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berrygoodjob · 4 months

Text

MDNI 18+

Wanna bet?

What happens when you bet your virginity with Taiga and lose….

Tokyo Debunkers smut

CW: taiga, mild dub-con, very brief mentions of torture, biting, fem-bodied reader, gambling, virginity loss, selling your body, blood, mild vore, creampies, debt payment through sex, rough sex, cunnilingus in the torture chair, Voyeurism

“Ha! I win again!! Sorry Taiga, looks like I’m up this time!” you laugh at another win for you while taiga grumbles on about a losing streak.

“Hm playing with you isn’t very interesting, you always take the safe bet.” Taiga groans in response.

“Well duh, I’ve seen what kind of treatment the debtors of Sinostra get, and I’m not all that interested in being hunted for sport….” A chill runs down your spine at the thought of you friend Kaito and how he’s constantly being chased and hunted by Romeo. “….your vice captain doesn’t mess around.”

“Gyahahaha! I guess he doesn’t!” Taiga laughs off his vice captains less than legal methods of debt collection. He smiles sinisterly. “hey I know, let’s make this next bet an interesting one.”

“Interesting how?”

“If you win, I’ll clear your little friends debt.” He smirks, knowing that this is gonna be hard to refuse.

“And if I lose?”

“You let me fuck you.” His smile never drops.

Your face goes bright red as you realize how deep shit you’re about to be in. On one hand, you have the chance to clear the massive debt your friend is always whining about, on the other, you stand to lose your viginity, and to Taiga of all people…. Not that he’s unattractive or anything, but he’s not necessarily known for his delicate nature.

“Whatdya say? Sound like a fair bet to you?”

“No way!!” You huff at even the mention, but it actually doesn’t sound too bad. Besides, you’ve been on a winning streak….. Taiga’s been losing at every play….

“Suit yourself, but I spy Romeo on his way to hunt for debtors.” Taiga grins and nods toward the casino entrance, where Romeo has his sniper rifle loaded and ready to go hunt some debtors and shake them down.

“….fine. You’re on.”

“Great! Let’s play roulette for it then.” He tosses his arm around your shoulder and leads you to the roulette wheels.

“Why the sudden change?”

“We’re leaving this one up to chance! That way if you lose you can’t say I fixed the match gyahaha!”

You look at the wheel in front of you. Taiga watches intently.

“Red or black? It’s your choice.” He nods toward the wheel.

“…..I choose black.”

“Hm, don’t think so. Red for me then.”

The reality of the situation is starting to hit you. The ball rolls around as you watch Taiga. He’s completely enthralled by the game. He really is nice to look at, but he’s kinda scary, and he’s always so harsh….. If you lose, you’re really going to be at his mercy…..

And just as you have that thought, the ball lands on red. You lose. He turns to you and smiles.

“Better luck next time~” his voice dripping with faux sympathy.

He wastes no time in tossing you up over his shoulder and walking away from the casino and towards his room. He tosses you down on the bed and climbs on top of you.

“H-hey hey wait!!” You put your hands between the two of you, trying to keep a bit of distance. Your face is starting to turn a bit red.

“Hm, not going back on your bet now, are you?” His smile drops.

“L-let’s at least make one rule okay? A safe word? Right…?”

Taiga considers for a moment. “Sure, what’s your word?”

“….cashmere. And if I say that you have to stop no matter what…. Okay?” You say a bit sheepishly now.

“Mhm, but this is gonna be fun, I promise….” He pushes you onto your back, straddling your hips, keeping you pinned beneath his weight.

He leans over. You look up at him, unsure what to expect from here, so you just nod, visibly nervous.

In a surprisingly gentle motion, he brushes some hair away from your face. Then in contrast, he presses his lips against yours in a hungry sort of kiss.

As the kiss gets more intense, his hands snake down your waist to a firm grip on your hips. Your own hands starting to feel more comfortable wrap around his neck to pull him closer. Having his body pressed against yours during the heated kiss doesn’t feel as bad as you’d thought…. Actually it feels good, really good.

His body is toned and extremely warm against your own. His hands rubbing small circles on your hips, gently raising them just enough for you to feel him getting hard down there.

He nips at your lip and upon your gasp, his tongue enters your mouth. You taste a bit of blood, but that’s the last thing on your mind now as he begins to dominate your mouth. One of his hands moves away from your hips and traces up your waist and under your shirt.

You inadvertently gasp slightly and arch your back as his hand feels around your breasts, roughly squeezing the soft flesh.

His mouth breaks away from the kiss and moves down to your neck. It starts out gentle, as light kisses, but it quickly progresses into soft nibbles, then a full on bite.

“Ow!” Your hands move to push him off, but he catches both your hands in one of his own, not even needing to look up. He pins your hands above your head.

“Be good.” He growls into your neck, fully taking in the scent of you. You feel a drop of blood drip from the bite. He licks it up and kisses the wound.

He begins to roll his clothed dick against your hips, grinding into you at a painfully slow pace. You buck your hips, desperate for just a little more friction, but with his free hand he keeps you pinned down. He continues to nibble and bite at your neck and shoulders. Making sure to lick up any blood that begins to flow.

The hand he has on your hips now is tugging at the waistband of your uniform skirt, slowly pulling it down. Your face heats up a bit. He releases your hands to remove your shirt, as well as his own. He’s lean, but undeniably muscular. There are a few scars littering his skin, likely from his own reckless behavior in the field…..

Your eyes wander his chest and torso, not even noticing your own exposure until he sits up, still on top of you, and lets out a low whistle.

“You sure keep your aces close, dontcha?” He grins, eyeing your chest. He removes your bra with skill and precision. “That’s a view I could get used to…”

You start to feel the embarrassment of being almost fully nude in front of him. You try to cover yourself with your hands a bit. He clicks his tongue and stands up.

“None of that.” He pulls you off the bed with him and shoves you down in his torture chair. He straps you down before you can even get a word in.

With your arms strapped into the chair he sits on the floor and pulls your hips toward his face, spreading your legs.

“Taiga what are-“

“Shut up. Not another word. Let me enjoy this.” His tone is dangerous, much more serious than you’re used to. He threads your underwear around his finger and pulls it to the side, taking in the sight of your pussy all exposed for him.

“You’re wet.” He grins.

“Well yeah but-“

“I said shut up.” He glares at you from the floor. Once again, dead serious. He plants his hand on the sensitive spot where your leg meets your hip and uses his thumb to brush your entrance open, collecting some of your slick onto his finger. He grins and tastes it.

“Fuck, princess, that tastes good….” Wasting no more time, he shoves his face into your pussy. He licks and sucks on your sensitive clit.

You gasp and squirm around at the unfamiliar sensation of pleasure down there. Your hands move against the restraints of the chair and you whine a bit.

Taiga continues to suck your clit, now playing with the entrance to your cunt with one of his fingers, but not going all that deep.

You feel a twisting sort of knot begin to form in your stomach as you start bucking your hips shamelessly into his face.

“That’s right, cum on my face pretty girl…..” he growls into your heat. The vibration of his words pushes you over the edge. You cry out as pleasure rips through your body. He speeds up, then pulls away.

The lower half of his face is dripping with your juices. He chuckles. “I didn’t take you for someone so eager.”

As you pant and start to come down from your high, he undoes the restraints. He pets your hair lovingly, leaning down so his breath hits your neck. “Now we can start for real.”

He tosses you back onto his bed, with no regard for how easy it is for him to completely manhandle you. He pushes himself between your legs and starts to position himself at your entrance.

“Such a good girl….” He leans down and kisses you. It’s a bit more gentle this time. He pushes his tip in, groaning a bit at how tight you are. “….fuck, I thought I prepped enough. Relax.”

You feel his girth starting to stretch out the entrance of your pussy. He rolls his hips a bit, trying to get a little bit further in. You can’t choke down the moan of pleasure that escapes your mouth. “Fuck taiga~”

And at that sound, he can’t help himself, he snaps his hips all the way against yours, plunging himself balls deep in a matter of seconds. You cry out in pain, but he wastes no time to let you adjust.

His mouth takes over yours and he draws his hips back just to snap them into yours again. He greedily sucks on your lower lip as he fucks himself up into you at a brutal pace. His movements as fast and rough, but he makes sure to hit that sweet spot inside you each time.

You can’t even keep track of the noises leaving your mouth. He lifts one of your legs up into your chest to hit even deeper inside you.

His mouth moves down to your neck, once again nipping and sucking as he rails into you. His pace still not even beginning to ease. You feel that same knot start to form in your gut.

You try your best to verbalize what’s about to happen but instead, Taiga snaps into you even rougher.

“That’s it doll, cum all over my dick. Fuck yoh feel so fucking good….”

You cry out again and do just that. Creaming all over his relentless cock. He doesn’t even bother to slow down as he rides you through your high.

“Shit, squeezing me so fucking tight…. Don’t know how much longer I can last like this….”

Without any more warning than that, he flips you over onto your stomach and drags you to the edge on the bed so your legs dangle over the edge. He stands up and begins to hit even deeper inside you, his cock now bullying at your cervix.

He has your hips lifted up off the bed and face pressed into the mattress. You’re practically drooling all over his sheets the way your jaw is hung slack from the intense pleasure. Incomprehensible sounds leaving your mouth.

“That’s right sweetheart, fuck, lemme hear it…”

His balls hitting your clit at each rut into you is sending you close to the edge again, he leans over you, pressing his hot sweaty chest against your bare back, wrapping his hand lightly around your throat. He bites into the nape of your neck hard.

His pace is starting to get even harsher, pulling you even closer to another orgasm as well as letting you know that he’s getting close too.

With a few more rough thrusts he clenches his jaw around the flesh of the back of your neck. And buries his cock as deep as he can inside you, ripping another orgasm from you. Then another thrust, and you feel him twitch inside you. He holds you in place, with the tip of his dick roughly pressed against your cervix as far as it can go. You feel his hot cum full your insides, starting as deep as it can. He lets out a few shaky breaths and releases his jaw.

“Fuck. s’good…..”

His hands give one more squeeze to your hips. He rolls his hips against yours just a few more times to milk all of his seed out into your throbbing cunt. Then he pulls out, leaving you feeling emptier than you thought possible. He lets out another shaky sigh and leans down. He watches his cum start to drip out of you. He slides his finger up your slit, gathering the cum and shoves it back into you.

Upon closer inspection, he notices small streaks of red along with the cum. He tilts his head.

“Were you a virgin….?”

His question catches you a bit off guard and drags you back to reality. “Huh? H-how’d you-?”

“Shit. Id have bet way more if i knew…. Sex is one thing but your virginity? Id’ve at least bet something important. More important than that whining brats debt.”

He stands up fully, stretches a bit and drops over you. Pinning you against him in a death grip. He nuzzles his face into your neck, taking in the smell of you. “Felt so fuckin good though…. I wanna keep you all to myself from now on…..”

you try to squirm a bit in embarrassment, but your body is too exhausted from being completely fucked out. “….yeah whatever.” You grumble a bit, still a bit embarrassed. “Can’t you at least clean up?”

Taiga groans but releases you. He gets up and cleans up for you. He lays on top of you again, this time keeping just enough distance to look at your face. It’s hard to read his expression, so you just stare back.

“You’re mine now, okay?”

You blink a few times. “….okay.”

“Good, also you’re staying here tonight, I’m not done with you yet.” He gives you another kiss.

BONUS:

Romeo, now done with his debt collecting for the day and looking for the captain, ready to give that BTH another good scolding about how he should be treating the casino patrons. He storms into Taiga’s room, only to be greeted by the sight of that BTH fucking right into the BB(basic bitch) who’s face is pressed into the mattress so much she didn’t even notice his entry. Taiga makes eye contact though, not even bothering to stop what he’s doing. He grins and opens his mouth like he’s about to say something. Romeo doesn’t give him the chance. His face twists in disgust and he immediately backs out of the room, shutting the door behind himself.

“Was he in there Fico?” One of his goons questions.

“Nope. He must be busy…..” Romeo clears his throat and walks away. He’s gonna try to forget he saw that.

#tokyo debunker #tokyo debunkers #taiga hoshibami #tokyo debunkers smut #tokyo debunkers x reader #taiga hoshibami x reader #taiga Hoshibami smut #taiga x reader #taiga x reader smut #romeo lucci #poor Romeo was not expecting that

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diejager · 10 months

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Hello!! Can I request about monster task force 141 + könig & horangi, if thats alright for you!

Where reader is a pyramid head instead and I like to see their reaction reader having a pyramid head c:

EXCUSE ME!? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME WITH THIS ASK?!???!? Cuz if you are, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I am still breathing! I might be kneeling for this concept, but I am still breathing.

Pyramid Head!reader

Headcanon

Pairing: Monster 141 + König + Horangi x male?reader

Cw: blood, gore, canon-typical violence, gun violence, betrayal, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 2k

You looked like you came right out of a horror game, a tall, muscular figure hidden under black and dark brown fatigues, thick thighs supporting the big, rusted pyramid that hung from your head and stocky arms that could bend a man in half as easily as it was to rip paper in two. Despite being slow and stumbling around, you were an entity to bring on high-stakes missions, letting you break through their defences with a heavy hand and even heavier attacks, crashing through walls and stalking the walls for your next victim.

They were all shocked when Price talked them into accepting you, gathering them into the debrief room with your file, or your lack of one. It wasn’t easy, having you permanently transferred to their Task Force when you were so sought out by other teams for help as a long-standing mercenary and an entity. So Price was overjoyed that Laswell had managed to get you to themselves, waiting for you at the tarmac on the day you were to land.

Mixed feelings were being shared between his team when they watched you amble down the slope, head hung lowly, the tip inches from the ground. You were intimidating in person, seeming much bigger than life, finally being able to see you rather than hear of you, the haunting reputation that followed you around like a shadow. You weren’t a Ghost, someone reputed for having no living record and past, or his intimidating presence; nor were you a scary mercenary from KorTac, dangerous and imposing. You weren’t an efficient and fast-moving unit like the 141, you were just a one-man army powerful enough to rip a man in two and wield that heavy Greatsword, and despite it being a bit old-fashioned, you used better than man could use a rifle.

Price, as first mentioned, was glad his hard work came to fruition, having someone like you on his side when it mattered was amazing. He might’ve been slightly worried about his boys reacting negatively towards you, Ghost, especially with his volatile hate and distrust of strangers. Only to be reassured when he saw how, unlike the way you carried yourself on the field, you were a gentle soul, a silent one but caring nonetheless. He watched you take care of his boys, wandering behind Gaz or Rudy when they returned injured, a looming figure that cast a protective shadow over them. You were like a pillar, solid and dependable, going out of your way to get anyone that strayed behind, turning your head at a slight angle to stop a bullet from hitting the one you were protecting, and caring for them. He may not be able to hear you speak a word, to be able to hold a conversation and listen to you tell them how much you cared about him and the others, but he knew you loved - he knew you were able to love.

Ghost was distrustful of you, one with a shadow as big as yours or someone he’d worked alongside before. He kept you at an arm’s length, never too close to him so he could protect himself from another betrayal, the hurt and the sadness that came along with being betrayed by someone he trusted, and never too far so that he could watch you, analyse every thought or act you made, to stop you from hurting them before you could. He’s seen you in the field and worked on the same side, he knew that every little detail about you on the reports was true, not illusions and delusions, but factual events that happened with you beside them. He won’t lie, you were an asset - he hated using that word on any hybrid, monster or entity, but it was the truth - that people vied for and they were just lucky that you had their back and they had your undying loyalty. Your occasional sparring with him, Price and König only reinforced your care for them, holding back until he barked at you to fully come at him, you’d hesitate, but never for long. You cared for him as he cared for the others, he could see it, and now, his care was extended to you as well.

Soap was like an excited puppy meeting a new friend, past the intimidating facade and the trailing shadow behind you, you were nice. You reminded him of Ghost and König, the tall, imposing and silent figure, but unlike them, you only replied in grunts and groans, your body language being the biggest way for them to understand you. You were patient with him, bearing with his overenthusiastic tail that kept tapping your thigh and arm whenever or his rambling, your large pyramid nodding slowly, humming when you agreed with him and grunting when you disagreed. You were fun to be around, when he, Rudy and Gaz went around, bringing you along with him to play a little game, you wouldn’t snitch and you wouldn’t say a word, only shaking your head when Price or Ghost asked if they were behind it (the Captain and Lieutenant went along, seeing as they could enjoy themselves after a hard and stressful mission). He could be as shamelessly chaotic as he wanted with you, he didn’t have to entertain the egos of others or maintain a certain level of dignity, he could be himself like he could with the others. He didn’t feel like a burden beside your lengthy shadow, he felt like he was protected, and safe, but most importantly, he felt loved.

Gaz was tentative, not overly enthusiastic as Soap nor as suspicious as Ghost, he was a good mix of them both, guarded but welcoming. He didn’t mind sitting next to you and being the one to start the conversation since you always replied in hums and groans, hands moving to form the words that you couldn’t form under the pyramid. He only truly became comfortable when you went to the trouble of going back for him, stomping through the group that surrounded him when he crashed down, watching you rip the enemy apart with your swinging Greatsword that was too heavy for anyone to lift was breathtaking. Despite witnessing a scene right out of a slasher movie, his teammate in a rusted, pyramid head soaked in blood and guts, you gave him a hand and took his hand with the gentlest squeeze he ever felt. Then the little stunt you helped cover when he, Soap and Rudy were caught doing a prank on one of their leading commanders. He could depend on you, practising sign language to better understand you and simply wanting to hold the hands that saved him.

Alejandro, as usual, was easy to get along with, his charismatic and warm mannerism was easier to open up to. He might’ve been betrayed and lied to many times, but he knew a liar when he saw one after the whole Shepherd fiasco, so he knew you meant well (not that he could see your face for any indications). Unlike others of his rank, he preferred the respect given through comradery over respect through rank, he kept close to the people he worked with in the long run, forming bonds to cherish like he did with the Los Vaqueros and the men of 141. Withholding the same idea, he worked his way through your file and approached you with someone who’d won his respect and admiration from the black Ops you participated in and the people you bled to save. It was a quality he liked about you. While still being professional, he held you, he encouraged you, he embraced you just the way you were, and you reciprocated it without a second thought.

Rudy had his reservations about you, something strong, something big, something powerful, something caring, but never something deadly, dangerous or selfish. From what Alejandro told him, he couldn’t bring himself to be doubtful of your loyalty and devotion, and from what he’s seen on the field, you weren’t deserving of the reputation of a bloodthirsty monster that followed you as it did Ghost and König. You had something that made you stand out, maybe it was the contrast in your character when you looked so menacing: your softness, the gentle edge in your actions, the comforting quality in your muted response, and your active protection on and off the field. He appreciated the way you brought more to the Task Force, another pillar of stability, another ear to rant to, another person to hold, or another friend to laugh with. Even the little pranks he’d join in on, getting his commanding officers red with rage and breathless from laughing and leaving you to cover for them, your hands speaking the words you couldn’t mutter outside of simple sounds. He often ended up in the same predicament when he couldn’t stop himself, cheeks rosy and warm, heart beating fast, fingers fumbling with each other and words coming out in breathless puffs, he knew what he felt and he wasn’t so bothered by it.

Horangi wasn’t sure what to make of you, you weren’t quite human, nor were you a monster, you were a mix of both, a creation of human and monster grief and pain. Little was known about entities and Eldritch beings, and being a feline monster made him naturally curious, or slightly curious. He observed you, watching you from afar without actually interacting with you, slinking around you, golden eyes narrowing at you like a tiger in a hunt. He didn’t dare approach you until he got to know your small cues, the danger you could pose - if you could pose any from what he saw, too gentle for the creature you were - to him or the others. He only stepped forward to talk to you when König made him, feel skittish and slightly awkward for feeling like such a stranger towards someone who took multiple bullets for him when he was down. He held his head high and voice stable while he pushed through his awkwardness, listening to your soft hums and low grunts in reply to his words, he was surprised to see König so engaged in this conversation when he had an aversion towards new people. Honestly, he was just surprised that König talked so much about you. If there was anything good, he would be the first to hear about it from König. He came to know you through König and the time you spent together on missions, hostage rescue and noisy infiltrations. Your small ticks, your little quirks and your verbal handicap were all things he came to learn and like, nearly making it his duty to watch you from the side as you stumble through the halls with your back hunched over from the weight of your pyramid.

König didn’t try approaching you until he absolutely had to, or if he needed you. Be it to give you an order, to ask you something, or during Ops, it would only be a few words here and there, never something long-drawn as he had with the other men or Laswell. It was only after being sent on a quick and easy task that he let you in, letting you calm him down after his unpredictable shift and grounding him, taking back control of his erratic mind after a rough shift of mindset, from a primal and instinctual one to a rational and panicked one. Your rough calluses felt soft against his hard, scarred skin, the soothing circle of your thumb on his palm and the grip to keep him aware of his situation, to keep him grounded on his reality after the carnage he created. Despite not being able to talk, you spoke loudly through your verbal cues, your hand on your shoulder and another one in his hand, listening to him ramble away about his fears and anxieties. You would sit down with him and lend an ear to him when he came to you, even after his first interactions with you. He wondered if you had similar fears, those demoralising words that echoed in his mind on the worst days or the painful reminder of his mistakes. If you did, would you let him ease you down from your pain and care for you with his smaller hands?

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lovebugism · 11 months

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hi bug! you are one of the best writers on here. I love your work! I was wondering if I could request eddie and shy!reader watching a scary movie? maybe it’s early on in their relationship and she’s afraid that he’ll think she’s a baby if she says no, even though she’s pretty freaked? I love their dynamic!

ty lovie! hope u like it!! — eddie (the local freak) loves you, horror movies, and halloween, in the order. you (the scaredy cat) just love eddie. (new relationship, fluff, hurt/comfort-ish, 1.7k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Orange lamplight illuminates the dark trailer. You squint at the brightness, still curled up on the couch and missing Eddie’s warmth. He’s too busy rifling through his collection of VHS tapes beneath the TV stand, searching for a scary movie within a sea of scary movies.

He’s giddy like a kid on Christmas despite having seen all of them a thousand times over. But, then again, the Halloween season tends to be like Christmas for metalhead freaks like the one you love so dearly.

“Okay, Texas Chainsaw Massacre or The Exorcist?” the boy offers when he rises again, chestnut curls as wild as the bright beam on his face. He stands in front of the small television where red names scroll against a black screen and holds both options in eager hands. “Which one do you wanna watch next?”

You shrink inside yourself at the sight of both tapes. On one, a screaming girl — on the other, a masked man with a weapon. Your organs writhe with a fear most irrational. It runs ice-cold through your veins.

You pull the woven blanket up to your chin and shrug, feigning a nonchalance despite your tightening chest. “Whichever one—”

“—And don’t say whichever one I want, alright? You always do that,” Eddie interjects, all boyishly harsh compared to how softly you had spoken. His playful grin hasn’t yet left him, though, and even in the dim lighting, his dark eyes still sparkle when they look at you.

You cower again, more visibly and with a different emotion this time.

The corner of your lip quirks with a poorly hidden smile as you peek at the boy from beneath your lashes. “I don’t mind, Eds. Seriously,” you assure, still quiet in your way.

He pouts like a child, features scrunching in a childlike disdain. “But we always do the stuff I wanna do! You never have an opinion on anything. It’s always just, like, ‘whatever you want, Eds’ or ‘I’m good with whatever, babe—’”

You laugh at his obviously poor imitation of you.

The bubbly sound makes his smile widen.

“—You don’t have to be so sweet all the time, you know? You can be a little mean to me. I won’t mind, I promise.”

It’s in his nature to make dumb, dirty jokes at arguably the worst times — especially with you, ‘cause he loves watching you get all flustered about it. But he thinks if you ever got the least bit assertive with him, he’d turn into a puddle at your feet.

“It’s because I don’t really care what we do,” you confess, warm with the blushy pink feeling he stirs in your chest. “I just like being with you, you know?”

Eddie’s stomach whirls. He’s too metal to let it turn him to mush.

“As cute as that is, you’re not sweet talkin’ your way outta this one, princess,” the boy retorts with a scrunched nose and twinkling eyes. “Pick.”

Too indecisive and too in love with the boy standing before you, you whine, “Eds…”

“Babe,” he grouses to match your pouty tone. His socked feet scuff against the carpet when he walks the short distance to you. “C’mon. You’re killin’ me here.”

A staring contest ensues, each of you stubborn and playfully serious with it.

It’s embarrassingly brief.

It’s hard for you to stare too long at Eddie before you get completely lost in him. You too quickly realize that he’s real — that he’s looking back at you and that he loves you — and you feel a bit like your feet have been pulled out from under you.

Stern, but still gentle, you cave. “Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”

Eddie beams when he gets his way.

“See? Was that so hard?” he teases quietly, bending at the waist to kiss you.

You tilt your chin to meet him halfway. It’s instinct at this point, like he’s got his own gravitational pull. His breath smells like warm nicotine and buttery popcorn as it fans against your chin.

He pulls back before you can reach him, though, and your fluttering eyes widen at the sudden refusal.

You find Eddie already squinting down at you.

“Are you just saying that ‘cause you know it’s my favorite?” he interrogates lowly.

“Maybe I like it because you like it,” you argue, too soft to be as serious as you seem. “Ever thought of that?”

“You’re too sweet for your own good, you know that, right?”

Your playfully taunting gaze gives way to a more genuine grin. “Now, I do.”

Eddie leans in to kiss you. For real this time. It’s a fleeting peck that leaves you grieving. His plush lips press pink against yours for one moment, and they’re gone the very next.

The couch dips beneath his weight when he plops down beside you. He coaxes your folded-up legs onto his lap with an urging hand on your knee.

“Okay, how about this,” he offers with rosy lips so suddenly kissable. “We go down to Family Video — bother Steve for, like, ten minutes — and you get whatever movies you want instead of the old shit we have here. My treat.”

Your chest warms. You’d follow Eddie blindly for the rest of your life if he let you. You’d do whatever he wanted and not think twice about any of it. It feels nice to know he’d do the same for you.

“Any movie?” you press, soft with a girlish giddiness you fight to keep hidden.

“Yeah,” the boy scoffs like it’s obvious. Then, in a vaguely posh accent, he assures, “What my lady wants, my lady shall get.”

You grow so suddenly sheepish, shrinking inside yourself like you always do when you’ve got something to say but lack the confidence to put it into words. It’s dumb to get nervous about it, and you know this, but you don’t want Eddie to think any differently of you — not for a moment, not even in the most innocent way.

“Does it have to be scary?” you wonder with a scrunched nose and a bashful gaze that doesn’t quite meet his.

Eddie falters for a moment. Not because it’s a big deal, but because he thought you liked horror films — that you both had that in common.

“Well— I mean— No. It’s just— It’s October, you know? So, I thought scary movies would be more appropriate. ’Tis the season or whatever.”

“I think I just need a break for a bit,” you confess with a wavering smile, picking tiny balls of cotton from the blanket with a fidgeting hand. “Especially after that last one… It was pretty scary…”

Eddie’s blood runs cold. Too clouded by the haze of puppy love, he thought you were having just as much fun as he was. He thought you were clutching his arm and digging your nose into his shoulder because you wanted to be close to him.

Because he’s an idiot.

Realizing that you’ve been scared out of your mind for the past several hours feels a little like a knife to the gut.

“I thought you liked scary movies…” Eddie quavers with pinched brows.

“I like them because you like them—”

“Babe!” he exclaims suddenly, as though offended by how much you love him.

“What?”

“That’s, like— That’s totally not cool!” he gapes in a boyish outrage. “That means I’ve been, like, fucking traumatizing you this whole time!”

You can’t help but giggle at his dramatics. You’d been scared, of course, but it hadn’t been all that extreme to you. “It’s okay, Eds. It’s not that serious—”

“Yes, it is!” he retorts firmly, with wide eyes and a stern nod. “If I knew you weren’t into them, I wouldn’t have forced you to—”

“You didn’t force me.”

“—To come over every weekend and watch them!”

“That’s why I didn’t wanna tell you, Eds,” you admit with a shy, halfway-forced giggle.

He goes quiet again. “…Why?”

“‘Cause I was scared you wouldn’t wanna hang out with me… I mean, what kinda girlfriend would I be if I was too much of a scaredy cat to watch stupid slasher films with my boyfriend?”

“Well, that’s just— that’s just not true. I just meant that we coulda been doing other stuff together,” Eddie affirms, gentle but in the overtly firm Munson way. A chuckle sputters from his lips as his palm squeezes your knee, warm and reassuring. “Stuff that wasn’t scaring the absolute shit outta you, preferably.”

You don’t know what to say, so you just laugh.

Eddie smiles back at you, mostly because it’s terribly hard not to, but he grows suddenly somber again.

“Seriously, babe,” he presses, leaning closer so you can’t duck away from his sparkling gaze. His chocolate eyes are dark enough to drown in. They flit between both of yours. “You gotta tell me shit like this, okay? You’re not gonna hurt my feelings— or, like, make me like you less or whatever. That’s pretty much impossible, I think.”

Your stomach does a backflip. It unleashes a thousand butterflies that flutter relentlessly against your ribcage. “Yeah?” you press softly and with a shy smile you try to keep hidden.

“Oh, totally,” he answers without thinking twice. “Our friends are idiots, but they’re right— I’m so fucking whipped for you, it’s not even funny.”

That joke was only halfway gratifying when it spilled from Steve or Dustin’s mouth. Hearing Eddie say it — with his nose mere inches away from your own and with his cigarette smoke and candied breath entwining with yours — it’s that times a thousand. A million, even.

“Well, maybe a little,” you tease quietly in return.

Eddie shrugs with a jutted-out lip. “Just a bit, I guess.”

He might as well be telling you I love you. It feels like he is, in his own special way.

“Are we still gonna go to Family Video?” you wonder aloud when the silence becomes too heavy to bear.

“Oh, yeah. You’re getting whatever the hell you want, alright? I’ll buy out the whole damn store if you want.”

He only has mere dollars to his name. You know this, too. But he says it with so much hubris that it feels just as real, anyway.

Beaming fully again, you joke. “Are we still gonna bother Steve while we’re there?”

“Yes,” Eddie answers with a single nod and a deadpan, like he’s offended you would even ask. “That answer’s always gonna be yes.”

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wizzdot · 2 months

Text

The Patron Saint of One Way Trips

Ch3

Description: third chapter - who am i updating twice today?! Anyway, Laika gets upset, Kyle is a sweet baby angel. We hate Soap and Ghost rn, Price is ok, I guess. Will just have to wait and see if they make up. Guess we will just stick with Gaz for the time being, huh? We find out a little more about Laika’s past here, but she is keeping things close to her chest. Who will she open up to first?

The car ride, so far, hasn't been an enjoyable one. I feel caged in between Gaz's large body and the door. I try to take up as little space as possible, deciding to uncomfortably twist my body and stare out of the window. There isn't much to see. We seem to be driving through the middle of nowhere, and I dare not ask where we were going or when we would arrive. I decide, instead, to watch the raindrops slide down the window, taking bets on which one would make it furthest before collecting too much weight and flying off of the glass into the wind.

I glance around a couple of times and accidentally make eye contact with the masked man through the side mirror. I decided not to look in that direction again. I cannot shake the itch of his gaze, though. He truly does terrify me.

I sit there uncomfortably before my eyes start feeling heavy. It was late—it must be around 2 a.m —and pitch black outside. I want my nest, if you can even call it that. My cell isn't exactly luxurious, but it is - was - my space. The facility had stripped me of everything. I was found with just the clothes on my back, and now all I have left is a filthy handkerchief that I was found with, that I have somehow managed to hold on to. I swear it still has the lingering scent of...before.

The handkerchief in question is currently tied around my upper arm. I use it as a makeshift cushion for my sniper rifle. I told myself that it lessened the jolt of the recoil, but it doesn't, if the permanent bruise on my bicep is anything to go by. It goes everywhere with me, it is all I have that reminds me of what I was before I became a puppet for the Russians. When I'm in the comfort of my own nest and hear the lock click in place, I use it as a pillow. It smells of something I cannot place, maybe it just doesn't hold the smell of the cold, damp cell, but I find it grounds me regardless.

I decided to try and get it from my arm. I need grounding right about now. I try to reposition myself quietly, making a huge effort not to make a sound or touch Gaz, who is having a quiet conversation with the captain. As I turn, I can see that Soap is fast asleep, head lulled back against the window. His mouth is wide open, and he is on the verge of snoring. I know that the scary masked one is watching me through his mirror as he tenses as I start to move—just ever so slightly, but enough to scare me a bit. It throws me off my task, and I ever so gently brush my elbow against Gaz's ribs. He immediately glances down at me.

I freeze and stare up at him. "S-sorry" I stutter, trying to back myself as close to the car door as i can. "What are you trying to do?" He asks me softly. I shake my head as if to say 'just leave it' but Gaz is too observant for that. He notices my tiny glance down at the handkerchief tied around my arm and acts immediately.

"Oh shit, are you hurt under there? Hold still, let me look." He must assume that I'm using it as a makeshift bandage. Something deep inside of me snaps and I growl at him as he reaches for the piece of fabric. I feel all of the eyes in the car snap to me immediately, even Soap's, who has woken from his sleep. The Captain must tap the brakes as I slide forward slightly, causing me to whimper due to the loss of balance. I quickly correct my seat and twist away from Gaz and stare at my feet. If I could curl into a ball and disappear, I would do it in a heartbeat. Embarrassment, shame and fear wracks my body. I sit and whimper in the back corner of the car.

That is until a soft hand touches my shoulder, so gently that I almost don't feel it. "Hey shh, Laika, I'm sorry - I didn't mean to snatch at you like that. Let me look.. I just want to make sure you're ok." I shake my head and whisper a broken "I'm fine" at him, without looking at him. He starts rubbing a small pattern into my shoulder. "Ok, that's fine. Were you uncomfortable? I felt you moving before you snapped at me". Damn him and his soft nature, the use of the word 'snapped' floods me with shame. "S-sorry. Didn't mean it. I don't bite.. promise. Just got scared.. It's mine.. no one else can touch it." I explain weakly, feeling utterly pathetic.

Gaz continues to dig: "It's yours? The bandana on your arm" - "s'not a bandana, it's a handkerchief" I interrupt. He laughs slightly at that, Soap pipes up from beside him "Aht's you been telt boyo" he says chuckling. I quickly flit my eyes at them and see Soap chuckling away to himself and Gaz rolling his eyes. "Sorry" I whisper, looking at Gaz for the first time in a while.

He immediately finds my eyes and smiles. "Stop saying sorry.. You didn't do anything" he says kindly. I relax slightly at that before the masked man in the front who had been silent the whole ride decides to shatter any progress I had made with Gaz.

"That's debatable. A girl with that much blood on her hands - I wouldn't call that 'didn't do anything'" he barks. I immediately tense up and curl into a ball, shaking. Tears pool in my eyes. "He's right," I whimper. "I'm a monster."

Gaz's eyes flash angrily at the mask man who only shrugs and grunts in response before looking back out the front window. He immediately looks back to me with the softest eyes, I almost have whiplash from the change in emotion he showed so quickly. "We don't know enough of the facts to make a judgement on that yet. And as far as I can tell, you are no monster. You're just a small bug that got caught in a spider's web. Is that closer to the truth, Laika?" He asks.

His brown eyes don't look away, I almost feel like nodding in agreement but my stupid, self destructive brain overrides that decision. "I am a monster though. I've killed people. Good people, I think. Lots of them. And people have been killed because of my actions too." He listens intently "What do you mean you think?" he asks. "I- I was told that they were bad - but they couldn't all have been bad. I think I was the bad one. So he's right" I glance at the masked man.

"Tell me, did you want to do it?" he asks - I shake my head immediately "No - never - But the punishments.. I couldn't.. and then the drugs and tests.. I was too weak.. I should have died.. You should kill me" I rush out, tripping over my words and interrupting myself.

I jump in my seat slightly when the Captain's gruff, authoritative voice snaps though my self loathing rambling. "No one - and I mean this - is going to kill you. And we will get to the bottom of this. We have friends in high places, they will dig into your past and see what happened. Until then, we give you a room at base, keep you safe and go from there. We aren't in the business of punishing innocents." His speech stuns me into silence again and I find myself just staring into space.

"And for the record - I agree with Gaz." He adds, practically spitting his anger at the masked man for making the accusation in the first place. "Now, let's all calm down - let Gaz check your arm, lass. That's an order". My eyes widened, panicked, still not wanting Gaz to take my handkerchief. My eyes shoot to his and I ever so slightly shake my head once. He tilts his head slightly as if to ask 'Please?'. God, he has his puppy dog eyes down. I look at my arm and back to him before quickly untying the fabric from my arm and presenting my uninjured arm to him. Obedience is rewarded, my brain repeats its favorite mantra. I stuff the handkerchief into my pocket for safe keeping.

"Can I touch your arm?" Gaz asks, asking for consent again. I nod once. He gently takes my arm and turns it over in his gentle grip. "No wounds, but a deep bruise" He announces to the team. The mask man turns in his seat briefly before facing the front again and just barks "Sniper".

"You a good shot then?" Gaz asks me. "I don't miss" I reply bluntly. He nods. "What else can you do?" He digs for more information. "Gaz.." the pack's alpha warns from the driver's seat "Don't push your luck".

"I can do most things. Don't like hand to hand though.. I-I'm not as strong.." I muse. He nods. Soap interrupts, "Ya like bombs, lassie?" "No." I immediately responded, shutting him off. I've decided that Gaz is my favorite, followed by The Captain. Then a long gap to Soap, who just seems pushy and insensitive, and then an even longer gap to the masked man who I don't even have a name for. I don't care to find out either.

The car settles back down, and I turn back to my window. Soap has opened his window to let some air in, but it makes me shiver. I'd never been good in cold climates—ironic, I had survived the long Russian winters for all this time, really. I try to close my eyes and pretend to sleep. I slowly remove the handkerchief from my pocket and lift it to my ear, resting it between the window and my head. I inhale the smell gently, trying to imagine what it used to smell like. I drift into a half sleep - half awake state and then feel something soft and warm drape over me. I resist the urge to jump out of fear. It's the last thing I feel before finally falling asleep.

The car pulls to a halt. I wake up as soon as I hear a car door open, always on edge. I pull my cover towards me, clutching to it like a shield, until my brain processes where I am and what to do. I meet Gaz's kind gaze again. "We are here, back at our safehouse. Put it on.. It's cold out."

I look at him as if he had grown two heads, confused, until I realise I am clutching a dark coloured jacket. It has a Union flag on the sleeve. I spot the tags inside the jacket, black pen writes 'Garrick' over the washing instructions. It reminds me of how my mother wrote my name inside my school pullover. Y/N - That was a whole lifetime ago. I hadn't forgotten my name, but it had slipped into obscurity a long time ago. It was connected to a hope I had long since lost. I must have zoned out because Gaz - Garrick? - clearshis throat.

I quickly stand, putting the jacket on obediently and stuffing my handkerchief in the pocket for safe-keeping. The jacket is big, but it's warm. I ball the extra sleeve length into balls in my fists and squeeze them as if they are stress balls. Gaz hides his triumphant glee at seeing a cute little thing in his clothes. It awakens a side of his Alpha that had been dormant for so long.

Gaz was, arguably, the least trait-typical Alpha in his pack. It was unusual to have a pack full of Alphas but they made it work. Seeing a non-Alpha trust him and, inadvertently, covered in his scent, awakened an inbuilt reflex to protect. He steps closer and offers his arm to lead me into the safe house.I shake my head gently, not quite ready to accept his touch. He respects my decision and shows the way with his arm.

He smiles as I step towards him. I smile back up at him this time.

#gaz x reader #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #price x reader #captain john price #poly 141 #task force 141 #kyle gaz x reader #omega reader #abo dynamics #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mctavish x reader #simon riley

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zabala0z · 2 months

Text

Oh my god. Okay hi. Welcome back to “New TMA listens to season 2” and guys holy shit I’m freaking out. I just listened to The New Door. So much is happening in 3 episodes and I gotta write it down oh my god. Guys. Guys.

MAG 44: tightrope

Gertrude Robinson!!!! She sounds so nice. Didn’t even realize there was a mention of this circus before until Jon said it. Gotta up my game. The guy who played the steam organ, Nikolai Deniken, was featured in Strange Music. Or his granddaughter was. I looked over the transcripts again; Gertrude mentioned that Deniken leaving in the 70’s made the circus tamer. Makes me wonder if the steam organ is essential for the circus . Also the circus of the other is such a metal name for a circus like okay damn.

I’m thinking the circus is gonna pop up again. New main villain??? Maybe??? Or maybe that cult that hadn’t appeared for a bit.

MAG 45: blood bag

Ewewew. It’s literally summer, the definition of mosquito season, why did I go through with this episode, I’m literally gagging. Anyways. Not many notes but the antiques dealer who bought that Victorian syringe off of Thompson is also from Lost and Found (MAG 38) and Piecemeal (MAG 14). Like all bro did was buy it and shit went off the rails. Wonder if he’s like cursed or something. Also small note for piecemeal: the guy who made the statement said after Mikaela Salesa left, Noriega was missing teeth, an eye and fingers. He may have had them before Salesa came but who knows. Salesa seems suspicious.

Also the description of the mosquitoes. Like. Eugh.

MAG 46: literary heights

Yooo Michael crew! He appeared in Pageturner as the childhood best friend who got his shit rocked by the lightning. He also apparently appeared in a boneturners tale when he returned a book. He seems like a book nerd now after his near death experience. That lightning figure that was chasing him at the end sounded like it was from the book but another thing: Michael was chanting that shit before y’know jumping out the window but he mentioned “The Vast”. I already vaguely know that name, along with a couple others. Like the fear entities or whatever?? I knew them before going in because Im into Hatchetfield and the lords in black got compared to them a couple times so I guess i didn’t go into this fully blind. More like 94% blind. I’m guessing The Vast is important though. We’ll see.

Finally the one I’m still freaking out over: MAG 47

Holy shit. If anyone saw my abrupt post, congrats. Anyone who didn’t: OH MY GOD MICHAEL APPEARANCE. The voice was so creepy, genuinely I’m freaked out. The whole premise of the episode was scary to me just because one of my fears generally is just being alone and having no one and just being lost so obviously, yeah. But also..god. Starting to doubt my assumption on how morally correct Michael.

Also SASHA. FAKE SASHA. She sounds completely different, thought it was fun they changed voice actors for this. I think fake Sasha has been rifling through Jons stuff. He’s been mentioning that someone has been going down in the tunnels and I think it’s fake Sasha.

Not many notes, I’m just freaking out. Couple things though: Michael said to Jon “do you even know they’re lying to you?”

Now they could either refer to fake Sasha as some gender neutral term since whatever replaced her is definitely not human and maybe doesn’t have a gender but I think more likely it’s referring to multiple people. Thing is, it could be anyone. I’m still suspicious about Elias, like he seems to know something no one does, jon had his rant about Tim and how Tim was here for practically no reason which is true and Martin is chill, I trust Martin. If Martin ends up like killing someone, I will die.

Just god. Michael is so creepy. It makes me wonder about its “domain”. It said it came to collect what is “mine.” The one who entered its domain. Is it like some underworld shit where you go in, you can’t come out? “The wanderer had a brief respite but it’s over now” like that’s just cruel.

Like I screamed when Michael said “did you notice which door she left through?” Like I full on got chills. Also “I am not a who, I’m a what, yada, yada” Okay pop off but you just stabbed a man wtf.

I have seen that infamous Michael line before in like fanart but god nothing compares to hearing the words actually coming from my phone while lying in bed when it’s pitch black outside. Props to the voice actor. Also that buzzing noise that happens in the background of fake Sasha and Michael disappearing when they leave? God it’s beautiful.

Anyways. Uh. Sorry for the long post but you guys gotta understand, I am literally going insane, I love this podcast so much. I got I think like 17 pages of notes/details from episodes to keep in mind like genuinely I am so invested. It like invigorates me. Fully.

Anyways, my only takeaway is bring back Sasha and Michael is terrifying

#the magnus archives #tma #tma podcast #zabala0z thoughts #yeah I still miss Sasha #THATS NOT MY SASHA ‼️‼️#again sorry for long post 😭 I’m very passionate about this podcast rn

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crazycurly-77 · 26 days

Text

Lost in the Jungle - pt. 2

Gibbs and Tim stormed into the morgue with Gibbs stating “Ducky! Give us the same vaccination you gave Y/N.”

The medic looked at them suspiciously, answering “you are going to search her.”

“Yes.” Gibbs answered determinedly.

“Is it an official rescue mission?”

“No. We act on our own and we'll go, no matter what the price will be.” Gibbs stated and looked like a marine ready for the fight.

Ducky had seen this sight before and kept his cool, but Tim took a step back, slightly afraid. In this mode his boss was absolutely scary.

But nonetheless both got their vaccination with the medic saying “you're taking a big risk, but it's good that you dare to do it.”

They both nodded and Ducky continued “I'm proud of you that you both take the risk no matter what the consequences will be, but please be careful.”

Gibbs looked at his worried friend and replied softly “will be.”

“Bring her home” Dr. Mallard pleaded sadly with his faithful friends.

Finally Ducky gave Gibbs a first aid bag in case of emergencies and mentioned “you have to hurry. If she is injured she needs help as soon as possible.”

Then the three of them hugged shortly in hopes that soon all will be well again and then Gibbs and Tim drove to Gibbs’ house.

Arriving there they directly went into the basement where Gibbs opened different drawers and with every drawer opened Tims eyes went bigger and bigger. Apparently his boss was well equipped for self defense and rescue operations of all kinds.

Purposeful Gibbs grabbed guns and a rifle and put them on the countertop. Out of another drawer he took a signal locating device and a satellite phone. And last but not least he got two Bowie knives out of another drawer.

Tim was speechless. He knew his boss was at least three times as dangerous as he looked like, but seeing that was…overwhelming and simply stunning.

Turning around Gibbs gave him a gun, the locating device, one of the two satellite phones and one of the two Bowie knives, instructing him “Take these. Set the device to the signal from the black box. In the Jungle we won't have any radio signal, so we have to use satellite phones. The frequency is already set. The knives are to clear the way and to defend us from any dangerous animals. Take these cartridges, too. You will need them.”

Tim took it all and nodded. They equipped themselves as if they were going on an operation beyond an enemy's gates and he wasn't so sure anymore that it's a good idea that he will go to search you. But he was your best friend and he couldn't stand by and wait until he got any news on you.

While Tim was pondering the reality, Gibbs grabbed his things including his rifle and cartridges for the gun and the rifle and went upstairs, followed by Tim.

He knew that Tim had to run to be able to follow him and he was grateful that he accompanied him, but he couldn't slow down for the world. He simply couldn't. All of him refused to believe that you had left him, because that would destroy him totally. So he had to find you at all costs. Even if it'll cost his life. At least you would then be together again.

Standing in the kitchen, Gibbs took two backpacks and put all the materials in there. Additionally he put in a drinking bottle too and gave one to Tim. Of course Gibbs didn't forget to pack the first aid bag which Ducky gave him.

Then he took his phone, dialed and took it to his ear while listening to the ringtone.

After a few seconds he said “Gibbs. Stan, I need your help.”

“Okay, what's up?”

“We have to find a team member in the Jungle of Ecuador. Her plane was shot down and maybe she's injured.”

“Official operation?”

“No, we are on our own.”

“Come to the airport. My co-pilot and I will be waiting there for you. We'll be your support on this operation.”

With that Gibbs hung up and strode right to the door and the car. Tim had to run again to be able to follow him, but at least they were on their way to you and hopefully found you alive.

Arriving at the airport Tim was nearly falling on his knees and thanking all that was holy that he had survived the ride. Gibbs always drove like a sore thumb, but today he drove like a madman out to destroy.

100m in front you stood an aircraft with running engines and the pilot was waving to you. So that was your transport to Ecuador.

They ran to the airplane, entered it, sat down and immediately it rolled to the runway. After waiting there for 2 minutes you were free to take off.

The pilot Stan increased the engine performance to maximum power and then the plane rolled along the runway and finally took off to your destination.

(To be continued...in Chapter 3)

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Here you will find the other chapters of this story and the other stories I've written to date.

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Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27

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#ncis #jethro gibbs x reader #gibbs #leroy jethro gibbs #gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #ncis fanfiction

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jpitha · 2 years

Text

Just another Merc

When I signed on with the human mercenary group, I wasn't sure what to expect.

They were just as surprised to see a K'laxi standing outside their offices on the starbase asking to sign up. They asked me about qualifications and I pointed out that K'laxi have excellent hearing, can do a standing leap up to 2 meters in the air and I had served on human ships before. Out of what I think was more a sense of amusement, they signed me on for a one year trial.

The truce with the Xenni meant that there was no more war, but there was plenty of work for a group of former human soldiers (and K'laxi trained by former human soldiers) to go and as they said "solve problems."

The training was grueling. They taught me how to shoot - I couldn't handle the kick of human pistols or rifles, but I could handle a submachine gun well and my smaller frame meant it fit me better and - they grudgingly admitted - I was more accurate with it. I could leap from the ground into the gunner position on the vehicles and my hearing helped me pinpoint targets faster than they could. They even taught me how to drive! They set up their ground vehicles to have seats and pedals that could adjust to my smaller frame, and I could run the vehicle easily. It was scary fun to be in control of such a large, powerful human vehicle.

My first real mission came a few months after I signed on. We were hired to rescue some K'laxi who were being held on an outer Xenni colony world. The Xenni denied holding them against their will, but conveniently nobody could land to go and pick them up either. I never knew who hired us, but the rumor was it was someone in the upper echelons of the K'laxi diplomatic corps who fronted the money. Later, I learned that our commander Kirk, offered the job for nearly free because he felt bad about their situation.

We loaded up our ship, the Theory of Everything with our vehicles and weapons and it started to print a dropship. I guess we didn't do a lot of surface missions that require a drop from orbit, but the Theory had plans in their archive and could make one en route.

We used the gates until we were one jump away from the planet, known to the Xenni as Ixar. At that point, Kirk briefed us on what was going to happen. We were going to open a wormhole into the atmosphere of Ixar, jump in, drop to a park close by, rescue the K'laxi and then boost out and into a safe orbit and be picked up by the Theory. Since it was a world out on the far border from either K'laxi or Human space, it had minimal planetary defenses and what they called a "shock" attack would work.

Easy, he said.

Since it was all going to happen very fast, me, Betty, Jen and Kirk buckled into the dropship, sitting in the hold of the Theory. That way, the Theory could spend the least amount of time possible in the atmosphere of Ixar.

I was lucky. I was not one of the 1 in 10 sapients that "dies" when you go through a wormhole. Jen is, and she throws up nearly every time she comes back. I asked her once what she saw, and she gave me a look such that I never asked her again. When we're on a mission though, she doesn't seem to have to throw up. I wonder why?

We appeared with a titanic thunderclap in the atmosphere of Ixar and the Theory shot us out of the hold. We screamed through the atmosphere at nearly 10 times the speed of sound, belly first, drop ship getting uncomfortably warm as it smashed into the atmosphere of the world.

We landed in a park in the middle of a city with heavy rocket fire to slow us down, not caring a bit about the vegetation we destroyed with our landing. The back opened and it was my turn to shine! I had memorized our route hours earlier and expertly maneuvered the huge armored vehicle through the narrow city streets.

We encountered no resistance other than Xenni civilians running away in fear from our huge, black, human vehicle until we reached the compound where the K'laxi were being held.

I blasted the front gate and we drove in. Kirk said they were being held on the south side, so I drove around to there until I found the door the maps had said would be there. I opened the rear door, set the brake, and yelled "GO GET THEM!"

Over the radio, I heard the attack. While our fall through the atmosphere was enough to surprise and overwhelm the planetary defenses, the local garrison was also stationed at the compound and the team encountered heavy resistance. They found the K'laxi though, and dragged them out, back to me. So far so good.

As soon as everyone was aboard, I yelled for them to be secured and closed the door. Through a hail of small arms fire, I wheeled the vehicle back towards the drop ship. While I was driving, I used the turret on the top to attack the pursuers. Kirk was hanging out the back, using a machine gun to assist while Betty and Jen made sure the K'laxi were safe.

One of the civilians, in the midst of all the action and noise and smoke noticed I was K'laxi. In accented K'venti (which meant she was from the far north of our planet) she said "What...what are you doing here?"

"I'm rescuing you, honored one" I replied in our language while I concentrated on the road.

"I see that, and thank you; I meant more what are you, K'laxi doing here, among these beings of war."

I stammered, half concentrating on driving, half embarrassed at what she was implying. "I...I'm doing what I need to do."

"Hmm" was all she said, and settled back into her seat and Jen secured her tighter.

We made it to the drop ship and drove aboard and told it to take off without us even getting out of the ground vehicle. It wasn't an AI like the Theory was, but it was smart enough to take off and get us to orbit.

We met up with the Theory and linked out in another wormhole.

The whole trip back to K'laxi space, they spoke to me respectfully, but they talked to me not like I was a fellow K'laxi, but almost like I was a human solider. Someone to be respected and feared, but not a friend.

It was odd. I was - at the same time - proud and sad about that.

When we got back, Kirk caught up with me when I was at the firing range and said that I had passed with "flying colors" and that I could stay on as long as I wanted.

I grunted a thank you, and reloaded.

My groupings were still too wide.

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #humans are warriors #sci fi writing #writing

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whumpitisthen · 9 months

Text

A True Sacrifice

It's an exceptionally quiet day at the facility today. The corridors are empty, the guards are sparse and the cafeteria buzzes with a nervous anticipation.

The slop the staff have the gall to call food has never been quite this well received. While usually most of the captives find distracting each other with idle chatter more pleasant than chowing down on the watery stew, today no one even looks another in the eyes. Everyone is hunched over their own trays and concentrate on only that, whispering to their neighbouring chairs if they must. No one is absent.

He sits at the end of a mostly empty table, watching two women share worried looks, looking over their shoulders for danger. The guards stand at attention, a serious look on all their faces. The black armoured uniforms and powerful looking rifles, while not exactly unexpected to see, are certainly an upgrade to the batons and the lighter padded outfits they usually have on. They do not communicate with each other either, only murmur into their radios once in a while, keeping their concealed eyes trained on the inmates.

He had heard too, of course. He heard about what is meant to go down today.

He has learned to both love and despise things like this — uncommon things. On the one hand, every day is the exact same — same food, same chores, same tests, same abuse. Unpleasant and mind-numbingly boring; and so when something scary enough happens that even the guards don their full security gear, he finds a particular interest in the careful air that settles over them.

On the other hand, nothing good ever comes from disorder. Not when everyone is warned in advance for an upcoming 'event'. Not when nearly every doctor, assistant and low ranking security officer has left the building, and only the most highly trained special forces remain, locked in a room with all the prisoners. Not when the name of that creature is mentioned in the report.

There are many unexplainable phenomena that exist between these four walls. Some of them are harmless, simply illogical items that humanity does not understand just yet, and so they keep them here until they do. A lot of them are harmful, yet not fully understood, so they are kept for examination as well as safety concerning the rest of the world. There are even some creatures, some that seem friendly or non-violent at worst, but are nevertheless held here for the nature of their bodies or their abilities or whatever else the scientists deem them unfit to be let free for.

And then some of them are downright dangerous, evil beings. Ones who need to be kept locked up and closely monitored, because all they know is destruction. Ones that find their purpose in deliberately hurting humans or anything living. Efficient killers, chaotic entities, spirits of another time or even dimension who almost resemble humans, but are twisted in their minds, harming those they meet, even if hurting isn't their intention. Plagues, contained disasters, beasts, hypnotic objects, a hive mind. He has been lucky enough not to be sent to visit any of them so far. He has heard horror stories from some of the older, more experienced prisoners, and was allowed to read some of their files every once in a while by a doctor who seemed just as fascinated by these things as him. Just the thought of being in the vicinity of some of these subjects sends a violent chill down his spine.

Well, he has been lucky so far. Maybe he will remain lucky enough to avoid today's guest as well?

The lights flicker, and any idle noise that may have existed before then is sucked out of the air. Every captive is frozen stiff, hesitantly jerking their heads in all directions wide-eyed, looking for guidance. He, for one. chooses to lean on his elbows and hunch over, walking through a prayer in his head. He can feel it approaching.

He had read the note left on his wall over and over; a small, torn, yellowed piece of paper with dark spots and browning ink. Unsure of who could have left it there, he settled on it being a normal occurrence in this place, and that maybe one of the friendlier creatures decided to leave him with some advice. He hopes it's advice, anyway.

"It exists in laws set by your kind only as long as it remains entertained. It has been knocking on its door for a week, louder every day. Its observers are terrified!

Tomorrow, it will ask for more entertainment."

The lights flicker again, three times in a row, and now people are starting to panic. Everyone was told to stay still, quiet and calm — if they want to survive. Normal people would at least question that casual threat on their lives, but most prisoners here have already learned that if you are ordered to follow such strange rules that come from the researchers, there is most definitely a very good reason you were, and should do your best to do as they say. If they tell you you cannot, say, look inside an inconspicuous red book with a gash on its cover set on a pedestal in the middle of the cell it's placed in, you better not, because chances are, someone before you has, and whatever happened to them was bad enough to warrant a warning for those that follow. He, regrettably, has had first-hand experience with that one. The things he saw on those pages still haunt him to this day, mixing into vivid night terrors every time he closes his eyes. He hasn't disobeyed anyone since then.

Despite all that, warnings are truly useless when primal instincts take over. He can pick out a couple of people starting to break down in fear, who are promptly held close by other captives — not entirely out of worry for them, more so out of concern for the collective them. It's best to help out the weak link in case their own skins are on the line and they become collateral damage because of one idiot who couldn't just sit still like he was told.

The guard closest to him talks into his radio, and in the quiet, he can pick out that even the soldier's voice is shaking with nerves. He wonders if all these armoured, scary looking guys will even be able to do anything if shit hits the fan. This doesn't seem like the kind of experiment that can be fixed with some guns and ammo if it goes wrong. If it was, there would be hundreds of the guys and the doctors would at least be present in the vicinity. They must be here for another reason; maybe to observe what happens inside while the scientists are away.

One thing they were all told was that once the lights go out, it will enter the room, and that once it does, everyone is absolutely prohibited from moving or reacting to anything at all until the lights are back on. No exceptions. They were told to just squeeze their eyes shut, keep their lips sealed and bear it until it's over. If they can do that, nothing will happen to them.

Then they were told that one of them won't make it out.

That's when it all came together in his head. He knows exactly which creature will visit today. He knows why it's visiting and how horrible the consequences of being picked by it are. He knows exactly what that note meant.

This is a subject that cannot be contained. Not by humans, not by any specific material, not by any spell or limit or whatever else. It has no weakness to be exploited, nor does it have a special connection to anything that could be manipulated. It exists outside of the laws set for people in this world, including but not limited to the very laws of physics. The only reason it remains here and obeys the rules of the facility is because it is playful and conceited, and it fancies a bit of fun more than senseless, endless tyranny over this world. It likes messing with people, hurting them and distressing them greatly with its presence. It finds humans fascinating. It is confident they cannot do anything about its existence or actions, but it finds living without consequences far too boring and predictable. No fun at all.

So, it made a deal with humans. It would act in accordance with the rules set for it by humanity for as long as they can entertain it. It will remain in its cell, it will not hurt anyone, it will not cause problems on purpose, it will not show itself at all — remaining a shadow dwelling monster instead, making it so that as long as there is light, it cannot cause mischief. All that on the principle of playing a fair game, of course. This makes controlling it not only possible, but easy. Unless, of course, the rules of the game are not adhered to well enough. Or it decides to bend some rules or find loopholes. It would not be the first time.

The price? A sacrificial lamb. It will be provided with one human of its choice, who it will ‘play’ with as much as it wants. However, its definition of fun and play are very different from what one might expect — it wishes only to bring that person to the very brink over and over, stretching them thinner and breaking them down to tiny pieces that it can build into something different and observe. And then, once that human breaks one too many times from the constant relentless torture and bending of the mind — if they even manage to survive for that long, — it tears them apart and demands another one. It will leave its cell to look for a new toy from the collection of prisoners provided by its captors. The deal seemed miraculously beneficial at the time to everyone, and it probably still remains so to this day. After all, what's one dead human every once in a while in exchange for control over what some believe to be the devil himself?

The young man reminisces about the note. It said the beast has been banging on its door for a week, getting louder and louder each day. It must have been getting very impatient after having finally snuffed out another life and waiting to be sent someone new. He heard it’s always a surprise when it decides it has grown bored. Sometimes it only takes a few days for the sacrifice to be tortured to death, other times it keeps its playthings around for months, slowly consuming them on a level no one could ever understand but them and their tormentor. It meticulously morphs them into something they never wanted to be and forces them into a corner by repetition and pain. It leaves him nauseous, the thought of what the poor guy who is chosen will be made to go through. This is an anomaly; there is no telling if the first chosen will even make it out of this room.

Now, the lights in the hallway leading to the cafeteria dim, flickering erratically until they finally die out one by one. It's like watching it approach in real time, not by seeing its body walk, only the darkness that follows it grow. Not long before it reaches the double doors — locked to keep everyone inside in the event of panic taking over and chaos ensuing, — he makes the conscious decision to take a deep breath and relax as much as he possibly can. He lays his head on top of the table in front of him, forehead warming the metal surface. He then surrounds himself with his arms tightly, building a little tent of warmth and protection to hopefully block out any sound or sight that may distress him. Maybe he can just completely ignore everything around him. Maybe it will be over quicker than he thinks. Maybe it won't even look his way if he can make himself small and unassuming enough, just quickly snatches up someone else and leaves right after, returning to its cell forever and he will never see it again. It's possible. That's the best he can hope for.

His heart stutters in unison with everyone else's when the last light outside goes out with a droning buzz, concealing what must be eyes peering in through the windows at the top. In the deathly silence, three slow, innocent knocks ring loud against every eardrum.

It is here.

"May I come in?" — follows its intimidating voice soon after. A grin can be heard through its low, throaty timbre, twisted humour dripping from its tongue. It sounds like it finds the notion of obeying powerless creatures like humans amusing. Like someone pretending to be invested in playing house with their niece, struggling to keep a straight face as they play along in something so juvenile.

None of the guards react, while the captives only plant their hands firmer to their mouths. You'd have to be some special kind of stupidly arrogant to think anything you say will be taken seriously by this thing. He supposes if such arrogance exists, it would be found among the head professors here. They must think themselves deities to be fucking around with supernatural destructive entities like this one without fear.

To his surprise, the hesitant footsteps of the guard next to him reach his ears, fading towards the entrance. Are they actually going to open the door for it? A tremendous amount of concentration is required to squash any thoughts coalescing in his brain of making a run for it and slipping out through the door while it's unlocked. Even if he somehow miraculously got through it, what would it solve? He would get shot before he makes it that far, and if not, then he will be running right into the clutches of a monster. Nevertheless, his desperate mind tries convincing itself that there is a way out of this.

"Aw, really now... Is there no one willing to play with me? I'll behave, I promise," — it all but whines, but he can feel its impatience growing. He has never been more aware of the hairs on the back of his neck than now as they prickle and lift with the shiver that runs down his back. Maybe it is for the best that one of the security officers grew a pair and decided to join in on the game of pretend, if only so it will stop hauntingly musing and clawing at that damn door. — "Oh! Hello there, little one. Are you lost?"

The guard says nothing in response, completely ignoring its mockery. He hears the keycard sliding into its slot on the wall, unlocking the doors with a sharp electric shriek. With great hesitance, and an audible inhale, the soldier reaches for the horizontal bar to push down on and open up the way inside for the menacing thing, stepping off to the side in tandem with the swing of the door hinges.

As the door is pulled open, there is only a blink of massive, sharp claws latching onto it before the light bulbs inside the cafeteria explode at once, drowning everything in near complete darkness, leaving only the red hue of the emergency lighting painting the walls with bloody shadows. A small commotion breaks out, the dramatic change in surroundings managing to freak out a few people, causing a bit of a scene towards the leftmost corner from where he sits. Listening to others panic only serves to scare him more, but he manages to keep it all under his skin, trying to distract himself from his quickly rising heart rate by self soothing motions. Around and ‘round, over and over again his thumb travels the sleeve of his prison uniform. Slow circles. He concentrates on trying to do the most perfect circle he can on the smooth fabric.

The small panic is ignored by the creature for now in favour of focusing on the valiant effort from the guard who was brave enough to approach it. It must appreciate the gesture.

It breathes out a chuckle that barely sounds human at all. — "What a brave little soldier you are. Thank you for letting me in, Brandon. Lovely to see you again."

It knows the guard? As far as the prisoner knows, no one here wears name badges at all except for him and the other captives. It could be that he guards the creature's cell, and they have interacted before. Perhaps seen each other. However, that still does not explain how it could know his name when no one is allowed to talk to it.

"Tell me — is your wife still ill? Have you managed to scrape together enough money to save her yet?" — It coos at the armoured guard, enunciating each word to draw out the hurtful sentence. This seems like an incredibly intimate, serious conversation to be having right now. Something tells him that it's not that the two have been chatting away with each other when nobody's looking, more so that it just knows much more about the people residing here than it lets on. The way it phrased the question seems too mean-spirited and mocking to be genuine, and the sympathetic drawl it used was less than convincing.

"Now, what is that expression for? I'm merely curious." — The guard must gesture or nod in some way, because though he says nothing in response, the prisoner can hear the heavy, languid steps of the creature entering the cafeteria finally, huffing in dramatic annoyance. That grin does not leave its mouth. — "Alright, alright. Don't let me distract you from your very important job."

The doors close and the telltale buzzer of the lock sliding back into place seals the fate of each captive in the room.

For the first time since it got here, it finally acknowledges the presence of the crowd of people anticipating their possible deaths sitting in neat rows at long lines of tables. He can only hope no one is dumb enough to act out; there is no telling what it will do if it is displeased. — "Awe, just look at you all. Trembling in your boots, like newborn kittens."

As it stalks deeper into the room, he listens to Brandon move back to his position next to him. He catches the clicking of his armour sheets knocking into each other from his shivering, despite him standing completely still. Even through the mask it's obvious how hard he is trying to keep it together, taking long, deep breaths in order to keep calm. The captive wonders if it was an allotted job to open the door for the creature, or if he really just thought it best to play along with its games.

"No need to be so scared… After all, I'm the most harmless thing in this facility. Perfectly contained and controlled. Predictable!" — It bangs on one of the tables right after 'predictable', jerking everyone in the cafeteria terribly. It giggles to itself in delight. Despite the warning the prisoners received about not reacting to anything it does, it has yet to punish failure to follow rules. And truthfully, everyone flinched, including the security personnel surrounding the room. It pauses, glancing from prisoner head to prisoner head, then passes over the guards once, waiting a good few seconds before continuing. — "You are all so well-behaved — were you expecting me? Did you know I would come out to play today?"

The way it saunters through the room like it belongs anywhere near here is almost disorienting. Somehow he is the one who feels like he doesn't belong. And truly, he doesn't. He wouldn't be here if he wasn't in the wrong place at the wrong time on that fateful day. He wouldn't be here if that one guard didn't see him sneaking out of his cell a few weeks ago. He would be free, finishing up university and truly starting out his adult life. He wishes every day for a miracle, but he doesn't even know what kind of miracle would be able to save him. One that could destroy this whole damn building, let everyone who was kidnapped against their will free, while also trapping all the abnormal, dangerous curiosities and experiments it holds safely deep below the surface.

The next time the thing speaks, its voice comes from a radically different direction from where he heard its footsteps leading. — "I did warn them in advance... It can't be that I frightened them so much they ran off, can it? There is not another soul in this whole place but us, little lambs."

A sharp gasp and a sob, somewhere to his far right. There is the subtle whisper of the uniforms the captives wear, the noise it makes as it is twisted. It has someone. Has it grabbed them? He wants to see what's happening so bad, but he wants to stay alive more. He keeps his head down and his eyes shut. — "It's so nice of them to leave me such a lovely gift."

"No, please, please — "

"It's just unfortunate that they had wasted my time — and yet more unfortunate that they didn't even come to watch me some more, as they so like to do."

It must have made its choice. He prepares himself for the death wail and desperate pleading of the poor soul, expecting the monster to latch into them and drag them away back to its own cell soon. He tries to plug his ears and curl up as tight as possible, to somehow block out the terrible, traumatising event and be glad it wasn't him that was chosen. What a morbid, inhumane thought. The only thing more shameful than being happy for another's misfortune is the fact he feels absolutely no shame for thinking like that.

“Hmm… I was really looking forward to showing them this."

The screech of agony comes and grows in volume so quickly he barely has time to jam his fingers deeper into his ears before it ends. Abruptly. A sickening crunch and a splash of liquid hitting the linoleum floor, then silence. Deathly silence. No one dares to utter a word. What happened? Is it over? He certainly won't be the one to risk asking.

Long enough goes by for one of his fellow captives to ask instead of him, tears audible in her voice. He would be lying if he wasn't close to bawling as well. — "I-Is it over?" — comes the innocent whisper. When her voice isn't immediately answered with violence and death, he dares to open up his fingers just a little to look through the cracks. She would not have been able to even finish that sentence if it wasn't over, right?

He sees a massive shadow cross the room right in front of him, blocking out the red light beating down on his face for only a split second. It moved inhumanely fast. It was inhumanely tall. It also had at least three more pairs of long limbs than a human would, each ending in too many bladed fingers.

It's gone before he could even squeeze his eyes shut again, already out of sight. It moves rapidly and without a sound — a horrible chill freezes his body in place at the primal fear that takes hold of him. He prays it didn't catch him flinching so violently.

Right after he concludes that it is definitely not gone yet, it answers the question for her, —

"I am afraid I am not done just yet."

The same woman who spoke up now screams for her life, her desperate cry only overpowered by the creature's demented laughter as it tears her apart without as much as another word. All that remains is the latter half of her corpse, fallen to the ground with a dull, final thud. This is bad, this is very bad. It must have killed its first chosen as well, — is he just meant to sit there until his turn comes? Just hope that his shivering and gasping of terror won't be too loud for it to end him? How long is he meant to stay like this?

Its long, deep sigh is filled to the brim with contentment. — "You break so easily..."

A shot goes off then, deafening like the screeching, roaring guffaws it lets out as it bends to dodge the bullet, leaping away into a corner swiftly. It clicks its tongue, probably at the one who shot at it. Its voice drops to a low growl that resembles the purr of a carnivore. — "Aww, did I break a rule? Did I make the big, scary humans angry?"

More shots follow in rapid succession, exploding from all angles, more and more of the guards lifting their respective guns to join in. Now the captives are made to scream from the added stress, frightened not only by the creature's antics, but from the gunfire as well. Some almost hope to get shot rather than ripped in twain by it. If any bullets reach at all they do not hurt it, as the only reaction it gives is uncontrollable laughter and mockery.

Worst of all, he can't even tell who's still alive anymore. Between the bullets and the creature roaming the floor, there's no way nobody is caught in the crossfire. A stray bullet catches his shoulder, singing his skin on its way. He cries out, gripping at it, but luckily it is more busy jumping from prisoner to prisoner to use them as living shields than with punishing them for their understandable reactions one by one. Something sounds almost bitter in its voice as it speaks between the rain of bullets.

"You almost got me!"

A muffled cry and the sound of a heavy rifle hitting the floor.

"Go on, make me obey!"

Ripping of armour, of flesh.

"Show me how scary you can be!"

Something bangs on the table in front of him with a sickening crunch.

"Oh, you shot your own. How sad."

In the end, when the fire dies down and silence stretches between drips of blood, no one dares to say a word. Whoever is still alive has either passed out from injuries or overstimulation, or has receded so deep inside their own minds that they still twitch and quake at echoes of long gone fire. He feels closer to the latter, unable to even move an inch if he tried, ears ringing like a church bell.

The room now strongly smells of gunpowder and blood. Most of the soldiers are dead, only a couple hiding away in corners, injured or just terrified, and a single one standing stock still, hands clasped tightly around his gun. He can hear him gasping for air.

It wanders between the corpses as if it was skipping through a meadow of flowers. It seems just as peaceful too.

"Mmm..." — It stops somewhere in the middle of the room, cocking its head to the side. It coughs out a snicker. — "Now you seem disappointed in me."

It's talking to someone again, but who? He's sure he's the only one left conscious after all that. His toes curl with the thought that it is talking to him.

"Oh, could it be?" — It sounds giddy, growing louder, condescending. It stretches every syllable threateningly, playful. His guts tie themselves in knots at its awful tone. — "I can hear you, Doctor! Brandon, you didn't tell me you had her on the line!"

If he concentrates, he can just barely pick out the tiny voice yelling orders at Brandon from his radio. He is obviously not following them, clutching that heavy piece of metal in his hands like his last lifeline, hugging it close instead of defending himself with it. He does not move, but the creature doesn't mind walking closer to him instead, kicking corpses out of the way nonchalantly. — "She has caught it all, has she? Doctorrrr, why didn't you show up today? I was looking forward to seeing you."

It is coming closer again, closer to Brandon most likely. He wonders just what in the actual hell this guy did to have made friends with something like it. One wrong move is enough for it to tear out your throat, and yet it treats him like a dear friend compared to everyone else. The tip of his rifle still burns from all the lead he shot its way prior to it killing off most of his colleagues.

The radio has become suspiciously quiet.

"You left me this delicious gift, but didn't even come to see me? Brandon, tell her to come visit me!" — It is right next to him, talking to Brandon — it's just his luck that he managed to sit next to the murder demon's only buddy.

Brandon says nothing. It's voice darkens then, purring out these words, — "I truly would have loved to see you today, doctor. It's a shame you weren't here. I would have been more than happy to let you join in on the fun. I would have loved to show you the consequences of your carelessness in person."

The radio sparks to life again, her voice coming hurriedly, — yelling at Brandon to shoot it now now now — but not much more makes it out before it grips the black box and tears it off of the guard, whispering right into it to make sure the one on the other side listens well, — “Next time you need someone to test your new toys out on, make sure they actually work before you piss me off. See you on Monday, love.”

Whichever scientist it is talking to starts yelling again, voice distorting with the steadily increasing pressure it uses to crush the small device in its hand. The last dying static that makes it out of the speaker is snuffed out viciously, causing both other men to flinch when it shoves the thing into the wall right next to Brandon's head, shattering it to pieces and letting the plastic shards fall to the blood covered floor. It's silent once again.

So the fuckers were watching. Of course they were, nothing happens in this godforsaken place without their knowledge. However, what the demon meant was clear — the scientists have displeased it by making it wait despite their agreement, angered it when they didn't even come in to witness its retribution in person out of cowardice — proving they knew fully well they had messed up — and then made it furious when they opened fire as soon as it began doling out more pain than they thought it should. All that, banking on these new weapons being sufficient enough to stop it. It’s all clear to him now — it decided to hold this horrifying spectacle as a punishment and as a warning in response to the arrogance that had let the researchers slip up and forget their place. Now, of course, the ones paying for it are people like him, with no control over the situation, not people like that doctor watching from a safe distance from what must be another lab, or even her own home, free of all consequences for her rash actions.

Well, free for now. He doubts it will forget her disrespect come Monday. If he was in her place, he would quit and never return.

"What do you think, my darling Brandon? Shall I make the message more prominent?" — Its spine creaks like a firecracker. He imagines the massive thing hovering over the cornered soldier with a scary grin, daring him to shoot it so it can make him regret he was ever born in the blink of an eye. The last bastion of this toy castle, standing between a wall and a creature that could tear down this entire building, if only it wanted to.

No shots are fired, no screams are heard. A loud metallic bang on the floor — Brandon dropping his weapon. The creature hums a pleasant sound after nearly a minute of unsettling eye-contact and only the sound of their own breathing, finally snickering and backing off of the terrified guard. It seems satisfied. — “Atta boy. I knew I liked you for a reason.”

Brandon’s quivering lips part behind the mask of his helmet, letting past a shaky exhale. He pushes himself back further, searching for balance on the wall behind him with his knees feeling like they could buckle at any moment. Though he is a special case, he is far from immune to the vicious whims of the horrific creature.

The monster begins wandering the room once again, surveying the darkness for prisoners that may still be alive. Its demeanour has changed, though; it seems much more irritable, less playful. It is no longer hiding its heavy footsteps, and it no longer taunts and mocks neither Brandon, nor anyone else. He doesn't know if the change is a good or a bad thing. He's only glad it hadn't noticed him yet.

It finds a possible candidate for itself but kills them off in the same moment when said candidate jumps to their feet in a blind panic and tries to run from it. It sends an arm through their abdomen, lifting them up towards the ceiling and tossing them into a wall, no doubt shattering their spine and killing them. The way it kills does not become any less terrifying, no matter how many times he has to listen to bones crack and flesh rip. It sighs, moving on. — “Disappointing. Awfully disappointing.”

Another life snuffed out not a minute later — it's almost dismissive with how carelessly it sends bodies flying through the air like puppets. No one seems to be able to satisfy it. It’s like it has lost interest in playing along. That isn't exactly surprising, if he thinks about it. If he was such an all-powerful, menacing beast with no kryptonite, and his fun was ruined by the people he had made a deal with out of boredom, he probably wouldn't stick to the rules either, but ignore them and look for other ways to amuse himself.

However, stuck with his thoughts as he is, the only thing he could truly concentrate on is one question: what if no one will be chosen by it today? It can surely just break out of here and look for more meat, if not just completely abandon the agreement and go on a merciless hunting spree. That would be disastrous, maybe irreversible. He can only hope that if he is killed today, unable to please it, it will at least find the motherfucker who kidnapped him and kill them too. All of them.

Bodies that still have a soul in them are scarce. The mental fortitude he needs to stay so still and quiet as he listens to it smashing someone's skull into a wall just a couple tables over has become even scarcer. He's going to die here. He will. It doesn't want a prisoner like him, it just wants to destroy. No rules tie it down until the doctors repent, and to repent they might have to give their lives. It's just going to kill off each leftover prisoner one by one; probably Brandon too once it runs out of defenceless captives.

“Is this it? This is what I was made to wait for?” — It comes up behind another man and doesn't even wait for him to react, snapping his neck in one quick motion. — “What a waste of my time. This is getting more and more boring, Brandon, and you know how I get when I'm bored.”

As if demonstrating, it snaps the arm of a person lying on the ground, already injured from a gunshot just to hear them wail. Once it heard enough, it tears off the whole limb, and moves onto the next one, not letting up until their body finally gives out. The prisoner can't see any of it, but he can more than sufficiently imagine it from the horrid sounds.

He can hear frustration clear as day in its otherwise emotionless voice. This is the end. It's only a matter of time before it finds him. At least he won't be taken by it, tortured for god knows how long; and he takes solace in that. His death will be brutal, but quick. Maybe he should just get its attention and be done with it.

He considers it, but his train of thought is swiftly interrupted. — “May I make a suggestion?”

It's a timid, yet loud, hesitant voice muffled by a padded helmet. No one but silence answers it. The beast stops in its tracks, pausing for just a moment. He cannot believe he heard that right. The first thing he feels is bitterness, for he really will be left all alone when the creature eliminates this suicidal soldier before him.

“Brandonnn…” — it sings at him, a vile, dangerous melody crawling with unsaid intentions. However, to his surprise, it doesn't instantly leap across the floor to tackle the guard and behead him for breaking a rule. Instead, its eyes find Brandon, humming to him from what sounds to be across the room. It brings small relief to hear that smile having returned to its face. If nothing else, at least it's interested again. — “You are being very brave today. You aren't supposed to speak to me, don't you know? It's very dangerous.”

It purrs at him knowingly, but doesn't pounce on him. Not yet. What could Brandon's plan be? Distraction? Self-sacrifice? Maybe the monster whisperer can find a way to calm it down after all. He holds his breath, praying that whatever the guard is about to do doesn't end in more carnage.

“Well, seeing as, uh, we're all breaking the rules, I thought I'd, I'd join in.” — It's unusual to hear a prison guard so nervous; usually they sound either bored and emotionless, or antagonistic as they drag captives off to help out with deadly experiments that are too dangerous for more important people to take part in. It's hard to feel righteous joy at listening to one of the people who routinely treats all like him as less than human finally being on the receiving end of the cruelty of a subject like this when he may be next; but he can't say it's impossible. Every stutter makes both men more anxious, and the monster more intrigued.

The creature starts walking towards him at a languid pace. The guard tenses. — “You just can't help playing with fire.” — He can almost hear Brandon's heart pounding from where he cowers. The silence is deafening. — “And what may your suggestion be?”

He hesitates to answer. It’s approaching him, now closing in on him much too quick to think clearly. Like a timer, counting down with each step towards his death. Like convincing the Grim Reaper to grant him more time.

As it steps up to him, towering over the man in a terribly intimidating fashion, he forces himself to answer it in the smallest, most strained little voice he has ever heard from a guard, — “I think you would like this one.”

The confusion is quickly overridden by terror. It can't be. Brandon can't do this to him. It's not hard to imagine what the offering could be, but he still tries to come up with a different answer. Breathing becomes a challenge. The creature's curiosity has been peaked, however. It looks towards where Brandon points with a questioning hum.

The prisoner can feel its gaze landing on him. Its voice travels towards him while it addresses the guard.

“I am very curious why you think I would.”

For a moment, hope reappears in his heart. He at the very least managed to put it in a better mood and distracted it, but that is not enough to save anyone, especially not him, now that he drew attention to him like this. Everyone is still just as stuck, but maybe a miracle could happen, and he manages to convince it to go after someone else — the doctor, for example. Whichever one pissed it off so bad.

Brandon swallows thick as he thinks of the right words to say next. The longer he talks, the more his hope of ever getting out of this in one piece diminishes. — “He, he has been behaving perfectly this whole time. He has been quiet, and still, and, and I know you like the ones that, uh… that are easy on the eyes, as well as obedient.”

The creature is laser focused on every word he says, equal parts amusement and something darker lurking beneath. — “I must say, it is nice to hear your voice. A welcome change. Keep talking for me. Convince me.”

It turns away from Brandon to scrutinise the captive’s quivering body instead, burning holes into the top of his head. Though he cannot see what's going on, he can hear it very well, and when it starts walking over to him, he gags on a sob and his breaths become irregular.

“Right, uhh — I've seen him around a lot. He's new, but he's never really been a troublemaker. He, uh, seems smart, a bookworm. A loner. I heard he was a top student at a nearby academy before he was brought here. I always see him reading reports and docs. I'm sure he's read yours too. Maybe he could be… interesting, to play with. Right?” — This was humiliating, dehumanising and evil. With every word it became harder to stay still, yet easier to lose himself in despair. Brandon is basically killing him in the most roundabout, terrifying way. It seems to be considering this option, thinking it over. — “Come on, what else… And, uhh, I spoke to him once. I think you'd like his voice, he's got this soft, light way of speaking. Maybe it sounds good as he… screams. You know? He cries easily too. I've heard from one of the others that he's a crybaby. He isn't used to pain. His life was pretty easy as far as I know, so he bruises easily. I think he, uhh, he could… entertain you for a little bit?”

“Mmm. Is that so…” — It's behind him, it's right behind him, what is he meant to do? He no longer supports Brandon's idea, and he downright despises it once the demon starts touching him. He feels its long fingers wrap around his shoulder, teasing at his neck. It purrs as it listens to Brandon, clearly delighted by some of the things he says about him in this awful, uncomfortable, much too personal rant. — “Oh, that does sound very enticing. And he is indeed very well behaved. I barely noticed him at all.”

As it leans over him to observe from up close, he gives up entirely on trying to survive, jerking away from those awful, dangerous claws with a whimper; to the delight of the monster. He doesn't want to be chosen, he really doesn't, he can't do this, he can't — but he can't even force a single plea out of his throat. He is frozen solid, yet pliable in its embrace as it circles him, inspects him, smells him. Possibly worst of all, he can't even bring himself to be angry with Brandon. He probably would have tried something similar in his place. However painful it feels to be betrayed by someone who seemed to be on his side, it is still for the greater good to sacrifice one for the lives of many. He just never expected to be sacrificed himself. He assumed there must be another from the hundred other prisoners next to him that would be a better choice, and found crucial comfort in that.

He tries to avoid looking at it as it pulls and nags at him. Its frigid claws freeze his lungs and burn his skin. This fear is unlike anything he has ever felt before. Debilitating, primal, fit for a prey animal in the clutches of a predator. It makes alien sounds that resemble giddiness, digging through his hair eagerly, grabbing onto a stray lock and jerking it hard enough to wrench his head to the side, keeping him bent like that. Its words chill him to the bone as it murmurs into his ear. — “You lasted so, so long, little lamb. If only your shepherd dog could have scared off the wolf on his own, huh? His owner is not here to help, and he is too cowardly to give up his life to save yours. How sad.”

It does not sound sad whatsoever; it sounds wicked and excited. It completely suffocates him with all those limbs, feeling every part of him. He has never felt so many hands on him at once. It's awful, he can't even fight off any of them before they have him by the wrists and ankles and waist and neck and chest and he is completely defenceless against all of it. He feels himself being lifted into the air and there are even more hands touching him, coming to caress his face and knot his hair, and when he opens his mouth to scream a desperate wail of helplessness, fingers enter his mouth to push on his tongue and explore his molars.

Brandon has gone quiet, averting his eyes and trying his best to ignore what he has done. It's for the greater good, that's all that matters. And he might keep his job after all, despite his failure to follow orders from his boss. If he returns in one piece and with a successfully tamed monster back in its cell chewing on its newest victim, perhaps he will be excused for it.

When it finally seems satisfied, it simply drops him, uncaring of the height he was held at. He lands painfully on his front, scraping his chin off the floor. He tries to clamber away immediately, blindly backing away from it, but those hands return sooner than expected, gripping him by the neck to keep him in place.

It forces him to look in its eyes. It has awful, terrifying, coal black orbs that pierce him right through. Whatever it is looking for in his teary expression, it finds it, because it grins with sharp teeth and takes hold of one of his wrists again, dragging him along with itself. It walks right past Brandon, tearing the doors open with no issue. It pauses in the doorway, turning to the guard once more.

“Thank you for helping me choose, my dear Brandon. I hope to see you again soon,” — it says, waving him goodbye. It wastes no time to return to its cell, a newly reignited curiosity pulling it towards the corridor. Brandon succeeded in exciting it. Ideas of torment materialise in its head already as it listens to the poor prisoner sob, pulling at the fingers gripping him tight.

In a moment they are both gone. The lights brighten, the danger is gone. The few people who survived this encounter are saved. Brandon escorts them back to their cells, one by one, taking the time to let quiet tears fall as he shuffles through the sea of dead. He does not have the peace of mind to write a report nor to notify anyone about it being over for another couple hours. And in reality, it isn't over. It never is. The prisoner will die sooner or later, and then he will have to do this again and again and again. He will have to live with his choices, and if it comes down to it, he will have to make the same decision again.

The next day, as he stands outside the cell door, listening to the unending wailing and begging coming from behind the solid steel, he will have to convince himself that this is better. That he made the right choice. He will cry and apologise over and over again to the locked metal gate.

And it will be listening to him, satisfied with its one true victim's pain.

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

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lambsouvlaki · 1 year

Text

For the Hell of it - a Visitor

Character: Jason Todd x civilian! Fem!oc

Rating and Warnings: T, violence, swearing.

Word Count: 1968

Summary: A Jason from a different timeline appears in Andy's house. He has the letter 'J' branded on his face.

Masterlist

------

Sometimes it hit Andy that her best friend was an on-again off-again crime lord and an unrepentant killer.

She had a tumultuous relationship with crime herself. She was a felon after all, even if she contested her guilt, it wasn’t a label that came off. Any neat little ideas she was raised with about good people and bad people had been blasted off by the pressure washer of life.

Sometimes when Jason did something particularly adorable, which was alarmingly frequent, she remembered the new cellmate she got halfway through her sentence. She was in on nonviolent charges but nobody was fooled, she had turned herself in just to get off the streets. That new Red Hood guy had a bone to pick with her.

The woman stared up at the guard towers in the yard on her first day and asked why there weren’t any spotlights facing outside the prison. She would wake up with a start and stare at through the bars in terror. Every shadow was suspicious. And she wasn’t the only one. Andy, a bookish nineteen year old afraid of making prolonged eye contact, found herself one of few inmates not afraid of the dark.

Really, only the sex workers weren’t afraid of Gotham’s latest nightmare. And wasn’t that bizarre?

Andy once saw Jason cut a radish into a perfect tiny little teddy bear to place atop a bowl of tonkatsu curry, purely because the recipe’s photo included a radish teddy bear and like hell was he going to miss out. This was the man her remorseless murderer cellmate cowered from. Gave up her freedom to escape.

There was that one rumour about a duffel bag of heads. Her cellmate never shut up about it. Andy dismissed it as the invention of terrified thugs with nothing to do on long stints of guard duty.

Having met Jason’s dramatic side, she was pretty sure she owed Cheesewire Wendy an apology.

She still struggled to picture it though. She understood Jason was capable of incredible violence. Intellectually, it was very scary. In practice… in practice she never felt safer than when he was around. Even in the helmet, he flustered her, but she wasn’t afraid of him.

Then she met the Arkham Knight.

She was on her way home in broad daylight, walking down the corridor of her apartment complex, when she saw a bright strobing light under her own front door. A bizarre sound that made her ears pop rang out and then died at the same time as the light. She frowned, balancing her groceries to rifle through her handbag for her keys, and unlocked the door.

“Jason, what are you-” She froze.

She didn’t recognise the man standing in her living room. No, she did recognise him, right down to the way he pointed his gun at her face. He had a ‘J’ branded onto his cheek. In his other hand he loosely held the white and black civilian leather jacket Jason had left here last weekend.

Andy put her hands up and didn’t move. Her groceries fell to the floor and loose tomatoes and a tin of coconut cream rolled across the hard wood.

“Shut the door.”

She did as she was told then put her hands back up again.

He looked at her through cold blue eyes, assessing. He was in military style armour, to her inexperienced eyes, with hard metal plates all over the upper body. A blue and black high tech looking helmet sat high up on his head. He had more weapons on him than she could count.

He had Jason’s face, but not his build, he was shorter, slighter, with pinched features, and there was something hunched about the way he held his upper body. There was no bat on his chest.

“You know me.” His voice was unmistakable.

“I… I don’t know if I do.”

His lips pursed and he lowered the gun. She didn’t think that was permission to lower her hands.

“You know the me from this world.” He dropped the jacket on the back of her wheelie chair and cast his eyes over her apartment. Jason’s presence in her life had changed it, sure, but only in small ways. Surely that wasn’t enough to tell him anything?

What he meant about ‘this world’ was too mad to be true. She stared into blue eyes that had been green for as long as she had known them. He didn’t recognise her. He recognised Jason’s coat. He had a fucking ‘J’ branded onto his face. It was too weird to question when there was a strange man with a gun in her house.

“Don’t try to deny it. Did he retire from being the perfect and loyal little soldier?” He stalked towards her. “Pretend Gotham is fixed, that he can relax? That he’s safe?”

“I- I don’t-” she shook her head desperately. “Jason isn’t a soldier. I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Maybe he was Jason Todd from another world. But he wasn’t the Red Hood. She had only ever made Jason one promise, and that was to never tell anyone his secret, not even people who already seemed to know.

He stopped about a foot away from her and glared. Being smaller than her Jason didn’t make him any less terrifying. She blinked frantically, trying to clear the unshed tears of terror from her eyes. She couldn’t go to pieces now, she couldn’t.

After a long moment he scoffed. He stepped back. IF anything he looked kind of put out. She let her hands fall. They were shaking.

“Can I pick up my things?” she asked.

He grunted. She took it as a yes and crouched down to start rounding up fruit and vegetables. He moved to go look out the windows. She snuck her phone from her pocket, lowered the volume to nothing, and quick-dialled Jason. She put it in the paper grocery bag and put the whole thing on the dining table.

She cleared her throat and gathered her courage. “What do you want from Jason?”

He looked at her sidelong. His hands rested lightly on the guns in his thigh holsters.

“What do you want from me?” she asked. It came out as a rasping whisper.

“What’s your name?”

“Andrea.”

“What could I possibly want from you, Andrea?”

“I don’t know. You’re in my apartment. I assumed… for a reason?”

“I can tell you what you should have assumed: that the rest of your life is directly tied to whether or not you piss me off. By, say, calling someone.”

She froze.

He crossed the room, leisurely, like some prowling creature, and reached over her to grab her phone out of the bag.

She glimpsed the glowing screen. The green phone symbol for an active call floated over the contact name: ‘Still Has my Casserole Dish’, then the call duration of four minutes and counting.

The intruder glanced at it, unimpressed. “You can keep the casserole dish,” he said, and ended the call.

He unclipped one of his guns.

The windows exploded in a blast of blinding light.

She didn’t know what happened next, only the sounds of a scuffle, a gun fired twice, and she caught sight of yellow light armour blurring in her compromised vision, before she was standing behind the Signal.

“Who the hell are you?” the intruder growled, as his helmet snapped down over his face. It’s face lit up with LEDs.

Signal cocked his head and the LEDs immediately died again half a second before darkness flooded the whole room. The Signal grabbed her and hauled her out the window.

They were swinging through the air before she fully processed what happened.

A couple of gunshots followed them, and then silence.

She looked back, as they stumbled onto a roof.

“Keep going,” Signal said, and pulled her forwards to swing across to a building not in line of sight of her apartment.

They landed on the bare roof of an abandoned motel. There was no sound of pursuit. It set dread in her stomach.

What kind of Jason Todd let his target go so easily? Signal looked around, not letting her get too far from him.

“I don’t know who you’re supposed to be,” an all too familiar voice drawled from above. “Out in the daylight with your meta abilities, but all bats are the same at the end of the day. Predictable.”

They spun and looked up. Standing perched on the edge of the neighbouring office building was their pursuer. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder.

Signal stepped in front of Andy and spread his arms.

A shot rang out, and the foreign Jason staggered forward with a burst of blood. He was hauled backwards before he could fall. Red Hood hit him in the gut.

“Time to get out of here,” Signal said.

She couldn’t tear her eyes from the sight of the two fighting, what little she could see from this angle at last.

“We are not hanging around to see the show, lady, they are both shooting live rounds.”

That shook her enough to let him pull her away and swing down to an empty alleyway several blocks away. Andy was beside herself with worry, but Signal wouldn’t let her panic. There were other allies closing in on their location apparently.

Signal checked her for injuries and made her drink half a bottle of water. A Narrows accent was sneaking its way through the gaps in his suspiciously generic Gotham accent. It was calming.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Andy. Um. Andrea. But call me Andy.”

“Ha, take that Nightwing.”

She blinked a couple of times. “What?”

“Hood talks about you all the time. Never says your name though.” He shrugged. “We were curious.”

“Curious about what?” She asked, both her eyebrows rising. She had to be the least interesting person any of them knew.

Signal just smiled and shrugged again. She got the feeling she was on the outskirts of some in-joke.

Before she could chase it up, Red Hood landed heavily on the pavement at the alley’s opening. He was alone.

He stalked towards her, radiating fury and danger. The shaking, panicky thing inside of her chest calmed. He didn’t stop advancing until he was looming over her.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. The voice modulator did a bad job disguising how upset he was.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she said, her eyes narrowed in on the cracks over the front of his helmet. Blood was smeared over his side. “Are you-”

“It’s not mine.”

“And the other guy?” Signal asked.

“Back to his own universe, I think. He disappeared mid-fight. O’s keeping an eye out in case we have any more visitors.”

Signal nodded. “That’s my cue then. Nice meeting you, Andy!”

He shot his grapple gun and disappeared into the blinding afternoon light.

Red Hood let out a shaky breath. He took off his helmet to reveal a domino mask underneath. He ran a hand through his loose curls.

“You have to be more careful,” he said. “He was going to kill you.”

“He was just in my house, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Calling me was the right thing, but if Signal wasn’t in the area… I wouldn’t have made it in time.”

She sucked in a shaky breath and let it out again. She grabbed his arm just to steady herself.

He pulled her closer and hugged her tight. He leaned his forehead against hers.

“Alternate you is a real asshole.”

“I’m sorry.”

She scoffed. “You called in the cavalry, you saved the day, you don’t get to be sorry.”

“Maybe.” He cupped the back of her head. She felt safe. “I’m going to teach you how to handle yourself in a situation.”

“I don’t want to be in any situations,” she groused, hiding her head in his jacket. Oh, it was sticky. Gross.

“You’re always getting into a situation.”

She sighed.

Next>>

#jason todd #red hood #dc #jason todd x oc #my fanfic #red hood x oc #for the hell of it #arkham knight #Duke Thomas #the Signal #I've never written him before please be kind #hurt/comfort #the arkham knight is a scary motherfucker #but so is the Red Hood #Guest Staring Duke because he's awesome and should be in more things

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fractured-shield · 4 months

Text

character introductions: Idhren

Idhren Athealin

Please don’t ask me his exact age I need to redo the timeline. 800-ish which is middle aged for an elf, looks like 50’s-ish by human standards

Birthday is August 29. Yes I’ve celebrated it for years obviously

He/him

Bisexual

6’4”. According to Therien he used up all the height in the family

Description: brown hair worn to like mid-back length, usually worn loose, brown eyes. Always looks a little too pale, like he hasn’t slept well or eaten all day and it’s probably both. As a councillor, fine clothes are required, but his are as simple and unassuming as possible, in dark colors—and as an officer of Tarnuvin’s Watch, his armor is an old style from Linador’s vanguard, steel and black leather. He’s in a lot of mid-level positions of authority, because he’s the kind of person who overworks himself to avoid thinking about things and gets really good at a lot of things. He doesn’t actively seek out any type of responsibility though, he thinks someone else would be a better, more reliable fit. He wears clothes with high collars, and leather cuffs around his wrists to keep the sleeves in place, but sometimes you can see a faint, healed scar on one side of his neck, among others that he tries not to draw attention to. He injured his knee when he was younger, and while it’s not a major issue, it aches after sitting still for too long. When he’s particularly anxious, his hands shake.

He’s aware that plenty of young people look up to him, and he thinks they shouldn’t, but makes a point of being warm and reassuring. Still, he can seem a bit scary at first: mostly just because he’s quiet and seems so serious. His reputation precedes him, as the mediator of a war-council who kept the peace between kings and warlords. He’s not that scary he’s just introverted and has depression. He’s got a lot of survivor’s guilt from outliving his wife, his previous partner, and also two close friends that died in a shipwreck when he was young, but also is just kind of somber and quick to despair by temperament. He’s from Fairalme, a country that the eastern expanse hasn’t traded with in hundreds of years, so his accent is a bit uncommon there. He has a good singing voice (I have a voice claim if anyone’s curious), but he doesn’t like it very much, because he never got used to the subtle changes as he got older. His favored weapon is the spear, and he also has a single-bladed sword (I have a ref for that too).

Goals/arc: He wants to keep Therien safe, wants to be as good a father as he can be, once he’s on his feet enough after his wife’s death to take care of her again properly. He’s trying to find a balance between burdening Therien with too much of his past, and keeping secrets from her. He wants to let her find herself, whether that means following in his footsteps or not, but he’s worried about her safety. He’s also very bound by responsibility to his work, to Tarnuvin. It’s probably subconscious, but another of his goals is the penance he thinks he deserves: for outliving people he loved, for imagined failures. Some part of him is looking for answers, wondering if there was some purpose behind everything that happened.

im so so normal about this depressed middle aged man im never going to shut up about him ever. i wish he was my father

tag list: @robin-the-blind-sniper-rifle @just-emis-blog @leahnardo-da-veggie @honeybewrites

#fractured shield #my ocs #my writing #oc intro #oc tag: idhren

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disco-elysium-via-polls · 2 months

Text

🎵 La Revacholiere

2. Of all the creatures I've met you are the kindest.

INSULINDIAN PHASMID - Thank you. I also have one more thing to say to you: that woman -- turn from the ruin. Turn and go forward. Do it for the working class.

I can't.

I will try.

I will.

What woman?

INSULINDIAN PHASMID - You cannot lie to me. Behind you it smells of fires. So awfully far you were prepared to go in her presence. End it.

2. I will try.

INSULINDIAN PHASMID - She was middle class. It doesn't take a three-metre stick insect to tell you that.

+5 XP

5. Disengage slowly. [Leave.]

INSULINDIAN PHASMID - As you're turning away, the phasmid mirrors your movements, stepping on the water -- the long limbs carry its feather weight without breaking its surface.

And just like that it's gone -- skating away across the sea's calm mirror like a skipping stone, leaving nothing but circles on the water...

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Easy: Success] - ...and something under it! In the place it stood, bobbing there, among the reeds. A collection of items.

KIM KITSURAGI - "It's gone..." The lieutenant looks north, with his hand raised to his brow.

"It can walk on water?"

"What's that -- in the reeds?"

"What now?" [Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "Apparently, yes -- like a water strider, only..." He shakes his head with amazement. "I've never seen *anything* like that in my life."

2. "What's that -- in the reeds?"

KIM KITSURAGI - He squints. "Looks like a nest of some sort? We should have a look."

3. "What now?" [Leave.]

THE DESERTER - "What now..." the old man behind you repeats suddenly. He's put his hand into the ash -- it's dirty and black.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - In some kind of strange, semi-catatonic state.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Our suspect is not looking so good. We need to check on him."

🎵 None

ITEM GAINED: (EVIDENCE) KLAASJE'S PASSPORT

ITEM GAINED: T-9/32 RIFLE SCOPE

ITEM GAINED: FAIRWEATHER T-500 HELMET

ENDURANCE - Brother, you've managed to collect all the armour pieces. Too bad it's too late for the big showdown.

Task complete: Find all armour pieces

+70 XP

Level up!

Don't think this helmet would have helped me anyway. (Look down at your wound.)

At least my collector's impulse has been satisfied.

I'm sure I'll have a use for this armour in the future.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - It would have looked very impressive... Still. You found it all. Now your mortal coil is *completely* protected. Few cops are this futuristic.

At least now I am truly invincible. [Leave.]

FAIRWEATHER T-500 HELMET

+1 Half-Light: Head as a battering ram -1 Suggestion: A fighter, not a lover

This monstrous looking, bug-eyed ceramic helmet was in the phasmid's nest. It still has some reeds sticking out of it -- and it smells of seawater -- but it's otherwise wearable, if not exactly comfortable. Putting it on feels scary somehow...

T-9/32 RIFLE SCOPE

A common 30mm sniper scope attachable to almost any bolt-action 4.46 caliber. It uses an older-style non-dotted rangefinding reticle. Seaweed is still stuck on the lens and it's suffered water damage from its time in the phasmid's dowry.

(EVIDENCE) KLAASJE'S PASSPORT

This well travelled passport, with visas stamped in it, is issued by the Republic of Oranje. You found it in the phasmid's nest on the island. You can open it for more details.

>INTERACT

ORANJESE PASSPORT - This passport, issued by the Sovereign Republic of Oranje -- is issued to a black haired woman called Katarzine Alasije.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Klaasje's hidden documents..." The lieutenant looks at it in your hands. "From the empty buoy."

Look at the photo.

"What was this doing in the phasmid's nest?"

"It says -- Katarzine Alasije."

[Put the passport away.]

ORANJESE PASSPORT - It's Klaasje. With short, black hair and glasses. She looks boyish, younger somehow.

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] - An old photo. Before life came and did what it does.

2. "What was this doing in the phasmid's nest?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Maybe our man, Mr. Dros, took it from Klaasje's -- or whatever her name was -- hiding place? Or..."

"Perhaps -- for some blackmailing plan?"

"I think the *phasmid* took it."

"The phasmid took it -- and I *sensed* it do so. I saw something open up the buoy with spindly legs." (Point to your head.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "Perhaps... But that still doesn't explain how it got into the nest."

2. "The phasmid took it -- and I *sensed* it do so. I saw something open up the buoy with spindly legs." (Point to your head.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "Like a magpie?" He looks around. "What a coincidence. Then it would also have *collected* the other objects, which would be highly unusual..."

RHETORIC [Easy: Success] - By now, the lieutenant has accepted your unusual methods.

KIM KITSURAGI - "I can see how the helmet could wash up on the island. And the scope -- maybe Mr. Dros lost it? But to seek this out would be *very* unusual behaviour for an arthropod."

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] - Would it? Maybe it was simply curious.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Challenging: Success] - A curious octopus would do something similar. Or even a cuttlefish.

"Perhaps it was curious? Like an octopus?"

"Perhaps it had a vendetta against our Miss Oranje?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "An octopus belongs to a very different Class. It's not even an insect, it's a mollusc. But, yes -- I see your point."

3. "It says -- Katarzine Alasije."

KIM KITSURAGI - He opens his notes. "She said it would be for *Annouk Meijer-Smit*. Annouk -- Meijer -- Smit."

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - Katarzine Alasije was supposed to be her *real* name. Where *Klaasje* comes from, remember? God dammit!

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - I told you she kept lying to you. She's probably lying to someone else right now. In another city.

"Katarzine Alasije was supposed to be her real name. She lied to us."

"Maybe this is her real passport? Not a fake? Because this is her real name."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Yes, somehow she managed to lie to us -- *one more time*. In a way she's still lying to us right now." The lieutenant smiles.

+5 XP

4. "What's her *real* name then?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "I don't know. But it's not Katarzine Alasije. Or Klaasje. Or Annouk Meijer-Smit. We didn't even scratch the surface with her, detective."

He looks east. "Perhaps it's better that we didn't arrest her. Who knows what hell she'd be raising in my district by now..."

SHIVERS [Challenging: Success] - The winds are silent. The streets are empty of her. She is no longer in the city of Revachol.

5. [Put the passport away.]

🎵 Hope in Work and Joy in Leisure

THE DESERTER - "What is it?" The old man looks around, confused. "What do you want from me? I can't go..."

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - Something is very wrong with him now.

"Sir, how could you not *see* the phasmid?"

"I'll leave you be for now." [Leave.]

THE DESERTER - "S-s-s-see..." He stares at the reeds and falls silent.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Mr. Dros?"

THE DESERTER - The man does not respond -- he keeps staring, black eyes glazed over and bulging from their sockets, his gap toothed mouth shaking.

EMPATHY [Medium: Success] - With fear and longing.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] - Like an addict of some terrible substance.

Snap your fingers under his nose.

Wave your hand in front of his eyes.

Touch his shoulder gently.

THE DESERTER - The plastic cape feels coarse. A light shiver passes the man -- other than that, no reaction. He feels small and frail.

KIM KITSURAGI - "He's going into some kind of... psycho-motor immobility." The lieutenant inspects him gently. "The good news is -- this solves our transportation problem. Doesn't it Mr. Dros?"

THE DESERTER - The trembling mouth appears to sigh.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Between this and the broken tyre he's used for a boat -- I think it's safe to leave him here, while we go and get help. It will need to be medical first, I'm afraid."

Task complete: Inspect the phasmid

+10 XP

"What has happened to this man?"

"We found some things in the phasmid's nest, Mr. Dros."

"Hang tight." [Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "Old age and shock." He looks at him, then you.

"I think it's the *phasmid*."

"Old age and shock, yes."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Yes. The arrest and the appearance of the phasmid -- the combined stress..." He looks at you. "But you think it's something more than that, don't you?"

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - There's *much* more. Remember what it said, when it spoke.

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - Quite a few things about that health check you did on him make sense now.

"He couldn't *see* it, Kim. It's just the reeds for him."

"Before -- when I evaluated his state -- he seemed strangely animated."

"I think he's addicted to that thing."

"It's definitely toxic -- the phasmid. It told me it is."

"He's been here for a long time. Who knows how much of it in its company?" (Conclude.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "That could be part of the shock. But you're right -- something is off here. Mr. Dros..." He touches the man's shoulder.

THE DESERTER - No response.

"Maybe this is how the phasmid has stayed hidden all these years?"

No. It's not that.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Then how did we see it?" He thinks. "Oh, you mean whatever does this, does it over *time*? Teenagers, kids, drunks -- sightings are brief. And hence not credible. But anyone who spends a long time with it..."

"Yes. You *forget* it's there."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Mhm." The lieutenant inspects the man. "Mr. Dros -- have you *ever* seen a stick insect, pretending to be the reeds?"

THE DESERTER - "Th-the..." The old man stutters.

KIM KITSURAGI - "The doctors will have to look at this. I hope your station has better medical personnel than 57. This is... a little advanced for a nurse."

2. "Before -- when I evaluated his state -- he seemed strangely animated."

KIM KITSURAGI - He nods. "He was energetic and articulate. After all these years alone, with little hygiene or medication I would expect worse."

"Perhaps this *animation* is induced by something in the phasmid?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "He does not seem to be *animated* now it's left..." He looks to the sea. "Honestly, I'm ready to believe anything at this point. Maybe it *is* psychoactive."

"I mean, why not? It's three metres tall…" He takes off his glasses and cleans them -- when he puts them back on he's still staring at the sea.

3. "I think he's addicted to that thing."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Like a drug?"

"He *has* displayed addict behaviour. And not *just* to painkillers."

KIM KITSURAGI - "His pupils appeared to be dilated. They still are..." He examines the catatonic man's eyes.

EMPATHY [Challenging: Success] - It's not just chemical.

"It's… as if he's infatuated with it."

No, it's not that.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Some kind of oxytocin release mechanism? Would go with the pupils. But this is way above me, detective."

+5 XP

4. "It's definitely toxic -- the phasmid. It told me it is."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Told you? Yes. Good. During your *long* staring match. I understand." He looks at the man, then you.

5. "He's been here for a long time. Who knows how much of it in its company?" (Conclude.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "He did seem distressed when it finally came to arresting him. Like he didn't want to leave this place. And the insect maybe..." He looks at his notebook.

"I have absolutely forgotten to take notes. I hope I remember all of this." He shakes his head in disbelief. "This will be one hell of a report -- thank *god* we have the photo."

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - No one would believe you without it.

2. "We found some things in the phasmid's nest, Mr. Dros."

THE DESERTER - He stares into the reeds. Your words don't stir anything in him. Perhaps you should...

Show him the ceramic helmet.

Show him the Oranjese passport.

Show him the detached scope.

"I'm going to let you rest now Mr. Dros." (Conclude.)

THE DESERTER - Nothing. Just dull staring -- not even rage left wherever he is.

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success] - The last embers have gone out. The war is over.

KIM KITSURAGI - "If Cuno kicked it into the sea, as he said he did -- the ebb would pull it back here. This makes sense. Mr. Dros could have picked it up. Or... the phasmid, even? If it did, this is incredible..."

2. Show him the Oranjese passport.

THE DESERTER - No reaction. His breathing is slow and he appears very old all of a sudden. Around eighty.

COMPOSURE [Challenging: Success] - This is an old man -- at last. No longer a tin soldier, but the broken down remains of a man.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Did you take this passport and other papers from a buoy on the coast?"

THE DESERTER - He blinks and continues to stare at the reeds. "The... spirit."

KIM KITSURAGI - "He hears us... The spirit?"

THE DESERTER - No reply. He's gone again.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Try something else? We got him back for a moment."

3. Show him the detached scope.

THE DESERTER - "I..." He turns his eyes to it. "I lost..."

"You lost it, Mr. Dros?"

THE DESERTER - He turns his eyes to the reeds again -- as he's done so many times. Beige and white stripes...

KIM KITSURAGI - "He lost the scope. Then it somehow made its way over there. With the help of a magpie phasmid?" The lieutenant observes the lens sparkle in your hand.

"This sight is a T-9, Mr. Dros. Was it attached to the rifle, when you made the shot?"

THE DESERTER - Silence. Not even a sigh.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - You've gotten all you will out of this poor being.

4. "I'm going to let you rest now Mr. Dros." (Conclude.)

THE DESERTER - The plastic cape flaps around his face, in a gust of wind. His back is slouched and his mouth open.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Challenging: Success] - The blacks of his eyes are receding, his pupils are returning to normal.

ENDURANCE [Medium: Success] - The strength has all gone out of him -- just frail old bones in a sack of tracksuit trousers and a wind breaker.

3. "Hang tight." [Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "We should think about getting back to the mainland. To get help. He'll be safe here. If we don't take too long..."

+1 Reputation

New task: The Return

Gonna leave it there for today.

#disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #harrier du bois #insulindian phasmid #iosef lilianovich dros

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teejaystumbles · 2 years

Text

Part 2, continuing the “Hob isn’t there in 2021 AU” from earlier. Please beware, tw for gore and body horror under the cut. (Can you guess who?)

Part 1 / Ao3

Morpheus stepped out of the New Inn. "Hey boss, why so grim?" Matthew landed on his shoulder and clicked his beak.

"Hob Gadling has disappeared. I do not feel comfortable with that." "Yeah, that's obvious.” the raven replied deadpan. Dream had no time to be annoyed with him. “Are we looking for him then?" "Yes." Dream strode down the street and casually melted into the shadows. He would look in the Dreaming first. It was almost night. When Hob fell asleep, Morpheus would find him. "He's not here, boss. We looked everywhere." Matthew cawed and when Morpheus did not answer, only brooded, he gently carded his beak through the Dream Lord's hair. "We'll find him. He's probably still awake, doing an all-nighter or something...”

“No. This is different. I should be able to find him, even awake. But his mind… seems to be cut off from the True Dreaming.”

Matthew cawed and took flight, sensing his lord’s rage building. Dream was seething.

“Someone did this, Matthew. Someone forced Hob’s mind into a seperate Dreaming… only few would be strong enough to do something like that. Only few would dare.”

“Can you find him?” The raven landed on a nearby tree branch. The tree had changed from a lush summer green to a gnarly nightmarish thing and Matthew shifted warily from one claw to the other. The boss was scary sometimes. “I can. But it will take time and effort.”

Dream started walking, his cloak trailing like a cloud of night after him, leaving the earth beneath him black and writhing with shadows. Matthew took flight and followed him as Morpheus headed towards his castle. “Whoever has dared to manipulate the Dreaming… to manipulate Hob’s mind… they will be sorry.”

Hob is on a battlefield. He is wearing his old mercenary armor from the end of the 14th century but he is holding a rifle. His hands are drenched in blood. The whine of bombs fills the air and clouds of gas roll over the fields, felling all men, not caring for sides. It’s all the battles he’s ever been in, all in one. Hob is tired of it. So very tired. He looks up. The sky is a murky red, like a sea of blood in which he will fall if he stares upwards for too long.

A sense of terror rises the hairs on his neck and he turns around.

“You!”

A blond man in a cream-white suit strides towards him, confident, hands in his pockets, smiling. Dark glasses cover his eyes, but to his horror Hob knows exactly what lies behind them.

“Me!” the man grins with too many teeth (too many, way too many teeth) and Hob is panicking, a searing phantom pain behind his eyeballs making him gag. He stumbles back.

“Yes, run, why don’t you? Not that it will help. We’ve done this sooo many times now, Hob.”

Hob takes step after step back but doesn’t turn his back on the other, knowing it would be a grave mistake. The man stops and looks around.

“Like it? I’ve handpicked your most awful memories to craft you this wonderful nightmare. You have to tell me if you want something else next time, there are so many horrible things to choose from. Oh…!”

Hob’s heart sinks in dread as the other grins even sharper.

“Oh, I know just the thing. I was going to keep that for last, but I can see that you are getting used to the violent dreams. It gets boring quickly, doesn’t it? The way one just goes numb. Stops caring.”

He gives a bored shrug and then suddenly they are no longer standing in a war zone, but on cobbled streets on a rainy London night. Hob chokes. He looks around wildly and there he is. Dark cloak, top hat forgotten inside the Inn in his haste to go, to get away from Hob. The stranger gives him a last angry glare full of disdain and then turns and strides off. Hob stumbles forward. “Tell you what, I’ll be here in a hundred years time!” The old lines come rushing from his tongue, like he’s replaying a memory.

“If you’re here then too, it’ll be because we’re friends. No other reason, right?”

His desperate words echo in the empty alley.

“Right?” he whispers.

“Poor Hob.”

He flinches violently as strong arms wrap over his shoulders and pull him in. Sharp teeth graze his ear and Hob shivers.

“This still hurts, although it’s been over a hundred and thirty years, right? I knew why I kept putting this off, it’s delicious. I almost pity you… because I know exactly how this feels.”

The man’s tone has lost his smile and turned angry, hurt, almost.

“I could almost believe that he won’t care one bit about what I’m doing to you… but I saw it all, Hob, with your eyes, and I know… just like you do, that he cares. Maybe he’ll never admit it, but he cares for you. I saw it in his face, through you. And it makes me… so, so furious…”

Teeth are biting at his throat, at his face and lips and Hob can only close his eyes and endure because he knows what comes next and he doesn’t want to see the other’s face.

“Look at me, Hob. Shall I reshape this memory of yours? You can stop him. You can grab him and throw him against the wall, make him see you. What will you do then? Look into my eyes and tell me you don’t know exactly what you’d do. I’m you, Hob. I’m what you want to do.”

Hob opens his eyes and glares at the nightmare in front of him. Tiny tongues lick over tiny teeth and Hob trembles with terror. “I’m not like you!” he manages. “You want to hurt him, make him bleed. I’d never want that. All I want…”

He gasps as a knife buries in his throat. The blonde man isn’t smiling, his teeth set grimly.

“You’re annoying me with your goody-two-shoes act, Hob. I’ve had enough for tonight.”

He lets Hob fall to the cold cobblestone and steps away.

Hob woke up.

Everything hurt. He couldn’t see. Everything was dark. His eyes hurt. His eyes… He jerked in horror and lifted his hands to his face, but stopped his trembling fingers from touching where he knew… With a wail he rolled himself into a ball. It hurt. There were several stab wounds in his chest and abdomen and he remembered. The blonde man, with his dapper suit and suave grin. Too much alcohol. A good fuck, and then… blood. Pain. Teeth.

A creek. A door opening.

“Hello sunshine. Awake? Shall we continue, then?”

Hob scrabbled back from the voice he just heard in the dream. He remembered now. This had been going on for some time. How many days had it been? The steps came closer and Hob had nowhere to go, his back hitting a wall. He couldn’t see!

“That wasn’t really what I had in mind, but we have time to explore that dream a bit more next time. I can only stomach so much of him and you, urgh. Makes me too mad… I lose all sense for finesse, you see? That’s why…”

Hob whimpered as he was dragged away from the wall and spread out, knees digging into his legs to keep him down.

“I have only one thing left for you tonight. Another death. Hob Gadling.”

He spit his name like a curse and then Hob felt the knife pierce his heart (again), life rushing out of him. He wondered briefly if one could cry without eyes or if it was blood he felt on his cheeks. In his ears the sound of his slowing stuttering heartbeat and rushing blood muffled the sound of retreating footsteps. The door closed with a dull thud and Hob closed his eyes (his eyes, oh god he took his eyes-) and tried to relax, tried to stop the panic. A gentle hand brushed hair from his forehead and he startled again. “Who’s there?” “I’m sorry, Hob. This is awful.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Death.”

Hob gulped, or tried to. “Oh… is it over, then?” he croaked.

“Do you want it to be?”

He coughed and tried facing the voice.

“I don’t know… depends… will my eyes grow back?”

“Eventually.”

“Thank God…” he gave a wet laugh and coughed up blood. “Why… are you here, then?”

The gentle hand caressed his cheek and Hob leaned into the touch, glad for the distraction from the pain.

“You’ve been dying and dying for days now, always teetering on the edge. It’s like an itch I can’t scratch. I decided to see what’s the matter.”

Hob coughed again.

“Can you… make him stop?”

“That is not something I do. Also… he is not human. I have no right to him.”

Hob quivered and trembled, he felt his heart slowly, so slowly knitting itself back together. Healing also hurt. “Someone else, then… can you… send someone… I can’t… before I’m healed up he, he comes and… k-kills me again...and then I dream of him, and he kills me… and it goes on and on…”

He sobbed and Death sighed softly. Her fingers carded through his greasy hair once more, then they were gone. He heard her get up and take a step back.

“Not long now, Hob. My brother is on his way. Not long…”

Hob wanted to ask her who her brother was, but before he could get the words out he heard the rush of wings, and he knew she was gone.

#this hurt to write #but what was I supposed to do #I took inspiration from The Doll's House with the seperate Dreaming #I don't know yet how long the next part will take me #this is turning into a proper fic I'll need to post it to ao3 later #but it's a bit cliche #so I might not?#own writing #the sandman fanfiction #drabble #dreamlin #hob gadling

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