#cannon violence

[sapphicslaylist]

Loved and Loathed. Wonderful and Wretched. As the newfound comforts or home begin to settle in, a venomous creature begins to untether those roots.

Yet again posting a wonderful piece commissioned for On Borrowed Paths; this time by my good pal @justanumber! This covers a cute scene in the fifth chapter which covers the origins of Witch’s mithridatic nature.

(Both Witch & Damsel are teens in this AU! Just keep that in mind.)

[prokopetz]

I have several questions.

[hr-twink]

River + Spider || Little Acts of Violence by Ray Bull

[yes-im-gushing]

Competance

Din Djarin x reader

Rated: T for dirty talk

Din gets turned on when you help cover him in a shoot out.

No smut

----

There was still smoke in the air. Carbon stinging your nose. The skirmish had been fast and explosive. Narrowing down the enemies location and practically pounding down the front door.

The mandalorians had been marginally more stealthy than that but not by much. Something about having so many of them in the same place made them bolder. Din's usually careful demeanor thrown aside for the gunslinger you knew was hidden under his skin far sooner than expected.

They brought something out in each other. A kind of energy that reverberated across this isolated little battlefield. The ghost of what the mandalorians used to be.

Even between just Boba, Din and the Night owls. A group that held little kinship with each other, it was still magnetic.

You were lost in it. The movement of their bodies.

The enemies fell from windows and rooftops and from their feet to puddles of their own blood. Fell under fist and boot.

You couldn't help being pulled into it. Sitting back with your bow, pulling it back until your hand brushed your cheek, catching sight of an enemy raising a blaster towards Din and Boba and loosing an arrow between the two men. The spark of the plasma bolt shining purple as it streaked over Din's armor, throwing your target to the dirt beside another Din had dispatched only a minute before.

His arm raised again to point his blaster up to the ledge above and your eye followed as your arm pulled back in rhythm with his sighting the man kneeled there, ducking to avoid Din's aim. But from your position you had a clear sight and you released another bolt not bothering to wait and watch the body fall.

Eyes back on Din. You Watched the angle of his shoulders, trying to guess which way he'd swing his aim next. Watching the space over his head, the path in front of him. Another enemy appeared, they could have been anyone, they were tucked behind a pillar, unseen. Din was still dealing with the enemy in front of him and you didn't have the time to wait for the enemy to pop their head out. You aimed for the light glinting off their blaster and blew their hand right off.

Din's sight flew to the explosion moving to get the wounded enemy in his sights and blasting a hole through them, a spray or blue blood from the other side the only confirmation you'd needed.

It was over before you knew it, climbing down from your perch to join the others as they cleared the structure. The Nightowls crawling over the brick like sand beetles.

You hold your bow low but don't holster it. Not until the rest of the mandalorians are regrouping and discussing the next move. Din appears at your side a hand unexpectedly firm around your wrist.

There are still bodies and blood on the ground as he leads you away, the whole place reeking of a fight. You struggle not to pinch your nose closed against the smell, unsure why he's even acting like this.

"Din?" you question as you turn down an empty alley between the building and the garage.

You catch sight of his shoulders again, tense even under the armor. His stride faster than it was before.

"Where are we-?" You're cut off as he turns on you so suddenly, gripping your bow where it's strung over your shoulder and using it to drag you to him.

"You told me you could shoot a bow." his voice is accusatory, dark and heavy. "You didn't tell me you could shoot a man's hand off at thirty yards."

You try to laugh it off, the sound of it uncomfortable even to your own ears. "I don't make it a habit of bragging about my marksman skills to Mandalorians, Din be serious."

He is serious, you know it. The line of his shoulders, the ones you'd been observing so carefully before is curved into you now. All of his attention focused only on you.

"What will it take to make you brag?" he demands.

"I don't- understand the question." Where exactly is he going with this?"

"What will it take to make you brag? Taking my kill? Covering my ass? Disarming a man from a sniper's perch?" He shudders, a full bodied thing that runs from his body into yours.

Is this some kind of post battle killing fetish? Would you be a bad person if you decided you could be into that? Would you be a bad partner if you decided you weren't?

"Din, what are you trying to say?"

His hand gripped your bow harder worrying it as he kept you close. "You have skill you used to kill my enemies and avenge my people. If I had armed you sooner-"

Your brows furrow. "Hey, it's ok, plasma bows aren't easy to find. There's only like three systems in the galaxy that even make them, and on of them is Dathomiir. It took some time to find one."

He shakes his head, a breath crackling from the modulator in what sounds like a annoyed grunt. "If I had armed you sooner, I would have known, when we were alone, that you were so competent."

The way he says compentant sounds like an insult. He said it the way you'd heard men say slut. You have to not grimace. He sounds so serious, really digging for his words here. "I'm sorry? did you think I wasn't- uh- competent?"

Done with struggling for his words Din uses his grip on your bow to turn you around, suddenly your back was pressed to his chest, his armor and your bow between in you in a way that wasn't at all comfortable.

Still he crowds around you until your leaning against the wall. "If I had known, I could have fucked you somewhere that wasn't full of bodies and nosey mandalrians with heat vision."

His hands are on your hips now pulling you in until your ass was pressed to one of the few parts of his body that wasn't covered in armor, but it was hard all the same.

"I could pull your fucking pants down and fuck you right here. Make you cum on my cock. Reward you for every clean shot." There's another shudder that goes through both of your bodies.

"Want to smack my cock against that spot on your cheek where you pull your bow back."

It's filthy. Insidious in a way that you know is going to invade your thoughts every time you feel your hand brush against your cheek.

His hands tighten once more around your hips, not grinding you back against him, just holding you there. The pressure no doubt crushing his cock.

"Damn it." He hisses, fingers manually loosening one at a time. He pulls back from your body like your covered in a thick layer of glue, like its a physical struggle.

You could cry. "I- don't. Aren't we-?"

Din's breath crackles hard. "I'm not going to fuck you in a puddle of a strange blood." He hisses. More pissed with himself but it doesn't change the way it makes you shrink.

"But-"

"Come on. I want to finish this."

He won't walk away from you. Won't take more than three steps in any direction your not heading in. He'd glued to your side. Hard in every line of his body. Like he's turned to metal all over.

It's the gunslinger, you realize, watching the line of his arm stay pointed at your hip, always poised to grab, to drag you into him. A permanent target for him to orbit.

[shadowreader23]

Time Travel Barnes? (Part 1)

The soldier sputtered and coughed, gasping deeply and painfully and feeling his chest contract and expand. He felt cold from landing in the freezing, muddy water below and it only made him feel worse than he'd already felt.

He coughed again, trying to push himself onto his side so he could lift his heavy, tired body. He was hurt, aching and exhausted from the fight, now weaponless. Apparently, forcing them to fight against each other wasn't the only plan Zemo had. The little man had caught him when his guard had dropped for a fraction of a second and he was hit with something. A glowing rock or whatever. A stone with a shine to it. It was thrown at him and he was suddenly forced down to his knees, yelling and screaming around him and from him and he was being propelled through the air.

And from the looks of it, this wasn't the building he was just in. Instead, he was surrounded by trees and grass and muddy puddles. It was raining, a heavy downpour completely soaking him from head to boot. James coughed a few more times as he managed to get up into a crouch, his hair instantly plastered itself to his face and neck and obscuring his vision until he snapped his head around at the sound of gunfire. He was, thankfully, still crouched on his knees, so he wasn't seen. The sounds of battle weren't that far away, but it wasn't close either.

His first priority was to find out where he was and then he could leave and find his way back to Steve and the team. And... he also needed to find a thick jacket, for warmth and to cover his arm. He'd doubt that anyone would speak to him if they saw the weapon just hanging there like some everyday limb. It would frighten them and they’d turn him away or even run. And he didn’t want that.

James eyed the area, scrutinizing and scanning each and everything he saw. His guard was going to be above high now that he knew he could be surprised by a weaponless man. He’d rather not take any chances at this point. And it didn’t help the fact that he was thrown and was now lost in god knows where.

He was drawn back by the continuous sounds of guns and explosions, grabbing his attention and causing him to wince from an oncoming headache. Not a headache from the noise, but one from a forewarning of a memory, something that was trying to break through his mental wall. He’d had a few of war, especially from his, supposed, time as a Howling Commando. WWII had resurfaced a few times, but they hadn’t lasted long, only a few memories, images. Gunfire, explosions, men calling out the name ‘Serg, Barnes, Bucky, or even Jimmy’ when they needed his attention.

He almost jerked in surprise at the deafening boom landing about a mile away, shaking the ground beneath his feet and forcing him to drop his head in instinctual defence. He tried to calm his breathing in that position, his heartbeat having started racing at the sounds and yells in the background.

At least he now had an idea on which way he was going to go. And that was not in the directions of firing guns and detonating bombs and missiles. He’d rather head away from all of that if it were an option.

James glanced over his shoulder at the mass of trees and overgrowth before turning back and cautiously standing, keeping his senses sharp as he started walking away from where he’d heard the battle. He must’ve been near a war currently going on in another country. That didn’t bode too well for his chances of seeing the team soon and being able to get them out of the cell Steve had mentioned. Apparently Stark was a massive talker when drunk and that little info had slipped. A cell-base for the Avengers and anyone of the like.

He was visually scouting ahead and to his sides when he felt his nervous twitch pick up, a familiar feeling hitting his chest. It felt sadly odd to him, a familiar feeling that he shouldn’t be able to place. And yet, he could.

From what he could tell, from the close battle. He was near the front-lines of a war, something he knew and had felt before he’d been HYDRAs’ puppet. It gave him a sad feeling, a sad nostalgic tug at his heart and emotions. The wars he’d supposedly been in so many years ago.

And it may have been him, but he didn’t feel like it. He didn’t feel like that man after these last seventy years.

The Sergeant of the Howling Commandos, that led one of the best teams through the front-lines of war. It was simpler and easier than anything he’d been through already. He’d had memories, nightmares, images, but not many. They all brought him back to the 1940s’, where life seemed like it was at its worst. The depression, the loss, the constant war between them and the Nazi.

But it turned out that there were far worse things to go through… and he’d been through that already.

He sighed deeply while keeping an ear out on his 6, but he didn't hear much. Just the forestry and bulks of gunfire, explosions and yelling miles and miles away from him. Where the military men were fighting and trying to win for more than just their own sake and freedom.

James easily and gracefully vaulted over a low fence, landing quietly in another muddy puddle before continuing to walk in a random direction, hoping to get to a town as soon as possible. It wasn’t dark, not yet, but it was getting there. The sun was already obscured by mountains and trees, not by the ones he was walking through, but the ones further away, in the opposite direction to where he was going. He’d rather not run around in the dark because if he was to come across a camp, he may be mistaken for the enemy and either be shot or taken in for questioning, probably shot if they took in his dangerous appearance, excluding his arm.

If he couldn’t find a town by nightfall, then he’d have to find shelter before it got too dark and that was when patrol usually increased. It wasn't that he remembered this. It was common sense to someone that had been on constant missions with the STRIKE team and knew more than a lot about military tactics.

James let out a deep yelp as he stood on a strange loose piece of wet mud and grass, slipping and sliding on his ass and into a massive, human-sized hole.

And another military tactic… was foxholes…

“Son of a bitch,” he panted after getting over the initial stun of the trip. His heart had metaphorically leapt into his throat and he could feel his blood pumping from the minor surprise. He’d actually forgotten about these. He and the STRIKE team rarely used them when he was apart of HYDRA, and by ‘rarely’ he meant hardly ever. He was covered in more dirt and grime, looking himself over to see the extent and it was like he took a bath in mud.

He was still a little breathless as he slowly pushed himself to sit up, lifting his head high and taking in deep breathes to calm himself. It just made it easier for the rain to pour over his face, drenching even more than before, if it were possible.

The soldier let out another deep huff before managing to push himself to stand, mud and sopping wet dirt either dropping from him or sticking to his black, combat trousers. He was covered in it at this point, from his fall earlier and now. He could only see a few large patches of black and that was only because he wiped some of the dirt.

“This way? ” James instantly snapped to attention, catching the… German voices. German, was he in Europe? He frowned, quickly and swiftly climbed out of the hole with trained silence, moving quickly through the overgrowth until he was a good way away from the foxhole and hidden behind a thicket of trees. He needed to be fast, agile and noiseless now. If there were voices nearby, that may mean that there’s a small troop, half a platoon maybe. He couldn’t risk staying, either way.

So, he didn’t wait around. As soon as he started hearing footsteps, multiple of them, maybe three sets, he gradually took off in the other direction. He was basically doing an ‘L’ shape from where he started. But at least he wasn’t heading anywhere near the explosions and gunfire. The area he was currently in must’ve been a cleared area, or the battle hadn’t gotten this far yet.

He darted around trees and shrubbery, being as fast and efficient as he was in missions. He stayed low and out of sight and gradually started to jog through the forest, feeling confident enough that he was out of eye-line and hearing range.

James slowed when he seemed to come to a clearing, massive and open, with a wide, empty and wet mud covered road crossing a path in front of the forest-line. There was a cornfield on the other side, a large shed on the other side of that and there was a town just off from the farm-like scene. He didn’t have a jacket, so he’d rather not speak with anyone yet. Maybe he could ask the farm owner? Or steal one… He’d rather not, but if it meant he’d warmer and his arm would be covered, then it was a necessity.

The soldier crouched as he got closer to the tree-line, looking both ways cautiously through the heavy rain. Everything had a foggy tint to it, the mist was thick and the rain was thick, splashing up after hitting the ground. His entire suit was heavy and pulling him down. If possible, he’d ask for borrowed clothes if it meant he could dry his tactical gear.

After a few moments of nothing he gradually moved to stand, still watching both ways before quickly darting across the road and over vaulting over the fence, landing gracefully and without fault. He started back into a jog as he made his way towards the cornfield, ducking a little once he hit the first line of them, to avoid a faceful. It was getting a little too dark now, the sun completely went over the mountains. There was minimal light now and he could only just see what was ahead of him as he trotted through the corn. It wasn’t a big field, maybe two yards? A yard and a half? He’d imagine it was the latter since he could already see the other end and shed coming closer.

James skipped a few times during the jog, his boots getting caught in the overly wet dirt and catching his balance off. It was irritating, but the thought that he might get himself some shelter purged that feeling. He wanted and needed somewhere to take a break and catch his breath. There was no way he had any kind of advantage for wherever he was and that unsettled him.

He darted out of the field, panting slightly before suddenly darting behind a close building. There was noise, voices, machinery.

“Take them and kill them, the house,” more German. At least he figured that he must’ve been in Europe somewhere. It made it easier to think about how to get back. Though, he couldn’t pinpoint where the war was. There hadn’t been anything going on with Germany for years now. He didn’t recall any recent war going on that was this big.

James leaned close to the corner, peeking around to see a few men in uniform, very familiar uniform. They were dressed in dark colours, swastika patches on red fabric around their arms. This was a very real re-enactment of WWII and he was suddenly feeling lost, in his own mind at just seeing the uniform and now taking in the voices and language. It was like a sudden spark lit painfully on his insides. He didn’t like this at all.

The soldier snuck further around back and crouched his way into the very well groomed garden with flowers and perfect beauty, clearly, a woman had her way with it. He reached the back door and grabbed the handle, being as quiet as ever as he opened it and snuck in, closing it silently behind him. He could suddenly hear cries, from a woman and fun, raspy voices of old age having caught up and he frowned before lowering himself into a deeper crouch. He shifted through the hall and stopped at the corner, peeking once again and hearing the aggressive orders of a soldier in the house. And then he saw him, angry and pointing his, what looked like, an old MP-40 at two civilians. Where did they manage to get an old German weapon like that?

He internally shook his head to rid himself of the thought and took a silent breath before launching out at the man, swinging his left arm and backhanding the man across the face with his metal fist. He saw blood spray from his mouth and then he ducked, his arm pulling back and he punched forward, straight into his sternum. James then swiftly circled the German and locked the metal forearm against his throat, using the only weapon he had to his advantage. He could still hear the cries in the background, from the seemingly old couple, huddled against the wall, the woman with her head hidden behind the man and the male was watching on in what seemed like terror, eyes wide and filled with fear.

James returned to the choking man, hearing the rasps and gasps of lost breathe as it left him. There was no yelling or audible sounds from him, only the choking and the feeling of his body getting heavy against him. Finally, after some time, he took a final intake of air and dropped against him, the weight forcing James to steady his stance. He gradually lowered the body and himself, taking a quick glance at the two still against the wall. The woman was sobbing into the man's shoulder and the was still staring. He slowly lifted a finger to his mask and made a gesture to keep quiet, the old male instantly giving a rapid nod, stroking the females’ head and hair

The soldier turned back to the body and quickly began raiding it, slipping the MP-40 over his shoulder. A P38 pistol was strapped to his waist, along with two types of hunting knives and three ‘MB’ grenades, small spheres that were highly explosive. All of these weapons were… they pre-dated the 21st century. They were all based on the War in the 1940s’, WWII to be specific.

Either this was very real Role-playing, or this was the war, and by the reactions and expression of the couple in the room… this wasn’t a game. But… that couldn’t be. It was impossible, preposterous nonsense that still hadn’t been reached in their science and technology yet. It was beyond what they had.

“What year is it…” he still questioned out of the need for an answer and confirmation that this was an idiotic thought because it was. The soldier turned to gaze at him, trying to seem less dangerous so he’d answer. He still seemed understandably hesitant and reluctant, but he opened and closed his mouth, like a fish out of water, a few stutters of words and letters, and then-

“1943,” he gasped with a German accent, still afraid and more than a little wary with a hint of confusion. James’ eyes widened, his heart beating faster and his blood pumping could be heard in his skull. He felt sick, nauseous with his stomach churning.

Part 2 anyone?

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Portrayal of Betrayal

Author's Note: Y'all gave me Black Templar Brain wars >:|. So I made yet another Space marine oc. Give a shout if y'all wanna use him. Also, tag me so I can read and reblog your stuff if you do. This is a long chapter. over 2k.

Summary: Ramiel has a Bad Time, almost dies, and wakes up. Traitors are to die.

Warnings: Black Templar Shenanigans, major character death, abusive relationship, abuse of power, cannon typical violence, Black Templars TM , let me know if I need to add more.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @kit-williams, @sleepyfan-blog,

Tagged Again: @sleepyfan-blog and @whorety-k

Ramiel, like many of his general of Primaris marines is highly honored, and more than a little nervous when he is informed of his assignment, he is to become a member of the Honorable Black Templar Chapter, as a proud son of Dorn, he and his battle brothers ask their Utramarine First Born Cousins what their Chapter brothers are like and listen as they are described as dutiful, loyal, proud, stubborn, and fierce warriors. One of the other Ultramarines also murmurs something about certain unsavory traits about them, and gets a glare from the first Ultramarine that had the other quiet down.

As he and the other Primaris Marines meet and settle in with their First-Born Battle Brothers of the Black Templars, at first, the elder brothers don't seem to know what to make of them, some are hostile, some are curious, and all of them are carefully watched and monitored. Ramiel has great pride that Cedric- a brother who he's been helped by, and worked with before, got chosen as an Apprentice to one of the most Important and Eldest of the Apothecary First Born Battle Brothers of the entire Black Templar legion.

Ramiel hopes that he will gain a mentor, and does his best to do his tasks, whether it is missions, or chores to help maintain their ships and other things. As months go by Ramiel’s hearts are heavily burdened as so many of his fellow Primaris Marines have fallen, in battle, due to missions that were... well, he's not one to argue against a person in authority over him. He's been beaten enough, and remembers the lessons that were given to him by the Mechanicum, and the Black Templar elder brothers are eager to maintain discipline and punish them, justly, for their wrongdoings and sins.

He's glad that he's able to get patched up by one of his fellow Primaris Apothecary brothers, at least some of the time, sometimes they are not allowed to help patch them up after a flogging or other sort of punishment, left to heal with their own regenerative powers, and rations are one of the longer-term methods of punishment they are given. So he's surprised, honored and a little hopeful and honestly, more than a little shocked, and he hopes that the God Emperor will forgive him, afraid, when one of the harsher, and much stricter Black Templar Chaplains has decided to take Ramiel on as an apprentice.

He's worried and nervous, he's not been trained as a Chaplain and he accepts the Mentorship, before nervously telling him that he's just a battle brother. Honorable Veteran Black Templar Chaplain Mephisteil Petras has chosen him in particular. The First-Born Space Marine informs him that as his mentor, he'd be teaching him how to do the tasks and duties of a Chaplain. Ramiel bows his head and accepts the honor and new duties to be assigned to him. Following after Chaplain Mephisteil two steps back and to the left as requested by his new mentor.

It's hard, learning the duties of a Chaplain, and one of the first duties that he's ordered to do is to help with the punishment of several Primaris Black Templars, to go over their sins and help them purge themselves of their shame with use of whip and words. Traitorously his lips tremble, and he's grateful that no one can see it, and he hides his flinch by heading over to grab the punishment whip. The words lodge hot, hard and heavy in his throat, which has become dry and it feels like his eyes are burning.

He has a couple of false starts before Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras snaps at him to "Stand up straight like a real Marine."

He snaps to attention and snaps a salute. "Yes Sir!"

"Now," The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras says, "Recite their sins and punishments abom- boy."

"Yes Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras," Ramiel says, thankful that his voice doesn't crack or croak. He takes in a deep breath and reads the three Primaris brothers the scroll that contained what they had done, and the punishments that they were going to be receiving and after that there is silence.

"Abmon- Boy! Get the whip." The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras demands of him.

He nods to his mentor, the Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras and grabs the whip, "Have them count out the strokes of the whip."

"Yes sir," Ramiel replies as his throat seems to constrict and it feels like it's become harder and harder to breath.

He snaps the whip a couple of times, the crack and sound of it has them all flinching minutely, but not enough that The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras does not notice and snarls at them for it. Ramiel would also be getting a flogging after this for being so slow to obey his superior officer and mentor. Ramiel mentally apologizes to his fellow Primaris brothers as he starts to whip them, the words he's been taught to tell them as the whistling sound of the whip, the sound of their flesh, and their voices counting the whip marks.

Slowly, yet all at once he as to continue to whips them at the proper pace, to slow and he will get more time added to his flogging, to fast and he will hurt them more than he should, and his punishment for not properly doling out punishment will be worse. Slowly, and all at once he has finished whipping his fellow Primaris Marines. His nerves are screaming at him. He wants to apologize for harming them, yet he locks the words behind his teeth. The punishment he gets for that, and he only did it just the once when he was ordered to Punish Cedric had been... well...

He was blessed with the regenerative powers of a Primaris Marine, which is significantly faster and he's much hardier than a First Born, much to the scowl he got from his mentor The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras. He can't even try to go find them later to apologize, for his mentor The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras has eyes on him at all times, and the punishment he got for trying to apologize after the fact, and trying to do so out of sight and eyes (not that it worked) of their First-Born brothers had also been a test of his body's healing capabilities.

Ramiel hoped that, with time, and showing his dutiful, diligence and obedience, that hopefully The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras and the other Chaplains, and other First Born Space Marines of the Black Templar Chapter would slowly start to trust them. He has seen how warm, affectionate and caring they can be towards their fellow first born space marines. But there must be something wrong with him, and his fellow Primaris Marines that they are treated so coldly and harshly. But he holds out hope that someday, somehow, some way, they will be able to have that easy trust and affection, or barring that, be good enough that they were no longer given such harsh, and swift punishments for even the smallest of infractions.

Infractions that usually their First-Born brothers do not get punishments for, or if they do, not as harshly as the Primaris Marines do. Perhaps, it is because they are so much younger and new than their elder brothers? That they want to instill good habits and proper behaviors? Oh, he so dearly hopes that's the case. His mentor The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras, among a larger number of First-Born Space Marines have started to get more agitated recently over the years. He's noticed that, and while he's sent a message or two to his fellow Primaris Marines, has no idea how to bring it up or address it with The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras, without offending or upsetting the other sooner.

He gets a vox call from The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras, "Sir? Apprentice Chaplain Ramiel speaking."

"Abomin- Boy, come to me, I need to speak with you about something," The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras snarls at him.

He flinches, "yes sir, I'm headed to your coordinates."

Ramiel wonders what has put his elder brother and mentor into such a foul mood, and dreads what the potential answer could be. Even as he braces himself for likely more rounds of justified punishment for infractions, he did not know he had done until The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras informs him of them. He sends a message to Cedric, who's awake and on the same ship as him. Just as a warning about the mood that The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras is in.

He is sure and swift in his movements as he heads towards where The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras and several the more... irascible and mistrusting of the first-born black Templars are.

"I have arrived, The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras," He says snapping a salute.

"Abomination," The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras and his hearts sink to his chest and his throat feels like its closing, "For the crime of existence I, The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras, have decided that you shall cease living."

"Bu- Mentor, H-Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras," He stutters out moving backwards a little, "I-I'm a loyal Black Templar of the Chapter... I'm not an abom-"

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off as he dodge the blow he recieved from The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras, who charged him. As a Primaris Marine, they are fast, stronger, and have a higher mental processing speed. He continues to dodge and weave, not attacking back as more of the First-born Space Marines go after him. He knows that they will hit him, and they do, he is only one and they are half a dozen strong.

"Foul Abomination, thy existance will be purged and our chapter restored!" The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras roars at him.

Ramiel continues to dodge and tries to speak with him- with the other First Born Black Templar Battle brothers that are slowly trying to encircle and cut off his mode of retreat. They and The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras are starting to get past his guard and one of the systems pings a warning and sends a distress signal off to the nearest Apothecaries that he was wounded. He was starting to get far more badly wounded.

"What did I do wrong mentor? I have only ever tried to heed your words, Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras, and be a good, obedient mentee," He hears a familiar voice cry out and he turns to see Cedric staring at him and the group of First-Born Marines in shock, a medic's kit in hand.

Ramiel notices The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras, his mentor swerve to try and strike out at Cedric. With a burst of speed he runs and blocks the blow- unfortunately where it lands, the chainsaw sword strikes him a lethal blow as Cedric desperately grabs him Ramiel manages to murmur something to Cedric as blood spills from his lips.

"I'm sorry, sir, whatever it was that I did to deserve this, please don't take it out on my brothers." He apologizes as blood bubbles from his lips. It feels nice, paradoxically to be in the arms of one his brothers, it’s been so long since he’d been held, even if Cedric is trying to keep him upright.

He closes his eyes, as his vision grows dark, and feels blood flowing rapidly out of his wounds. He wakes up with a pained gasp and blinks. Treacherous tears are blinding his eyes as he blinks rapidly. He is alive. Ramiel, somehow, survived what had felt like a killing blow. He jolts as he tries to get up to find Cedric or The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras, and the other First-Born Marines to Attack him, upon his command, of course. He pulls of his helmet and buries his face in his hands as he shakes and allows himself to feel, just for a moment or two before he scrubs is face clean of salted water and puts on his helmet as he gingerly gets up.

He looks around, a frown forming on his face, he doesn't recognize the flora and fauna of this place. As he looks up to the night sky, the stars aren't something he recognizes either with jolt of unease. He has many questions that he has no answers for. And he will need to find a way back to... back to his brothers. He ignores the way that had his body flinching and curling in on himself. Coward. He hisses at himself, he's an apprentice chaplain, honored to have been chosen by The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras.

He needs to find out where he is and how he got here and how to get back to The Sigismund. He finds a stream of fresh water, that is flowing fast enough, and after a cautious test, is clean enough to drink from and he does so gladly. The water is bitingly cold, which helps further ground him in the here and now as he ruthlessly squashes the thoughts and questions that run amok in his mind. He puts his helmet back on and continues to wander the forest, which is lovely, and filled with bird song and the rustling leaves of the trees that sway in the wind.

One of the things that Ramiel doesn't know, is that his death at the hands of the First-Born Black Templars had started the overt schism within the Black Templars, between the ones who viewed the Black Templars as Abominations to be purged, and the first born (who found them to be useful) and the Primarus Marines who didn't want to die and were not abominations against His Imperial Majesty. They had been created upon the orders of Him on Terra, created and raised on Mars for the majority of their training before The Imperial Regent in all his wisdom had decided to have them sent out to reinforce the various chapters of the Space Marine Chapters.

But that is something he doesn't know yet, simply that his mentor, The Honorable Veteran Chaplain Mephisteil Petras, had thought him something to kill. He notices movement and hides in the shadow of a massive tree when he spots three or four base line human children running around and playing in a camp site, with the adults talking to one another amiably as the kids played nearby. They looked so happy, which both soothed and hurt something inside Ramiel that he couldn't understand for some reason as he watched them, entranced.

Keeping very still and shrinking back further when he noticed some of the adults glancing his way. He doesn't think they saw him, otherwise they likely would call back the children and leave the area. One of the children notices something and shrieks with emotion, and runs towards- oh no. Oh child no! He spots a couple of Chaos Marines and growls softly. The child is not at fault for not realize that wasn't an Angel of the God Emperor, but a Scummy traitor.

He pulls his blade shifts his body and, despite his wounds Charges towards the Chaos Marines with a bellow, getting in-between the child and the Chaos Marines who swear and pull back as he growls at the Chaos marines, “Scum and Filth to be purged. You Heretics shall die by my hand! Child- run back to your parents and leave this place.”

[goggledboi]

Heya, you ever miss those old creepypasta slendermansion vibes? Me too, thus why I made this ask blog!

I'm a Tobias/Toby fictkin and I thought it'd be fun to make a ask rp blog of him.

I will do my best to be in my version of the character. (Which isn't too different from how people majority portray him)

Rules and extra information under the cut.

Check frequently, I may change these randomly.

Also check bottom of post for annon claims so theirs no confusion, thank you!

Rules:

No NSFW/NSFT. I'm uncomfortable with it

No shipping involving Toby (Same reason as above)

Be kind, I don't accept hate

Remember this is my version of the character, not 100% the original cannon character

You are also allowed to ask questions in character from these fandoms: Creepypasta, Marble Hornets, and EveryManHybrid

You're allowed occasionally to ask questions to mod/out of character

Toby:

While he's still 80% the original version, I did change minor personality things. In this he's going to be 19 (because I'm 19). He still has his disorders (except Bipolar, I'm swapping that with Borderline personality disorder since I suffer from that as well as ADHD and can portray how I handle them) , I might portray him as paranoid depending on asks. I will have the slendermansion be mentioned, if you don't like it DNI I'll block and ignore hate. He is a proxy of slenderman, but in this AU Hoodie(Hoody) and Masky aren't in the mansion, but know Toby and he knows them. I changed my mind and just decided they don't live in the mansion but live in a abandoned cabin close to the mansion.

Ben (In this version he's 18), Jeff, Slenderman, Sally, ext... Are in the mansion though. You can ask about any of them, but it will be Toby answering about them, not the other characters.

⚠There is times where I may mention bullying, blood, violence, mental illness, and other things typical to the cannon violence of the fandom. Just a warning for all of that, read at your own risk. ⚠

Asks will be responded like this:

No, I actually don't love waffles. I am a fan of them though! They just aren't my favorite.

Oh and try to read tags, sometimes I put funny things or lil blurbs. Well, that's a I can think of right now. I may add to this if needed, but for now have fun! -🌲🦊

Can't wait to talk to you!

(Annon claims/ones that have been used so far:

-Jack👁

-💜anon/💜annon

– 👁👓

- ✖️🔥)

[serenefreakgeekao3]

Apricity

[Table of Contents]

CHAPTER SEVEN, Execution

Days 30-31, Thursday & Friday

Step Three: Grief serum

"Chuckie, I need your help." You approached the youngest Glader with a lump in your throat, feeling a well of guilt beginning to build at the implication of asking for his help. No one should know the plan but you- but you needed help, just for this. It was Thursday, and you had a job to do tomorrow. You spent all day Tuesday trying to figure out how to get into the Medjack hut- then all of Wednesday hanging out with Thomas yet again, giving you no opportunity to enact your plan, at least without causing suspicion.

"Anything, [Y/N]! What's up?" Chuck bounded over, smiling so brightly that it brought a smile to your own face.

"I'm going to be going into the MedJack hut soon, to rebandage my ankle-" You pause at this, lifting your injured ankle for his inspection, full of dirt across the entirety of it (of course, after you smeared it there yourself), "And after three minutes, I'll need a distraction. Something to get Jeff out of the building." You continued to smile at the boy, lowering your foot back down. You feel able to walk without the cane now, finally, but it still smarts when you lean too much weight on that side. It’ll have to do, though, and having a fresh bandage won’t hurt tomorrow’s chances.

"A distraction? Are you-" Chuck shifted on his feet, his face twisting in a guilty expression, "You're not stealing anything, are you?" You forced a laugh, shaking your head as you placed a hand on his shoulder. It hurts to lie to him, but you push through regardless.

"And bring it where? Of course not, Chuck. I-" You hesitate, the clever excuse you had planned not coming to your head fast enough. "I made a bet with Minho that I could guess the exact number of splints in the MedJack hut, and I am not about to lose to that shuckface." Chuck laughed brightly in response, the tension leaving his shoulders under your hand.

“Well, he would certainly know,” Chuck mumbles as he pushes to a stand, nodding toward you. “Just leave it to me, I’ll get Jeff out of there.” You smile, nodding toward him and patting a hand on his shoulder. He wasn’t as young as he was in the books, that was for certain, but you could still feel a protective instinct rising inside of you the more you hung out with him.

As you make your way toward the Medjack hut, your eyes stray over toward Clint. It’s his day off today, fortuitously, and he sits off across the Glade nursing a drink with a few others you don’t really know the names of. Taking a deep breath, you push open the door to the hut, walking inside with a smile.

“Hey, Jeff, just need-” You hesitate, your eyes widening as you adjust to the indoor lighting. Jeff was there, sure, but someone else was as well. A girl is also in the room, smiling gently over at you as she stands near the cabinets. She holds something in her hand, placing it inside an open cabinet next to her before brushing her hands off, turning toward you. Jeff raises an eyebrow, taking a step closer.

“Yeah?”

“Oh,” You blink quickly, bringing yourself back to reality. You hadn’t expected two people to be in here. “I just wanted to get my bandage changed, it’s looking a bit rank.” You shrug your shoulder with a forced smile, your mind running wild with ideas on what to do now, and how to change your plan.

“Oh, yeah that’s fine. Hop on up.” Jeff pats the cot next to him, and you wander over slowly, hopping up just as he’s asked. Your eyes follow the girl as she moves around the wall of cabinets, unsure what she is actually doing. “Hey, Hannah,” Jeff calls out, looking over his shoulder at her, “Can you toss me a fresh bandage? Haven’t had a chance to look around yet.” You’re confused about his wording, but Hannah readily agrees, walking over to a nearby cabinet and pulling out a fresh roll, tossing it over toward him.

Jeff catches it neatly, resuming the removal of your old, purposefully dirtied bandage. It's quiet in the room, but Jeff and Hannah seem comfortable in it. You’re not quite so comfortable, though that’s mainly because your plan wasn’t going exactly how you’d have hoped.

“Ow!” Jeff and Hannah turn simultaneously, looking at the closed door to the Medjack hut. “Ow! Shuck, Jeff! Jeff, I need help!” Jeff and Hannah meet eyes, but he sets down the stuff he was working on with you. He turns to you with a concerned smile, nodding.

“Just a moment, I gotta go see what’s up.”

You watch Jeff’s back as he walks out of the door, then immediately your gaze falls to Hannah. She seems to have been staring at you but drops her gaze the moment you look her way. She was pretty, you had to admit, with maybe a stockier build, but long straight blonde hair and glasses sitting atop her nose. She also seemed pretty gentle, just from the way she was handling the things in the basket she was carrying, placing stuff from the basket up into another new cabinet. She glances over at you again, then smiles softly.

“Hey,” She sets the basket down gently on a nearby table, hesitating before taking a few steps toward you. “I’m Hannah, by the way. You’re [Y/N], right?” You nod slowly, unsure, but she just smiles and takes another few steps toward you. “Yeah, I’ve heard a lot about you. A lot of people are curious, you know? About the new Greenie, who immediately got accepted into the Leaders?”

“Oh, I’m not-” You raise your hands, waving them back and forth in denial. She smiles, raising her own hand as if in apology as she interrupts you.

“Oh, we know you’re not a part of them. Probably barely know a thing about the Glade.” She chuckles softly, shrugging as she walks up to your cot, leaning against it next to you. “All I meant is that we’re curious to finally meet you. I understand, really, about wanting to stay close to the friends you made right away. Goodness knows I took my time opening up to everyone, I spent the first few months here just spending all my time with Siggy.” You furrow your brow, not recognizing the name, but she startles and corrects herself. “Sorry, Frypan.”

“Fry?” You feel a small smile light up your face, tilting your head in question.

“Yeah,” She laughs along with you, lowering her gaze bashfully. “Truth be told, I mostly kept to myself because I didn’t quite…” She hesitates, nodding her head from side to side. “I didn’t really feel quite myself, the moment I came up.” She looks up to you, hesitating as if weighing whether she should continue. You duck your head to catch her eyes, curious now. She was definitely one of the ones sent up after Thomas should’ve been out. In the books, they hadn’t even sent girls, unless you’d count Teresa. You didn’t want to count her, all things considered.

“What do you mean?” You question quietly, your mind racing with theories. You were just beginning to think, well, maybe she was like you? Then, she sighs and speaks up.

“Well, I came up like all the other guys.” You furrow your brow at this, wondering what she means before she shrugs, turning sideways to lean her back against the cot. “I had a shaved head, boy clothes, the whole nine yards.” You’re still a bit confused, but she just ploughs through, not quite looking at you. “It took me about a month before I started to realize why I hated the name that I remembered. It took me another month to finally admit it out loud, whispered in secret to Siggy. He agreed to keep it a secret, but he was so supportive.” She takes in a shaky breath, nodding. “The third month, I came out officially. We didn’t have any girl’s clothes back then, so I fashioned my own. Everyone was-” She chuckles at this, and you’re starting to realize what all she’s finally saying. “Everyone was confused at first. But it helped to have Siggy on my side- no one wanted slop for dinner for bothering me about it.”

“You were the first girl?” Your question must’ve caught her off-guard, as she turns to look at you with surprise.

“Well, yeah. After me, I guess the Creators realized it might be fine to have girls in the maze. I guess they hadn’t really expected me to be one. But after I came out, the very next month another Greenie showed up.” She looks over to you, smiling. “Her name was Misty. She was incredibly sweet. And made me feel less alone.”

You nod, then tilt your head toward her as she stares into your eyes, almost as if expecting something from you. You hesitate, unsure of what she wants you to say. “Why did you tell me this?”

“Because,” She places a hand on your knee, her kind smile still written across her face. “I wanted you to know you’re not alone. You have people who will accept you, no matter what. And not just the Leaders- Newt or Thomas or Minho, but everyone else here. I know the- the amount of Gladers out here can be intimidating. But they’re all good people, I promise. I think I would know by now if they weren’t.” She winked at you, and you can’t help but laugh, your own smile matching hers. Then you hear Chuck call out loudly in pain.

“Oh! Oh, it hurts! Jeff!”

“Ok, bud, I’m really trying here. I hate to say it Chuck, but you’re a heavy guy, I can’t carry you by- oh shuck it, Hannah!”

You both were staring at the door when you heard Chuck’s initial call. Your heart had raced, hearing him call out like that. You realized belatedly why he was, and couldn’t help but feel immense gratitude for him. You could feel your chest flush with thanks, turning to look at Hannah, trying your best to smush the hope that lights up in your eyes. She looks back to you, mostly with a confused expression.

“Looks like you’re needed out there?” You murmur to her, and as Chuck yells out again, you both hear a bit of a scuffle outside of the door.

“Shuck- Chuck! Use your good leg! You can stand, you know! You don’t need to be carried-”

“I do! I need help! Hannah!”

“I guess I am,” Hannah mutters, her face the picture of confusion. She pushes herself up from your cot, jogging over to the door. The moment she steps outside before the door even closes, you’re up out of your cot and rushing to the cabinet you’d seen the serums in. There was enough, you could grab a couple just in case. You didn’t want to risk anything.

You swing open the cupboard- and stare at bottles of some clear liquid. The entire shelf smells of alcohol, so that’s likely what it is, but definitely not Grief Serum. “Shuck, shuck,” You mutter under your breath, panicking as you close the cupboard quickly and reach for the one next to it. Nothing. You’re shaking your head, growing terrified. This is your one chance, you won’t get another one, you had to find it-

“Ah! It just hurts so bad!”

“I swear, you’re just as bad as Minho.”

Cabinet after cabinet, throwing open drawers left and right, you were a mess. You had seen them, you know you had, you just had to-

There.

You stare down into the drawer you just opened, a couple of bright blue serums lining the drawer in little wooden slots just big enough to hold them. The syringes lying just below them, gleaming clean and fresh.

The door is opening, and you panic. You fumble, but you grab one vial and one syringe, throwing them into your pocket and slamming the drawer shut. You turn just in time to watch as Jeff stumbles into the room, looking down at his feet with an arm wrapped around his shoulders. Then Chuck emerges, a look of pain written across his face that looks so real you begin to worry if he actually did something to himself instead of just pretending. As Hannah is walking in, Chuck’s arm around her shoulder, Chuck finally glances up at you. He drops his pained expression, smiling with a wink toward you before groaning again, readopting his facade. You hold in a chuckle, turning to limp your way back to your cot.

Jeff looks up as you’re halfway across the room, furrowing his brow. “What were you doing up?” He grunts as he struggles to practically carry Chuck to a cot next to you, flopping him down onto the bed.

“Oh, I thought I’d just fix myself up while you guys were busy.” You shrug, as if this meant nothing to you, hoping they believe the lie. Jeff looks at you through his eyelashes, a look of disbelief crossing his face, with a hint of annoyance.

“Oh yeah? Think you’re Medjack material, huh?” You scoff out a laugh, hopping up onto your own cot.

“Absolutely not. I have, however, had this stupid ankle wrapped the same way for a week now, so I figured I could just copy whatever you did.” You gesture toward the wall of cabinets, watching as Hannah begins to take up her basket once more, moving toward her previous position. “But I couldn’t find the bandages. I opened the door I thought they were behind but it was- uh, something else.”

“The splints are there now, yeah,” Hannah agrees, smiling over toward you and lifting the basket into the air for emphasis. “I’m reorganizing. The cabinets were getting kinda messy, hard to find the things we needed.”

“Right,” You mumble, glancing out of the corner of your eye toward Chuck. He smiles, then nods toward you as if in question. You smirk, then nod back, shooting him a wink.

“Ok, what the hell, Chuck?” Jeff remarks suddenly, and you both look to see him bending Chuck’s foot back completely. “I thought your damn ankle was hurting you? You’d be punching me right now if it was.”

“Oh-” Chuck jumps, his eyes widening as he’s caught in his lie. “Uh-”

“I swear, you little slinthead, if you did this just to get out of work-”

“Hey, be easy on the guy,” Hannah calls from the corner, glancing at you with a suspicious smirk. “He works real hard, we all know it. If he wants to chill out in the hut for a bit, out of the sun, then just let him.”

“Well,” Jeff mumbles, throwing Chuck’s foot down and glaring at him. “He didn’t have to be so theatrical about it.”

Step Four: Execution

You were nervous. Of course, you were nervous- terrified, even. You bounced on the heels of your feet, taking a deep breath to steady yourself, and another. Working in the Glade has definitely made you more fit than you were when you arrived, but you were nowhere near Runner fit. But you believed in yourself. You had to, because no one else could. No one else knew, hopefully, which means you were on your own. And if you didn't believe in yourself, then that would set you up for failure. And failure meant death. You couldn't die. Not when you finally found something to live for. You had been aimless for a long time, even from your own reality, but it was as if something had clicked. You knew your purpose, and it was to make sure they survived. They were stuck here, said so themselves. You were worried for Newt, even if he refused to say it you knew he had given up. And you didn't want Thomas to beat himself up over it all anymore. If you could make sure they would get out, then they'd be too busy surviving to worry about all that anymore.

You had thought of staying, of course. Why wouldn't you? Wicked set them up nicely out here, with a constant supply of animals and with their own growing source of food. No extreme heat or sand scratching their faces. Not yet. But they hated it here, you could tell. It was comfortable, it was as safe as it could be, but they were trapped. No one should be trapped like this, here against their will. Your next deep breath settled you more, as you went over the reasons. You reached into your pocket and felt the fraying edges of the paper, the letter you just finished writing, and your resolve firmed even more. The sky was getting darker by the second, and you could see the bonfire lighting up out of the corner of your eye. A few yells made their way to your position, hidden among the trees near the west gate. Cheers of merriment, and some kind of fight. You glanced over to see Gally wrestling some shank onto the ground and pinning his shoulders. You were too far away to see his face, but you could easily imagine the effortless smirk that would be there.

Another deep breath, and a rumble beneath your feet. You look at the doors and see them beginning to close. This was it, the moment of truth. You took your time, jogging over to stand in front of them. You take one last deep breath, gathering your courage and smelling the grass and salt of the glade, then walk past the walls as they continue to move in closer toward you. You stood inside the maze for the first time as the sky got darker.

"[Y/N]!" You turned around quickly at the sound of your name, screamed from the top of his lungs. You recognized the accent, and sure enough, you spied Newt at the far edge of the forest. Too far away, he wouldn't make it in time. You could see he thought so too, the hesitation in his feet before he broke out into a run anyway. You stood just inside the maze, out of the way of the doors, and watched him pound his feet against the dirt. His scream had alerted the other Gladers, and soon enough you noticed Minho appear, and Thomas on his heels. Even Gally and Alby running behind. Their yells hurt, calling you back and calling you a shank for trying.

You took a step back, and another, as the doors were mostly closed now. "[Y/N]! Get out here! Please!" It was Newt again, pain in his higher-pitched voice as he finally stopped just a small ways away. Thomas blew past him, everyone else coming to a stop behind him. It was clear though, even Thomas wouldn't make it (this time).

"I can't lose you!" Thomas yells out, the hurt in his voice mirrors the one in your chest, and you take a steadying breath. They would find out soon enough. Thomas finally made it to the doors, too small as they were, and reached a hand inside toward you before withdrawing and seemingly trying to push them apart, keep them open. You finally spoke, your voice full of too many emotions to count.

"Tommy, just stop trying," Your voice broke as you watched a tear fall from his eyes, his struggle slowing. Just a slit was left of him, and you took a small step toward the doors, "I'm sorry, but I have to." With a resounding bang from the doors, you’ve sealed your fate.

“No…” He trailed off, Thomas staring at the white stone walls directly in front of his face. He was so close he could smell the salt coming off of them onto his hands. He shakes his head again, pounding against the stone, pointlessly. He knew it was pointless. “No!” He yells out, hitting the wall again.

“Tommy,” Newt begins, but the other voices interrupt.

“There’s no point in lingering now. There’s nothing we can do.” Thomas spins around, eyes wide as he stares at Gally. A group lingers near him, surrounding him. Alby, Minho, Frypan, Clint, even Zart.

“Nothing we can do?!” Thomas yells out, and from the corner of his eye he watches Newt wince and reach a hand out to touch his arm. That would usually give him such a sense of comfort, but all he could imagine was you. Your arm touching his, just a few days ago when he showed you the watchtower and forced you to climb to the top so you’d be alone with him.

“Thomas,” Alby steps forward, his hands up as if trying to tame a wild beast, bent slightly at the hips. Thomas realizes how hard he’s breathing, the stance he’s in as if he’s ready to attack. “The doors have closed. You know what that means.”

“No!” Thomas yells, taking a step back and bumping into the walls behind him. He jumps, spinning around to stare at them in horror, with betrayal.

“He’s gonna have a field day, there’s no calming him,” Minho finally speaks up- his voice grave, as it should be. At least he had the proper wherewithal to hold his patronizing tone. “Just leave them be. Let’s go.”

“You really think-”

“Gally,” Minho interrupts him, and Thomas doesn’t have to look to know that he’s pulling his rarely-used serious face. “Let it be.” Thomas turns slowly, facing Newt first and searching his eyes. He finds the same sadness- the same desperation- there and continues his turn to face all of the leaders. All but one, anyway.

“Fine. Just don’t do anything stupid, I would hate to throw you in the slammer for this.” Alby warns, before turning around to follow the already retreating Gally and Minho. The others are soon to follow, looking down at the ground as if already grieving. As if already giving up.

“Tommy,” He’s insistent this time, shaking Thomas’ arm to gain his attention. Thomas swings his head to meet Newt’s eyes once again. He feels the tears brimming in his own, threatening to fall and likely making his eyes shine from the bonfire’s light. How were they all supposed to go on celebrating tonight? “Tommy, listen to me. Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Thomas’ voice is rough, full of emotion. He clears his throat, already feeling the tension in his shoulders relaxing. “Yeah, I can hear you Newt.”

“They’ll be okay,” Newt says, sucking in a breath. His eyes change as he stands there, reaffirming his grip on Thomas’ arm. They change from their desperation to a bit of hope and determination. He speaks now no longer as if he’s trying to convince himself, but as if he’s trying to convince Thomas. “They’ll be okay. They will be at the doors when they open in the morning. It’ll be Saturday, so they’ll have their pick, all of the doors will be open.” Newt steps closer, pulling Thomas in by his arm. “You heard them out there, they had to do it. They have a plan, you know them as well as I do.”

“They’ll be okay,” Thomas whispers, searching Newt’s eyes back and forth. He believes it, he really does. He hasn’t seen Newt be so convinced of anything for years. Not since he stopped believing they could escape. He knew that Newt gave up, even if Thomas himself didn’t.

“Yes, they will. And we’ll be waiting right here when these doors open.”

The doors had closed, yet you could still hear the muffled shouts from the other side. They were still struggling, as pointless as it was. You took another deep breath and spun around to face the hall. The books had always said how terrifying the prospect was, of wandering the maze, even just stepping foot inside. But the way your stomach dropped to your feet, your breath speeding, was something you hadn't anticipated. It was cold in here, the biting chill against your skin causing goosebumps to run up your arm. The shouts were dying down, and then a screech filled the air.

You ran. Your feet pounded against the ground, and as you made your first turn you tried to repeat it in your head. As with the next, trying to keep it in order. Your brain was frazzled, your breath coming in short pants, and everything was starting to get confusing. You needed a moving piece of the maze, doors closing or stone stomping on the ground. You had tried to memorize where they could be, but your brain is turning to mush in the face of actual action. Maybe the blades? But they were far off, you knew, and you weren't sure how long you had until one of the Grievers found you. Another screech sounded far off to your left, and an answering one much closer to your right. Your feet, slamming against the stone with every leap, were already starting to hurt and you weren't sure how long you'd been running for. Not long yet, right? Maybe you would have a better chance of hiding for most of the time, then trying your plan toward the end of the night.

With a loud SLAM to your right, you finally stopped and let out a shuddering breath. SLAM, again, and you watched three large slabs of stone come crashing down one by one and slowly rise, clicking back into place. Here. You began glancing around, looking for somewhere to hide amoungst stone walls. You walked further in, looking down the next hall and noticing a tall, thick line of ivy climbing the wall halfway down the hall. You approached, trying to keep your feet quiet, the slams of the next hall continuing on and making you jump each time. You finally made it, pushing the ivy aside and feeling along the stone behind it. Any hope for a crevice you might stand in is suddenly dashed, and your stomach sank, but you kept feeling along. Lower, maybe, and you felt the corner of the wall against the floor and still nothing.

Taking a deep breath, you felt upward- there! Your fingers curled along an edge, and you harshly pulled the ivy aside to spy the hole. It was long, though not very deep. It was horizontal, meaning you would have to lay, if you even fit, and it was a foot above your head where you stood. But maybe? You began to climb, wrapping the ivy around your hands and placing your feet against the wall. You struggled, of course, your upper body strength not very impressive. It was enough, however, as you took a step, and another. You were shaking with exertion by the time your feet met the hole, and you bent your knees, climbing slowly inside. Maneuvering was difficult, but you eventually slid inside sideways, and you had to pull ivy out from under your head and back, pushing it outside the hole. You finally let go, unwrapping the greenery from your hand, and let out a breath. You had fit.

You looked at the ivy covering the wall, reaching your hand out to smooth it into place, hopefully covering yourself. There was little room above you, but enough to move your left hand up against your chest, turning your wrist to see the time. 'The doors close at 8pm, when the sun sets, and open again at 6am, when the sun rises.' Minho's words echo in your head, and you read your watch. 10pm. You had been running for hours? It certainly didn't feel like it, though you were exhausted, but you expected that. What surprised you more was that you hadn't run into a single Griever in that whole time? As if summoned from your thoughts, you heard a shrill shriek ring through the air. You gasped through your nose, then held the breath as you tried to listen. Distantly, you heard a metal-against-stone sound, dragging then pausing, as if a Griever left their bladed arm on the ground as they walked. You slowly let out your breath, hearing the sound get louder, and small chinks like metal footsteps against hard stone soon could also be heard.

The sounds mostly come to a stop, though you still hear a heavy shrill sound of metal against metal as the Griever stands not too far from your hiding spot. You worry for a second, wondering if the Griever was looking for you, or if it’d seen you. You try to peek through the vines without daring to move them, but you covered yourself pretty well. It’s dark through the vines, too hard to make anything out. That is, until the darkness moves, and you realize the Griever had been right there the whole time. The metal sound of it’s blade on the ground sounds again as the Griever begins to slowly move away, and you lightly let out the breath you had been holding. It’ll be fine. You still have hours before the doors open, you can pick a different Griever closer to the time-

A scream pierces through the air.

Your eyes widen, hearing a shriek from the Griever right next to you, almost deafening, and watch as it spins around and charges back the way it came. You don’t think- you can’t think, because who else could possibly be in the maze?- and immediately roll yourself out of your little hiding hole. You grasp the vines at the last second, righting yourself before you finally land on your feet with a wince, your ankle panging with pain. You turn quickly, time moving as if like slow motion as you watch the Griever creepily yet quickly crawl its way opposite of you. Then, as the Griever lifts up it’s body just enough, you see a glance of a large afro of hair- Chuck.

“Hey, you big slimy bastard!” You yell out, watching as the Griever turns just as quickly, swinging it’s ‘head��� over to see you. You pick up a stray rock from the ground, throwing it toward him even though it doesn’t even make it half the distance. “It’s me your after, isn’t it?” You watch as the Griever looks back and forth- it was a risk, of course, because Chuck was now closer to the Griever than you were. If it were truly hungry for blood, it’d go after him. But you had a feeling it was being controlled by Wicked. As well as another strong feeling that they have no idea what to do about you. In the stillness that followed, you breathe heavily, panic suffusing your body. “I’m the one you want! That you’re curious about, right?”

The Griever stills, unnaturally so given it’s usually doing some mock interpretation of breathing that grinds the steel together, and you think you spy a bit of flickering going on in the giant mass of sludge. Then, the Griever lets out a shriek that is followed by four other shrieks of varying distance. It charges for you.

“[Y/N]!”

“Hide here, Chuck, I’ll be back for you!” You turn, hoping he understands what you meant, or perhaps saw you roll out from your hiding spot. You also hope he doesn’t do something stupidly foolish like follow you along, but considering the fact that he’s in the maze probably isn’t a good sign. Your feet are pounding against the concrete, your ankle springing in pain that you manage to ignore through the adrenaline.

You turn left, running and hearing the scraping slide of that thing behind you as it rushes too fast to follow the turn correctly, giving you slightly more breathing room. You huff, turning left again and using the chance to glance behind you. Not nearly as much breathing room as you’d have liked. You face forward once again, panting with exertion. SLAM, SLAM, SLAM, you watch as the ceiling comes crushing down one after another, slowly raising back up once again.

“C’mon, c’mon,” You mumble to yourself as you run, watching to see when it’ll click into place at the top. You have to be fast- be faster. If they slam down before you arrive, you’re trapped at a dead end with the Griever. If they slam down too quickly after you arrive- well, then that’d be the end. You push yourself, barely even feeling the pain in your ankle anymore from the adrenaline pumping through your veins.

SLAM

SLAM

SLAM

You turn around, breathing heavily and bending at the waist, placing your hands on your knees. You’d made it. Somehow, you made it. You can hear the squeaking sound of stone grinding against stone as the first two rise, waiting for the third that’s just in front of you. You take a deep breath, straightening yourself and readying yourself to run in a circle if you hadn’t timed it right. But you needn’t have worried.

As the stone slowly rises, you see the gooey remains of the Griever, sludge spread across the floor and mucking up the top of the last two squares of ceiling that are raising up. You smile, feeling a swell in your chest. Your plan had worked! You rush forward, searching quickly, glancing up every so often to make sure you’re not going to crush yourself alongside it. Then, you see the small blinking light. You shove your hand inside the corpse to your elbow, then dig in even further to your shoulder. Then, you firmly grasp the metal.

“[Y/N]!”

You glance up, widening your eyes to see Chuck standing half the hall down from you, well out of the way of the crushing stone above you. You glance up, noticing the stone almost reaching the ceiling once again. You pull with all your might, pulling out the stinger and metal casing- the key to leaving the Maze. You run, and just as you pass the threshold the stone slams down. You feel the woosh of air push against you, rattling your clothes with how close you were to getting caught.

“Chuck,” You call out as you jog closer, watching him walk closer to you as well. “What are you doing here? Are you crazy?”

“Sorry, what am I doing here?” Chuck asks, and you suddenly realize the expression on his face. It’d been hard to place at first, but only because you’ve never actually seen it before. Chuck was mad.

“Chuck-”

“No, [Y/N], no! You don’t get to come up with excuses, you don’t get to-” Chuck scoffs, throwing his hand out toward you. “What are you doing, running in here like that? You couldn’t have wanted to just explore, be curious, because if you had you’d have snuck in during the day! You know how dangerous it is here!”

“Chuck-”

“So that only leaves one possible explanation! You-” Chuck sniffles, and you begin to wonder if you’d read him wrong once again. He wasn’t mad at you. “You wanted to die? Were we not enough for you, [Y/N]? What about Newt, and Thomas? You love them! Anyone with eyes can see, it’s not hopeless between the three of you, you know!”

“Chuckie-”

“And- and what about Gally? You’re super close with him, he’s like your best friend! Which is astonishing, since I’ve never seen Gally actually care about anyone but Ben. And- and what about Hannah? You just met her and seemed to like her-”

“Chuck!” You grab his arms, shaking him as you watch the tears flow down his cheeks. “That’s not the only explanation.”

“What about me?” Chuck whispers, as if he hadn’t heard what you’d just said. He looks terrified, and hurt, and in agony and you hated it. “Was I not enough for you?”

“Chuckie, listen to me.” You bend over slightly, shaking him gently as you look into his eyes. You wait for acknowledgement, some sign that he’s paying attention. His gaze clears of some emotion, and his face settles into a neutral expression. He takes a breath, then nods to you. You nod twice, then continue. “Firstly, you are enough. You all are. Me wanting-” You sigh, shaking your head, “What you thought I wanted. That’s not the only explanation. That’s not what’s going on here.”

Chuck takes a few breaths, but he seems to come to a conclusion faster than you would’ve expected. He nods, his face steeling with determination, and a small smile. “Alright. Alright, then what is it? Let me help.”

“Look, I’m just trying to get us out okay?”

“Out?”

“Out of the maze. Out of the Glade.” You see his eyes widen with amazement, and no hint of suspicion or disbelief. It’s as if he truly believes every word you say. You let out a breath, letting go of his arms finally and taking a step back. You take a deep breath, sharing determined smiles.

It comes from nowhere.

Or, rather, it came from above, considering it fell downward behind Chuck. One second, you were reorganizing your plan to make sure Chuck gets out alive- the next, you see a small metal tip poking from his chest as a Griever stabs him from behind.

“Chuckie!”

[comic-art-showcase]

Guyver by Tyrell Cannon

[rennorthernlights]

The World We Knew

Chapter 1, Chapter 2: Take a Trip Down The Lane, Chapter 3,

Warnings: Cannon typical violence, Zombies, Zombie Death, mentions of family death

August ish, 2023. Time??? Location: outskirts of Navasota, Texas.

“Gaz, you almost got it fixed, yeah?” The voice calls out making Gaz jolt. Too lost in his world to realize that his Captain was peering over his shoulder. Gaz has been working on it since Soap managed to nab it back when they were passing College Station. Soap got a massive earful from Ghost and Price considering he almost become zombie fodder.

“Aye, sir, almost got it.” It’s been driving Gaz mad for the last couple of days. The man has nearly lost his patience on it more times than he can count and that’s saying something considering he has the patience of a mountain… sometimes. “Bugger just won’t—“

A muffled voice that slowly becomes clearer as the radio tunes into the signal. “Oh and you won’t believe what I did today,” Gaz and Price freezes as they hear a woman’s voice on the radio. They share eye contact as they listen in. Hoping that it’s not a hoax or a figment of their imagination. “Managed to nab a blanket for once. Sometimes Texas is warm and other times is— BZZZ”

“No, no, no,” Gaz says as he angles the radio to try and listen to her speak again. Price sighs and claps a hand on Gaz’s shoulder. A firm squeeze as he looks at his Sergeant. “It works, Gaz,” he says as he looks at Gaz frantically trying to get it back. “Gaz, hey,” Price says as he tries to get him to look at him. “Kyle!” He yells and Gaz’s shoulders slump.

“Gaz, you got it to work. We’ve had it for weeks now without a single peep but you got it to work. That’s all that matters.” Cupping the back of Gaz’s head with a light squeeze. “Go help Soap with a perimeter check. Let me see if I can take a crack at it, yeah?” He offers as he knows Gaz needs a break, giving him a tender kiss on the forehead. Gaz’s shoulders relax and he mutters some reluctance before he stands and leaves. Price takes his spot and he rolls his shoulders. The stress of it all weighing just a bit more now that he knows the radio works. It’s gonna plague Gaz for a while and Price needs his head on straight.

“Alright, let’s try it,” Price cracks his knuckles and works on it. Been almost a year since the world went to shit. Last year he was getting Soap and Ghost out of the military base in Las Almas and now he’s somewhere in Texas. They tried to convince Rudy and Ale to get on board with going with them to Fort Sam Houston. The Mexican Colonel was vehemently against leaving Las Almas even Rudy didn’t think it’d be a good idea. Took Soap speaking to them and then finally Ghost putting his two cents in to convince. “Safer in numbers,” He remembers Ghost grunting out only for Ale to argue that he and Rudy are needed with the Los Vaqueros. As he works on the radio, he thinks back on what eventually set them down the path they are in.

————————————————————

“I’m not leaving my men, not after what that cabrón did.” Spitting on the ground as the fire from the tank that Graves was in is still going. It’s been a couple days and there’s already been reports of this disease. At first Price didn’t want to believe it, hell, no one wanted to believe it. Man eating disease? Sounds like something out of a horror novel. “Colonel Vargas, the sooner we get to that Fort the sooner we can bring back whatever cure they have to your men.” Price steps forward, eye level with Vargas, as his arms cross over his chest. Beard crinkling as his lip twitches.

“We need all the help we can get and you and your Sergeant Major would expedite the process of that.” Vargas sighs, his hands on his hips as he turns to Rudy whose been silently listening. They speak fast in Spanish, both have different expressions as they talk it over to each other. Vargas mutter a curse, that one Price can understand, and Rudy then steps forward. “We are needed here. We can’t let Las Almas suffer, this is our home and we will stay. With or without a cure.” Rudy states and Vargas nods in agreement. Price sighs and a faint smile graces his face as Soap clasps a hand on Rudy’s shoulder with a “be safe, hermanos” in his Scottish accent.

Took a days time to gear up and pack the necessary essentials they’d need. The whole world has been put on a pause and no planes go in and out especially when news came around that the President of the United State’s plane had sick people get on board. Secret service is still trying to find the rest of the plane since it nose dived somewhere in Philadelphia. Price only knew about the Fort from Laswell when she gave him a call. She didn’t have much time to speak on the phone before it blacked out with the insistent beep of the call disconnecting. Didn’t matter how many times he tried to call back.

When she last called she sounded out of breath like she’d been running a marathon. Speaking fast with her words, “M’glad you’re safe, John. It’s been hell here.” Shots firing in the background as he can hear screams, “Place is a lil crowded for me right now but listen!” She pants as sends him the information to his phone with shaky hands. “Fort Sam Houston is researching and performing experiments for a cure. Get there and keep the scientist safe. Fuck!” She curses as she now sounds far away. Someone is shooting again. He calls her name urgently but the phone disconnects as he punches the wall with a yell.

That phone call was 2 days ago. Soap still tried to convince Ale and Rudy but they held firm to their decision. The most Colonel Vargas could do was gift them a military vehicle and a decent number of guns, supplies, and preserves. A month. Should just take a week to get up there anyways. Provide protection for the scientists. Once they’ve made a cure then they can head back and then everything will hopefully go back to normal. That should be enough time to get up to the base and back. If everything goes smoothly that is.

Even though Price wanted to believe it even back then he knew that it would take more than a miracle for this to actually work but… He trusted Laswell, trusted her judgment with these things. He just wishes he could hear her speak again. He knows she’s resourceful, she’s probably with her wife right now hunkered down somewhere safe… hopefully.

“Are we ready?” Gaz calls out as Ghost loads up the last bag. Vargas was overseeing the load out to make sure they had everything for their mission, he even triple checked for them. Few sightings of the sick people have been roaming the streets. Mexico City is going dark as they get ready to head out as they speak. The Mexican military is deploying every able-bodied soldier at the moment and yet it isn’t enough. Too many have gone radio silent. Vargas and some of the Los Vaqueros plan on scouting there to see what’s going on as soon as the 141 leave. “Let’s load up!” Vargas yells as he hands Price a couple CD’s for the music player. Vargas may or may not have had that installed when he was tinkering with the vehicle weeks ago…

“Figured you Brit’s—,” a quick Oi from Soap, “AND Scot,” an amused glint in his eyes as he winks, “would prefer if I left some CD’s, si? Gives Soap enough time to work on his Spanish.” A Cheshire grin on the man as he leans an elbow against the door.

“Fine by me, s’long as Ghost ain’t driving and Soap can fix up on his Spanish,” Gaz remarks and Ghost levels him with a glare. “Gonna tell me I’m wrong, Ghost? Soap told me how you drove getting out of Las Almas.”

“My bad, next time I’ll put my blinker on,” Ghost grunts out sarcastically as Soap clasps a hand on Ghost shoulder with a belch of a laugh. Bantering back and forth as Price and Gaz sit in the front. Gaz acting as the map since the wifi has been acting stranger and stranger. A wave goodbye from the Colonel and the Sergeant Major as they drive off. A month. That’s all they’ll need and it’ll go back to normal.

The days quickly turned into months. Barely crossing the border of Mexico into the US it started becoming one shit show after another. Far too many close calls that definitely made Price age more than he already is. The main roads were clogged with people trying to get in and out of of major cities. It was madness, the people were everywhere. Screams and yelling as people tried surviving. Rudy kept talking with the men from where he was in Las Almas. Their radio working pretty well considering the long distance. Rudy and Ale would talk and give regular updates day in and day out until it stopped. Soap tried everything to get the radio working, thinking that the wires were crossed or something but… to no avail. They couldn’t even turn back considering how far they were, all they could do is push forward.

Ghost and Soap went through a rough patch, arguments and spitting curses in left and right. Ghost saying that they shouldn’t go back because “choices have consequences” only for Soap to angrily disagree. It took Gaz stepping in to act as a buffer while Price had to put his foot down on the matter.

“We can’t go back. We gotta keep moving, Johnny.” A sad look on Price as he places a hand on the Scott’s shoulder. He’s knows Johnny will take the blame and guilt himself into thinking it’s his fault for not convincing Ale and Rudy better. Didn’t help that when they stayed at an apartment complex someone stole their vehicle when they got pass Laredo, Texas. At least they had the weapons and supplies that Ale gave them in the apartment they’re hunkering down in, small mercies.

Derailing most of the plan and making tensions so high that Ghost could’ve cut it with one of his knives. It got even worse when Gaz couldn’t contact his mother anymore, barely a month in as the group walked more on foot from place to place. Gaz shut off completely for a week, not even Soap could ease him out of it. Took Ghost sitting next to Gaz on a warm night in an abandoned gas station for Gaz to finally cry it out. Ghost, never being one for soft words, held Gaz close to him, not saying a word but just being a comforting embrace for Gaz to fall into.

When they finally got a car it went a little smoother, Price scouted it at a JoeVs. He won’t talk about how he knows how to hotwire a car much to everyone’s annoyance and amusement. Soap was able to get a few phone calls from his family until it just stopped coming altogether. Phone calls making a “We’re sorry, the person you have dialed is not able to come to the…” Soap could only hear it so many times before he threw his phone against the wall causing it to crack and break.

Soap leaned more on Gaz for help since he understands more about it. A silent comfort that they had each other to work through it. Ghost took on more of the load since he knew that Price couldn’t carry all the weight. Especially since their Sergeants were going through it emotionally. Ghost’s only family was the men in the car so he didn’t have much to worry or cry about. Price was an only kid and with parents already in the grave. They really only had each other to lean into, all of them did.

The team went through a list of names to call the sick during the quiet nights they had. It all came down to a vote for “Z-Fuckers” since it was funnier hearing Soap call’em that in his Scottish accent.

“Z-Fuckers!” Soap said it experimentally and Gaz has to cover his mouth as he nearly choked on some beans. Ghost having to aggressively pat his back as even he started laughing. Price tried to be stern about being quiet but even he gave into it when Soap kept saying it. A lil calm in their storm, for once the night feels normal.

“It’s like that Romero movie, m’serious Gaz.” Soap grins as they sit next to each other in an office building they’re hiding in. The other in different spots of the room as they chatter back and forth like it’s a normal 141 mission. The Z-fuckers, as Soap so lovingly calls them, are outside on the streets. Moaning and groaning as they search for something breathing and living to sink their nasty teeth into. As they were looking for a place to stay earlier, Ghost narrowly got bit when he pulled Price back from the exit only for Price to punch the shit out of the dead woman making her stumble. Gaz was quicker with stabbing her in the head and then the zombie went limp.

When they finally settled for the night Soap spoke up again to Gaz and then to the rest of the group. “It’s the brains. I dinnae think it’d be but it is.” Soap says outloud and Ghost agreed to it, “Aim for the head.” Become the motto of the group.

Took 5 months in total, a few near misses, a couple of shit shows after the other, and finally they’ve made it to Fort Sam Houston.

“Jesus Christ.” Gaz whistles out as he looks on the binoculars. “Sore sight that’s for damn sure.” Soap makes a grabby hand motion and Gaz obliges him. Blue eyes widening as he looks to Price.

“You’re out ya damn mind if ya think anyones livin.” It’s definitely not a pretty sight. Too many deads, blood smeared on the outside walls of the building. Body parts on the ground. “Pretty sure that’s guts on a car…” Like a horror show from the looks of it. Especially with the broken glass and some of the cars in the parking lot being overturned.

Arms crossed and jacket pulled tight as Price levels him with a look. “We’ve a mission, Sunshine. Don’t tell me you’re nervous.” Soap snorts and keeps looking through the binoculars. “Ghost, you see anything?” Turning to look up as Ghost is laying on a rundown car. His rifle in hand as he looks through the scope. His eyes flickering as he searches and looks for movement.

Price tilts his head expectantly, and finally Ghost speaks, “I see lot of z-fuckers roamin. There’s movement in the building, too fast for a Z so it’s possible but I can’t get a clear view.” The older man nods and rolls his shoulders.

“Alright, let’s gear up.” A circle movement of the arm as he’s as satisfied as he can be with that answer. Not like they have a choice anyways.

They, thankfully, still have their comms and good enough gear on hand. It’s not the best and Price would’ve definitely lectured all of them if they were on a mission, but beggars can’t be choosers. “Soap and I will take the first. You two will take second. Comm for assistance.” His voice naturally moving into the tone that’s been honed over the years as Captain. “Don’t get hurt and don’t get killed.” He pats on Gaz’s chest since he’s the closest. “Don’t become a meal either.” Simple enough as is. Get in, find the scientists, and get out. Pretty clear cut. What could go wrong?

“Price you’re gonna have to think of something! Gaz and I are about to get cornered!” Ghost yells into the comm as he quickly tries to find a room to try and hide him and Gaz in.

Ghost slams against the door and throws Gaz inside. Shutting it quickly as the screech of a dead alerts more to where they are. “Fuck,” Ghost curses as he grabs whatever is heavy enough and barricades the door. The wood of the door being slammed against by the mindless drone of the zombies. He pants hard as presses a hand on the back of his head. His fingers flexing against his mask. His mind working overtime to think of a way out for the both of them.

His eyes searching for an exit as he spots a closet and windows. “Can’t break it. Might be more out there..” muttering as he taps once and then twice on his comms but it’s no use. He slammed too hard against the door, it probably messed with his comms somehow. At least they’re on the first floor. Far too many zombies on second that they had to turn back. Tapping the back of his head with his fist as he thinks of a strategy.

He pauses as he hears anxious muttering. Turning his head a lil he notices his Sergeant gripping his head. He takes a step closer, worried when he finally hears what Gaz is saying,” We’re not gonna make it.” Gaz repeats it again and again.

“Gaz” he says softly, trying to get his attention.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.” He’s spiraling as he tries to breath. Tries to keep calm, he’s been trained for torture, trained to handle the extreme but this is different. It’s a hopeless feeling being trapped in a room with no way out. He lost his gun when he tripped down the stairs. Ghost probably only has a clip left. It’s hopeless.

“Garrick listen to m-“

“I didn’t get to say goodbye to John or Johnny.” His hands shake as he tries and tries to breath. To calm down but he can’t focus. His ankle hurts, it’s definitely sprained from when he fell down the stairs. He didn’t mean to fall but a crippled zombie reached its hand through the bars of the rail and grabbed him. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ghost so… scared when he called his name out as he killed the zombie when it crawled on him.

“Kyle!”

His name being yelled is what pulls Kyle out of his spiral. The shuffling of fabric is heard as Kyle breaths in and out. The throb of his ankle momentarily fading as he turns and looks at Ghost. His eyes widen as Ghost isn’t wearing his mask anymore. It’s clenched in his gloved hand as he comes to Kyle.

“You’re not gonna die. Its not gonna happen.” Ghost says it so sternly, so assuredly that Kyle stammers a response back.

“There’s too many outside the door. They’re clawing to get in, Gh-“

“Simon.”

“W-what?”

“Want you to call me, Simon.” The bigger man says as he steps closer. His gloved hand reaching out and cupping his face as Kyle looks dumbfounded and confused. His breath hitching as he stares into Gho- no Simon’s eyes. Lost in thought as he looks at every crease, every little scar that Simon has. Has he always had such pretty brown eyes? “You’re gonna hide in the closet and I’ll give’em something to chew on.” He murmurs softly.

Something to chew on? What does that mean? Wait… he can’t possibly be meaning what he thinks he’s meaning. That makes him tense as he shakes his head. “No, no-“

“Kyle,” he starts but he gets cut off fast.

“No! I’m not… I can’t just… no!” He steps back but Simons hand grips him a bit harder. Months ago he wouldn’t even think about yelling back to him but he doesn’t care. He’s not going to let Simon die. Not because of him. A battle of wills while the zombies growl outside the door.

“I love you.”

Kyles shoulders slack, his mouth parted slightly as his heart pounds from adrenaline and fear. Eyes glassing over as he says, “y-you what?”

“I know it’s taking me a while to say it. I’m sorry but I do. I love you” Simon looks down as he says it, like it’s a secret that wasn’t supposed to be said but also a yearning to be spoken about. “I’ve lost a lot. I’ve buried too many.” He laughs sadly, “Maybe Johnny was right that I’d need to be put in these types of situations to say it.”

“But Johnny, you love Johnny.”

“I do. Figured it out in Las Almas. Doesn’t mean that I don’t feel for you or… John.” Slowly pressing his forehead to Gaz. Ignoring the pounding hands of the dead on the door that could break at any minute if it wasn’t for the desks in front of it. Simon looks at Gaz like he’s the only thing here. The only important thing in this room right here and now. “The dead outside this door isn’t gonna stop me from protecting what’s mine.”

“We can both hide. We can…” he tries to offer, tries to think through the emotions bubbling up in his chest.

“Kyle, you’ve a brilliant mind. Best on par with John but you know as well as I that the dead won’t stop till they have something to sink their teeth into.”

“No, no you can’t just confess. You can’t just tell me you love me and then die!” He yells and something fierce is in Gaz’s eyes. “You don’t get to leave.” Hands reaching out and grips the collar of Simon’s shirt. The one that Johnny got for him when they were running through a Walmart. A determined look in his eyes and something even more as he glares at his Lieutenant, his Simon, his.

Planting his feet as he ignores the pain in his sprain. “You don’t get to die on me Simon Riley. Not now. Not ever.” Leaning up and kissing him as Simon’s eyes widen. Shaken up as he clearly wasn’t expecting Kyle to kiss him or even reciprocate it. Maybe he also needed to be put in this situation to realize it as well that he loves Simon too.

“Dead’s be damned,” he breathes out as he knocks his forehead to Simon’s. “Our guys will get us. You know they will, don’t try and die on me.” Nose brushing against each other. The cracking of the wooden door pulls them out of the moment. Simon stepping in front of Gaz fast as he widens his stance and grabs his gun. The barricade in front of the door won’t last long. Simon eyes the closet door and then behind him to Gaz.

“I have a clip left. I ca-“ a loud sound outside makes the building shake and he can think of only one person that would make such a loud noise. Just as he’s about to laugh about the odds of who it is. A buzzing noise on Gaz’s comm comes to life as Johnny is speaking hurriedly, like he’s running. Telling them that he and Price are making noise on the east side of the building and to head towards the exit.

“Come on, Kyle,” He places his mask in his pocket, moving the barricade from the door away. Quickly surveying the hallway before he moves and hauls Gaz’s arm over his shoulder. “Our guys got us after all, huh?” His other hand gripping his gun as he keeps a constant watch. Determined to not let anything harm the two of them.

“Was there ever any doubt?” Kyle grunts out when some of his weight is on his sprained ankle. Ghost noticing as he nearly lifts him off the floor as his hand grips at his waist. Shouldering the weight of Gaz as they get out.

“Maybe a lil,” he grins and Kyle finds that he likes the way Simon grins. All teeth in it as he helps him out. Price is already providing cover fire as soon as they both make it to the exit. Soap coming around and helping Gaz so they can get away faster. The building becomes a distant dot and blur of a memory months later, maybe even a laugh at the odds and luck that Gaz has.

————————————————————

Back to the present day as Price smiles softly while working on the radio. From that point on everyone’s been closer, nearly losing Gaz and Ghost was a wakeup call that they all desperately needed. They’ve had near misses but never like that. Never to the point where it felt like the end. Now no one goes anywhere without letting the group know and they have to have a buddy with them at all times. It’s typically; Price and Gaz. Ghost and Soap. Sometimes they’ll switch up but they’re always communicating. Hell, there communicating better than when they did when they were on mission.

Bzzzz… Crchhhh “-nally saw a deer again. That was nice. Last one I saw had bite marks on it. Really, really, hope it was a dog and not a dead fucker.” The mystery woman chuckles, and Price can’t believe his luck. He calls hurriedly to the other men to come over as the woman keeps speaking. “Would kill for a burger from Whataburger, you think they’ll have the ingredients there? Man o man-“

“The radios working?“ Ghost says, stunned that it’s actually working. The radio keeps going as the woman keeps talking unaware of her listeners. “Gaz and you finally got it to work. Guess I can stop railing on Soap for grabbing it.”

“Knew it’d work, ya just dinnae believe me, Si.” Elbowing the big man as Soap steps closer, “Sounds like pretty lil ‘o bird. Gonna speak back, Captain?” Soap inquired as Price holds his finger over the button to speak. For once Price feels… nervous. The first human voice in nearly a year and he’s unsure about it. The number of pros and cons already playing out in his head.

“It might scare her off.” He moves his finger away as they listen to her speak about something that sounds mundane but is everything to the men in the room. It feels normal. “Let’s wait it out a bit. See where this goes. Don’t speak on the radio unless necessary, got it?” Price orders and they all agree. As much as Price wants to speak to the lady… he also wants to protect his men and keep them safe. Who knows who she is or if she’s even alone? The risks outweighs the benefits of a potential alliance for now.

Listening to her on the radio has slowly become a part of their routine. Sometimes in the morning or afternoon she’ll speak. Talk about her day, what she had to eat, commenting on her place of choice for the night, etc. The men would huddle around the radio so they could hear her and her “Talkshows” as they’d call it. Some of them wonder what she’d look like, what she’d sound like in person, how old she was, Soap even placing a bet that she wore glasses while Gaz placed a bet that she didn’t. It became part of their routine to check the radio everyday for her voice until one day…. She went silent.

She didn’t say anything in the morning and then the afternoon rolled by and no response. “We need to reach out and talk to’er.” Gaz said almost insistently when the second day rolled around and still no voice from her. The feeling that she could be a dead becoming ever present on their minds. Price holds the radio in hand, a crease of his brows as he thinks it over.

“Lemme speak to’er, doubt she’ll be spooked if she hears a ‘funny’ accent, yeah? Might make’er talk a bit since I sound like Shrek.” Soap says and holds his hand out. Price takes a second before handing it to him. An encouraging nod from him as Soap breaths in and says, “This is Sergeant Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, Taskforce 141 operative. I’m trying to get in touch with the woman that regularly speaks on this line.” different murmurs from the men as they hope and beg that their lady is around to hear them.

Bzzzz… crchhhhh… He tries again, a worried feeling creeping up in his chest. His words more insistent. “This is Sergeant Johnny “Soap” MacT-“

“H-Hello?” She says softly. A nervousness in her voice and the men all sigh in relief.

“You had us worried, Bonnie.” Soap says as he breaths out a low sigh. His hand unclenching since he had it balled from how nervous he was feeling.

“Us?”

Their eyes widen as they hear the fear in her voice. A curse from Ghost as Soap scrambles to speak, “Me and some of my group have been listening to your talks. We… We just wanted to make sure you’re alright.” The silence on the other radio is deafening and they all suck in a breath. Soap tries to coax some words out of her but to no avail.

She didn’t speak on the line anymore, but they held out hope. Johnny and Kyle started taking turns speaking on the line, talking about their day as the 141 sat around waiting for her to say something back. They were about to give up since a couple weeks go by with no response. And then finally, the static on the other side comes to life.

“… Hi,” the radio crinkles and buzzes with a soft noise, “I’m not going to give you my name or location but I..” the radio shorts out and the men wait on bated breath for her to speak again. “But I want to talk. I’m sorry it’s taking me so long to speak to you.”

“We’re here, Sunshine,” Gaz says softly as he takes the radio, “This is Kyle, do you remember me? I’d’ve spoken more to you whenever, Johnny,” glaring lightheartedly at the Scot, “would stop hogging the radio.” He chuckles softly. “We’re glad that you’ve decided to speak again. We want to talk to you as well, if you’ll let us.”

“I want to talk but… don’t tell me your name anymore, please.”

“…Alright,” he murmurs softly, “we won’t say our names anymore.” The men in the room all look confused about her request but they don’t say anything else about it to keep her talking. “Call me whatever you’d like, Sunshine.”

———

TAGLIST TWWK: @wrathofcats

[fated2bydesign]

Chapters: 14/? Fandom: Five Nights at Freddy's Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Major Character Death Series: Part 1 of Missing Gears AU Summary:

One morning FazCo Sends you an offer that you can't refuse. However, upon taking the job you quickly find out, that you may have bitten off more than you can chew with this one. With an understanding of AI's and Robotics, you thought you had expected the worst, but that sadly was only the best-case scenario, as you are quick to find out from the "beloved" daycare attendant.

Something horrible is happening, and it is up to you and a few helpless animatronics to figure out how to stop it before things get any worse.

[animentality]

I understand what they're trying to say but come on now.

[spellboundrose]

More Eulalia drawings✨️

I love this loserr so muchhh

Plus some ship art of the robo lovers 💠+🦉

[somefanficrecomendations]

You're as Cuddly as a Cactus, You're as Charming as an Eel

Author: Shleapord Fandom: Young Justice (Comics), DCU

Readers Notes: Cracky, fun, and silly, this fic had me giggling and kicking my feet at my computer screen. YJ98 are always such a fun set of characters and make for the sort of plot that is classic comic book nonsense. If you are at all familiar with YJ98 you’ll have heard of the “Young Justice is responsible for the death of Santa Claus in the DCU” thing that goes around every couple of months and that’s what this fic is all about!

Summary:

Slowly, ominously, melodically, the opening notes of All I Want for Christmas filtered in. Kon shrieked. Cassie leaped up, or at least attempted to, and was slammed back to the floor by Kon’s iron grip on her hair. Tim, on reflex, grabbed a Batarang and prepared to fight the speaker, but before any of them could act, Bart had already sped back over to the console, ripped out the wire, and held the torn cords aloft like the head of Medusa. “Killed it!” he announced breathlessly. His hair was poofed like an electrocuted cat. OR Young Justice goes on a merry quest to fulfill the final wish of a past mistake.

Rating: Gen     Warning: None Apply   Words: 2,904         

Characters: Tim Drake, Bart Allen, Cassie Sandsmark, Kon-el⎮Conner Kent, Darksied

Additional tags: Crack Taken Seriously, Hijinks and Shenanigans, Young Justice ‘98, Bart Allen’s Spaceship, Young Justice Killed Santa Claus, Cannon-Typical Violence

[avacadokin]

Fit's only had one experience with collars before, and it wasn't great. It wasn't horrible either though, just bloody. He'd been too trusting, too young, too naive, the wastelands hadn't scarred his soul yet.

It was a dumb mistake to walk into a strange base without his weapons drawn or a proper escape plan, but their mistake was even dumber. Giving up the advantage, revealing their position, for what? A shitty blow to his neck that didn't even hurt?

He was honestly doing them a service killing them, they'd never make it out here like that.

Their death was quick, brutal and far less painful than Fit would have made it if he knew what he'd find around his neck.

A simple collar, enchanted with curse of binding.

From it hang a tag, engraved with text proclaiming "Property Of--" He couldn't make out the name, and he was glad for it. They didn't deserve any place in his memory.

The enchantment may prevent him from taking off the collar, but the tag was under no such protections. Fit tore it off the collar, stabbing it into the corpse of his nameless attacker and pulling out his TNT.

Normally Fit liked to preserve things, keep a record for history's sake and to help any future travelers who might come along this path.

Today was not normal.

The explosions were music to Fit's ears as he washed the blood and viscera from his hands.

A beautiful show for him to watch as he placed down one final TNT.

A reminder of his safety as he drew his neck up close and lit it.

The familiar sizzle of the fuse calmed him as he waited, head resting on gunpowder, for the TNT to go off. What's a little more brain damage anyway? At least now he'd be free.

[antipathy-arsonist]

i NEED to bring back my saw x madcom au