate, the weight of his distrust pressing against your chest like a heavy stone. Then, tentatively, you step closer, your hand lifting but stopping just short of his arm.

“Can I touch you?” you ask quietly, the words trembling as they leave your lips.

The question hangs between you, heavy and uncertain. For a moment, you think he’ll push you away, that he’ll turn his back on you completely. But then his eyes flicker, something soft and hesitant breaking through the anger, and he gives the smallest, almost imperceptible nod.

Your fingers brush against his hand, and though his body stiffens, he doesn’t pull away. The contact is electric, a spark against the cold distance that has grown between you. “I know I don’t deserve your trust,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know I’ve made choices you can’t forgive. But I swear to you, Daryl—I’m going to make this right. I’ll get you out of here. I’ll keep you safe. No matter what it takes.”

His gaze drops to where your hand rests on his arm, his shoulders sagging slightly as some of the tension begins to bleed out of him. His jaw works, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low and rough, tinged with disbelief. “You say that like it’s so damn simple.”

“It’s not,” you murmur, your hand inching upward to brush a strand of his matted hair from his face. He flinches slightly at the touch but doesn’t move away. “None of this is simple. But neither was surviving without you.”

His breath hitches, the sound barely audible but cutting through the quiet. His eyes lift to meet yours, and for a moment, they’re unguarded—just a moment, a fleeting crack in the armor he’s wrapped himself in. The pain is still there, raw and visceral, but there’s something else, something fragile and aching.

You don’t dare move, don’t dare breathe too deeply, afraid of breaking whatever tenuous connection you’ve managed to grasp. Your hand lingers on his arm, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the icy walls between you. His eyes, stormy and unrelenting, search yours as if looking for the person he used to know, the one who used to stand beside him, not against him.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and bittersweet, and you cling to it, desperate for him to see the truth in your words. To see the part of you that’s still his, even after everything that’s been shattered.

Your throat tightens as the moment hangs precariously in the air, fragile and fleeting. Slowly, you take a deep breath, pulling yourself together. You force your hand to drop from his arm, the loss of contact like a cold gust against your skin.

“I’ll give you a signal,” you say, your voice steady despite the ache clawing at your chest. “It won’t be today. Maybe not tomorrow. But you’ll know.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the floor as if the weight of everything between you is too much to bear. But then he nods, just once, and it’s enough.

You turn and leave before the cracks in your composure can spread too far. Grabbing your gun from the dresser by the door, you steel yourself, forcing the cold, unyielding mask of leadership back into place. It’s a shield, one you’ve worn so long it feels like a second skin, hiding the turmoil underneath.

You’ve made your promise. Now you just have to keep it.

#the walking dead #negan x reader #negan smith #daryl dixon #daryl x reader #Daryl Dixon x reader #negan smith x reader #negan smith fanfic #negan smith fanfiction #twd negan #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl #twd #rick grimes #dominion

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vespertin-y · 5 months ago

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OKAY I FINALLY WATCHED GRAVITY FALLS. TEN YEARS LATE I KNOW. i was expecting to have to power through a bunch of boring kid stuff to get to the actual interesting drama and i was so so wrong i locked tf in and finished it in two days. it's so good what the actual fuck. heres my thoughts on the main characters

mabel: when i was the actual target audience for this show i saw a bit of mabel while flipping through disney XD and i immediately concluded that she was annoying af and i would never watch this show because of her. i would like to repent for this evil evil take by flinging myself belly down onto shattered glass. MABEL MY BABY GIRL...if they ever put her in another Situation or Scenario ill kill someone fr. she's a little too selfish and a little too pushy sure but so genuinely KIND and SWEET and so willing to make a fool of herself to pull her dumb brother out of his head. that unicorn doesn't know jack i hope she gets everything she wants forever

dipper: if i had watched gf as a kid i would have been in very real danger of naming myself after this guy (which doesn't even work bc im not nearly as cool as him!! the woodland creatures would have eaten my ass). it would've been so easy to give him a generic gaining confidence arc but he is never a coward when it really matters and i think that's great. he may not be able to talk to a girl but he can and will beat a gnome to death with a shovel for touching his sister!!! also yeah he is extremely transgender.

stan: OUUUUUGH. STARTS SOBBING. stanley pines the man that you are. i assumed at first that his plot would be about Learning To Love but no he is 100% on board with being the world's best grunkle from minute one. he definitely fucks up sometimes (putting waddles outside comes to mind as does. The Other Thing) but he always tries his very best to fix it. every action he takes just oozes with care for his family. every time i thought he had a motivation that wasn't his family they pulled the rug out from under me and revealed that it was, in fact, just his family again. he would give everything for them. AND HE LITERALLY DOES??? im gonna vomit. he hand stitched fishing hats 😭😭😭

wendy: definitely my least favorite of the main cast im sorry wendyheads...i just feel like there isn't a lot to get into here. every time they imply there's something more going on with her or her family they just snap her right back into The Coolest Girl In The World which might be fun but it's not that interesting.

soos: SOOS MY FRIEND SOOS!!!! i wobbled on him during the middle of the show bc i felt like they were making him Genuinely Dumb instead of just a good babysitter but they pulled his characterization back around by the end i think. he is like me in that he would also die for the mystery twins without hesitation or regret 💖. a lesser show would've been really mean about soos but gf is BASED and SOOSPILLED so he gets what he deserves. he does not have to lose weight or drop his "childish" interests or stop living with his grandma to WIN AT LIFE. awesome girlfriend! dream job! big house! stan using that boat to hunt down his bio dad and kill him, probably!

ford: ill be honest and admit i hated this guy at first but eventually i learned to live laugh love about his massive incredibly fragile ego ruining everything all the time and now i am a big ford enjoyer. what a FREAK oh my god. he believed his journals to be capable of destroying the world and still refused to destroy them because they're His Life's Work????? he had the painfully obvious option to tell bill he didn't know the equation and stall for time and chose instead to say that OBVIOUSLY he knows it he's the SMARTEST MAN ALIVE he's just not TELLING YOU 😤 and then immediately got tortured????? he spent most of his screentime projecting his relationship issues onto an Actual Child?????????? he needs to go to therapy and learn he's not the main character of the universe but he will not be doing that so i can only hope the boat fixes him. if i was stanley i'd've fed him to the shapeshifter.

bill: SIGH. YES OKAY HE'S MY FAVORITE. I KNOW I'M FUCKING PREDICTABLE DON'T @ ME. i spent 90% of his screentime cracking up and the other 10% making Homosexual Detection Eyebrows at my brother! the ideal ratio!!!!! i can't wait to get my hands on the book so i can poor little meowmeow him more efficiently. i knew i was saving that barnes & noble gift card for something important.

#gf #gravity falls #idk which tag im gonna use yet so ill put both #mem says stuff

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disco-tea · 1 year ago

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“Hallo, Nelly!” said Mr. Heathcliff, when he saw me, “I feared I should have to come down and fetch my property myself. You’ve brought it, have you? Let us see what we can make of it.”

“I bid the trembling and bewildered child get down, and enter. He did not thoroughly comprehend the meaning of his father’s speech, or whether it were intended for him: indeed, he was not yet certain that the grim, sneering stranger was his father. But he clung to me with growing trepidation; and on Mr. Heathcliff’s taking a seat and bidding him “come hither,” he hid his face on my shoulder and wept. “Tut, tut!” said Heathcliff, stretching out a hand and dragging him roughly between his knees, and then holding up his head by the chin. “None of that nonsense! We’re not going to hurt thee, Linton—isn’t that thy name? Thou art thy mother’s child, entirely! Where is my share in thee, puling chicken?”

….“Do you know me?” asked Heathcliff, having satisfied himself that the limbs were all equally frail and feeble.

“No,” said Linton, with a gaze of vacant fear.

“You’ve heard of me, I dare say?”

“No,” he replied again.

“No! What a shame of your mother, never to waken your filial regard for me! You are my son, then, I’ll tell you; and your mother was a wicked slut to leave you in ignorance of the sort of father you possessed. Now, don’t wince, and colour up!”

From the bottom of my heart, I would beat Healthcliff to death with a shovel

#wuthering heights #linton heathcliff

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cowboybrunch · 1 year ago

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OC in 15

thank you for the tag @rhyaxxyn <3

doing this for Marcella from Burden of the Reluctant Death!

"Someone has to shovel the shit, prince. You know that. You just don’t want it to be you."

“Do you want to have it out in the hallway, or should we get comfortable?”

“I killed a neurosurgeon once. Real nasty guy. Preyed on his patients. I played the long game with him, really wormed myself into his life so that I could savor the look on his face when I— Sorry.”

“If you’re unwilling to help on principle alone, I’m not above bribing you.”

“Are you seriously asking how babies are made?”

“My loyalty will always be to him first. He is our salvation, our second coming. He will lead us into a better world, and I intend to stand behind him when he does.”

“It has to come from the heart. Not too heartfelt, though. Something threatening but welcoming. Just be yourself, but less like... you."

Marcella, noticing her attention, shot her a viper’s grin. “Good to finally meet you, flower. Now can we please get the fuck out of here?”

“My father took one look at the bruise on my cheek and gave me another to match. He wasn’t angry that I was fighting the neighborhood boys. He was angry that I lost. He told me often that he wished I was born a man. Not for his own benefit, but for my own. I had too much soul for a girl, he would say. A good son and a terrible wife.”

“If you didn’t want me to kill her, you should have specified.” Behind the irreverent words, there was a spark of temper. “I specified that Rose was to be brought here unharmed.”

“If we don’t act, we will live in the shadow of her boot for the rest of eternity. I refuse to believe that you can accept that.”

“I don’t want to get into an existential debate. I want to win a war.”

“Great, you’re awake. How much experience do you have in hand-to-hand combat?”

“No, it was a man. Brown hair, smelled like stale wine, looked like he’d apologize to a chair if he bumped into it.”

“And I’m telling you to check every room.” Marcella rarely raised her voice or lost her patience. Rarely felt the need to, but she did now. “If there is a single creature with a beating heart in this damn motel, I want them found. That’s an order.”

passing the tag to @spitefulbull @sleepywriter00 @emelkae and an open tag if anyone wants to share!! (:

#tag games #burden of the reluctant death #my vengeful little bean #i love her sm

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switchbladedreamz · 11 months ago

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Bastard of a Leak

Requested?: nah

Pairing: Captain "Luke" Syverson x Reader

Rating: Fluff

Warnings: i made up the name Luke, brief mention of reader having glasses, brief mention of reader being bisexual.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here" the drawl of my husband's southern accent drifts through the air. I ignore him. "Honey don't tell me you been under there all day? When did you go to the hardware store!?". I'm under the kitchen sink surrounded by pieces of pvc, pvc glue, a wrench and clamps here and there, oh and drenched from neck to navel. The leak was driving me crazy and i know my way around a thing or two so I thought i would give my hand a try but apparently my hand is not plumbing compatible. "C'mon baby get out from under there and lemme get a look'achya" my husband asks. I sigh before crawling out from under the sink dusting my back and my ass off, and look up to the hulk of the man in front of me.

The look in his eyes could sink a ship or make his momma proud. Pride, hunger, and awe swirl in his eyes like minnows playing in the shallows of a creek bed. "You been workin on that bastard leak from hell all day, it's already 9:30. I'll call a guy tomorrow. Okay?" I resign with a simple nod, leaning directly forward i rest my forehead on his chest. Sy's arms fold around my grimy body bringing me into him. His warmth momentarily melts away the ache that had settled over me while the sun was still shining. "Okay." i finally settled on the matter. "There's my girl. Now go shower while I heat up your dinner okay?" I relinquish a barely audible "okay", i fight to untangle myself from the tree trunks that refuse to let me go. "Baaahaabyyyyy" i whine until Sy just chuckles and opens his arms. Limply I shuffle toward the bathroom, taking my boots off before the door and tossing the wet tank top off in the hamper with the rest of my clothes. I take a quick cold shower and wash my everything as fast as possible with sore arms and taut back muscles, i want to eat and lay down. Leaving the door open to the steamy bathroom, I walk down the hall to my bedroom. Toweling off and changing into another tank top and shorts. Exiting the bedroom i call out "baby" trying to find my husband. My answer sounds like its coming from the kitchen. "Oh where oh where can my baby beee? The Lord took her away from me" his singing is a treat. Luke turns around as i start the next verse, my plate in his hands. "She's gone to heaven so I've got be good so i can see my baby when I leave this world" I watch as he sets the plate at my place at the table, and the bowl in his left hand he sets at his place. He walks toward me and it is only then i notice he's shirtless. I must've gotten his shirt wet earlier. Big hands warm my hips his fingers slip under my shirt to hold my bare back. We sway as he sings,

"We went out on a date in my daddy's car. We hadn't driven very far. There in the road, straight ahead. A car was stalled, the engine was dead. I couldn't stop so i swerved to the right I'll never forget the sounds that night", my ear rests against his heart. I count the steady pace of his heart beats...1 ..2 ..3 ..4 ..1...2 ..his smooth voice rocks the airwaves around, we rock our bodies to Pearl Jam's rhythm. Luke's voice is like whiskey to me, its deep like amber with a spike of raw honey. I would drink myself to death on it if I could. If only he'd sing for me more often. A loud grumble and a stab of hunger erupted from my stomach which made Sy laugh. Moment over. "C'mon baby lets get some food in that belly".

I sit and eat my "grilled chicken pasta leftover surprise" as my honey so lovingly called it. Luke's head is down, and is currently grunting in between shoveling spoonfuls of.. something, into his mouth, I I left my glasses in the bathroom. He has his forearm wrapped in front of the bowl while his hand wrests on the bowl's side, as if he's holding it to the table..or hostage. I peer over to peek, its ice cream.

It makes me giggle. Such a big man is so protective of a little bowl of ice cream. "Huh?" He perks his head up. There's white drop and caramel all over his mustache and there's little pieces of chocolate in his beard too. I can't hold back my laughter. I get up and head to the kitchen. The hardwood floor of the dining room is cold tonight, the tile is chilled as I enter the kitchen. I lean down in front of the kitchen sink, opening the cabinet doors is when I remember I moved the wash cloths to the counter top. I sigh coming back up, god I'm sore. Snatching the top washcloth on the pile i run it under warm water for a few seconds. I grab a second wash cloth with my dry hand and open the sink cabinet once again. I toss the half unfolded cloth on the puddle of water below the pipes and shut the door with my foot. I could feel my husband watching me like a hawk the whole time, he wouldn't think I noticed his shoulders relax when he realized i was coming back to the table. "Whatcha doin baby?" I decided to ignore his question. I raise the cloth to his face, hesitating trying to convey my intentions. He watches my wrist, anticipation written in his eyes. His lips are drawn thin to a line on his face. "You coulda just said somethin". I just grin back at him as my answer.

I watch as the light casts eyelash shadows beneath his eyes, they flutter then close as the warm cloth comes in contact with his moustache in light downward swipes.

"i gotta tell ya it was pretty sexy seein you under there workin so hard. I guess finding your significant other doing manual labor sexy goes both ways. Like you" he chuckles. His eyes still closed as I clean his beard. His words make me giggle. "Good to know, I'll have to keep that in my back pocket. But I don't wanna get under that sink again." Luke pulls me down onto his lap to sit. He kisses my temple. "You worked damn hard today and I'm proud of you. I made some calls and got a few different quotes, i figured we would look at 'em together tomorrow and decide on who's the best option". It's my turn to kiss him. I lean forward and lightly kiss him, his lips are a little sticky from the ice cream. "You're so sweet, my bear." He takes my left hand and puts his on his cheeks, his thumb twiddling with the set of two rings on my left ring finger. It makes me smile, I give his forehead a small kiss and stand up. I turn around to head to my chair and Luke slaps my ass. He chuckles as the gasp I made as he picks his spoon up and returns back to his mistress, the bowl of Rocky Road.

#captain syverson fluff #captain sy x reader fluff #married fluff #just writing again #sandcastle (2017)#fluff

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bengibbardpoetry · 6 days ago

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Dad at Night

2012

Under the great dark sky, I

peel marshmallow off my oiled cheeks and strain

your neck like it is my

neck as I sit on your knee and warm my eyes

by the bonfire you built and

swallow your music until it becomes mine. You try

picking satellites like blueberries to

beat my count and win our nightly contest but I tell

you of one so faint that the

milk of extra time on your pupils and difference

in our range secures my win between

the umbrella pines and thick smoke and pangs of shooting

in the far woods. Sly stars

slide through space when I stare directly at them and

become false satellites,

tricking my eyes until they reappear. Do

you think they

know when we are staring? Let my head collide

with your shoulder. I

am tired now. Tomorrow we will hike and I can ask

Mom if she’ll come too and

then we’ll have another night sky and fire you

will build and I will smile.

2024

Satellites, Dave Matthews Band. I

-roned into my head from strain

-ing ears to identify Dad’s songs. My

fire flickers in his oak-scarred eyes

to the strums of DMB while my beer flattens and

I think to myself we haven’t bonfired in months although I’m try

-ing to come home more often to

keep him from counting satellites in only his skin when he tell

-s me about his solitude and my belly wrinkles at the

thought of his aging and the difference

he put in my eyes and my brain. Between

hiking and shooting

I think of him every time I see stars

with my friends and

they don’t know about counting satellites.

I keep satellites of myself do

-tting the woods around our fireplace. They

let eleven y/o me collide

with twenty-one y/o me and I

wish we could still hang out every day. I ask

for money and

tells me “I love you”

and I smile.

Golden Shovel Poem, using lyrics from "Passenger Seat" by Death Cab for Cutie

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thebibliomancer · 1 year ago

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Essential Avengers: West Coast Avengers #40: And Now the... NIGHT SHIFT!

January, 1989

What a kooky band of villains for our heroes to tangle with. I'm pretty sure one of them is Candle- well, a guy named candle something. I have a post to write here, I can't afford to get kidnapped.

And one of them is Has Watch Will Travel? And a Hollywood werewolf? One of the Monarch's Murderflies from Venture Bros?

Weird.

But the regular writer was fired partway through the last issue and the new subplot he was setting up was unceremoniously taken out back and shot. Byrne is taking over the book with unlucky number 42.

So that means two issues to either spin the wheels or try to deal with what lingering plot threads are left.

I think the only lingering plot thread is the Mockingbird divorce, vengeful cowboy ghost thing.

I don't know if DeFalco called dibs on wrapping up the Mockingbird/Phantom Rider subplot or whether Gruenwald just didn't want to deal with it but in issue 40 we get wheel spinning. And then in issue 41, DeFalco and Macchio deal with the loose thread just before Byrne comes in.

So since this is a fill-in issue, what do we need to know?

Last times on West Coast Avengers: A lot happened but the relevant bits are that due to a disagreement over creepy stalker cowboy manslaughter, Mockingbird quit/was fired from the West Coast Avengers and took Tigra and Moon Knight with her. Scarlet Witch and Vision joined the team so that the WCA wouldn't just be Hawkeye and Wonder Man. Mantis looked like she was going to join but her only supporter, Steve Englehart, was fired and she was shoved out the door.

Mockingbird's team is still just kinda hanging around. They're Notvengers but keep fighting the good fight. Despite Mockingbird's moral stand that its okay to manslaughter cowboys sometimes, its not like she and her team have gone around manslaughtering other people. They're just a trio of like-minded Notvengers.

And when Mockingbird sees a weirdo burying people in the road, well, that's the kind of thing superheroes stick their nose into.

Mockingbird: "Ahh! This is what I live for... Throwing myself into a situation where the slightest misstep means disability or death. ... Pushing myself to the limit... and gambling that my all is enough to handle whatever I'm up against."

And what she's up against is a Frankenstein looking dude called the Digger who likes 1) digging, 2) telling scary stories to captive audiences, 3) and apparently being a zombie.

He's really annoyed when Mockingbird shows up and interrupts story time and tries to wallop her with his shovel.

She ultimately beats him with slapstick.

And takes him and the dudes he had buried in the road to the police to sort out.

Outside of LA, the rest of the Night Shift gang meets in a spooky Victorian manor called the Tower of Shadows. I don't think a manor is a tower but the house does have a tower.

Tower of Shadows is also the name of a Marvel horror mag. Digger was a horror host.

I know Marvel loves recycling its not superhero characters into the superhero context. Archie-ripoff Patsy Walker becomes Hellcat and so on.

But a horror host winding up on a supervillain team but still taking opportunities to force people to hear his spooky stories is a step above.

Its apparently later established that in-universe Digger was the horror host for a TV show called, yup, Tower of Shadows.

Fun minutiae.

Lets go around the table really quick.

The guy with the giant needle is named Needle. He has a paralyzing gaze. I have no idea what this has to do with needles but he also likes to sew people's mouths shut.

Dancing lady is Dansen Macabre. She has the power to dansen, in a macabre way. Also she can hypnotize or kill people who watch her dance.

Guy with the towering blond hair is Misfit. He's big 'n tough.

The guys with the high red collars and yet no corresponding capes are the Brothers Grim. They conjure items that are kinda sorta like things from fairy tales.

The guy that DOES have a cape is Tatterdemalion. He can rot paper and cloth with a touch thanks to gloves soaked in chemicals.

Behind him is Jack Russell terror, Werewolf-by-Night. Bad doggo.

And rounding out the table is Tick Tock. He's basically Destiny. Mystique's wife who can read ahead in the script? Yeah, Tick Tock is that but not as good.

And arriving is Gypsy Moth, who has an awkward name and POWER OVER FIBERS. Also, she later changes her name to Skein, probably because her first one was awkward but Lymantria Dispar Dispar doesn't roll off the tongue and Spongy Moth (the new Entomological Society of America approved name) doesn't strike fear in her enemies. So I'll roll with the name Skein.

West Coast Avengers acquaintance the Shroud runs this group of lower case-m misfits but he's not here right now.

Skein flies in and reports that she's heard rumor that when Digger was shaking down the Calamari Brothers, Mockingbird the Avenger beat the crap out of him and arrested him!

Clearly, such an insult can't stand!

Night Shift debates finding out where Digger is being held and busting him out but Shroud told them not to cause fuss with the cops when he's not around.

Tatterdemalion proposes they all go beat the shit out of the Avengers. Sure, Shroud told them not to mess with the Avengers either. But he's not here right now, is he?

Dansen Macabre: "I agree, Tatterdemalion! And as deputy leader in the Shroud's absence, I say it is high time we taught those daylight glory-grabbers the lesson that all of the Los Angeles underworld has learned -- don't mess with the Night Shift!"

This is amazing, for really dumb reasons.

It will later be retconned in that Well Actually, Evil Parent Gang the Pride controlled the West Coast but that they laid low to not get grief from superheroes before they (the Pride) could destroy the world (which they didn't actually manage).

That means they were lying low while jokers like Night Shift were swaggering around claiming to own this town.

Big, serious no nonsense supervillains like the Pride having to hold their tongues in the face of these goobers! Its amazing.

Anyway, since Night Shift are clearly people who hold to Aesthetic over all else, they of course drive everywhere in hearses. The whole team piles into two hearses and drives to the West Coast Avengers Compound.

Since Tick Tock is reading ahead in the script, he directs Night Shift how to use their powers to confound the security system. Including having Skein disassemble the fiber optics. Power over fiber is scary.

Since the West Coast Avengers Compound is a bunch of buildings, Night Shift just picks the closest one to storm.

Unfortunately, it's the bungalow for the support staff and a returning Joachin Mendez and a newly introduced Yolanda Russo get taken hostage.

Yolanda hears the ruckus and manages to hit the alarm before the Werewolf OH YEAHS through her door.

The intruder alarm alarms, alarming Hawkeye who was napping on a couch, presumably in the monitor room.

Hawkeye puts out an AVENGERS ASSEMBLE on the intercom.

It wakes up Scarlet Witch and Vision. Vision goes off to see what's wrong, leaving Wanda with the children.

She worries that if there's actually a real problem, the West Coast Avengers might be in trouble. There's only four people on the team right now. Wonder Man isn't even at the compound because he had a Hollywood social function. Presumably to promote his movie. Which changed names apparently. There's a poster for Arkon IV: Barbarian Berserkers. But it was subtitled the Goblin Pit last time we got a title for it. Probably because the writer change.

So four person team. Wonder Man not here. Scarlet Witch left with the babies. That only leaves Hawkeye and Vision. A two-person... well team feels like the wrong word. A dynamic duo maybe.

Tick-Tock uses his clock powers to predict Vision is approaching and will beat up the Brothers Grimm if they use wacky weapons funny foam or exploding eggs.

The brothers user the twinkie-dust which somehow can congeal intangible Vision and force him to the ground.

Hawkeye tries to shoot flare arrow (flarrows) to light up the Brothers Grimm so he can shoot them with different arrows. But Skein unravels Hawkeye's bowstring.

The two heroes become surrounded by the entire Night Shift (minus Shroud and Digger, but, eh, semantics). Plus, Needle has Yolanda as a hostage!

Night Shift having a hostage doesn't seem to faze Hawkeye though. He hucks a adhesive arrowhead at Skein, gunking up her wings.

Unfortunately, Skein doesn't use her moth wings to actually fly. Its just Aesthetic.

She's holding herself up with her fabric telekinesis. And she demonstrates by yoinking Hawkeye up into the air by his costume. Which I have to imagine has wedgy-like characteristics.

Vision still can't intangible because of the twinkie-dust. And is soon set upon by Werewolf, Tatterdemalion, and Misft. And Hawkeye is being menaced by the Brothers Grimm.

So Vision uses SOLAR BEAM to evaporate the Brothers' magic clouds. They fall and WHUMMMP on the floor. And Hawkeye throws an explosive arrow to knock Misfit off Vision.

Teamwork! Or, hmm, duowork.

MEANWHILE, back at L.A., Mockingbird rejoins Moon Knight and Tigra in Moon Knight's Moonwing.

Mockingbird reports her Digger arrest to her two fellow Notvengers. And then starts thinking aloud.

Digger supposedly works on Night Shift for the Shroud. And Mockingbird can't figure that guy out.

Hawkeye offered membership to the Shroud once but the guy seems like a criminal. Mockingbird always told Hawkeye they needed to arrest the guy or help him clear his name. She just doesn't get why the West Coast Avengers never busted him!

I'm not sure why Hawkeye didn't tell the other Avengers what the deal is with Shroud. Seems a weird omission.

Anyway, Moon Knight knows that Night Shift operates out of the Tower of Shadows so he decides the Notvengers should find out what Shroud's deal is once and for all.

And its his Moonwing so....

Back at the fight, Skein threatens to drop Hawkeye from a hundred feet off the ground. And Dansen Macabre sexy dances at Vision despite his protestations that sexy-based attacks don't work on him because he's an artificial human.

BUT: HERE SHE COMES TO SAVE THE DAY!

Scarlet Witch: "Sure would be improbable if gravity went wild -- and one person were suddenly pulled to Earth at great speed -- while another floated down like a leaf! But improbabilities become realities when the Scarlet Witch is around!"

Yeah, since the West Coast Avengers have an actual staff, Wanda got Jorge to watch the kids so she could come help Vision and Hawkeye.

And then five seconds later, the Brothers Grimm throw magic beans which explode into giant cotton balls. Wanda gets trapped in the cotton with Skein manipulating the fibers so her arms are stuck at her side.

And Needle uses Paralyze Gaze to freeze Hawkeye from running to help Scarlet Witch.

Womp womp.

With the West Coast Avengers defeated, Dansen Macabre states Night Shift's demands.

They want:

Digger to be released by the police and all charges dropped.

That's it.

And if the WCA do this, then Night Shift will release their Yolanda hostage.

Hawkeye now has no idea what this is about. He has no idea who Digger is or why Night Shift would think the Avengers have anything to do with him.

A Brother Grimm tells Werewolf by Night to try to sniff out more Avengers. I mean, only three Avengers? That's not much of a team!

Meanwhile, with the Notvengers breaking into the Tower of Shadows.

They get a net dropped on them.

I mean, Tigra and Moon Knight can rip through it because its meant for more mundane intruders.

Also: apparently: Khonshu being in the driver's seat is not a secret anymore? Tigra references to him as "an Egyptian God in a man's bod" so.

After escaping the net, the Notvengers head down the spiral staircase towards the hideout.

Tigra comments that it doesn't smell like anyone's been here for about two hours.

Mockingbird says it figures that a group called the Night Shift would be working at night.

The Notvengers finds Night Shift's meeting room which helpfully has all their stolen loot on the table as well as a note from Dansen Macabre to the Shroud.

Basically just saying 'hey, we've gone to pick a fight with the West Coast Avengers, feel free to pitch in.'

Tigra suggests going to help the West Coast Avengers or at least calling and giving a heads-up.

Mockingbird suggests an alternate plan.

The Notvengers lay in wait for Night Shift to come back and Hawkeye can go fuck himself.

If he was happy leaving the gang alone to do their thing, then he can enjoy having a play date with them.

Also, this creepy mansion doesn't have a phone and cell phones aren't in wide use yet.

But one gets the sense that its mostly spite.

Back at the West Coast Avengers Compound, Hawkeye still has no fucking idea what Night Shift is talking about.

Of course, he's too paralyzed to say so.

Dansen Macabre tells Hawkeye that Night Shift is going to take off with their hostage so make sure to tell his wife to keep her nose out of Night Shift business.

And NOW Hawkeye understands.

Anyway, Wonder Man suddenly shows up to save the day.

Just plows through the entire Night Shift and saves Yolanda.

Tick Tock didn't predict this because... I guess his powers are based on eyesight?

Whatever, precog powers are broken anyway.

Wonder Man and Vision tear apart the cotton balls, freeing Scarlet Witch.

Misfit attacks Wonder Man both physically and emotionally by telling him his last movie sucked. Wonder Man ends up just punching the dude because he's strong but not Wonder Man strong.

That's the pattern. Wonder Man lets himself get beaten up for a while and then goes 'bee tee dubs, I've been sandbagging.'

Hawkeye throws some smoke arrowheads to blind Tick Tock and Werewolf-by-Night.

Vision punches out Needle and Tatterdemalion. They're basically normal dudes, in terms of their ability to take a punch. But Dansen Macabre dances and mesmerizes him. Despite his claims of immunity to sexy-based mind control.

Scarlet Witch locks down the Brothers Grimm and Skein by magicing their tricks back at them.

And for an encore, she goes and punches Dansen Macabre in the back of the head for sexy dancing at her husband.

That's her job, dammit!

Meanwhile, the Shroud arrives at the tower of Shadows and goes dammit the West Coast Avengers have broken into my sanctum and are touching my stuff! >=[

Tigra is specifically touching his itemized list of loot, which carefully spells out what criminals the loot was stolen from and how much.

Mockingbird quips that Night Shift is a "mob of monsters with M.B.A.'s."

Tigra then smells Shroud which means he can't just keep lurking watching them touch his stuff. So he switches right to spooky mode.

Shroud: "You have violated the inner sanctum of the Shroud! Speak your business at once!"

Mockingbird tells him to come out of the shadows because she doesn't like conversations with people she can't see. So Shroud just tells her to enjoy talking to herself and fucks off.

He managed to sense the note from Dansen Macabre so he's going to go bail out his team instead of talking to the people getting fingerprints on his things.

Back at the West Coast Avengers Compound, having turned the tables on Night Shift, the West Coast Avengers have sat them down in chairs and lectured them about how Mockingbird left the team and what she does doesn't reflect on them.

Seriously. Sat them down in a sullen little classroom setting.

This is amazing.

Wonder Man is confused by Hawkeye's tone of trying to reason with them when they attacked the Avengers. They're crooks. Aren't we going to send them to jail?

But the room is suddenly engulfed in darkness and Shroud tells Night Shift to skedaddle.

Hawkeye manages to pin Shroud with an arrow and get a moment to talk with him during the run away. But Shroud says they'll talk in the usual place in ten minutes.

So Hawkeye lets Night Shift get away. And tells the West Coast Avengers to not try to pursue. To their bafflement and annoyance.

The usual place is apparently the cliffs overlooking the ocean in the West Coast Avengers Compound. Make-Out Cliffs, since that's where Tigra and Moon Knight used to go to make out.

Hawkeye and Shroud don't make out though.

Shroud starts the conversation by going 'okay, none of this was my idea.'

And Hawkeye believes that but he suggests that maybe Shroud can't handle this fake crime-boss game he's playing and can't keep his dangerous gang under control. And if not, maybe he should quit.

Shroud escalates in kind going 'yeah, well you can't keep your wife in line AND she took half the team in the divorce.'

Hawkeye is just surprised that Shroud talked to Mockingbird. Shroud tells him that she's probably still at the Tower of Shadows and gives him the phone number.

BECAUSE THE SPOOKY MANSION HAD A PHONE, MOCKINGBIRD JUST DIDN'T LOOK HARD ENOUGH.

Anyway, contact her. Tell her to stop messing with Night Shift. And this nonsense won't happen again.

Hawkeye: "Know something, Shroudy? That criminal facade of ours is getting pretty shop-worn. I take it you're still not letting your gang know your true colors." Shroud: "Most of them. I still find my cover useful. You fight evil your way, I'll fight it mine. Agreed?" Hawkeye: "Yeah. I'm gonna have to let my troops know the truth about you and your operation, you know." Shroud: "I trust your judgement. Now... farewell."

Okay.

Shroud is pulling a Green Hornet. Infiltrating the underworld to undermine it from within.

Specifically, he's taken a bunch of villains that would otherwise be causing problems and redirected them to target other criminals.

It looks like a gang robbing other gangs but it keeps the real gangs from getting too powerful.

(And somehow the Shroud never learned about the Pride. I suspect the Pride weren't as influential as they claimed, honestly. Claiming they kept the West Coast free of overt villainy to superheroes would lose interest in it kinda ignores everything that ever happened on the West Coast in Marvel.)

Hawkeye has been enabling the Shroud by keeping the West Coast Avengers from going after him. And its not like they didn't have other stuff to occupy their time.

FOR SOME REASON, Hawkeye decided not to tell any of his team that Shroud was pulling a Green Hornet.

Not even his wife, Mockingbird.

When Hawkeye's claimed problem with cowboy manslaughter was that Mockingbird didn't trust him with it.

And he's keeping the Shroud's true motives secret from her for no fucking reason.

Fuck Hawkeye.

But also: probably because of the change in writer.

The Shroud batmans away from the conversation, to Hawkeye's annoyance.

To sync up with Avengers and to bring us right up to the Byrne era, next time is another West Coast Avengers. Let's tie off that dangling cowboy ghost plot thread.

When West Coast Avengers started, I never thought vengeful cowboy ghost would be one of the more long-lasting subplots but here we are.

Follow @essential-avengers for more good times. Well, the same good times. I just reblog the essential avengers posts there so that they're all in a row. Like, reblog, and comment!

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fledglingmaster · 11 months ago

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I haven't had such vivid nightmares in a couple years. Not to say I haven't had vivid good dreams or any nightmares...but this...I think it was worst because it was a nightmare within a nightmare, within another nightmare. Breaking through a layer and thinking you're awake only to still be trapped. Having to break through again, thinking it's now safe, but it still isn't.

I figure that some of you might appreciate my weird mind. Especially the last nightmare.

I'm glad I don't remember the first nightmare. Something about a storm in a forest, lightning striking. But that's it. I "woke up" on the couch with a raging fever.

The second one, to frame it, was my current life. I was perhaps ten years younger. I was extremely sick, my parents were arguing, I thought my mom was going to leave and my father was going to beat me. (I think this has been a deep seated fear I had from childhood.) I attempted walking to my room but collapsed in the hallway screaming. There were three shut doors, my room, my parent's, and the bathroom, as there are in real life. But they were massive doors and all lined up next to each other. I could sense something awful behind each one. My mom calmed me down and walked me to my room. Once in my bed I was rushed by tall, thin, shadowy figures. I tried to scream but nothing came out.

I then "woke up" from that nightmare. No spooky figures, I wasn't sick, I had a whole different life despite living in the same house. I was an orphan and I wanted to find my mother desperately. I had no memories of my childhood, it was like I was just born an adult. My body was different, I was a trans woman. I had battled a life-long eating disorder (according to others/doctors as my memory only went so fair back) and was finally doing better. Once again I think I was in my 20s. I found a lead to a camp I attended when I was young. As I snuck in I had a fight with a park ranger that wanted to kill all the kids inside the camp with poisonious gas. I ended up beating him to death with a shovel. When I got in the camp I found out it was actually an android manufactoring plant. I watched androids being "born." There was a head android, mother. She taught the child androids on how to blend in with humans. Once a kid needed to grow up the mother android would tear off their face plate, erase the bits of their memory they didn't need, and input skills they did need. They would get a new face plate and their bodies would adjust to look older. I overheard one ask mother if they could be a girl, so she gave them a different face plate and longer hair. Their body changed to look like a young teen girl. At this point I begin questioning am I human or an android? Then it was lunch time...for whatever reason the androids were only fed ground up humans. In comes the park ranger's body and I'm beginning to think I should have let him destroy the plant. Now there will be an army of people eating androids out in the world. But am I one of them? They don't know any better and apparentally they can eat more than just humans, it's just difficult. I'm spotted. Mother says how she missed me and how proud of me she is, I was her most successful student. She never says creation, just student. I watch her chop and grind up the ranger. She forces a seat at the table for me and shoves a tray of raw ground meat at me and says, "welcome home." I must eat it or risk being killed...I no longer can tell if I'm human or android. It's too much to think about. (I could have been a human child that was adopted in and the trauma was too much for me to handle. That's what I told myself at least. But if the end goal was for androids to think they're human...that is the more likely option.)

I woke up for real after that, shaking. I know where some of that came from but wow...I must have a lot of internal conflict going on right now.

#personal #nightmares #apologies for spelling and grammar issues I have a migraine

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inthefallofasparrow · 5 months ago

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CORRESPONDENCE 1209 – THIRD QUADRANT 6 > NEVADA CENTRAL DISPATCH ~092338 RE: RE: RE: PLEASE ADVISE - Officer Yuki de Witt

OFFICER’S NOTES: This officer reports confusion and division between the 3Q6 Board of Captains regarding the appropriate response to recent events, especially in the absence of the typically steadying hand of Capt. JAEGAR (still not returned from overseeing the transition period in 4Q6). Please advise. CIRCUMSTANTIAL: Further power outages across much of Sectors 7, 8 and 9, resulting in blackouts throughout several major tunnel systems. Despite previous formal request to NCD for support with electrical maintenance, no such support has been forthcoming. INCIDENT REPORT: Minor tunnel cave-in - Access Shaft 12 off of Delta Tunnel North. One casualty, a shaftsman, witnessed ‘behaving erratically’ in the area before the collapse. Cause as yet unknown. WORKER MORALE: Poor

~RESPONSE: Nil

DIGGING CORPS – LOG 148/- As per NCD regulation, I conducted the incident debrief with Shovelman Blythe myself, four hours after the event, extracted below:

INCIDENT DEBRIEF: re - DELTA TUNNEL NORTH COLLAPSE at 09:20 (1208):

“Needles’ been acting strange… ever since we got back from 4Q. Kept muttering under his breath about the bats … saying he had to talk to ‘Eli’, but there’s no one called ‘Eli’ down here, so I don’t ... There’s a captain in Fourth called ‘Elijah’ that we’ve had to work with sometimes, but we only ever called him ‘Captain’, or ‘Dickhead’ if he was being one. Needles had no reason to talk to him. Then this morning, I found him fucking around at Access 12. He’d jailbroken one of the dirt-eaters and was just taking dirty great bites out of the foundation wall with it… Then every few seconds he’d stop… and he’d scream and holler into this hole he was making, then slam his ear against the rock. I don’t know, like he was listening for an echo or, uh, checking the acoustics or something... I- I tried to confront him, but he wouldn’t even like acknowledge me. Just kept tearing into the wall like a fucking madman. So, I got the machine off of him, but the damage was done … And he just stared at me, like distraught, like on the verge of tears and ...

Then his whole body just started shuddering wildly … like he was having a seizure, but still standing, so he’s violently bashing himself against the wall. It was like his rip- his ribcage was trying to escape through the rockface… His arms are flailing. His torso moving separate from his head… And his face’s all bloody and gashed by then, but he’s still staring directly at me like I’d betrayed him. He didn’t seem to- He didn’t know he was beating himself to death... Then, the wall cracks through and the roof fell in... I got couple of slabs to this arm … and my head, but I got outta harm’s way, so... Worst part was, his chest was still thrashing around on the ground. His neck was snapped. He was dead- I could tell he was dead, but ... his body couldn't."

DIGGING CORPS – LOG 151/- Conducted my last interview for Unit 9 today and it was … upsetting. I won’t tell you his real name. At this point it feels disrespectful, if not dangerous, to divulge that kind of information. Some grimy vacant-eyed teenager who the others call ‘Mudbrick’, and it’s not because he’s solid and unfired. You can maybe guess why ‘Twoshort’ is called that, but this poor kid makes him look like fucking Einstein. He can’t have had any formal education past first grade. Doesn’t know how to read or write. Doesn’t seem to speak in sentences longer than four words. And is unfortunately the very personification of the lax standards exhibited by the corps’ recruitment process. If you’ve got a pulse and can hold a shovel, then you’re just the body the NCD is looking for to fill its proud ranks. But I’m told he can dig. “Doesn’t seem to know where he is half the time, but he digs like a mole rat.” Intuitively, as if it is his singular purpose in life and he is glad of it. Which I suppose is good, because I guess it is. On the surface, he’d be in jail or dead by now, but down here, he can make an honest living putting holes in the fucking ground and filling his lungs with grit, just like everyone else. When I started crying, he looked terrified. Like, he was going to get in trouble for it; his eyes darting around for somewhere to hide. I told him it was okay and that he could go. He surrendered a small purplish rag to me as forfeit and then fled. I think it was meant to be a handkerchief.

DIGGING CORPS – LOG 153/- Do you remember the first time the bear came? Growling and thumping on the door. Clawing at the wood in raw, tormented desperation, until we thought the hinges would buckle under His heaving weight. We were, what, 6 or 7 at the time? And He was out there, moaning and crying and pleading with us. Wailing to let Him in. Whispering that He was so cold. So cold outside. And He promised not to eat us. He just needed to come in so He could get warm again. The big, hairy, pitiful bear. So, we let Him in. And He kept on complaining that He was still so cold and that there must be some snow on His back that He couldn’t reach, and could we, please, just rub His back to get the snow off? Which was ridiculous, because of course there wasn’t any snow. But we were 6 or 7, so we did it anyway. I had no reason to know what a bear’s fur should smell like, but smoke and coal and sick didn’t seem right. Then, after that first time, He just kept coming back night after night. Every time a little bigger; every time a little colder than the night before. Always searching for a warming touch. Until it was normal. Until it wasn’t strange at all to have some lonesome bear come to your room every evening. It was just one of those things you had to put up with to avoid being eaten. Then, one time, He thumped you. By accident, of course. Bears don’t know their own strength, so you’re not allowed to blame them for it, especially when all they want is to get warm. Reader, I married that bear. Or at least one of a hundred other bears just like Him. And with Him, the matted fur, and the claws, and the bellowing, the rage, and the smell. The problem is ... I think there’s a bear in Third Quadrant 6. I feel like we might've let Him in.

DIGGING CORPS – LOG 154/- Unsanctioned casual sexual liaison with Mouse last night. He fell asleep immediately afterwards. Can’t say I blame him. Woke up around 2am to a hideous scream reverberating through the tunnels from Delta North. Sounded like some angry animal trapped in the walls. Mouse was already up sitting next to me, staring off into the void. I asked him what that scream was, and he looked at me, bewildered, and said, 'What scream?'. Then he silently got up and walked, naked, out into the dark.

CORRESPONDENCE 1031 – THIRD QUADRANT 6 > NEVADA CENTRAL DISPATCH ~092338 RE: ASSESSMENT REPORT - Officer Yuki de Witt

OFFICER’S NOTES: 3Q6 is one of the more efficient quadrants within the Mining Division. All of Sectors 5 through 9 have consistently run at full or double quota for the last season. CIRCUMSTANTIAL: Successful liaison with 3Q6 Board of Captains (Cpt. SPIEGEL, absent) regarding the sudden death of Unit 23 Cpt. SILTSMEAR from 4Q6. Decision pending. Further info required. INCIDENT REPORT: n/a WORKER MORALE: Moderate

~RESPONSE: Received (211)

DIGGING CORPS - LOG 081/- Hey. I know you’ll never read this, but I guess I don’t need you to. Was only supposed to stay a few days, write up my assessment for Dispatch and then leave, but then one of the captains in a neighboring quadrant fucking died. Nothing nefarious mind you, just dust pneumonia. Certainly, more paperwork than it was worth. Sounds like a lot of weird shit’s been going on over there, so one of the captains went over to assist with the transitional period, and I agreed to stay here at Third Q6 to cover until he could be replaced. That was over a month ago now, and I miss the fucking sun! Never thought I’d say that. Had a few reservations about being stuck underground this long as the only woman for miles in any direction, but so far, apart from the odd leer in the mess hall, I have remained “unharassed”. The worst of it would be one particularly cantankerous geezer called Ira Trask, Foreman of 9C, who insisted on addressing me by my first name until I referred him to the NCD handbook on worksite professionalism, and he relented. I assumed he just wanted to be friendly so I'd help get him promoted, but now I think it was something deeper, more sad and nostalgic. There’s a lock on my door at least, and being exceptionally tall seems to give them second thoughts. But as you’d imagine, height’s not generally an advantage in tight, enclosed spaces with low ceilings. Most shovelmen develop a stooped physique during their time in the corps. Fucked if I’m gonna stay that long.

Yuk

DIGGING CORPS – LOG 94/- Decided if I have to be stuck down here in Satan’s ass crack, twiddling my thumbs, I might as well spend the time processing some individual Worker Profiles. The shovelmen generally alternate between reticent, awkward, sullen or befuddled by the concept of being personally assessed, but if me doing their interview gets them a few minutes to slack off their shifts, they’re happy enough for the distraction. Foreman Trask is displeased by the interruption, but he is welcome to sit on it.

Names seem to be taboo here. I know all the workers’ names of course, because it’s on their file, but that really freaks them out and there’s no point in using them. Share anything of your backstory with your fellow shovelmen, anything that they can tie back to you, and that’s a power they now hold over you. It's like some kind of deep occult shit, but for fucking miners. Everyone gets a new name here, bestowed upon you by your peers. And you only get that so you can tell whose shovel you’re holding.

Met a greenie from Unit 9A named Theodore today. The others call him ‘Mouse’ which he seems to prefer. Whether it’s for his demeanor, his silky brown hair, or, I don’t know, maybe he just likes cheese, he won’t answer to anything else despite having only been here two months. I asked him and a few others what they knew about the late Captain from 4Q6. Common sentiment seems to be that he was mad as a balloon.

Yuk

DIGGING CORPS - LOG 113/- Had a dream about the swing mom never built us. The big tire swing that wasn’t in the apple orchard. I know you don’t remember it, because, well, it never existed, but I feel like I’ve mentioned it before. Anyway, in the dream, I was swinging in the orchard at night time. And the sky was so pitch black, because there weren’t any stars at all. Just a void. Like, the dream was set after the sun had just died, and there was nothing left. Or maybe it wasn’t night. Maybe the orchard was inside a cave. It doesn’t matter. So, the swing was just a regular car tire, but then as I swung higher, I looked down and it was suddenly bigger. Stretching out to the size of a tractor tire. Or something off a monster truck. Then, I swung higher, and the tire grew again, too big for any actual vehicle, and now I could easily fit inside the trough of the tire itself and lie in it like a big hammock. But I couldn’t do that, because the trough was full of apples. Hundreds of these squishy brown apples in various states of decay. And the apples were growing too. Larger and larger, bustling and toppling over each other until they were the size of bowling balls, and then beach balls, and I was sort of half-drowning, half-swimming in these apples. And then I realized. They weren’t growing. I was shrinking. So, I climbed inside of an apple where the pip should be, because I knew deep down that was the logical place to go to die, and then I woke up. I’m pretty sure I know what it means, even if you don’t.

Yuk

DIGGING CORPS – LOG 115/- Random insights gleaned from Unit 9 Review a.k.a. ‘Operation: Peanut Gallery’:

Shovelman ‘Wiles’ - Appears to be the closest thing Sector 9 has to a medic. At least, he says he knows how to saw a man’s leg off without killing him, which is good enough here apparently. I didn’t ask for specifics. There is a constant film of dust covering his glasses, which he seems unaware of.

Shovelman ‘Twoshort’- Tried to convince me it’s common practice for the men to eat handfuls of dirt as a snack, given it’s more nutritious than whatever they were being served in the mess hall. I offered to immediately lodge a formal complaint with Captain Spiegel and the Food Prep team on his behalf, and he backpedaled comically fast, and then tripped on his way out because his foot was asleep.

Shovelman ‘Basher’ – Built like a shuttle truck and functionally deaf after an incident with a stick of dynamite last year. Uses a form of abridged sign language that he and a few others in his unit invented specifically for him. Extremely introverted at first until Wiles came to interpret for me, then he wouldn't shut up.

Shovelman ‘Blessed’ - Recently discovered an injured bat, which he has taken it upon himself to nurse back to health against NCD regulation 58N. He also appears to be deathly allergic to said bat, as his face and hands had swollen incredibly within minutes of handling the thing. A persistent sneezing has overtaken him, but apparently that’s normal and unrelated to the bat. Also allergic to dirt?

Regardless, get me the fuck out of here. Yuk

#digging corps #Third Quadrant 6 #unreality

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katnissmellarkkk · 3 years ago

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A small drabble about from Peeta's perspective if he'd been the one rescued and Katniss in the Capitol?

You asked for a small drabble and I wrote a long long reverse situation oneshot 😭😭😭😭. Well anyways I hope you don’t mind.

Warning : this is in Peeta’s point of view and I’m still new to writing anything in his perspective so. Be gentle please. 🤗🥺.

Okay I hope anyone who reads really does genuinely enjoy it and has a good time. Thank you for all the support you’ve blessed me with. Thank you so much. ♥️♥️♥️♥️

Summary : Peeta was rescued instead of Katniss and is in Thirteen with Gale and co. when Katniss’ interview with Caesar comes on television.

The stew feels overly slimy in my mouth during lunch, even more so than in the weeks previous. I can’t tell if my tastebuds are being affected by the crappy morning I’ve had or if the lunch crew screwed up the batch yet again but one way or another, my appetite dies by the time I’ve swallowed spoonful number four.

“Here,” Gale gruffs, shoving his glass of murky water in my direction.

I eye it suspiciously though, before raising an eyebrow at him. “Did you already drink out of it?”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone roll their eyes harder in my life. Besides Katniss, of course. Besides the girl with the braid who rolled her eyes at me in her sleep and sometimes scowled the moment she woke up.

Thinking about her only makes it hurt worse. Thinking of her pretty face as she slept and her upturned eyes that never looked as intimidating as she believed and her self-conscious laughter that filled the small moments when we didn’t have to play pretend for a nearby camera, only serves in further suppressing my appetite.

I try to hold onto the image of her, on-screen, sitting opposite Caesar Flickerman, looking entirely bored out of her mind and absolutely furious and completely healthy.

That image is all I have right now to keep me going. That image represents just about the last shred of sanity I still have left inside, after two hunger games, a lost limb, the destruction of my home, the death of my entire family in one fell swoop and a now raging war.

She’s okay, I chant to myself silently. She’s unharmed and she’ll stay that way until we can rescue her out of the Capitol in time.

I have no immediate idea of when that’s happening. No guarantees that it even ever will. But I can’t bear to let myself consider — even in the privacy of my mind, even just to myself and no one else — any alternative outcome.

She has to be alright. There’s no other option.

Gale fixes me now with an irate glare before murmuring, “you think we’re close enough to share germs now, Mellark?”

But wit has always been my native tongue and with no family here in Thirteen and no one in the world besides Delly and Finnick — I will not so much as speak to Haymitch, even if my life depends on it — to really be myself around, there’s little self-control left inside me. “So I take it you didn’t like the friendship bracelet I made you.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he immediately shoots back, shoveling his bowl of stew into his mouth while still speaking. “I’m wearing it right now as an anklet.”

“I can’t wait for you give me mine.” After an entire childhood sharing a single room with two obnoxious brothers I don’t miss a beat before replying either.

“I’ll drop it by your door tonight.”

“I’ll be waiting on baited breath-“

“Okay!” Delly exclaims from her spot on my other side, looking unusually aggravated by our exchange. “Can you two just stop for one single meal?”

The entire table falls silent then. Finnick shoots me a small smirk, indicating he was enjoying the entertainment our exchange provided. Haymitch on the other end of the table, as far from me as he can get, even chuckles lifelessly.

His black eye, bruised ribs and broken nose though make such an action rather difficult. And it’s cruel, it’s uncharacteristic, it’s something downright reminiscent of my mother, but I can’t stop myself from feeling a hint of satisfaction at his discomfort.

And after the way he betrayed me and Katniss with lies about the rebellion, after those same lies left me and her in the dark and ultimately resulted in her capture by Snow, I am satisfied that he’s in pain. I’m even more satisfied that I’m the only who put him in pain, on the hovercraft. Evidently I’m a whole lot stronger than my mentor ever gave me credit for. And, when properly motivated, a lot more violent.

I am, after all, my mother’s son.

I must not be as subtle as I think because Gale effortlessly follows my line of thinking. He raises his brows in a dismissive gesture towards Haymitch, as if saying you deserve it, before pushing his water glass back in my vicinity again.

“Drink this while you eat the stew, Mellark,” he says in a flat voice. “It helps wash down the slime.”

“Thanks but I’m not hungry.” I wave off the suggestion, preparing to stand from the table and head towards my scheduled District Thirteen class. The stamp on my arm tells me it’s supposed to begin twenty minutes from now.

“If you don’t eat, you won’t get stronger. No matter how hard you train,” Gale states, his voice rather matter-of-fact. I almost want to argue his point, just to rile him up. I suppose after a lifetime as the youngest sibling and never being allowed to stir the pot without receiving harsh consequences, being a pest is ingrained deep inside the core of my being. Being the youngest must vexatious a core personality trait.

But then again, are you even still a sibling if both your brothers are dead and burned to ash? There’s a word for when you lose both your parents — orphan — but no one ever invented the word for losing your siblings. As if such a reality wasn’t plausible. As if no one ever lost their siblings.

The thought of my brothers immediately sobers me and I accept Gale’s offer willingly this time, gulping the water down in under three seconds.

“That’s not how he told you to drink it,” Posy Hawthorne, Gale’s baby sister says, her eyes growing big with worry. She glances at my bowl of stew, sitting before me, still nearly untouched. Her tiny dark eyebrows knit together as she imagines me going hungry without the ability to wash the bowl down with water now.

And she looks so much like Katniss did when we were kids that it’s almost painful to meet her frightened face. But I force myself to. I force myself to look at her with the calmest expression I can mange.

Because she’s still just a little girl, who doesn’t deserve any of the hardships life has already managed to throw at her.

“Don’t worry, Posy,” I say with a perfect false assurance in my tone. I scoop up a large glob of stew and shovel it into my mouth, just like her big brother did. “I’ll finish my lunch just fine without it.”

“He’s a big boy, Posy. Peeta can feed himself,” Finnick says, giving her a playful, genuine smile, eliciting her tiny laugh.

Gale shoots me a look from across the table but for once it’s a look of gratitude. I’m not surprised. Just like Katniss, his little sister is his soft spot.

Delly starts telling Posy that she likes her hair, that her mother, Mrs. Hawthorne, did it especially nice today. I’m about to join in and compliment her as well when the television screen that resides above the cafeteria tables suddenly flickers to life.

And Katniss’ face fills the screen without warning.

My first reaction is to stare in surprise at the image in front of me, of the beautiful girl who overtakes my thoughts day and night, of the person who President Coin is so desperate to turn into a martyr for her cause.

But after the initial shock of seeing her on-screen wears off, horror overtakes every part of me that’s still able to feel.

Katniss doesn’t look like the girl I saw on the television no more than a handful of days ago. How many has it been now? Five? Six? The number of days separating the two broadcasts don’t make sense. It’s not possible the Katniss on screen is the same Katniss who appeared unharmed and disinterested only a few short days ago.

Her face is inarguably thinner, her eyes look gaunt and unnaturally wide open now and her shoulders have a hunch to them that I’ve never seen before. She’s lost at least fifteen pounds, developed a severe tremor in her hands and is covered in thick makeup, a shade too pale for her olive skin.

I can’t even form words. Staring at her forces my throat to close up in the most pitiful way possible. Not even as a child, when my mother used to berate me until I cried, when she lost her temper and would smack me with a breadboard, when my father drank himself into a stupor, did I feel quite like this.

Staring up at Katniss now feels like my heart is being ripped to shreds, right on sight.

And then she starts speaking.

I can barely understand her. Her typical melodic tone is hoarse and muted and raw. I doubt anyone in this room really understands the first few minutes of her interview. She’s mumbling and shaking and biting her lip until it looks like it’s about to crack open and bleed.

“She…” Finnick starts before hesitating. No one prompts him, too focused on the girl before us, the girl who once set the nation on fire — me included — but now looks as if she were burned by her own embers. But Finnick still finishes his thought, even without being cued. “She looks small. Young and small.”

It’s Haymitch who replies first, surprisingly enough. “She is young and small.” I can see, burning within his gray eyes, that he’s filled with regret for not better protecting the girl he just claimed was young and small.

But I’m still angry with him. I’m still so uncontrollably angry, to the point that I feel unhinged just by thinking again about what he did to us. So I don’t care if he’s dying of remorse. I don’t care if Haymitch chokes on his own guilt. I’ve washed my hands of him.

Katniss clears her throat, abruptly sitting up as tall as she can make herself appear before opening her mouth and staring right into the camera lense.

“Peeta doesn’t know what he’s doing,” she asserts but she was never an actress, as hard as she may have tried, and I can see the truth behind the sentiment just by looking into her glassy eyes.

“And what about the way the rebels are using you as their symbol?” Caesar asks, his usual vigor evaporated from the interview. He appears to be enjoying this interaction as much as she is right now.

“They’re using me. Obviously,” she says, too quickly to be convincing. Her voice waivers again as she adds more. “They’re trying to… to whip up the rebels. Neither me nor Peeta have any idea what the rebels are up to.”

“Does Peeta know what’s at stake?” Caesar quietly prompts after a beat of silence, as if Katniss forgot one of her lines.

“No!” Her voice raises in volume but it cracks. On the one syllable word she manages to utter, her voice cracks. “Peeta doesn’t know anything about the rebels or what they could do. I mean,”she stumbles again and corrects herself erratically. “He doesn’t know what damage they could do to the country.”

“And is there anything else you wish to tell Peeta while on the air?” Caesar asks evenly, nodding like he’s giving her a hint.

She takes a deep breath and nods, still staring right into the camera. She’s still so beautiful, I think to myself, feeling as paralyzed as she appears at the moment. I want more than anything to rescue her from Snow, even if I die in the process. I want more than anything to go back to that last night in the Quarter Quell and never let anyone separate us, never let Beetee and Finnick and Johanna pressure us into splitting up.

I’d do anything to take those last few minutes back. Reverse our positions and put me in the line of fire in the Capitol. Let me take her place, no matter the cost.

Katniss opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out. There’s a long pause, where whoever is operating the camera waits for her to recite her spiel. When she fails to do so, Caesar begins to redirect the interview back towards him speaking and her merely nodding.

But Katniss is nothing if not a fighter and however terrified and choked up she may be, she doesn’t let it stifle her entirely from what she’s determined to say.

“Peeta, don’t trust President Coin or the rebels. You can’t!” She urges, lurching forward so that she’s right up on the camera, giving herself an involuntary close-up.

Her bright gray eyes still shine so bright, like stars in the sky. Even sparkling with tears.

“Do not trust anyone, Peeta! Just get my family and run! Listen to me! Coin cannot be trusted! Coin is just as bad as Snow-“

As soon as the words slip out of her mouth, the screen goes instantly black. The seal of Panem flashes across the screen. And then an eruption occurs within the room.

But I’m not here. I’m not here, mentally speaking, inside this cafeteria.

I can’t listen to any of the commotion unfolding before me. My body isn’t even within my control in this moment. I hurriedly stand from the table, in a trance that I couldn’t snap out of even if I wanted to. And I don’t. I don’t want to feel anything. I don’t want to hear anything. I don’t even want to think.

My legs propel me forward, out the doors to the hall and down the corridor. I don’t know where I’m headed and, frankly, I really don’t care.

Because I already know how this will play out. Coin has the option of either claiming Katniss is a traitor to the rebels or she’s a captive girl who is saying what she needs to survive.

And I can already guess which alternative she’ll choose.

I don’t know how far I make it before Gale catches up to me. I’m almost to mine and Finnick’s quarters before he grips my shoulder with a forceful hand.

He of all people should know better than to grab someone who fought in two hunger games like that. Before I can reason with myself, my body instinctively swings around and aims a jab at his left cheek.

Luckily he ducks just in time.

“Good reflexes,” I retort in a sarcastic tone, not in any mood to fake pleasantries towards Katniss’ best friend.

But Gale is, as per usual, all business. “Mellark, we have to get to class. Okay, we need to focus and train now more than ever.”

I shoot him an extremely dirty look. “Training isn’t going to save Katniss from whatever Snow’s doing to her at this very minute.” The images flashing behind my lids every time I close my eyes is enough to make me sick.

But it would seem Gale is already prepared for my dismissive response, as if he predicted it already. Which is odd, considering how little time we try to spend alone together. “You said yourself days ago that the more we train, the harder we work, the closer we are to getting Katniss back.”

“Hawthorne, she was fine days ago. She was unharmed.”

“And now she just made herself an enemy to both sides of the war. She just stuck a target on her own back.”

“Why do you think I had to escape?”

“Peeta,” he finally addresses me by first name. But it doesn’t have the desired effect over me. My brain is still swirling with images of Katniss being beaten, tortured and killed in insane and unusual ways. Going to a class to learn about assembling beginner bombs and then running five miles around an indoor track just doesn’t sound productive to me anymore. “We need to get ready. She doesn’t have much time left,” Gale says.

He’s referring to the mission we’ve only spoken about a small number of times. The mission to extract Katniss, no matter the cost, if it looks like Snow is about to kill her.

Of course, we have to consult Coin and Boggs and all the other high ranking soldiers on the president’s payroll before we even have a chance of attempting the rescue mission. But the first priority is to learn all we can in as short amount of time we can possibly manage.

It’s not a terrible plan at all. It’s downright logical, strategic, simple and it results in Katniss’ escape from Snow.

I of all people should think it’s good though. Considering I’m the one who came up with it.

But the image of Katniss on Caesar’s talkshow is still burned inside my mind and I don’t think I can focus on anything else quite yet.

“Just go train by yourself,” I snap when Gale begins pressuring me again.

“You need to be there too,” he barks, having lost all sensibility now, just like me.

“Oh, I think class will proceed just fine without me today.”

“Not in training, you idiot. I’m saying on the rescue. You need to be there.” There’s a glint in his eyes now that looks outright furious. It takes me half a second to realize he’s furious that I’m making him admit this.

“I need to be there?” I repeat, my voice no kinder than his now.

“Yes.” There’s a long, awkward pause as he carefully contemplates his next words. “Mellark, she needs you. Alright, you need to keep working here so you can go on the mission and get her. Katniss needs you.”

“Nobody really needs me.”

“I do. I need you.”

“Katnis needs you,” he repeats again, sounding no happier about it than before. “She needs you and that means you have to be ready to go-“

“Okay,” I cut off, my voice shockingly collected. “Okay. I’ll go to training. I’ll learn as much as I can.”

There’s a long, pregnant pause before we start moving. Neither of us are enthralled to be together but we both know the other is necessary to our overall goal.

Because Katniss needs her family. And Gale is a part of that, now and forever.

And she needs me. She said so herself on the beach. She needs me.

I take a deep breath and use that admission as my motivate to keep going. My motivate to keep working until I can find a way to Snow’s mansion, until I can find a way to break her out of there, until I can find a way to get her here in District Thirteen safely.

I just hope that when I do find her, she’s still alive.

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king-finnigan · 4 years ago

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Witchers don’t get affected by poisons like humans do

They don’t get affected At All, as a matter of fact.

So they start using it as spices in their food cause poison is a lot cheaper to get than actual spices. (there’s a social commentary about the state of the Continent in there somewhere, I can feel it.)

They love the Flavours, though.

Hmmmmm. Tasty Arsenic-Laced Dinner.

Geralt’s favourite is Cyanide.

Eskel really likes Wolfsbane.

Vesemir is impartial to any poison, but prefers Belladonna.

Lambert loves any and all poisonous mushrooms. No particular reason.

(yes particular reason. he likes getting high)

When Ciri arrives at Kaer Morhen, she nearly eats the poison dinner, but Vesemir, the only Kaer Moron with braincells (the Kaer Not-So-Moron, if you will) slaps the fork out of her hand.

“CIRI DON’T EAT THAT IT WILL KILL YOU” Lambert, who cooked dinner that night: Rude.

All the Kaer Morons get a thorough wooden-spoon-beating afterwards.

The same thing happens with Jaskier, except when Vesemir tries to slap the fork out of his hand, he just turns away and shovels it all into his mouth.

He Doesn’t Die.

What The Fuck.jpg

When they ask him about it he just winks and says “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

After watching him eat straight-up poison for dinner for a few weeks, they ask again, though. Each time he has a different answer.

“I’m a Siren.” “The Fae won’t let me die.” “I’m a spy and I’ve made myself immune to every poison in existence.” “I just look at Death and say No.”

The Kaer Morons can tell if someone’s lying. Either Jaskier’s speaking the truth every time or he’s very very good at lying.

They never ask again.

They’re all terrified of Jaskier now.

Geralt: jokes on you that’s the thing that turns me on.

Sometimes an idiot noble will try to poison a Witcher and every time they’re just like “Ahhhh, tastes just like home,” and eat like four plates worth of food.

“I have tried to kill the Witcher.” “You’ve wasted some perfectly good poison, is what you did. Look at him. He wants even more.”

After a few decades, nobles learn to stop trying.

The Witchers get sad cause suddenly banquets taste very bland to them :(

Noble who doesn’t feel like killing Witchers, watching Jaskier sprinkle a powder into Geralt’s dinner: Let me see what you have

Jaskier, already carrying the plate to Geralt: Arsenic :D

Noble: NO!!!!!

Guard: Oh my gods why does he have Arsenic

And yes, Jaskier lovingly starts carrying a plethora of poisons around for Geralt at all times.

People quickly learn not to steal a Witcher’s food. So that’s a plus.

Yennefer sees this whole ordeal and sees a business opportunity.

She invents some Fancy New Poisons That Taste Very Good and starts selling them to all the Witcher schools. (The Wolf school gets a 50% discount. But only because Ciri would get upset otherwise.)

#Capitalism™

Merchant (not Yennefer), watching a Witcher buy his entire stock of poison: *quietly* what the fuck. what the fuck.

Witcher: oh, don’t worry, I’m not gonna use it to kill someone. I’m gonna eat it.

Merchant (still not Yennefer): what the fuck?????

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #cirilla of cintra #lambert #eskel #vesemir #the gang's all here #kaer morons #the witcher headcanons #crack #the king speaks #this used to be part of a larger headcanon compilation #but it deserved its own post

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sl-ut · 3 years ago

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brutal

CHAPTER FOUR

pairing: glenn rhee x reader, oc!alexander x reader (siblings), various x reader

description: jim can't stop digging, and he can't remember why until it's too late

warnings: graphic violence, death, swearing

words: 2.5K

date posted: 28/02/22

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Beyond the treeline, the group came upon Jim as he drove a spade into the dirt of the open field repeatedly, creating deep holes in the earth. Y/n watched him with furrowed brows as he ignored Shane's pleading for him to stop, or at the very least, take a break from his position in the direct sunlight. Next to her, Amy clutched at her arm as she watched the man work himself into a heavy sweat.

"Just give me a second here, please."

"What do you want?" Jim finally paused his labour, breathing heavily as he held eye contact with the Deputy in front of him.

"We're just concerned, that's all."

"Dale says you've been out here for hours." Morales called out from behind Shane.

"So?"

"So why are you digging? You headed to China, Jim?"

Under normal circumstances, Y/n may have snorted at the comment, though she had found herself becoming less susceptible to the effects of humour. She couldn't exactly decipher if it was due to the situation in general, or perhaps it was due to worry for her brother as he went off in search of Merle Dixon.

"What does it matter? I'm not hurting anyone."

"Yeah, except maybe yourself. It's a hundred degrees out here, you can't keep this up."

"Sure I can. Watch me."

"Jim, they're not gonna say it so I will. You're scaring people. You're scaring my son and Carol's daughter." Lori stepped forward.

"They got nothing to be scared of. I mean, what the hell, people? I'm out here by myself. Why don't you all just go and leave me the hell alone?"

"We think that you need to take a break, okay? Why don't you go and get yourself in the shade? Some food maybe. I'll tell you what... maybe in a little bit I'll come out here and help you myself. Jim, just tell me what it's about. Why don't you just go ahead and give me that shovel?" Shane negotiated.

"Or what?" Jim challenged.

"There is no 'or what'. I'm asking you. I'm coming to you and I'm asking you, please. I don't wanna have to take it from you."

"And if I don't, then what? Then you're gonna beat my face in like Ed Peletier, aren't you? Y'all seen his face, huh? What's left of it. See, now that's what happens when someone crosses you."

Carol visibly stiffened from her place next to Y/n. The teenager placed a meek hand on the woman's arm in comfort as she hugged her daughter to her chest.

"You weren't there," Amy defended Shane, "Ed was out of control, he was hurting his wife."

"That is their marriage," He roared, rage flooding his veins, "Not his, he is not judge and jury. Who voted you king boss, huh?"

"Jim, just give me the shovel. I'm not here to argue with you."

In a scuffle, Shane snatched the shovel and began to wrestle it from the man. Once it was out of Jim's grasp, Shane tossed it to the ground and forced Jim into the dirt, confining his movements.

"You got no right!" Jim chanted like a prayer, though he was visibly relaxing in Shane's grip, losing his fight by the second.

"Jim, Jim," Shane soothed, "Nobody's gonna hurt you. You hear me?"

Jim sobbed loudly at Shane's words, "That's a lie. That's the biggest lie there is. I told that to my wife and my two boys. I said it 100 times. It didn't matter. They came out of nowhere. There were dozens of 'em. Just pulled 'em right out of my hands.

Y/n closed her eyes at his choked words, reminded of the fact that others had not come out of the apocalypse quite as fortunate as her. Sure, her mom was in a different country, but there still stood a chance that she was still alive, and she had her brother to protect her in a world where she had no idea how to protect herself.

"You know, the only reason I got away was 'cause the dead were too busy eating my family."

***

The search and rescue party had been gone longer than anticipated. After dealing with Jim’s intense side effects of sunstroke, the camp had gone back to a relative sense of normal. Or as normal as they could be while they anxiously awaited the return of their fellow survivors. The longer they waited, the more unsettled that Y/n was rapidly becoming.

The day had come to a close, and the group was left to prepare themselves for nighttime. The bass that Andrea and Amy had managed to catch was roasted over the fire and served with a side of mushrooms. Y/n’s plate was empty within minutes of it being filled. It had been the biggest meal she had eaten in days, not to mention the tastiest. She had never been a very big fan of fish nor mushrooms, in fact they would never normally be a part of her diet, but she would consider anything to be better than a lukewarm can of kidney beans. She smirked, picturing how annoyed Alex would be that he was missing such a treat.

Despite the few who were missing and the drama that had ensued over the past two days, the remainder of the group seemed to be in fairly good morale. They swapped stories and jokes over the fire, retelling their lives before they had all come together under these… unprecedented circumstances. Y/n watched on quietly, occasionally laughing along when someone made a particularly funny comment.

“I’ve got to ask you something, man,” Morales chuckled, “It’s been driving me crazy.”

“What?” Dale tilted his head.

“That watch.”

“What’s wrong with my watch?”

“I see you every day, the same time, winding that thing like a village priest saying mass.”

“I’ve wondered this myself.” Jacqui mused.

“I’m missing the point.”

“Unless I’ve misread the signs, the world seems to have come to an end. Or at least hit a speed bump for a good, long while.” Jacqui explained.

“But there’s you, everyday, winding that stupid watch.” Morales finished.

“Time… it's important to keep track, isn't it? The days at least. Don't you think, Andrea? Back me up here.” Dale glanced at the blonde woman, who only shrugged to prompt him to continue, “I like… I like what, um, a father said to son when he gave him a watch that had been handed down through generations. He said, ‘I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire, which will fit your individual needs no better than it did mine or my father's before me; I give it to you not that you may remember time, but that you may forget it for a moment now and then and not spend all of your breath trying to conquer it’.”

Y/n shared a look with Amy across the fire as silence overcame the congregation that had gathered around the bonfire, only broken by the crackling of the logs and Amy as she scoffed a laugh.

“You are so weird.”

The others broke into laughter, each sending a comforting smile Dale’s way as he leaned further into his lawn chair and threw his hands up in surrender. If it weren’t for the small smile that grew on his own face, Y/n may have mistaken his reaction for blatant annoyance, but Dale had certainly taken quite a liking to the Harrison sisters.

“Hey, where are you going?” Andrea turned to catch her younger sister as she stood and moved towards the RV.

Amy glared down at her with wide eyes, “I have to pee. Geez, you try to be discreet around here.”

“Oh,” Y/n set her plate on the ground in front of the firepit as she stood from her own seat, “I have to go too.”

Amy nodded, slowing her pace to wait for the younger girl to catch up. She glanced over her shoulder as they approached the camper, bumping her shoulder into Y/n’s with a smirk as they grew further away.

“So?”

Y/n furrowed her brows, “So, what?”

Amy groaned as she held the door open for Y/n, “So, how’s Glenn?”

Y/n sighed, “Do you ever get tired of talking about that?”

“Hmm, no, not really.” Amy shrugged, “Hey, the world ended. I’ll take whatever kind of drama I can get.”

“I wouldn’t call it drama.”

“So there is an ‘it’.” Amy pressed. “I knew it. You were both acting weird this morning before he left. So are you going to tell me, or do I have to torture it out of you?”

Y/n snorted, pulling out her best Russian accent, “I’ll never talk.”

Amy giggled, pushing Y/n’s shoulder as she sat at the table, motioning for Y/n to use the bathroom first, though she did not relent on the interrogation now that Y/n could not escape her questions. Y/n cursed herself for allowing Amy to trap her in the small bathroom.

“Did he profess his love for you?”

“No.”

“Did you profess your love for him?”

“I don’t love him, Amy.”

“Did you hook up?”

“Amy.”

“Sorry, sorry,” She laughed, feigning innocence, “So you just made out, then?”

Y/n’s lips parted, silent for only a moment before Amy’s shriek broke through the door.

“Oh my God, you made out with Glenn?”

Y/n forced the door open, an icy glare in her eyes as she stalked towards the older girl, “No, I did not make out with Glenn. We just, you know, kissed.”

Amy grinned widely at her, “I knew you two would get together. In a world of zombies, you two are definitely endgame. This is all just like a movie or something.”

The teenager shrugged, hugging herself tightly, “Amy, it was just a kiss. And I’m not even sure if I liked it that much, you know? I mean, he’s the only guy close to my age around here, what if I’m only feeling this way because he’s just there?”

“I mean, it’s definitely possible,” Amy pursed her lips, “Or, maybe you should just go for it? Realistically, we could all be dead by morning, so what’s the point in just beating around the bush?”

Amy stood to strut past Y/n, but halted in the doorway of the bathroom before turning back with a wild fury in her eyes, “You used all of the toilet paper?”

Y/n laughed as she shrugged, amazed at how quickly her emotions had shifted, “There was only one piece left!”

Amy scoffed as she moved to the door of the RV, “Yeah, real nice. I play therapist and you can’t even repay me by leaving the last bit of toilet paper for me?” She pushed the door open, calling to the others at the campfire, “We’re out of toilet paper?”

Y/n watched in slow motion at a dark claw grasped at Amy’s arm, a look of surprise crossing her features before a scream of terror ripped through her as the walker sunk it’s teeth into her arm.

Those who were still sitting at the campfire leapt into action, children being guarded by their parents as the few who were armed began taking out the walkers as they approached, but like a hydra, two more took the place of each fallen geek.

For a moment, Y/n considered closing the door of the RV. She was unfit to defend herself, let alone anyone else, and would be completely protected from the walkers. Then, she thought of the others, how they would be killed, and that if she had secluded herself, she would still die in a matter of days from hunger. Instead, she snatched the largest screwdriver from Dale’s toolbox and lunged forward, plunging it through the temple of the zombie that had continued attacking Amy with a loud cry, though she was unable to protect her from the second walker that snuck up behind her before it took a large chunk out of her neck.

Andrea was at her sister’s side in a moment, killing the walker and helping her to lay in the dirt as she sobbed, screaming for her sister to get up and keep going.

She had managed to take out another handful of walking corpses before her choice of weapon finally failed her. The tool became caught in the skull of one walker, leaving her defenceless against the others who were quickly advancing on her. Y/n tugged on the handle of the screwdriver with the entirety of her strength, closing her eyes as she began to accept her fate; The sinking of their rotting teeth into her flesh, the roughness of their decaying skin scratching against her own as they clawed her apart. But it never came.

One by one, the walkers who had surrounded her began dropping to the earth, round bullet holes marking their foreheads as black blood and chunks of brain and flesh began splattering onto her face. Glancing up, her eyes met those of Glenn, who ran to her side as soon as the dead assailants had fallen.

“Are you okay?” He asked, “You’re not bit?”

She stared down at the corpses at her feet before looking back up at him with red-rimmed eyes, voice caught in her throat, “No, I don’t think so.”

Y/n peeked over to where Andrea continued to kneel over her sister’s body, wailing as the final few walkers were killed. She whimpered as she eyed the large puddle of blood that had formed on the ground around her body. Glenn gulped as he followed her line of vision, quickly pulling her into his embrace to protect her from looking at it any longer.

“Amy,” She whispered quietly, tears beginning to dribble down her cheeks to stain his t-shirt as sobs began to wrack her body.

“I know,” His voice cracked as he cradled the back of her neck gently, pressing her face into his shoulder.

“Y/n!” Alex sprinted towards the pair, tearing his sister away from Glenn and into his own hold. “Oh my God, you’re okay.”

Y/n leaned further into her brother’s chest, muffling her increasingly loud sobs. In the mess of events that had occured in the past few minutes, her concern about the wellbeing of her brother had all but left her mind, which only upset her even further.

The safety that they had created for themselves had collapsed. Their camp was no longer safe, and over half of those who had once been survivors had been killed. Unsure of how to go on from there, the remainder of the campers wept quietly as they listened to the eerie, harrowing wails of Andrea Harrison.

#twd #female reader #reader insert #x reader #imagines #the walking dead daryl #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead imagines #the walking dead x reader #glenn rhee #maggie greene #glenn rhee x reader #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon

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bluejayboi · 2 years ago

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Ghost of the Past

This is my first post on this site. I hope you all enjoy :)

I never thought I’d feel this much dread at the mere notion of falling asleep. I did, as a child, feel a bit wary of my room at night but that was nothing compared to this. Back then, my imagination would play tricks on me, convincing me that the shadows of my lamp were actually a figure standing at the foot of my bed or some monstrous creature crawling across the floor. But back then, I could simply turn on the light and chase away the monsters. I never had to worry about my dreams returning me to that place. To that sloppily marked grave hidden among the trees in that dark forest. I would never have to worry about waking up in the middle of the night completely paralyzed and seeing him, lurking in the shadows. Creeping closer and closer; terribly, painfully slow, until he was right next to my bed. I can still remember the smell. That terrible, putrid smell that reeked of death! He would lean in close, close enough for me to see that sickeningly wide grin on his rotting face, and whisper in my ear; “Remember”. He would always tell me to remember. Remember what I did that night. Remember what I did to him. Then he disappears, fading out of existence as if he was never even there in the first place. All that remains from his visit being his rancid stench and the buzz of flies that once circled his foul head. I can never seem to remember what he wants me to. All I seem to remember are those terrible dreams. Of being trapped in a battered and broken coffin that rests snugly in a hole, too deep for me to climb out of. Listening as each shovelful of soil thuds against the disintegrating wood, adding to the ever growing mound. No matter how hard I tried to scream, to alert someone to my plight and escape my grotesque prison, I couldn’t. I was forced to sit and wait, in terror, as I was slowly buried alive. I tried clawing my way out and beating the wood with my fists but I only succeeded in bloodying my knuckles, tearing my nails, and skewering myself with splinters. As each mound of dirt was piled on, the air grew thinner and thinner. Each breath was harder than the last. I’d gasp desperately for air, like a fish out of water, as my lungs burned as if they had been set ablaze. Just as I felt I might finally pass (whether away completely or simply into the realm of unconsciousness I never can tell) I’d awaken in my bed, short of breath and gasping for air. There was another though. I was walking through a forest, one that looked strikingly similar to the woods just past the gate surrounding my yard. As I walked further, the forest seemed to gradually shift. The trees grew more gnarled and wild and the sky darkened until it gave the illusion of twilight. Plants withered, birds fell silent, and the rustling of any woodland creatures halted. The forest became utterly devoid of life. Despite this terrifying display I continued walking deeper into the belly of the beast. I couldn’t stop myself. I felt compelled to continue my march onward. Whether out of curiosity or the need for resolution, I could never tell. The forest grew ghastlier still as I reached a small clearing in the trees. Near the center of the clearing was what looked like a sloppy grave. I know I shouldn’t have. Something in my gut wrenched and roiled like a slithering serpent. But I had to approach. For some reason, this scene felt familiar. It’s not the sort of familiarity that you feel upon recognizing a site from a movie or show. No. I have been here before. I could feel my stomach tying itself into a knot as some unknown emotion slammed into my head. I felt horrible. Had I done something wrong? I couldn’t stop my hands from shaking as I stepped closer to the grave. The soil appeared as if it had just been shoveled in recently. The grave marker was made of two sticks sloppily tied together with a shoelace and stuck into the ground haphazardly. Something wriggles in the soil. It looked like a worm, albeit a large one. I notice as a second one comes up. Then a third. Then a fourth and a fifth. The more they wriggle around the more dirt falls off of them and the better I can see them. That’s when the realization hit me; these aren’t worms. They’re fingers! Rotting and slimy. Skin barely hanging on, exposing the patches of muscle and bone beneath. The fingers jolt towards me, revealing the hand they’re connected to. Before I even had a chance to react, I felt the hand grasp my ankle. With a force I never thought capable, the hand starts tugging me into the soil of the grave. No matter how hard I dig my nails and hands into the soil, in a desperate attempt to drag myself away from the grave, I can’t escape its grasp. Even when I wake, I’m still convinced that I can feel that thing grasping at my ankle! I would very much like to write these off as mere dreams but I can’t. Not when I awake covered in dirt, with splinters and blood peppering my fingers. Or purple bruises around my ankle in the exact place where the hand was. Or such an extreme shortness of breath that I feel like a near drowned man who has just barely escaped his watery grave. I can’t take this anymore! These dreams- These hallucinations are going to drive me mad! If they haven’t already. I need to know what is going on! Maybe then I will find an end to this torment! I’ll start in the forest. I always see it in my dreams. The source of all this must lie within that shadowy thicket! As I stand before the entrance of the forest, with the mighty trees towering far above me, I hear something. Among the rustling of the leaves and the chirping of the birds I hear a voice, breathy and barely audible, coaxing me in; “Come find…the truth … Come find…me …”

I start my trek into the forest. The farther I go, the louder the whispers get. The farther I go, the more I hear. Not sounds that would commonly be found in the forest. Not birds chirping, for that had stopped many moments ago. Not the rustling of leaves, for the wind had long since ceased. Other noises guided me forward. It started with merriment, with the clinking of bottles and two friends laughing. The laughter soon quieted before being replaced with angry mutters and yells. The sounds of a scuffle fill the forest as I start running, desperately, to the source of the noise. A deafening shatter can be heard permeating the forest before a deathly still silence grips me. For too long, the forest is gripped by an uncomfortable silence. This mirage of solitude is broken by soft whimpers, barely coherent apologies and pleas taking rise before falling back into the desperate murmurs. The faint sounds of something heavy being dragged across the forest floor lead me further down my path. I keep following even when the sound shifts from dragging to digging. I run, despite the ache in my legs and the burning sensation in my lungs. I run for what feels like hours before collapsing onto the soil. As I struggle to catch my breath and figure out where I am, I see something moving through the trees. I get up, on shaky legs, and follow it. It looks almost human. It looks like him. I keep following it even after it escapes my view. I keep stumbling in the direction I last saw it until I make it to a clearing, one which I recognize from my dreams. Everything is the same as it was from my dream except for the grave. It was empty. It seems that the same feelings from my dream are gripping me even here. Familiarity, fear, sadness, and what else? I walk closer to the grave, common sense forgotten after the deluge of foreign emotions hit me. What else am I feeling? Why don’t I know? Just as I stand at the base of the hole I hear a ghastly voice whisper in my ear; “Guilt, perhaps?”

I feel a ripple across my body as my hair stands on end. Goosebumps coat my skin in waves as I feel a clammy breath brush past my ear. I turn slowly, almost impossibly slow, and am met with a nauseating, horrifying visage. This creature that had been plaguing me all this time. Him. His flesh had long since started to rot and peel away. There were patches in the process of peeling off. I felt a wave of revolution rise in me as a chunk of its cheek sloughed off and made a soft “plat” as it hit the soil. Maggots and worms were crawling over, around, and through him. Flies buzzed around him and feasted on his flesh. Dried, nearly black blood decorated his head, hair, and clothes. Shards of glass could be seen poking out from his blood-clumped hair and across the side of his face. He was gaunt and pale, nearly skeletal, and his eyes looked like they were about to fall inwards upon themselves. The stench of death filled my nose as I gagged. I wanted to run but I was frozen in absolute terror. I heard a low, guttural groan as his raspy voice came out barely louder than a whisper; “Why did you…kill…me? … It hurt … I was…scared…alone… trapped…in my grave.” His scratchy voice slowly grew louder. His rotten face contorted into a look of rage. Flecks of spittle and a rotten tooth fly forth as he lets out a groaning yell “Be…cause of you! …You did this…to me! You…You…”

His glare seemed to take on a cruel sheen. His once gaunt frown contorting into an inhumanly wide grin as the skin of his cheeks give way to expose his rotting molars. “…will know…how it feels…”

He slumped forward towards me. I can’t move! I feel his gaunt, nearly skeletal hands grip onto my shoulders as he falls forward, pushing us both into the open grave. I can only watch in terror as his eyes finally roll back into his skull. His jaw unhinges like a snake, allowing for all manner of bugs and vermin to crawl forth from the depths of his throat. The sound of insects scuttling and crawling over us were only interrupted by one noise; The most blood-curdling, guttural scream that I’ve ever heard. If I was not so lost in my own fear I would have realized that the sound was emitted from my mouth. Insects crawled over me, weaseling their way into any crevice they could find; Tunneling down my nose, through my ears, into my throat. Soil intermingled with the tears pouring down my face, making miniscule muddy patches as soil started to enclose upon us both. The mix of soil and vermin eventually gagged and muted the remainder of the screams. Just before the light was blotted out by the encroaching darkness, I looked upon the face of the creature that sealed my fate; the horrifying Cheshire grin still forming trenches through his cheeks.

Two figures in police uniforms could be seen walking through the forest. “Someone reported hearin’ screams from ‘round here.” An exhausted looking officer mutters to their jittery partner between puffs of a cigarette “It was probably just an animal or some kids fooling around or somethin’ but the Boss wants us to check it out anyway. Why’d I ‘ave to get stuck on this job?” They release a perturbed sigh as their partner shakily points to a small clearing “What is it rookie?”.

“I thi- Think it’s a grave.” The fresh-from-the-academy officer stutters, looking to the senior officer for guidance.

The officer lets a small “hm” as they take in the scene that lays before them. “Seems like the soil is pretty fresh. We should probably get the forensics team to come check it out.”

A small “kssht” and the static of a walkie can be heard as instructions and orders are transmitted to a person on the other end. For a time they would remain blissfully unaware of just how close they were to the source of the disturbance they had been sent to investigate. Unaware of the horror that was buried mere feet below where they stand. Hidden beneath the soil, two bodies would eventually be found. One which had been left to rot for months, having clearly undergone countless stages of decomposition. What was left of their face seemed to be expressing a content, almost peaceful look. The other body was fresher. While still clearly dead, this body looked as if it had just found its way into the grave recently. A look of unadulterated terror plastered on its face for as long as the skin may hold.

#horror #short story #ghost stories

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