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doloresdraws · 3 years ago

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Day 03 – Where the undead gather

The air was cold and damp, but Lazarus was practically living here in the sewer tunnels for such a long time, that he considered the whole warrens his home. All of its nasty stench, leaking pipes and crumbling brick construction reminded him of himself. There was a time when he would feel sad and bitter about such comparisons, but these nights were long gone.

There was no point in drowning in self-pity where there was nothing he could do to change what happened. And deep inside he felt like it was what he deserved, anyway.

He spent so much time of his mortal life hiding from his own truths, fearing judgment and damnation, only to be actually damned in the end.

It took witnessing the destruction of the man he loved for him to realize that he could do better than being destructive and wallowing in self-loathing, Augustus took his mistakes upon himself and met Final death to spare him. The least he could do to honor him was to try to make the world a better place, if not for himself then at least for others who shared this curse with him.

And they were all already gathered, waiting for him, his small family. He felt responsible for every each of them, even if only a few of them were actually his own Progeny.

It made him sad that his Childer, Mirabelle and Boneface, did not always see eye to eye, but as long as it wasn’t distracting or life-threatening, he would not come between them, he believed in them and their ability to handle their differences in a civilized way. He mainly worried for Boneface’s Childe. Blackrat needed more guidance and supervision, she was a good kid, but had self-control issues and a big sense of the need for justice, which of course was not a good combination.

Then there was Werner who was clearly going through something, but Lazarus didn’t feel comfortable enough to pry it out of him, Werner knew he could always talk to him, but he never did...

Chester and Maddy have been lately all over each other, either making out or at each other’s throat yelling insults at each other, but honestly Lazarus didn’t care about what they were doing as long as they were careful and didn’t get themselves into trouble.

Viktor, one of the newest members of their clan and who most likely shared the same Sire with Lazarus seemed like a resourceful man whose attitude might be the biggest problem, especially in relations with other clans.He had so much to learn about his place in the society and Lazarus knew he will not gonna like it… Theodor was around for long enough and was very well capable of handling his own affairs.

And then there was Stanley, who got here some time ago from their brethren in Portland. Lazarus felt a lot of sympathy towards Stanley and tonight’s meeting was actually to address something that Stanley had found in the sewers.

„I am grateful that everyone made it here. I am not gonna keep you here for long, I am well aware all of you have your own agendas, but there is something that I need to talk about that concerns everyone present.“

Lazarus wiped some of the pus from his nose as he looked at all of his „children“ whom stopped their conversations to listen to their Primogen. „Some of you may have heard that there is a dead body of a woman in the upper section of the sewers, near the Bayview.“

Lazarus noticed that Stanley’s eyes widened with fear as he mentioned it.

“I have investigated it myself and from what it looks like she was strangled. From what I could tell it doesn’t look like her death was a Kindred’s doing. Which means some person or people used the sewers as a comfortable body disposal place. The place was further away than any of the maintenance workers would ever go. It is not a place you would find by accident, so these people had to either be familiar with the tunnel maps or the luckiest murderers to find such a perfect place to dump a body. I am not saying that any of you got careless and left the doors unlocked, but I do hope that you are all very mindful of your surroundings and do not bring people here…

I do hope that this was a one time incident and that we won’t have to seal that part of the tunnels in the future. So please, be careful and always use your abilities of concealment to your advantage.“

He wiped his face again, his eyes were filling with pus, making it impossible for him to see. „That was all that I wanted to say, so unless anyone has anything to discuss with me, you can all go. Thank you for your attention.“ Lazarus nodded at his flock of Kindred who quickly dispersed, some disappearing out of sight in the nearest shadow.

Stanley was amongst the last ones to depart and when he turned his back to him, Lazarus gently put his slimy hand on his shoulder. Stanley flinched in fear from the unexpected touch and turned around fearing that he was going to be blamed for something.

„I will ask someone to move the body somewhere deeper in the sewers, so you wouldn’t have to avoid that place.“ Lazarus knew how uncomfortable Stanley felt having found that body, he clearly wasn’t used to seeing dead people.

Stanley nervously clutched his hands together. „Bbbut what about her family? If we put her somewhere deep, nobody will ever find her…“ His round, yellow eyes widened and for a moment a memory of her yellowish, bloated body flashed behind his eyes.

„She had no ID on her, I don’t think that we could ever find out her identity anyway. Maybe it is better like this. I think it is better for her to not be found, it spares her loved ones having to see her like this. Would you rather be found, decayed and rotten corpse, causing the people you love pain or to let them have hope that you are still somewhere?“

Stanley had thought about his words for a while. „And the people who did it to her? They will never face justice for what they did…“ He knew he the answer to this, but he couldn’t stop himself from saying it out loud.

„Unfortunately, a lot of sins are left unpunished. That is how the world works and I think you know that, too well, my Childe.“

Stanley nodded, ready to walk away, but Lazarus took his hand in his, squeezing it for longer than he probably should have. He usually tried to refrain from touching others, because his hands were sticky, but he wanted to comfort him, seeing how disappointed his words made him.

There was so much fear and tension in this small creature, he wished he would know what to say to help him find peace, but all he could say was: I am sorry, before letting go of his hand and disappearing into the shadows.

#my art #vamptober #vamptober 2021 #vamily #clan nosferatu #doloresdrawsocs #oc Lazarus #oc stanley #vampire the requiem #vampire the masquerade #vtr #vtm #World Of Darkness #wod #nwod #chronicles of darkness #vampire art #digital sketch

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magnusmysteries · 4 years ago

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Part 4: The Sixteenth Fear

The Magnus Archives was a horror podcast. It is now completed. Many of the show’s mysteries were never explained on the show. I intend to explain them. Spoilers for the show, but also spoilers if you wanna solve these mysteries yourself.

In part 3 I said every fear has an opposite. But the Flesh didn’t exist before the industrial revolution. So there would have been 13 fears then, an uneven number, and not every fear could balance against an opposite. So how could that be?

The answer is, there were only 12 fears before the Flesh. The Corruption and the Desolation used to be the same fear.

Diego Molina of the Lightless Flame cult worships Asag. A Sumerian god of disease that could make fish boil. So Asag seems to be of both the Corruption and the Desolation.

In Infectious Doubts Arthur Nolan complains about it: “Not like I can vent to the others about what a prat Diego is. Got a lot of funny ideas. Still calls the Lightless Flame Asag, like he was when he was first researching it. I just really wanna tell him to get over it; I mean Asag was traditionally a force of destruction, sure, but as a church we very much settled on burning in terms of the – face we worship, and some fish-boiling Sumerian demon doesn’t really match up, does it? Plus there’s a lot of disease imagery with Asag that I’ll reckon is way too close to Filth for my taste, but no, he read it in some ancient tome, so that’s that –“

Ancient is the key word. The tome predates the industrial revolution and the Flesh. Asag probably isn’t a thing anymore and Diego is indeed a prat for worshipping it.

In The Architecture of Fear Smirke writes “I know you say the Flesh was perhaps always there, shriveled and nascent until its recent growth, but to grant the existence of such a lesser power would throw everything into confusion. Would you have me separate the Corruption into insects, dirt, and disease? To divide the fungal bloom from the maggot?”

It is not random that Smirke uses the Corruption as an example here. The Corruption is the opposite of the Flesh, so the Corruption is the fear that Smirke believed had no opposite for hundreds or thousands of years.

In part 3 I said vampires where Corruption/Desolation/Hunt. This is a little far-fetched, but I wonder if the vampire’s we’ve seen have been old ones that predate the Flesh. And that’s why they are part Corruption, since Corruption and Hunt used to be next to each other. Maybe there are more modern vampires without the long sucking tongue. Maybe instead of sucking blood, when they bite you begin to burn or boil. Since the Hunt is now next to the Desolation instead of the Corruption-Desolation combo.

In Vampire Killer Trevor says “I have killed five people that I know for sure as vampires, and there are two more that may or may not have been.” There is a missing middle part of Trevor’s statement. Maybe there he talks about killing two vampires that are modern and therefore different so he’s not sure if they’re actually vampires.

Speaking of fears splitting up, why is the Darkness the opposite fear of the Slaughter? In Last Words we hear of the first fear “A fear of blood and pounding feet, a fear of that sudden burst of pain and then nothing.”

And of the second fear “The fear of their own end, of the things that lived in the darkness, became a fear of the darkness itself.”

I think the first was a general fear of violence. It includes what became the Hunt “Blood and pounding Feet...” and the Slaughter “...Sudden burst of pain and then nothing”, and the End “The fear of their own end…” And the second fear was the Darkness. They were the opposite by default, simply for being the two first fears.

When the Buried became a fear, the Hunt split up from the Violence to oppose it. When the Vast became a fear, the End split up from the Violence to oppose it. All that was left of the Violence was Slaughter, still opposing the Dark. When humans began warfare, fear of war fit nicely with the Slaughter.

The Eye might have been part of the Dark at first. Still from Last Words: “...because they knew the dark held flashing talons and shining eyes…”

When the Lonely became a fear, the Eye split up from the Dark to oppose it.

So what about the Extinction? Does it have an opposite? Yes! There is a sixteenth fear. And what can be the opposite of the fear of the end of the world? The fear that the world isn’t real. That we’re all just living in a computer simulation. If you think the world isn’t even real, you’re not gonna be so worried about it ending. I’ll call it the Simulation.

Here is how the fears are arranged on the wheel, with the two latest fears added:

Description of image: A circle with 16 spots similar to a clock. On each spot is a number and the name of a power: 1. Corruption. 2 Extinction. 3. Desolation. 4. Hunt. 5. Slaughter. 6. End. 7. Lonely. 8. Stranger. 9. Flesh. 10. Simulation 11. Spiral. 12. Buried. 13. Dark. 14. Vast. 15. Eye. 16. Web.

The Extinction is next to the Corruption. Disease and garbage are both gross. Possessive is an Extinction episode, even if not acknowledged as such by any of the characters. It’s about garbage. And Maggie is creating people out of garbage. She is making the inheritors mentioned in Time of Revelation. There are also creatures made of garbage in Concrete Jungle. And Maggie was full of moving insect legs, showing Corruption influence.

Quote from Adelard Dekker from Rotten Core: “I’ve spoken before about how keenly I’ve watched news of possible pandemics, which is where I suspect the Extinction may pull away from the Corruption during its emergence.” Adelard knows the Extinction is next to Corruption.

The Extinction is next to Desolation. That fits, nuclear weapons cause fire. Quote from Times of Revelation, describing corpses: “They were stiff, and desiccated, mummified by some process Bernadette could not begin to guess at, but that rendered their flesh like tightly packed ash” Ash as if they were burned.

The Simulation is next to the Flesh. The Flesh makes you think humans aren’t people, they are just meat. The Simulation makes you think humans aren’t people, they are just NPCs.

The Simulation is the next to the Spiral. Both make you question what is real. The Spiral makes you doubt your mind, the Simulation makes you doubt your world.

There are four episodes about the Simulation: Binary, Zombie, Cul-de-sac and Reflection.

In Binary Sergey Ushanka uploads his mind into a computer. He becomes a simulation and it hurts. There is influence by the Spiral, the statement giver isn’t sure if she’s going crazy. And there is influence by the Flesh. Ushanka uploads himself into a computer and then he eats the computer. So that’s cannibalism.

In Zombie the statement giver thinks other people aren’t real, they’re philosophical zombies, In other words they like simulations or NPCs. The man that follows her repeats the phrase “Just fine, thank you for asking” and says nothing else. Just like some NPCs in video games will say the same phrase over and over. The man is identical the three times they meet, except for his t-shirt changes color. Sometimes in video games some NPCs will be identical, except for some colors are changed. (Because it’s less work to recollar a character than to draw one from scratch.)

John thinks Cul-De-Sac is about the Lonely. And yes, the statement giver was lonely. But the people affected by the Lonely choose to be lonely, and the statement giver didn’t. His boyfriend broke up with him because of cheating and then he lost his friends because they sided with his boyfriend.

I think the theme of the statement is unreality, not loneliness. In the Magnus Archives, when someone gets marked by a power it is because they made some wrong choice. The choice the statement giver makes is to return to the place he found dead and soulless. He drives back to his ex-boyfriend to deliver the moose, rather than send it by mail. He specifically wants to meet his ex. Not an act of loneliness, quite the opposite. Also he is returning a moose that is angular and creepy, in other words it is unreal.

When the statement escapes from the nightmare it’s because he got a phone call from his ex. And he says “I love you.” and that fits neatly with the Lonely. But it also fits with escape from the unreal. He escapes because he communicates with a real person.

The road signs says “Road” and “Street”. Generic and unreal. All the houses look the same. Like in a computer game. The statement giver wonders if they are the same house. Like in a computer game where one might reuse the code for a house many times.

The house he enters has stock photos. Unreal.

The people on TV have something wrong with their eyes, similar to the eyes of the zombies in Zombie. And it's a fake cooking show, and a fake infomercial.

The dead woman upstairs was someone who had social media profiles, and that nobody notices had died. Meaning she lived her life online. That sounds like she was lonely. But living online also makes her a good victim for the Simulation. Everyone she talked to was on a computer, she couldn’t know for sure if they were real.

The woman had killed herself with a mirror. I think what happened was she had looked into the mirror and seen that her eyes were wrong, like the eyes of the people on TV. And she had thought she was just a simulation, like everything around her. And therefore she killed herself. Or perhaps she wasn’t reflected in the mirror at all? Like in…

Reflection. Adelard speculated that this statement was about the Extinction, but I don’t think so. The protagonist was in a world that seemed unreal. A fun fair is artificial so that fits the theme. The people were playing games, which fits the theme via computer games maybe.

Adelard says “I can’t quite get past the detail that there was no reflection at all in the mirror he used to return.” It is almost at the end of Adelard’s letter, it’s clearly meant to be significant. The no reflection might be symbolic for the statement giver starting to think he isn’t real, which might be what happened to him after he gave the statement.

Reflection has influence by the Spiral, with the maze of mirrors. There is influence by the Flesh, with the cannibalism.

#the magnus archives #tma #magnuspod #robert smirke #adelard dekker

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jackest-jack · 3 years ago

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I would very much like to hear about your spooky scary Sirens, pretty please 🥺

AJKSJAKISJAJAJF Ok so I almost had a heart attack when I saw you were following me because YOU’RE SO COOL so thank you

I already wrote about my spooky scary sirens over here, and they have pictures and I would be willing to write a short thing with them later but for right now I’m gonna pick a different thing and blab about it.

The most fleshed out and cohesive thing I have is the vampire band nerd slasheresque story with a police chase followup as well as a separate zombie apocalypse thing, so ig I’ll go with that. More under cut and warning for like a lot of gore and death and angst. I’m also only doing the first part of that because this is taking a long ass time

I came up with this in junior high, and I was in band, and I noticed that each instrument section had different personalities sort of, so I made characters around that and put them in a horror plot where they all die horribly, because what else are you gonna do? This is gonna be a plot rundown and it might get real long. (It is no longer a rundown. Its just unedited word vomit.)

anyways a bunch of friends, who I’m just gonna call by their instrument names, go camping in the woods for a couple weeks. They all take one car and set up in the middle of fuckin nowhere.

Clarinets a vampire pretending to be a high schooler for kicks, because she was 15 when she turned 5 years ago and got dragged away to the magic underworld (basically a series of safehouses and towns for the supernatural) and she wants a letterman goddamnit.

She gets adopted into a friendgroup despite her best efforts, and gets dragged along on the camping trip in the small car and close quarters with a buddy system and she hasn’t eaten anything substantial in like two months and its proving to be a problem when she starts thinking of her friends as snacks instead of people.

one night, percussionist gets up to go on a 3 am lake walk. But, the buddy system. So he takes Clarinet, who never seems to sleep anyways, with him.

They’re on the edge of a lake littered with huge old chunks of driftwood, looking out over the water, when Percussionist steps on something sharp. It went straight through his sandal and he pulls it out without much trouble, but “that nail looks kind of rusty and I’m Pretty Sure I’m bleeding a little bit, oh I hope I don’t need a shot-“

she falls on him like a cat on a wounded songbird. She has enough of her mind left to cover his mouth and stop the screams as he slowly loses blood.

He tries to fight back. He does. he jams the nail deep into her throat and twists away, but she catches his wrist and slams him backward, a sharp stick going through his stomach, sticking him bloody at the base of an old driftwood branch still attached to its old tree.

She stops draining just before he dies. And she waits, and waits, and waits. Finally, hours later, the corpse takes a deep gasp and its eyes fly open. It begins the excruciating process of pulling itself off the tree.

his wound is closed less than a minute later.

he comes to and sees her sobbing on the ground, bloody streaks under her eyes from where she tried to wipe away her tears with hands soaked from putting pressure on his stomach in a feeble attempt to save him.

“Vampires, huh?” He says, half joking, half looking for an explanation.

—-—

they’re sitting around a small campfire, and Clarinet tells him that he’s a vampire, he needs blood, he cant go back to camp or he will eat his friends. She leaves to find him something substantial before he loses it.

back at the original camp, its around sunrise. Flute notices a small trail of smoke not far off, realizes that Percussionist is missing, and gets French Horn to help him look for their idiot friend (and maybe put out a small fire.)

They make it about 3/4th of the way to the smoke when flute trips on a tree root and scrapes his knee. About a mile away, Percussionists head perks up.

He distantly realizes that he just left the campfire that he’s supposed to stay at, but he can‘t seem to care. The hunger doesn’t gnaw at him or hollow him out. Its not like looking for a fix either. Its an itch in his whole body, a near unavoidable function of his being. The hunt is as natural as a cough, a spasm of muscles to take away the awful itch.

He moves faster than he ever could before, and just to see if he can, he jumps up and begins running across the branches of trees. Its slower, but sneakier; his prey won’t see him coming.

Finally, he reaches them. He jumps on the smaller one, sending it crashing to the ground. It’s blood is what brought him here. He sinks his hollow teeth into its neck and begins feeding.

There is a scream and a crash as the taller one runs away. Thats ok. He only needs one.

———

French horn, for her part, is freaking the fuck out. The sun had just peaked over the horizon and orange light was streaming through the trees when everything went to shit.

The pale thing had fallen on Flute, and the noise he made… she was almost certain he was dead now.

She kept running. If she could make it back to camp, then maybe she could get help, or maybe leave before the rest of them died too.

She charges through a thicket, sharp thorns scraping and tearing every inch of her as she shoves her way through. She shuts her eyes as she goes, to avoid the thorns poking them out.

When she comes out the other side, she feels her gut sink.

She doesn’t recognize the trees or bushes around her. She doesn’t see a path.

She’s lost.

She wants to break down, to scream and cry the injustice to the heavens, to kick and punch and fight the thing that killed her friend, to sit down and rest and have a moment to breathe, to be home-

She picks a direction and runs.

———

Percussionist stops draining Flute just before he‘s dead, following the instinct that drove him to where he is.

He wants to be horrified. He does, really. But he was so hungry, and the itch is still there, waiting beneath his skin to pounce on him again. But for now, its gone, and he can think clearly. He can move without the instinct tainting his every twitch.

He turns to look at the person he drained and sees-

He sees his friend. And it hits him all at once.

He killed a person, a person he knew, a person he cared for, and he had been powerless to stop it. He didn’t even know- he didn’t realize- he would never have done it if he-

but he knew he would have. Even if he knew. He would’ve killed Flute, and he hates himself for that.

So he sits by the body of his dead friend, maybe in solace, maybe because some instinctive tick tells him to. He doesn’t want to know. He refuses to.

When Flute sat up and gasped, Percussionist could‘ve sworn he had a heart attack (even without a functioning heart.)

To Flutes credit, he made it through Percussionists halting and confused explanation before letting himself ask about the smell.

”what smell?” Percussionist asked, and lifted his nose to the air.

He got his answer. The smell of blood, salty and sweet and with a coppery tinge to it drifted through the air, leaving a hunger and odd comfort sitting in his gut. It reminded him of smelling baking cookies from the kitchen as a kid.

A leaf crunched, and he snapped out of his trance. Flute had stood up and broken into a run, faster than any human could’ve gone. After the person that had been with him.

After his friend.

Percussionist sprinted after him.

——

He had the chance to notice how fast he was really going, now that he could think through the hunger. He practically flew through the forest, leaping over a fallen log half his size that blocked his way. He ducked and dodged branches that threatened to slash his face, and if he were running for something else he may have threw his head back and laughed.

As it was, he was following the occasional red flash of a windbreaker that he could barely keep up with without being hit by a tree.

He could heal now right? Did he really even need to be worried about being hit by trees?

He let one slap his face just to test, and he felt the stinging pain all across his face as a deep cut opened across his nose and eyes. He faltered as his vision went red with blood. A second later, it was gone, and he could see again. ….And he‘d lost flute. Great.

He sniffed the air, remembering how he’d been able to smell the blood, and tried to look for his friend.

He could smell the whole forest. Sap and pine and rotting leaves, rotten flesh and mushrooms and a skunk miles and miles off, the sweet sting of honey and dew and campfire smoke, and over it all, the most lovely smell-

Well, looks like he couldn’t find him that way. He thought for a moment, and groaned. He could just follow French Horn and get to her first!

He began running again.

———

Clarinet had just made it back to the campsite, a live deer kicking around over her shoulder. She would’ve killed it, but she couldn’t quite figure out how without losing any of its blood, and since she drained and seriously injured Percussionist he would need a lot of blood-

and the campfire had a suspicious lack of vampires around it. Great. She could only hope that no one had cut themselves-

She stopped as the scent of blood hit her nose. She cursed and took off running, dropping the deer as she did.

——

French Horn thought she was going to die when she heard a bush rustle and snap behind her. She had stopped for a rest, thinking she was safe (if very lost). She was braced for her death when Percussionist crashed through the bushes.

”Oh, good, you’re still alive. We need to go like right now.”

Before she could protest, he grabbed her wrist and began pulling her away. With his very cold, very pale hand.

”Wait. Was it you?” She said, planting her feet.

”Yes.” his voice was solemn, and his eyes downcast. “But unless you want Flute to get you, we need to go”

She tore her wrist out of his grasp.

“Flutes dead. Flute’s dead and you killed him!”

And Flute hit her from the side. He sank his teeth deep into her neck, but only for a moment. Then he pulled back, looking horrified and ran away.

French Horn stands up dazedly. “That was…”

”Yeah.”

she lifts a hand to her bleeding neck where the bite is still gushing blood.

A rustle of trees comes from the side, and Clarinet skids to a stop in front of them. She takes in the situation and drops to her knees, tearing loose a piece of her shirt and holding it to the holes in French Horn’s neck.

”Wheres the third?”

French horn points to the copse of trees he disappeared into.

”I think we might actually be jinxed.” A pause, then “That was supposed to be a joke. Go after him. He’s heading towards the camp, and chances are he won’t be able to stop himself a second time.”

Percussionist nods, and then stops. “How do I get there?”

”just run straight! GO!”

and he does.

———

Clarinet gently explains to French Horn that vampires are real, and that she is one. When asked why she isn’t bloodthirsty, Clarinet answers that she has a lot of blood left in her still, and that she’s not all the way changed, and that the change will, in her words, “Stink. Its kind of the worst thing you’ll have to go through, and it’ll take way longer since you have blood, and you may not notice at first.“

French Horn pursed her lips. “Theres no way to stop it?”

Clarinet shook her head.

”Okay. Okay, shouln’t we help Percussionist?”

Clarinet swore. “You won’t be much help in the state you’re in, but I can drop you off by the camp. Pack our things and be ready to go.”

Clarinet scooped French Horn up and took off into the woods.

———

Percussionist got there just as Tuba was ripping Flute off of his neck.

Despite Flute being the smallest out of all of them, and Tuba being the strongest, he was struggling to keep the scrabbling, biting Flute away.

So, Percussionist did the only logical thing and full body tackled Flute, trying to hold him down. It worked, sort of. Long enough for Tuba to start running. Long enough for Sax and Trombone to see what the ruckus was.

Flute burst out of Percussionists grip, grabbed Trombone and ran.

Sax sprinted after them, and percussionist was left in the dust, standing dumbstruck as they all dashed off. He snapped out of it when Trumpet pressed an axe to his shoulder and told him to not move.

———

Flute knows this: he is very hungry. He also knows that blood tastes very good.

His last two meals escaped. He thinks he let the first go, but he can’t seem to remember why. The second was ripped away from him by someone like him, which was rather rude.

But this one won’t get away. He is far to hungry to let that happen.

He feeds as he runs, draining the squirming thing dry, pinning its flailing limbs against his chest. It stops wailing eventually.

He slows as he becomes able to think clearly again. He holds the body in his arms and revels in the fact he is no longer hungry. Then, he looks at the thing he drained.

And it’s his friend. He feels his stomach drop, and a hollow pit grow in his chest. His friend is dead, and it’s his fault. He tells himself there’s nothing to do but run, so he does.

Really, though, he just doesn’t want to see what she’ll become.

———

“What did you do to them.” Said Trumpet, each word slow and dangerous. She lifted the axe off his shoulder, and he felt relief before he realized she was lining up to take off his head.

He may be able to heal, but he did not want to see how far that ability stretched. Not like this, at least.

He swallowed his fear and asked, ”What makes you think I did something?“

She barked out a harsh laugh. “You go missing in the middle of the night with Clarinet, who still isn’t back. Flute and French Horn go to look for you and have mysteriously disappeared. Tuba came running from this direction, bleeding like a stuck pig. And here I find you, in the center of it all.”

Ah. He was fucked. Time to implement the worst plan ever, considering how fast Trumpet was.

”that’s- that sure is some pretty overwhelming evidence that I did something. I swear I didn’t, though but I know you won’t believe me so I’m just gonna RUN!”

He ducked under the axe she swung at his head, and took off running into the trees. He glanced behind him to see her struggling to keep up, and grinned. He was actually getting away with his head, and beating Trumpet in a footrace for once-

He turned back around just in time to see the tree that crumpled his skull.

———

He wished he could say he didn’t feel every excruciating twitch of his skull righting itself as he laid there. As it was, it was painful enough he was functionally passed out.

Which is why he was surprised to see trumpet dragging him by his feet deep into the woods.

Not half as surprised as trumpet, who dropped his feet and swore when he sat up and gasped.

”What the hell? You were dead! that killed you!” She yelled.

Percussionist was still reeling from how much growing his skull back sucked, and latched on to the first thing he noticed.

”Did you steal my shoes?”

”what are you?” She asked in a tone that was decidedly horrified.

He fiddled with a piece of grass somewhere to his left. “A vampire, as of yesterday. Really though, why do you have my shoes?”

“Not important. What do you mean as of yesterday?”

”Last night, really. Me and Clarinet-“

”Clarinet and I.” She said.

”Whatever. We went on a walk and turns out she’s always been a vampire, and then she did the vampire thing, and now I’m a vampire, and things have just been spiraling from there-”

”That explains a lot, actually. Who else is a vampire?”

Percussionist, feeling slightly more alive, realized they weren’t by the camp anymore.

”Where are we? Why do you have my shoes, and why are you so calm about this?”

”oh.” She said. “I may have made an action plan for something like this. You know, in case of murderers, or if supernatural stuff was real.”

”thats cool. Why steal my shoes?“

”I was framing you for murder.”

an awkward silence settled over them.

”We should get back to camp. Stop more people from getting vampired and all.”

”Yeah. Lets do that.“

———

Sax skidded to a stop in front of Trombones body. She was limp, and pale, and by all accounts dead. He whipped out his phone to call anyone, anyone at all, and pitched it into a tree when it read no service.

He sat, and he cried by his best friend, who always made the shittiest puns, who was the worst at sports, who thought anything with soulmates was stupid but still read all the stuff he suggested her. Who was dead.

He was still crying when she sat up and latched onto his neck, draining him dry.

———

French Horn and Clarinet ran across Tuba, who was holding gauze to his neck where he had been bit. French Horn was starting to feel slightly feverish, but otherwise okay.

”Guys! Are you okay? The weirdest thing just happened.” He said.

”We need to leave.” Said Clarinet. “Now.”

”No argument here. Have you guys seen Flute? He was with you last time I saw him.“

French Horn and Clarinet shared a look.

“I’ll go find him. You two pack. we leave before dusk.”

They watched as she disappeared into the leaves.

”Whats going on?” Asked tuba, a hint of worry in his voice.

French Horn took a deep breath in before saying “Vampires are real.”

Tuba burst out laughing.

“Oh. You’re serious.” He said as he hefted a tent into the back of the van.

”you don’t believe me.”

“How could I? I haven’t seen any proof that they exist.”

She threw a bag of trash in the van with more force than nessecary.

“What attacked you then?”

At this he paused. “I don’t know. But I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a vampire.”

———

Percussionist and Trumpet made it to where Trombone was crying over Sax, the late afternoon sun reflecting off of their now pale skin.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. He’ll be alright.”

Trombone looked up at him and snarled, all teeth and rage, and Percussionist jumped back.

”He’ll end up like me, won’t he.”

Percussionist nodded.

”I don’t know what world you’re living in, but this isn’t fucking alright!”

Trumpet walked over and knelt in front of Trombone. She held out her hand, and Trombone scrambled away.

”I don’t believe you would hurt me. Not right now. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”

”so what?” She scoffed. “I still did it. Should I just go on existing as whatever I am now? Just kill people so I can live?”

”Actually,“ Percussionist said, “we can live off of different types of blood.”

Trumpet looked back and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Shut up you twatwaffle, can’t you see this is a delicate moment?”

”just figured it would be some good information to have.“ he said.

“Are you seriously telling me my angst fest was for nothing?” She asked.

Percussionist leaned against a tree. “Oh, don‘t worry.” He said. “Theres still plenty of angst about the immortality.”

“Sax did always say he wanted to be sixteen forever.”

Trumpet rolled her eyes. “Lets go home.”

Trombone reached out to take Trumpets hand, and Sax shot up and clamped his jaws around her throat. Trombone grabbed Trumpets wrist and pulled her away as Percussionist peeled Sax away.

”Let him.“ choked out Trumpet. “I‘ll be one of you either way.”

”Absolutely not!” Said Percussionist. “Trombone, go find literally anything else with blood.” Sax kicked and snarled in his grip. “Hurry! I’m not sure how much longer I can hold him.”

———

“Flute!” Yelled Clarinet. She had been looking for him for an hour now, and still couldn’t find him.

She was walking along an old trail that went out of use years ago when she almost tripped over him. He was curled up in the shade of a tree, hiding away in a hollow.

“What do you want.”

”I want to take you home.” She said.

he laughed. “Something like me doesn’t deserve a home. I killed people, and I knew there was another way, but I did it anyway. Just leave me here to rot.”

She remembered when she’d been like this. She had forgotten to eat, had slipped up. Its not a hard thing to do. When you’re a vampire, you brain tricks you into feeling fine by your old standards until you‘re so hungry you can’t stop it.

She believed it was all her fault, though. The only way someone had gotten through to her was something they had called twisting the knife. She had always called it shitty.

She sighed. “I wanted to say sorry.”

He poked his head out a little, peering up at her. “You didn’t do anything.”

”But I did.” She said. “I drained percussionist dry last night, and then I left him to find you. I watched while you attacked your friends, and now, I’m giving you a chance to fix the harm we caused. What will you do with it?”

”You made me like this?” He asked.

”Yes.”

he lunged at her face, fingers clawing for her eyes. She turned around and ran for the campsite, making sure he was behind her, and praying that he would forgive her for the stunt she just pulled.

———

The campsite was packed, and Percussionist and Trombone had made a game of who could catch the best songbird for Sax. Sax was less murderously inclined, though it was hard to tell if it was because the blood he had consumed or trumpets growing nonhumanness.

After the third or fourth time of watching Sax suck down a bird or squirrel like a juice box, Tuba was forced to admit that maybe vampires were a little real.

(He noticed his neck wound had already scabbed over and was halfway gone. He was afraid to ask if he was becoming one.)

The sun was slipping behind the tops of the trees when Clarinet charged out of the forest, leapt over the van, And yelled “Flutes trying to kill me!”

Flute burst into the clearing and lunged at Clarinet. Percussionist stepped in the way.

”What happened?“

”She did this in purpose! She said she dropped you in the woods to kill us!”

Percussionists blinked. “No she didn’t. She told me to stay where I was while she got something for me to eat.”

he stopped yelling. Now, he just looked confused. “But she turned you.”

”Yeah? It was an accident. She obviously regretted it.”

Percussionist backed off, and Flute looked at clarinet.

”why did you say all that then?”

“You were’t gonna come with me if I didn’t. Besides, you were spiraling and this was the easiest way to stop that.”

”Sounds like the shittiest way to stop it, too.” Scoffed Tuba.

She sighed. “Yeah. It was.”

”Hey,” asked sax. “Are any of us still human? I know me, Percussionist, and Trombone aren’t-“

”Percussionist, Trombone, and I.” Said Trumpet.

”-And I saw you two jump over my van, but whats up with the rest of you?”

”Basically,” said Clarinet, “anyone who was bit is or will become a vampire, depending on how much blood they had left in them after the bite. Was there anyone who wasn’t bit?”

everyone was silent as they all glanced at each other, looking for anyone who could say yes. It quickly became awkward, and was broken by Clarinet muttering “Fuck.” quietly under her breath.

”Who all, um, died today?”

Flute, Sax, and Trombone slowly raised their hands. Clarinet squinted at Percussionist, which prompted him to say “What? I died last night.”

French Horn yelled “past twenty four hours, dingus.”

He rolled his eyes and raised his hand.

”Alright. You three,” -she made a sweeping gesture towards the three with their hands down- “Are going to have the worst couple weeks of your life. Take a few days off of everything. Don’t go to the hospital. Stay isolated. Call me when the pain’s mostly over.”

Tuba’s lips pursed. “What, exactly, is going to happen to us?”

”The way it was explained to me was that your body slowly cannibalizes itself. It sucks.”

”hm.” He said. He looked very troubled.

They got in the van and drove through the night.

For now, they rest. A short break, before they have to figure out the rest of their lives.

#Not a super satisfying ending I know #Not the best writing I could’ve done either #I’m already planning out a sequel for how things go that will get into the nitty gritty of their character #And hopefully give them real names #THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A PLOT SUMMARY WHAT WHENT WRONG #(It started out as a kiss how did it end up like this)#Its still basically the bulletpoints version of this story with some banter mixed in #I did actually have a concrete well thought out(ish) plan #Then the characters (mostly trumpet and tuba) said “no thanks we’re too cool for your shit/to much of a himbo” respectively #And honestly? They’re right #Please keep in mind I made this when I was like 12-13 and havent developed it much since then but I love em all the same #I could be persuaded to attempt to draw them #Or at least picrew them #Anyways that took way too long thank you for sitting through this with me #Writing #my writing #oc #ocs #my ocs #writeblr #Bandpires

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walkerwords · 4 years ago

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“The Savior Sessions” Part 3 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: Gene Page/AMC

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: Part three of the savior sessions. Both the reader and Negan open up about their fears on a rainy day.

Word Count: 3130

Warning: Mention of The Governor being a rapist (briefly)

Song I Wrote To: “Rain” by Ben Platt

Note: I am trying to make these as gender-neutral as possible. If you have seen me use specific pronouns or anything that counters that, let me know! Thanks! I am working on my Daryl story, but I wanted to throw this out there as I do.

--------

It was raining when you woke up.

Droplets raced down your windows and thunder rolled in the distance. You knew it would be a day that was spent mostly inside. However, you also knew you had to pay Negan a visit.

It was odd. He had surprised you. You could still see the layers of the man he was years before, but there was something...new that wasn’t there when he stepped out of that RV and introduced himself to your people.

Since you were young, you always believed in second chances. You never really thought anyone was truly evil until the world ended. Then, you had met people like the Governor and Gareth, two men who killed who for fun, who took pleasure in the torture and destruction of others.

While Negan had done evil things, you didn’t think he was evil. If horrific acts categorize someone as unsavable, then those closest to you, and even yourself, would be considered just as bad. Nobody was innocent in the new world, but perhaps some of them could still find redemption.

Rolling onto your back, you stared up at the ceiling as the rain pelted the roof. The drumming of it drowned out the world for just a moment and you allowed yourself just a few more seconds of peace before throwing the blanket off and getting up for the day.

You quickly dressed and then made way your way to the window. Few people milled around in the soaked streets. A few kids splashed in puddles as their parents smiled from the cover of their porches. You watched as Gracie ran around as Aaron tried to catch her, both of them laughing the whole time.

Your house was one of the only ones that were left unscathed from the Savior’s attack. You lived next to Rosita who would sometimes use your spare bedroom when she needed a break from her boys. However, you tended to be alone for the most part unless one of the parents asked you to watch the kids. Being a teacher before the turn, you were really the only one who was able to get the little ones to calm down and listen.

Many people figured you would be the one to take over as the full-time teacher in Alexandria, but you couldn’t do it. You loved teaching back then, but now after everything, you were so different. And while you still cared about the kids, you were now more comfortable with a gun on your hip, watching the walls, or now, chatting with a killer.

You grabbed your coat and then headed out of your house, walking towards the infirmary. Siddiq had been experimenting with a new tea that would help improve the immune systems of the Alexandria residents as the weather turned for the worse. Laura had been his last guinea pig for a taste test and the blonde had nearly choked it down while she tried to put on a brave face. However, the doctor had seen right through her and tried again.

You were more than willing to help him out this morning as he had stitched you up enough over the past few years. The rain soaked your hair as you walked down the road, trying to keep your jacket tucked around your neck to keep the bandage that was placed there somewhat dry. Siddiq had patched you up the day before, but you had no desire to get an infection from a ruined bandage.

As you approached the infirmary, Siddiq was already waiting for you on the porch. “I saw you coming,” he said with a warm smile.

“I would have been here sooner, but I slept in,” you said with an apologetic shrug.

“It’s the weather,” Siddiq said as he picked up two mugs from the table by the door. When he handed both of them to you, you rose a brow in question. “It gets cold in that cell,” he said with a shrug of his own. You smiled slightly, oddly touched that Siddiq had thought of Negan. Then again, he was the one who had looked after the man after Rick had opened his throat.

You took a hesitant sip of the sweet-smelling tea and then relaxed as it actually tasted pretty good. “I think you managed to get this one right, Doctor,” you said raising your cup to him.

“Mind telling other people that?” he asked.

“I’ll spread the word, Siddiq,” you said, walking back down his steps.

“Have fun,” he teased.

“If both of my hands weren’t occupied, I would be sending you a very rude gesture right now,” you called over your shoulder as you continued toward the main road that led to Negan’s cell.

The guard waved to you as he left his post. You figured he hadn’t been there long. You were also trying to convince Michonne to drop the guard altogether. Negan knew he would most likely be executed if he broke out and from your conversations with him, you didn’t think he would try anyway.

Balancing the mugs in one hand, you entered the stone building, shoving the door close with your foot. “Someone has their hands full this mornin’,” Negan said as he stood by the bars.

“Courtesy of the good doctor,” you said, approaching him and handing him a steaming mug. “Trust me, I already checked for poison.” You hadn’t but it amused him. Negan took the mug through the bars and enclosed his hands around it.

Not bothering with the chair this time, you sat on the ground by the bars, pulling your knees up. Negan joined you, leaning against the cold wall. “How was your morning?” he asked, pleasantly. You chuckled under your breath. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said shaking your head. “It’s been...wet.” Negan looked at you and you rolled your eyes. “Don’t be gross,” you warned and he raised a hand in surrender.

“I didn’t say anything,” he said.

“No, but you were thinking it,” you said with narrowed eyes.

“Ah, see, would you look at that! We’re so close we can already read each other’s minds.”

“Oh, great,” you said, turning up your nose. Negan mirrored your earlier expression and rolled his own eyes.

“So, you don’t like the rain, then?” he asked.

“I don’t care for the thunderstorms, but I like a little rain. It makes the Walkers slower and freshens up the rotten air,” you explained, sipping on your tea.

“Yeah,” Negan agreed, “I’m not too big on the thunderstorms either. Way back when the world was still somewhat functioning, we had a massive storm that cut the power right in the middle of the school day. Kids are rambunctious enough and then you give the little assholes a power outage and well…”

“Shit hits the fan,” you concluded.

“You sound like you have personal experience,” Negan noticed.

“I used to teach middle and high school English,” you revealed and Negan looked at you in surprise.

“Did you like it?”

“It was better than this,” you said with a snort.

“Fair enough,” Negan said. You let your head fall back and that’s when he noticed the bandage on your neck. “What happened there?” Your hand came up to touch the dressing.

“Oh, I got cut when I was helping Scott with one of the walls. Walkers snuck up on us and I tripped on a piece of metal, scratch it on my way down. No big deal, I’ve had worse.”

“Haven’t we all,” Negan muttered and you saw a flash of something behind his eyes, but it was gone in a second. “Well, you need to be more careful (Y/N), I can’t have my BFF gettin’ munched on by a corpse.”

“BFF?” you asked with raised brows. Negan just winked back. “Alright, Mister, today, I want to hear a story from you.”

“I thought you said you were going to tell me what your vote would be,” Negan said, turning his head to look at you, waiting. You sighed as you remembered promising him that at the end of your last conversation, but you had been doing most of the talking in these sessions and it was his turn.

“Story first,” you told him. “Then I’ll tell you.” He looked at you annoyed for a moment before shrugging.

“As you wish, your majesty,” he said, but then he began his story. “Alright, how about the first time I ran into a herd?”

“Oh? Do tell,” you said, resting your elbow on your knee and watching him.

“Right, so, it wasn’t long after the Turn. Corpses were everywhere and you couldn’t walk out the door without having to bash in some skulls. I was trying to find someplace to hold up for a few days. I was with two other people, both are dead now, but they were decent people to travel with. My wife had just died and I needed to just leave, you know?” you nodded, understanding. “I made it to Richmond and god the number of Walkers was fucking terrifying. At this point, nobody knew what the fuck was going on. Not like we do now, but it was different back then as you remember.

“We moved into the city and then when I headed into the main district, lookin’ for the old FEMA centers, that’s when we saw it. Must have been over five hundred, maybe more. It was like they were all rotating in one big circle and then the bastards saw us and...well shit, I had never run so damn fast in my life. It was like we were magnets for the things and no matter where we turned, there were more and more…” Negan let out a breath as his memories haunted him.

“What did you do to get away?” you asked.

“Managed to get an old tow truck workin’,” he said. “Plowed that sucker right through them until we could find high ground. Wasn’t pretty, but dealing with Walkers never is.”

“I think we all learned not to go to cities again after the first time,” you said, finishing your tea.

“You did it too?”

“Atlanta,” you said with a nod. “Though, I did it multiple times for supplies so I guess I’m the idiot here.”

“These were the runs you went on with Glenn?” he asked and you were surprised to hear him say Glenn’s name, but you nodded nonetheless.

“Right,” you confirmed. “Though, I wasn’t with him the day he found Rick.”

Negan was quiet then and you knew he was thinking about Glenn. A few days before, Gabriel had come to you and told you that he sometimes overheard Negan saying his victims’ names in his sleep. Negan probably didn’t even know he was doing it, but it only added to your theory that Negan felt guilt for what happened at the line-up and everything afterward.

“The fear I felt when all those Walkers were coming for us…” Negan continued. “It was the most primal thing I had ever felt. You know how they talk about fight or flight?”

“Yeah.”

“I never once thought to fight at that moment. All I wanted to do was run and not look back. It wasn’t until weeks later that I got sick of running and I finally made Lucille.”

“‘Lucille, give me strength’,” you quoted and his head whipped towards you. “I told you, I was good at surveillance. I guess she did more for you than we all first thought. Not just a bat after all.”

“Never was that simple,” he said and you could hear the sadness in his voice as he spoke the words.

You were wondering if you could find her out in that field. It had been years, but if by some miracle it was there, you may be able to get it. Not that you were going to give it to Negan, but maybe someday if he was let out and went looking for her, you could give that piece back to him. The thing that was hated by your people but created the resilient man before you. You figured that was something.

“You asked me before who the first person I killed was,” you began. Negan waited patiently. “I never knew his name or if he had a family, but I remember his face and how I felt at that moment. I was terrified. We were under attack by this man who called himself The Governor. This man ran a community, a town, and he was horrible. He was a rapist, a killer, and an overall tyrant. Not somebody that would have been welcomed here or the Sanctuary.”

“Damn right,” Negan sneered.

“We had liberated the town and Michonne had tried to kill him so he was pissed and eventually rolled up to the gates of the prison we were living in. He blasted our towers to rubble and his men and women began killing us. We were lucky enough to be pretty strong then and we killed most of them. Daryl got his hands on some grenades and took the tank out.”

“Tank?” Negan asked.

“I told you, son of a bitch was crazy. His people attacked and we had to defend ourselves. I was trying to wrangle all the kids with a man by the name of Tyreese. He was Sasha’s brother. He and I were almost out when this man came up and tried to kill Tyreese as he held a very young Judith in his arms.”

Taking a breath, you tried to stay calm as you recounted the events. “He was gonna kill the baby and I had one of Daryl’s knife so I just rammed it into the man’s neck. I didn’t think it would be that hard, you know? Walkers are much easier, so when the blade made contact, it almost didn’t go through. Blood flowed all over me from the artery I had severed and Tyreese ran with Judith. I watched the man die at my feet as I collected myself, but it didn’t last long. A second later and an explosion racked the courtyard and I went down. I didn’t see Tyreese or the baby until we were all reunited.”

“You did it to protect your people, to protect a child,” Negan reminded you.

“I wasn’t upset I killed him, Negan,” you said. “I was upset at how easy it was to do it.”

“I get that,” he said and you could tell he was being honest. That was something you admired about him, he never lied if he could help it. “What happened after that?”

“Michonne killed the Governor and I woke up just as a Walker was about to kill me. Then, Glenn came out of nowhere and killed it and I ended up staying with him and Tara as we went to find the others. On the road is where we met Rosita, Abraham, and Eugene. I didn’t know it then, but I would be killing a lot more in the next few weeks.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not and you wouldn’t be either if you knew who tried to kill us...who tried to fucking slaughter us like cows…” your fists curled in as the visuals of Terminus flashed behind your eyes.

You hadn’t realized you were shaking until you felt a hand on yours as Negan reached through the bars to calm your hands. You realized then that this was the first time he had touched you and you felt oddly comforted. You patted his hand in thanks and he withdrew it, placing it back in his lap. “So, just know you’re not the only one who has felt fear like you did in that city.”

“But you fought,” he said.

“I did, but all I wanted to do was run. It took me a long time to run towards danger than from it. Rick, Daryl, Carol, Abe, they all taught me to fight.”

“They did a good job,” he complimented. “You are one certified badass (Y/L/N).”

“Who told you my last name?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Judith,” he said with a grin.

“Should have known,” you said with a small smile.

“There it is,” Negan said, pointing at your mouth. “I like seeing you smile.” You went to roll your eyes again, but a loud crash of thunder interrupted you. You jumped.

“Jesus,” you swore under your breath. “That is why I hate storms.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” he joked and you pushed his shoulder through the bars, making him laugh. The two of you sat in silence then, listening to the rain. This was only your third time speaking to him, but you were starting to feel a kind of camaraderie between the two of you. It was strange, but it began to feel natural. You wondered if this is how Judith felt when she spoke to him, this kind of calmness. Then again, Judith could make friends with everyone.

Negan’s eyes fell closed as he breathed in deep. In the low light of the cell, you could see the shiny line of the scar that permanently marked his throat and you finally answered his question.

“I would have voted no,” you whispered. His eyes opened slowly and his head rolled to the right to look at you.

“Why?” he simply asked. You kept eye contact as you spoke, making sure he understood every word.

“None of us are saints, Negan,” you began. “All of us, Hilltop, Alexandria, Kingdom, Oceanside, we’ve all killed without a second thought to protect what’s ours. I’m not saying what you did was right, but sometimes I think back to the line-up or when you set the Walkers loose on Hilltop and I can’t help but think that I would’ve done the same if the situation was reversed. Maybe not with a baseball bat, but we’ve tortured and we’ve executed.”

“So, you’re saying that you wouldn’t have killed me because you’ve done shitty things, too?” he asked.

“There is enough death in the world already,” you said with a shrug.

“Unbeing dead isn't being alive,” Negan quotes and you tilted your head slightly.

“E.E. Cummings was a wise man.”

“Indeed he was,” Negan agreed with a smile. “Thanks for saying that.”

“I told you I didn’t hate you and I meant it. To an outsider, we’re both monsters,” you explained. “I imagine that if I had been with the Saviors, I would have seen this side as the villains. All about perception, my friend.”

“Ah, so you agree,” he said with a grin, “we are friends.”

“Oh, shut up.”

TAGS: @thanossexual @yes-sir-hotchner @boom-bunny @delusionalteenagewhispers @sophia-gwendolyn @ritajammer21

#walkerwords #savior sessions #twd #twd imagines #negan imagine #negan x reader #reader insert #The Walking Dead #the walking dead imagines #the walking dead fanfiction #TWD season 9 #Prison Negan

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five-rivers · 5 years ago

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Interview with a Ghost (part 5: Buried)

(PART 1) (PART 2) (PART 3) (PART 4)

"What?" said Captain Jones, as Collins and Paterson finished explaining their understanding of the situation to him. "What? What?"

"That was my reaction, too," said Paterson. "Just, you know, internally."

Jones waved one hand, the other supporting his forehead.

"Er, sir?" said Collins, leaning forward, trying to catch the captain's eye. "How should we, you know, proceed on this? I don't think there's any precedent."

The captain bit back a groan. "No, there isn't. He was insistent that the Fentons, his parents, didn't do anything to him?"

"Yeah."

"But it still can't be- can't be healthy for a ghost or- or whatever he is to be there," said Jones. This was making his head hurt. "They have weapons, and even if it was an accident, he died and they- No one noticed!"

"That is pretty messed up," agreed Paterson.

"That's got to be child neglect, at least, right? Negligent homicide?"

Collins nodded. "We can't really charge them with that, though, can we? Not without revealing he's a ghost and getting the GIW and whoever stole the body coming down on us."

"That could just be something Phantom's saying, though," said Paterson. "We don't know if it's true or not."

"It felt true," said Collins. "He sounded like he was actually scared."

"But can we just let a kid- two kids, with his sister- be in a situation like that? Even if one of them is dead. Especially if one of them is dead. Or whatever Fenton, Phantom, whatever, is claiming to be."

"He didn't really claim to be anything, really," said Collins.

"Look, I already have a headache as it is. What it comes down to is, I don't want a kid to be living under the same roof as people who regularly and publicly shoot at him."

"So, what do we do?" asked Collins. "He doesn't want to leave, and I don't think we can make him, physically."

"No, we can't. But does he know that?"

"I think he's aware of his laser murder powers," said Paterson.

"He kept coming to talk to you, though," said Jones. He massaged the bridge of his nose. "There's something here..." Suddenly, it all came together. He clapped his hands. "He wants to keep his secret from the public, right? That's our leverage."

"Leverage?" asked Collins, dubiously. "Captain... he is still a teenager."

"I know, I know, but hear me out. We tell him, he has to let his parents know, and his parents, they have to make their house safe for him. If they're reasonable, they'll do it. If not, we can get them for, I don't know, going crazy and thinking their kid is a ghost, or having weapons all over their home. Obviously, he isn't. That's the position we'd maintain." Jones took a deep breath. "No need to expose him publicly, and, as long as he isn't, he'll have to act like he's human, right? If he wants to maintain the illusion?"

"I guess that would work," said Collins. "But... do we have to get child protective services involved? I don't see that going well."

"Not if everyone is reasonable," said Jones, a crazed look in his eyes.

"Hold up," said Paterson. "Doesn't this hinge on getting him to, you know, tell his parents?"

"Weapons. Home. Around children. And- We'll agree to bury the rest. Tear up documents. Hide everything. Cover for him. We already know what killed him. What's the point of bringing it into the light?"

Collins and Paterson both nodded slowly. "I'll call him," said Collins.

There was a knock on the door. The three glanced at each other.

"Come in," said the captain.

One of the officers stuck her head in. "Sir?" she said. "The mayor is here to see you."

Danny would have been at home, plotting with Jazz about how to get his body back, but, no, Skulker had to show up, again. He should have wrecked his suit instead of just sucking him into the thermos last night.

"Hah! Ghost child!" shouted Skulker. "Today I will have your pelt! I have new-!"

Danny screamed in frustration, the harmonics of his voice almost touching a ghostly wail. "Can you leave off about my pelt for like five seconds?" demanded Danny, attacking more aggressively than was his usual wont. One of Skulker's arms flew off his body, clattering on the tiles of a nearby roof. "Didn't you have enough of that, helping Vlad steal my corpse yesterday?" There, after days of dancing around the word, he had finally said it.

"Wait, your what?" asked Skulker, pirouetting awkwardly to avoid another barrage of ectoblasts.

"My. Corpse!" screamed Danny. "You helped him steal my corpse!"

"You don't have a corpse, you're still alive!"

"Shut up!" It was a good thing they were so far up. Even at the volumes they were speaking, they wouldn't be overheard. "You don't know anything! I'm half dead, so I have half a corpse, and I had to bury it, and then the police found it, and you helped Vlad steal it!" Danny was basically in tears at this point, hands clenching the metal of Skulker's chest so hard it buckled and warped, holding the unfortunate ghost above his head.

A number of complicated emotions passed over Skulker's face. "Uh," he said. "Time out?"

"What?" snarled Danny. He was more than ready to rip Skulker apart.

"Your body, whatever there is of it, did Plasmius really take it?"

"He basically gloated about it to my friends," said Danny.

Skulker's face twisted up, the metal plates it consisted of glinting in the sunlight. "Disturbing the remains of another ghost is... distasteful, at best." He shifted, obviously trying to get out of Danny's grip. Danny held on, tighter. "Let me go," he said. "I'll spread the word. There won't be a ghost in the Zone who'll work for Plasmius after this."

Danny sniffed. "I want it back," he said.

"Of course you do," said Skulker, nervously. "Just- let me go, alright, ghost child?" He paused. "Phantom?"

Danny relaxed his grip. Before Skulker could recover, he whipped out the thermos and sucked the other ghost in.

"I'll let you go," he grumbled. "Right into the Ghost Zone."

Jones did not like Mayor Masters. A complete outsider, a stranger to Amity Park, the man had somehow wormed his way into the mayor's office. Jones had always suspected bribery, but had no evidence.

This visit of his... it was suspicious. Incredibly suspicious. The timing felt rotten. Masters had barely set foot inside the station before this.

Well, the timing and the questions he was asking. Jones was glad he had told everyone to deflect questions about the body and Phantom beforehand, no matter who was asking.

Jones fixed a grin onto his face. "I'm sorry, Mr. Masters," he said. "We can't discuss ongoing investigations."

"I think," said Masters, "that, as mayor, I am exempt from that rule. I am, after all, your boss."

"That's true," said Jones, "but this case is especially sensitive, and everyone is a suspect."

"I can't possibly be," said Masters. "I didn't even live here two years ago. I believe you are dancing around the subject, sir. Let us not have our personal feelings get in the way of things, hm?"

This bastard- There was no way he should have known that particular detail. Not without suborning the ME or her assistant.

Or stealing the records. The initial reports had gone missing with the body, and the computer system had been hacked.

Jones pressed his teeth together so hard they ached. He could feel them grinding inside his head.

"Why don't I give you an overview of what we know so far?" he asked, voice as sweet as he could stand to make it. "We'll start with Cameron over here. He's the head of our cult division, and a real wizard with computers."

If anyone could drive the man off, it was Cameron.

"I didn't think babypop even had a corpse," said Ember, crossing his arms. "Are you sure he isn't just delusional?"

"He could be," said Skulker, "but that's not the point. He believes it. Do you really want to be dealing with him as a restless spirit?"

"Oh, god, no. He's already such a spoilsport. Can you imagine?" The blue flame her hair was drawn back into shuddered.

"I don't have to imagine," said Skulker. "He tore my arm off."

"He always tears your arms off," said Ember, dismissively.

"He's only going to get worse though," said Skulker, "if it really is his body. If Plasmius is doing anything to it. That anxiety. A person's body should be taken care of properly, not messed about with."

"Hey!" said Technus, who was on the other side of the room, fixing Skulker's mechanical body. "I donated MY body to SCIENCE! I'm perfectly fine."

"Yeah," said Ember. "Some people would disagree with that, but the thing is you chose to do that. Those're the rites you wanted."

"Do you think I, the great TECHNUS, master of all things technological and-"

"No, actually, I don't think you knew," said Ember.

"Ohhhhh! I'll alter all your auxiliary cables, you little-!"

"Can we get back on topic?" asked Skulker, his high-pitched voice cutting above the argument. "We need to get Phantom's body back! Otherwise he'll be completely unbearable!"

The ghosts looked at each other. "Agreed," they said.

Danny leaned over Tucker's shoulder. "Are you sure?" he said.

"Positive," said Tucker. "Sorry, man, but Vlad's super secret super villain stuff isn't online. Your body isn't mentioned at all. Nothing is. His internet enabled stuff is all pretty bland, compared to what we know he's doing. I mean, some of it is kind of sketchy, but it just isn't the same level."

"Anything we can blackmail him with?" asked Sam.

"Not really. We can't exactly say how we got it, after all, so he'd have plausible deniability."

Danny groaned. The groan turned into a long plume of blue mist. Danny growled. "Whoever is interrupting this time-"

"Whoa, calm down, man," said Tucker. "This is pretty normal."

Danny's phone began to ring. If this was those detective he was going to-

It was Jazz. "What?" he asked.

"The ecto-exodus alarm is going off," said Jazz. "Where are you?"

"Tucker's," said Danny. "I'm going to check it out."

"Be safe. Mom and Dad are out there with blasters, and they've notified the GIW."

"Noted," said Danny. He hung up, then turned to Sam and Tucker. "This is a big one, apparently. You might want to stay in."

"Good luck with that," said Tucker, pulling a ecto-rifle from beneath his desk. "I've been wanting to try this baby out."

"Please don't name it," said Sam.

"I think I will!" said Tucker.

"Just don't shoot if we're not fighting, okay? They might not be here to cause trouble. Don't give me that look, I'm trying out some optimism."

Before his friends could say anything about that, he flew up through the roof. From there, he had no problem picking out the crowd of ghosts who had just passed by.

Skulker was leading them. Danny scowled, and flew forward to intercept them, too angry to process whether or not confronting a group of ghosts that large was wise.

"Hey!" he shouted. "I thought you said you'd leave!"

"Chill, babypop!" shouted Ember. "You're a cold core, aren't you? We're here to get your body back."

That brought Danny up short. "Wait, really?"

The other ghosts, largely the rabble of the Wastes, the region of the Ghost Zone right outside the Fenton portal, gave a ragged sort of cheer.

"Yeah. And trash Plasmius's crap."

"Oh," said Danny, taken aback. "He has a ghost shield around his mansion, you know. A human shield, too, before you say I can get past that."

Poindexter floated up, over the mass of the crowd. "He can't keep them up all the time, can he?" he asked adjusting his glasses.

"No, I guess he can't. One sec." He pulled out his phone. "Hey, Tucker, can you find out where Vlad is right now?"

"... and these are the cults that believe ghosts are divine messengers, there's a lot of variety in them, too," Cameron was saying, pointing eagerly at his computer screen.

"Excuse me," said Vlad. "But I don't see how this is relevant. At all. To anything."

"Oh, it's very important," said Collins, nodding sagely. "We got some of our best leads in this case from the cults."

Cameron beamed.

"I am myself quite familiar with the local cults," said Vlad. "If they become relevant, I'm sure I can come back to-"

"No, no, Mr. Mayor," said Paterson, "you won't understand without context."

"I-"

Several dozen ghosts suddenly entered through the roof. Everyone dove for cover.

"Hiya, grave robbers!" shouted a ghost with fiery blue hair. Ember McClain. "Or one grave robber in particular."

Actually, come to think of it, she'd masqueraded as a human for a while, too. Collins was going to have a crisis about how easily ghosts could blend in with humans at some point in the near future. Not today, but before the end of the week. He'd need to talk to a shrink. Preferably one who wasn't a ghost.

Oddly, the ghosts weren't attacking.

The sound of Mayor Masters clearing his throat issued from behind a sizable desk. "What are you here for?" he asked.

"You know, grave robber. We've got a bone to pick with you, until you give back what you took."

A few feet away from Collins, Jones inhaled deeply. He stood up. Collins resisted the urge to drag him back down.

"We don't have Phantom's body," said Jones, "if that's what you're here for."

"We know," said Ember. "That's what this's about. We know who took it, and we don't want to deal with Phantom while he's freaking out over some jerk having his body. So. We're giving an ultimatum-"

"Hey, guys," said Phantom's voice. "I found the shield deactivation button. It was in his car, next to his garage door opener."

"Oh, cool. You trash his car?"

"Nah, I let these little gremlin dudes do it. They looked like they were having fun."

"Whatever, babypop. Let's go get your body!"

As quickly as they came, the ghosts were gone.

Mayor Masters swore, and started for the door.

"Hold up," said Jones, putting a hand on the taller man's shoulder. "Where exactly do you think you're going?"

"To call some competent ghost hunters, since those menaces are clearly after my belongings!"

"Nuh uh," said Jones. "We've got some questions for you."

"Yeah," said Collins, "like why you seem to think that they're going to your house, when they could have been talking about anyone."

"Wow!" said Cameron, smiling. "That was exciting! I'm glad I was livestreaming, like you told me to, Paterson!"

"Well," said Vlad. He paused. "I need to call my lawyer."

"Better make sure they're a competent one," mocked Jones.

Collins was surprised when Phantom materialized in the middle of the room with a long, dark plastic body bag in his arms. So were most people. Across the room, next to the coffee machine, one of his more caffeine-addicted coworkers do a spit take, and Jones burst out of his office in an avalanche of paperwork.

"I want a burial," said Phantom, finally. "A real one, this time."

Silence.

"I think I can arrange that," said Captain Jones.

#danny phantom #dannymay #dannymay2020 #dannymay 2020 #day 27

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spencersstrawberryjello · 3 years ago

Text

Inside Scoop (Chapter One)

Chapter One - The Greatest Regret of my Life

Previous Chapter < - > Next Chapter

Chapter Summary: Dahlia Silvers is on her way to work when she makes a horrifying discovery that will change her life... and lead to her getting tangled up with the Behavioral Analysis Unit.

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of corpse (violent death), police interactions (please let me know if I missed anything)

Word Count: 2417

A/N: Yay new story!! Ok, two quick things I need to mention before we get into it: one, I have absolutely no clue about the roads in DC and I merely listed two ones that I knew were on a corner. And two: I also have no clue where the Washington Post office is, and am not trying to make any claims about the company in any way, it’s just a reputable news place in DC so I wanted to use it for the story (please don’t sue me Jeff Bezos). Ok that’s all - hope you enjoy!! :)

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It was raining.

I knew we were supposed to get a short shower this morning, but I still groaned as I walked out into the disgusting downpour bombarding the streets of DC.

The only positive thing about days like this was the lack of people on the sidewalk. Generally everyone was dashing to the subway before they could get too soaked, but I only lived a few blocks from work. So I elected to walk.

Usually, that was fine. I had my umbrella, and I got into the office in about fifteen minutes, give or take a few. After that I got my writing assignments for that day within ten, and I got to work.

Usually.

The smell hit me first. Initially, I thought it was just rotten fruit, or something similar that someone had thrown out, but the closer I got the more it smelled rancid, impossible to describe.

The next thing I noticed was the bag.

The woman’s purse had been thrown from her hand. Or maybe it had fallen, I had no way of knowing. All I knew was that I saw it sitting on the sidewalk at the mouth of the alleyway I was about to walk past.

One of the greatest regrets of my life was picking up that purse.

Because when I picked it up, I had to turn and see who it belonged to. And that’s when I saw her.

I wasn’t sure how long the blood had been pooled around her body, but it was dried on the concrete. Her head was twisted at an unnatural angle, revealing the deep slash wound across her throat. Her hands were bloodied, and I had no way of knowing if it was her blood or someone else’s. All I knew was that this woman was dead, and there was no way in hell it was due to natural causes.

The combination of the sight in front of me and the smell of decay permeating the air sent a wave of nausea through my body, and my eyes watered as I turned away, vomiting on the sidewalk not far from where the woman laid. I fumbled to pull my phone out of my pocket, my hands shaking as I dialed 911.

“911 what’s your emergency?”

“Someone’s dead. It’s a woman, she - I was on my way to work, and I just found her - holy shit…”

“Ok ma’am, I’m going to need you to calm down please, everything will be ok. Can you tell us where you are right now?”

“Yeah, yes,” I forced myself to breathe, stepping out to the edge of the sidewalk in an attempt to read the street sign in front of me. “Right by the corner of 9th and G Street NW. There’s an alley a few feet away from the intersection. She’s…” I turned back to the woman’s body for a moment before forcing my eyes away again. “I don’t know what happened. It looks bad, I -”

“It’s ok ma’am. What is your name?”

“Dahlia. Dahlia Silvers.”

“Ok Dahlia. Is there anyone else with you? Or around you?”

I scanned my surroundings before responding shakily, “No.”

“Is the woman alive?”

“No.” I don’t know of anybody who could survive their throat being slashed.

“Ok. A team is on their way, but I need you to stay calm for me, ok?”

I nodded, despite the fact that she couldn’t see me. “Alright.”

“Good. Can you stay on the scene so that investigators can speak with you when they arrive?”

My first thought was that I was going to be late for work. It’s actually kind of funny, in retrospect, how unimportant that is compared to the discovery I just made. But the thought was still there.

“I think this would be a valid reason to call in sick.” I replied. The woman on the other end of the phone laughed lightly.

“Yes, I think it would. Would you like me to stay on the phone with you until the team arrives?”

“No, I’m just… I’m going to walk away a bit? Is that ok? I can’t… I mean, I’ve seen pictures and videos of stuff like this, but I didn’t think it would be so -”

“As long as you’re nearby, everything should be fine. It’s understandable that you would need to move away from the body.”

“Ok. Ok,” I took in another deep breath, “I’m ok.”

“A team should be there in a couple of minutes.”

The line went dead, and I sunk down against the wall of the building by the alley, far enough away that the smell of death couldn’t follow me. I felt like it was in my clothes, in my hair; for a second I thought I was going to throw up again, and I put my head in my hands, forcing myself to breathe until the investigators arrived on the scene. I had half a mind to realize that it wasn’t raining anymore, but I couldn’t be bothered to figure out where I’d dropped my umbrella. My clothes were sticking to my skin, and everything on my body felt viscerally wrong.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen images of dead people before; I was a young adult, and I liked movies. Obviously I was used to gore. But the stench… nothing could’ve prepared me for that.

I was surprised at the sheer number of people that showed up: I mean, there was a CSI van, which I expected, but a black car pulled up behind them, as well as two city police cars. Immediately, the CSI team got to work, and the rest of the people began piling out of their cars. The first person to take notice of me was one of the police officers, and he immediately made a beeline for where I was sitting on the sidewalk.

“Are you Dahlia Silvers? The woman who called in the body?” He asked. I nodded, and he held out his hand to me, helping me up on unsteady feet.

“Thank you.”

“‘Course. Now, I’d like to ask you a few questions if that’s ok?”

I nodded again, and he began a surprisingly long tirade of questions. Why was I passing by, where was I going, did I walk this street every day, what did I see first, did I touch anything on the scene, did I know the woman, had I seen anyone else - everything I should’ve expected but didn’t even think about in the wake of everything I’d just witnessed.

I answered accordingly: work, work, yes, the purse, the purse, no, no - I mentioned that the vomit was mine, and that I’d picked the purse up with the intent to return it to whoever dropped it. I mentioned that the first thing I picked up on was the smell, and that I had no idea what happened. Only that my day was perfectly normal, and then -

“Excuse me, officer?” A new voice cut into our conversation, a woman. I turned to look at her, noticing the FBI logo on her jacket immediately. “I’d like to speak with Ms. Silvers for a moment, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course Agent,” He nodded, rejoining the larger group that we were standing a bit away from. I knew he was still watching me, but I couldn’t be bothered to worry about my status on this case’s suspect list right now. I was still trying to process the fact that there was a fucking dead body about five feet away from me.

“Dahlia Silvers?” She asked, as if she didn’t already know. I nodded, and she smiled, introducing herself as well.

“I’m Special Agent Prentiss, I’m with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

Immediately my brow furrowed with confusion. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Well, we study -”

“No, I’m sorry, I should’ve been clearer: I know what the BAU does. What is the BAU doing here, in DC?”

“We’re investigating a string of recent murders, and we believe that this one is most likely connected to the case.”

“... If there have been enough murders here that your team needed to come down, why aren’t any of the news stations covering it? I haven’t heard anything about this.”

“We’ve put a block on most of the press until we can gain a better understanding of the situation. I understand why you might feel betrayed by the media -”

“It’s not like that at all,” I rushed to correct her, not realizing I’d cut her off again, “I’m a journalist. I work for The Washington Post. Our office is like three blocks away, that’s where I was headed when - when I saw her.”

The woman nodded, a sympathetic expression on her face. “I’m sorry that you had to see all of this.”

“Thank you,” I gave her a small smile. I did appreciate it, but honestly, I’d recovered from the sight pretty quickly. I’d started working in crime journalism recently, and that came with it’s fair share of gruesome images and stories of tragedy flooding my computer. Hence the reason why my lack of knowledge on these murders was a concern. “I’m just confused as to why I didn’t hear about the murders, while working for a news site. It would make sense for a few stories to slip through, or for our CEO to announce something to us writers - how the hell did you manage a full media block?”

She laughed a bit at my bluntness, but said, “We got here very shortly after the first murder. We were able to restrict almost all stories about the event immediately.”

“Almost all? No, you guys got all of them - I have a keyword filter set up on Google to email me whenever a seemingly newsworthy event happens in the surrounding area, and I feel like ‘local murder’ would definitely count as newsworthy.”

“That’s… surprising, but it makes sense. Never underestimate the power of Jennifer Jareau - that’s our press liaison, she handles -”

“Oh yeah, I know her! I’ve spoken with her a few times when you guys have had cases in DC.”

“Right! Yeah, she’s great…” She got a sort of far-off look in her eye for a moment before she cleared her throat, “But that’s not what I’m here to talk to you about. I know that you spoke with the local police already, but I was wondering if you’d be willing to return to the station with us so we could interview you a bit further - you’re not under arrest, you’d be free to go at any time, we just have a couple more questions.”

I was hesitant, but at the same time, there was an itch in the back of my mind. An itch to know more. If this was a chance for me to find out what’s been going on, no way in hell I’m saying no to that.

Plus, if I did say no, that would be incredibly suspicious.

So I nodded, allowing Agent Prentiss to lead me back to the black vehicle that arrived with the slew of police cars. She opened the passenger door for me before shouting to someone who I’m assuming was one of her coworkers.

“Reid! Stay here and investigate the scene - I’m going to escort Ms. Silvers back to the station, and I’ll be back to pick you up.”

I heard a faint response before she shut the passenger door, climbing around to the other side and allowing me a glimpse of whoever she was talking to.

He was standing on the pavement, still looking at the car, nodding as I’m assuming Agent Prentiss said something else to him. The blue sweater he had on over his button up presented an interesting contrast between the pantsuit I’d seen Prentiss wearing, and the ridiculous query of the nature of the BAU’s uniforms crossed my mind before I turned my attention back to the matter at hand.

The matter at hand being, of course, discreetly staring at the man in front of me.

His curly hair rested almost at his shoulders, and I was mesmerized as I watched him speak, one hand flying and the other holding onto a thin wooden cane. Finally, he nodded definitively before turning back to the crime scene, and my eyes snapped to the driver’s side door as I heard Agent Prentiss slide into the seat next to me.

“Oh please, don’t let me interrupt your staring at Dr. Reid,” She held up her hands in mock defense, trying to keep herself from laughing, “I’m merely the driver.”

“Sta - what, I wasn’t staring, I -” I immediately started to defend myself (even if I totally was staring at Dr. Reid), but Agent Prentiss laughed again.

“Relax, Ms. Silvers. I’m only teasing. He is quite a good-looking man, isn’t he? Not my type, but I’m not blind.”

I blushed, acknowledging her statement with a nod as she put the car in drive, pulling away from the curb. As we started down the road, the full weight of the events that just occurred finally hit me.

I found a corpse.

I was on my way to a police station.

I might be the main suspect in an ongoing murder case. I hadn’t actually asked about that yet.

It was almost as if Prentiss had noticed the shift in my mood - honestly, there’s a chance she actually had, she was a profiler - because she broke the silence with a question.

“Ms. Silvers? How are you feeling?” She asked. I just shook my head.

“Please, call me Dahlia. And honestly, I have no idea how I’m feeling. I… well, I’m sure I don’t need to say that nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”

“I’d be surprised to hear you say it had,” She laughed. I laughed a bit too, though I couldn’t ignore the anxiety eating at me.

“I’m pretty sure I haven’t processed it yet,” I said honestly.

“You’ve gone through a lot in the last hour,” She agreed, “And I hate to say it, but you’re going to have to go through a little bit more. We’re here.”

We pulled into the police station, and she put the car in park, hoping out. I followed suit, and we both headed up the walkway to the front doors.

I was practically trembling with nerves, but at the same time, excitement coursed through my veins at what I might learn.

The BAU might’ve put a blockade on the media from the outside, but I was getting the inside scoop.

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adelindschade · 4 years ago

Text

An addition to an addition in anticipation of @newtonsheffield news chapter.

or the tiny Drabble where Gregory may have killed Newton. (Not Really)

Lucy was a blubbering fool. The well put together, pragmatic girl who barely smudged her lip stick, let alone shed a tear, but here she was, barreling into him with such force Anthony not so gracefully scrambled to catch the nearest desk in hopes he wouldn’t tumble onto the carpeted floor.

It was in vain, of course. While Lucy miraculously stood in spite of her insanely impractical heels, Anthony was ever so grateful most of the office was out for lunch to not witness him sprawled out in the hallway, undone by a girl half his size.

He had half the mind to chew her out if it wasn’t for such a sight to welcome him. Lucy, the girl who was notorious for keeping each blonde tendril perfectly in place, was a blotchy mess of incoherent stammering and mascara seeping under her eyes.

His first instinct upon recognizing her distress was one he knew too well. He came to a slow rise and awkwardly patted her shoulder. She was not his sister and he would not subject either to an unnecessary HR meeting if he crossed boundaries. So, rather than pull her into a hug, he kept it simple.

“Uh, do you need a moment?” he asked, eyeing around for a room he could stow her away to. He’d provide her coffee or tea or whatever necessary after he isolated her.

“THE DOG IS DEAD!”

What.

“THE DOG” – sharp inhale – “IS DEAD!”

Dog. There was only one dog.

That meant.

“No,” he said decidedly, refusing to believe so.

She bellowed a high-pitched whine, then a gravelly groan, until the final cue – falling into a silent scream – which gave way to hysterical crying after she sharply inhaled for more oxygen.

She nearly deafened him.

He grabbed both shoulders and shook twice; she did not yield. Her hair rocked off her shoulders and all he accomplished was activating a louder volume he did not think possible from her tiny body.

It conjured Gregory from his office. The poor boy was bug eyed and almost tripped making his way out to investigate.

“What did you say to her, Anthony?” Gregory shouted, valiantly stepping in between them.

“I didn’t say anything! She’s hysterical!” Anthony defended, raising his hands in the air.

“Why?” Gregory demanded. His brother’s hazel eyes narrowed with accusation.

“DEAD! HE’S DEAD!” she shrilled, surprisingly still standing. Gregory flinched as she raised to a new decibel.

“Who? Is your brother?” Gregory asked in a panic, extending a hand to her arm. If it were any other situation, Anthony would have noted the gesture as suspiciously affectionate. Yet, he had more prying matters.

“NEWTON!”

“What?” Gregory mumbled in disbelief.

“HE ATE THE CAKE AND HE WON’T MOVE!” She thrashed her hands in front her erratically. “I FOUND HIM AND HE’S… HE’S DEAD…”

“He ate… the cake…?” Anthony asked deadly low.

There was only one cake. The one he forbade staff to eat. The one he stored away in the staff room since the communal fridge was stocked full. The very one personally inscribed HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM in purple icing, the same color his mother loved, and adorned with handcrafted flowers.

“FUCK’S SAKE, ANTHONY! THE DOG IS DEAD!” Gregory bemoaned, exasperated by his brother’s priorities. “Wait – the dog’s dead – oh my God, is Newton really dead?” he asked in fright, finally grasping the reality of the situation. His eyes were the size of saucers as he took in Lucy’s uncharacteristically hysterical state.

“He better be!” Anthony growled through clenched teeth, stomping to the lounge determinedly. Gregory was slow to follow, urging Lucy to come along tenderly.

He didn’t know exactly how’d he react to the scene but he didn’t anticipate his reaction when he burst into the well-lit corner kitchenette.

First, the cake. Half-eaten and positively ruined. Smeared across the tabletop and some splattered onto the tiles beneath it. It was unrecognizable. Ruined. Utterly ruined and with no time to replace it unless some miracle ought to take place, so would he be, too. Expensive, matter of fact. Buttercream wasn’t cheap. Neither were the fondant flowers.

He’d strangle that fucking dog, if it was the last thing he’d do.

The rage was predictable. The blame was easy to place.

His hands tangled themselves in his hair, combing backwards slowly as he began to register the utter mess before his eyes.

“Who put it on the table? The bloody dog can climb chairs!” Anthony bellowed. The ‘big-boned’ Corgi defied all gravity where food and water were concerned!

“Oh shit,” Gregory gasped behind him. “My bad.”

Anthony spun to glare, releasing one hand from his scalp to attempt to strangle his brother in the dog’s place. Gregory dodged and hid behind the blonde.

“The dog!” Lucy shrilled, face contorting once more into that unsettling mess.

“Where is that bloody dog?” Anthony demanded, searching the room with his eyes, and when that failed, he stormed ahead to where he knew where the Corgi’s bed was tucked into the obstructed corner.

Instead, his rage came to a full stop, and his heart sunk to his stomach in the most churning, plummeting feeling he’s had since his miserable attempts to propose to Kate.

“Oh no…” he fell into a whisper.

The dog looked dead. Dead as can be. Limp with his legs sticking stiff and rigid in the air. The whole scene was smeared with the damning white sugary evidence, buried into the dog’s coat.

How much cake could kill a Corgi?

Didn’t matter, Anthony theorized with the worst dread, because Newton was dead.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he pleaded in unprecedented panic. He didn’t care if his pants were caked with white icing when he knelt to the floor to grasp the hefty beast. He shook but the dog was rigid and did not move an inch. Not a single reaction. Anthony thrashed him some more, shaking with desperate vigor.

“Let’s not abuse his corpse!” Gregory squealed behind him, attempting to pry him away.

The bloody heft of a dog was impossible to shake. He barely even rolled in his own sugar filth. Fuck – what did Kate feed him?

“Wake up! C’mon! C’mon! Wake up! Please!” He heard his own voice crack at the end. “Damnit! Wake up! God, oh no, not now! Not today! Why today?”

Gregory inadvertently killed Newton on their mother’s birthday.

Forget the bloody cake! Kate was going to be ruined! Kate would put Lucy to shame in hysterics. Then she’d recycle that grief into anger and kill them all.

“Lucy!” Anthony demanded.

He had to fix this mess. That’s what he did best. He had to.

“Y-y-yeah?”

“Clean this up! Get rid of the cake!”

“But…? What about mom?” Gregory had the stupidity to ask.

“Are you really going to give that to our mother?” Anthony seethed, glowering up at his idiotic brother. Gregory flinched and then stepped to it, taking the cake and dumping it into the trash can, the little one that could barely accommodate the size.

“Towels, Lucy! Towels! Wipe it up!”

“I get your stressed,” Gregory grumbled, “but be gentle with her, will you? She did find the body…”

“You two were supposed to watch the dog! He’s dead! Now I have to make it right before Kate sees this!”

That prompted another shrill would-be-scream had it not been for Anthony’s glare, shutting her up to a mere whinny of whimper as she swallowed what was left of it. She shook like she was being electrocuted but nonetheless, to her credit, went straight to the cupboard where the cleaning supplies could be found.

At least she was efficient. Gregory was standing there, gob-smacked, blinking at Newton with a faraway look in his eyes.

“Is he really dead?”

Forget Newton – he was going to pummel his braindead brother!

“Yes, he is, you draft ninny! You left the cake on the table!” Anthony shouted.

“I thought only chocolate killed dogs…”

“AND HALF A WHOLE BLOOD CAKE CHOCK OF SUGAR WILL, TOO!”

He heard Lucy slip a sob but she bit back the next one, focused singularly on wiping the frosting off the tabletop.

“Why not just be honest with Kate?”

“She’ll kill us all! We have to get rid of the evidence and make her think it was natural!”

Seriously, what had times come to, if he was willing to cover up a dog’s death to salvage his relationship with the love of his life and simultaneously on his mother’s birthday – the celebratory cake being the weapon, of course, too!

“He’s only like… six or seven… right? It’d be hard to think he’d just… drop dead…” Gregory pondered with a head scratch.

“You dimwit,” Anthony pushed through clenched teeth. “We have better odds convincing her he succumbed to something else other than your bloody negligence! I’m doing this for your sake, too! What do you think she’ll do to you if she learned you left the bloody cake out and left her dog unattended? She’s not going to blame the damn dog!”

“Oh…”

Maybe, just maybe, he should reconsider. Just feed his half-brained brother to Kate. He contemplated sacrificing Colin for less.

He quit his efforts of reviving the dog and leaned back on his legs, staring down with sagged shoulders.

“You bloody, rotten dog…” he muttered sourly, and then, he felt himself deflate as he began to ponder his own emotional investment to the beast.

He was a nuisance; a trial condensed in an overweight, stubby, four-legged vessel – sent by the devil himself to make Anthony’s life Hell.

And yet, Newton represented the best parts of his new chapter – sharing a happy home with Kate; the source of joy and contentment for his mistress, who in turn, softened Anthony into the blissfully happy husband he never thought he’d allow himself to be.

Newton was the joy of Kate’s life. Without him, Kate would be besides herself, and Anthony despised to see her suffer. He’d be helpless. Sure, she’d recover, or maybe not, but still… she would not be herself for a very long time after Newton’s passing. It’d be a heavy weight on them all.

“Are you crying?” Gregory asked, noticing the glistening in his brother’s eyes.

“Shut up! Just shut up! Damnit!” he cursed, wiping his eyes – and cheeks – with his white sleeve. “It’s all your fault! Fuck!” He dropped onto Newton’s chunky corpse, hiding his face in the caked fur. “It’s all your bloody fault,” he raised hell but his voice was muffled by fat, fur, and who knows what else.

“You might need to change your shirt….” Gregory, the beacon of helpfulness, offered.

“JUST CLEAN IT UP! ALL OF IT!”

[ insert original snippet from @newtonsheffield]

When Kate walked through the front door she instantly knew something was wrong. Anthony was standing stiffly behind the Kitchen counter. Mug raised halfway to his lips. Lucy had a smiled plastered on her face, and Gregory was sitting at the small table staring off into space.

“What are you three up to?”

Anthony flinched “Why would we be up to anything?”

Lucy let out a shaky breath averting her eyes to the floor. Kate looked around the kitchen something was missing. She frowned.

“Anthony, you were supposed to pick up your Mother’s birthday cake this afternoon. Haven’t you done it yet? The bakery will be closed.” Then several things happened at once.

Lucy screamed “NEWTON IS FINE!”

Anthony yelled, “Gregory left it on the table! He knows Newton can jump onto the chairs!”

Gregory gasped dramatically, as Newton tipped sadly from his bed in the corner.

[end]

[resume]

DEATH ON A BIRTHDAY

“OH MY GOD!” Anthony exploded. “YOU’RE ALIVE!”

“HE’S ALIVE!” Lucy shrilled, damn near ready to collapse her. She would’ve if it wasn’t for Gregory catching her, cradling her to his chest, and bearing the brunt of her high-pitched decibels that would’ve shattered glass. He made a wise choice to pivot her face directly into his chest, muffling the noise itself.

“YOU ROTTEN BASTARD, YOU’RE ALIVE! STUPID, STUPID DOG! YOU’RE ALIVE!” Anthony shouted, startling the creature. Anthony made an unbecoming move and knelt to the ground, solely to scoop up the bastardly beast onto his lap and soil his spare good suit with cake and dog fur. He kissed the dog’s head and buried his nose into Newton’s thick neck. “YOU BLOODY DUMB DOG! YOU’RE ALIVE! YOU IDIOT!”

“Anthony, are you crying?” Kate choked.

“SHUT UP!” He cracked, hiding his expression in the dog. His arms kept Newton captive in his lap, not that Newton minded as he lapped up any kind of affection.

“Newton, baby, are you okay?” she cooed, falling into a hoarse whisper. She knelt down to his level and stroked his abnormally large ears. He grinned and closed his eyes in contentment. “You chonk! You’re going to be so sick!” she sang, nuzzling into his belly. “You’re okay!”

“I’ll… go get cake…?” Gregory interjected.

“Yeah, sounds good,” Kate replied softly, pouting at her four-legged companion.

At the same time, Anthony could be heard growling “now, or you’ll be late,” though Newton’s thick coat inadvertently muffled most of the acid.

“I had… had a… back-up….” Lucy gulped down another hysteric. “-Back-up made,” she finished.

“Bless her,” Anthony mumbled. The man was red in the face and sniffling. “Give her a raise.”

“I did, two months ago,” Kate cooed, acquisitioning Newton and curling him up on her lap, belly up. “I anticipated your usual bout of Bridgerton shenanigans but,” she snorted, “this one takes the cake.”

CAN’T HAVE YOUR CAKE AND EAT IT, TOO

Anthony was not a fool to know nothing was truly over when the agent of chaos was lapping up scraps and scritches innocently at their feet as they dined on dessert. He eyes him cautiously, leaning down every now and then to meet the dog’s wide, brown eyes with accusation glaring in his own.

“No, you had enough,” he warned sternly when Newton rose upon realizing Anthony bore a caked fork.

“Stop being mean to my dog,” Kate slapped his knee.

“You dog almost ruined my mother’s birthday,” Anthony grunted.

“You and Gregory tried to cover up Newton’s death. Seriously?” Kate retorted dryly, unimpressed. “I would have found out. Trust me, if I couldn’t wake him up, we’d be on our way to the Emergency Vet. No offense, Violet,” she half-apologized when she noticed the matriarch glancing across to them.

“None at all, I know you are quite fond of him,” she smiled in return. “I would understand.”

“A dog,” Anthony reminded to his wife.

“You cried over him.”

“I was under stress. Gregory was no help.”

His brother a couple seats down scowled.

“A dog...?” Simon teased.

“Shut up!” Both Gregory and Anthony lamented.

Then, all heads spun when the undeniable sound of something gagging broke the evening chatter.

“Newton, no!” Anthony jumped up hastily, ushering the creature away from his mother’s favorite rug. The dog stopped, mouth wide as can be, and made another similar sound. Anthony pushed the dog ahead, towards the front door.

Kate had tried to hasten the distance by coiling her arms around his chunky middle and half-carrying to the intended doorway but could only muster as close to the pile of shoes before awful colored bile erupted from the canine’s jowls.

“Oh, God,” Anthony cringed when it encompassed a larger puddle. It was thick and mucus-like.

“No!” Kate shrieked when he adverted his head to gag some more, erupting another massive pile of vomit into a familiar set of shoes. Right into the inserts.

Anthony yowled in laughter.

“My shoes!” Daphne squawked, breaking sound barriers.

“They’re safe!” Kate roared, waving the pair of blue suede Manolo Blahnik’s into the air.

“Oh goodness,” Daphne expressed with great relief. Her hand came to her chest as she did, reclining back into her cushioned seat and letting her head fall back as she exhaled.

“Who’s the unlucky bastard?” Simon called out, curious. Violet threw him an unsavory look, displeased by his retort.

“You!” Anthony could barely reply, heaving in laughter to the point he doubled over. ‘

“Newton, no, please, no, ah!” She desperately tried to usher him onto the front door rug but Newton crawled to the next pair of shoes – men’s – and did the same.

Anthony snorted through his nostril and stumbled farther away, seeking leverage on a tufted chair while he let himself wheeze at the turn of events.

“I’m so sorry, Colin!” Kate whimpered, swatting away shoes left and right while her dog was occupied at the moment.

“WHAT??”

Simon fixed his face into the most disgusted expression Daphne had ever seen and much like her brother, began to slip into laughter that was most unladylike. He’d have to drive home with just socks – and the thought of his abandoning his favorite set of loafers because perpetual rot just spurred another snort from her nose. She couldn’t stop and next thing she knew, she was covering her entire face, sputtering and kicking while Simon gaped and contorted his features into something repulsed.

Like brother and sister, Colin, too, was appalled by the fact his shoes were soiled by dog vomit, but his siblings were much too amused at his sour luck. They howled and yelped while Kate whimpered in defeat while Newton continued to gag and defile the two set of neighboring shoes while she did her damnedest to salvage the rest – starting with the ladies’, of course.

Anthony would not recover for another five minutes from his fit, coaxed by the lovely backdrop of the Corgi hacking and whining – followed by the gut-wrenching sound of bile further entrenching itself into his brother and brother-in-law’s shoe.

He didn’t care if he had to repay the difference or buy a replacement. The look on their faces were worth it.

#newtonsheffield #misadventures of newton the corgi #Bridgerton and sons #Bridgerton drabble

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mrslittletall · 4 years ago

Note

Oh, sorry about that last ask, honestly forgot about fandom asdhyhyd um, same number, but bloodborne and the orphan of kos? weird choice i know

Title: Mindless Fandom: Bloodborne Characters: Lady Maria of the Astral Clocktower, Orphan of Kos Word Count: 2.270 AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30595280

Summary: After her death, Lady Maria is stuck in a nightmare. After she finds out, that the Hamlet is behind the place she has awoken in, she goes investigating.

(Author's note:

14: Mindless

It is incredibly difficult to come up with something for a boss that exists only as some kind of concept in a nightmare, so I decided to go with an outsider POV for this. So, this might have turned more into a Lady Maria character study, so sorry if that wasn't what you were looking for, anon. It was just the only way I could think about how to make this prompt work.)

Maria had died, but she hadn't found peace.

She had awoken again, in the very clocktower in which she had taken her own life. Around her, the research hall, housing all the patients, the... the experiments. Maria had always refused to call them like this, she always had treated them as humans, regardless of how much the church was dehumanizing them.

Maria had tried to get out of the Research Hall. She needed to see where she was. She was sure that she had died, but the Research Hall looked like an exact copy of what she remembered. She made it through a prison block, one of the Healing Church and once she stepped outside, she knew that she indeed had died.

What laid in front of her, was a nightmarish version of Yharnam, mostly of Cathedral Ward. A fake light shone down on it, a pale, lifeless light and as she wandered through it, hunters and beasts were locked in an eternal battle. This place truly was a nightmare... a nightmare for hunters, and Maria had been a hunter herself.

True, she had quit the job, cast her weapon away and turned to comfort the patients in the Research Hall, but when she looked down at her hip, she could see the very same Rakuyo she had cast away and she was clothed in her garb, right up to the feathered hat.

Maria returned to the clocktower and sat down, waiting. She was dead and wasn't getting hungry or thirsty or tired. Most of the time she did just... think. Think about how her death had affected the ones she left behind. Gehrman, Micolash, Laurence... Adeline, the blood saint in the Research Hall she had taken a liking too. She was here as well, at least a version of her that her mind must have been fabricated. Maria felt that the Research Hall was her own personal hell, like the hunters outside were locked into an endless cycle of the hunt.

Maria could hear it. The sounds behind the big clock. The rushing of waves. The dripping of water. She could smell it, the faint smell of salt and the much more prominent smell of rotten fish.

She knew that behind the door there would lay something that scared her even more than the Research Hall... but one day she couldn't bear it anymore. She needed to know.

So Maria got up from her chair, in which she must have sat for days. Or weeks. Or months. Or years. Time wasn't a concept in this place, so she didn't know, only that it had been a long time.

She faced the structure behind her and held up an item known as the celestial dial, knowing that it would open the way. After the hole had fully opened, Maria took a deep breath, even though she didn't need to breathe anymore and stepped through it.

There was a small cave, but once she traversed it, Maria saw her true nightmare right in front of her eyes.

The Fishing Hamlet...

It felt like ages had passed since she had been sent here alongside Gehrman. Because of their combat prowess they had been chosen to take care of any attacks, so that the scholars could work unhindered. Maria hadn't questioned it back then. She had trusted Master Willem's word, that they were doing the right thing, that the villagers of the Hamlet were in the wrong for keeping the treasure of the stranded Great One for themselves.

That it had been Byrgenwerth and not the Healing Church, made the whole thing even worse. The Healing Church hadn't even existed back then. Laurence had been in the middle of his blood research, having been excluded from the trip, because Master Willem had been against it. Of course the sneaky bastard still had found a way to follow them and harvest the blood of the Great One while everyone else had been distracted. Still, Maria had acted under the order of Byrgenwerth. She had done atrocious things in the name of knowledge... atrocious things she wanted to absolve while serving the Church, only to realize that she had gone from serving one monster to serve another monster. Still, she could have believed it far more if the Healing Church had been the one to attack the Hamlet.

In a sense, the Healing Church started in Byrgenwerth, so she shouldn't be too surprised.

Maria continued walking, the shallow water washing around her boot, cold water dousing her feet. There was a figure limping forward, mumbling something about Byrgenwerth, but when she stayed to listen, she quickly realized that they didn't notice her, forever caught in their ramblings.

Approaching the village, Maria's hands encompassed her Rakuyo. She couldn't preclude the possibility that the nightmare had conjured the villagers, the one Willem had let cut open to search for eyes in their brain, to attack anyone approaching their sanctuary.

For some reason, nobody disturbed her. She could cross the village without fail. Sometimes she heard sounds, the splashing of water, the shuffling of feet, the creaking of wood... along with the prominent smell of fish, that had dried on land for a little too long, but nobody ever stood in her way.

Maria stopped when she came upon a certain well. She knew this well. That had been the well she had tossed her Rakuyo in. Once again, her grip around her Rakuyo tightened. She knew that her gear wasn't real, and was a fabrication of the dream, but she asked herself if she still would find a Rakuyo in there... her Rakuyo...

Maria had to wrest herself free from her thoughts. This wasn't why she had come here. She had another goal.

So, she continued walking, each step filling her boots with more water, until her feet were freezing and her whole body shivered, even though she knew that she wasn't alive anymore. Her body still made her believe that she was alive...

Maria stepped out of the cave, approaching the corpse on the shore. Kos, the Great One they had come here for. The Great One which Laurence had harvested the blood from. The Great One which Willem had cut open to take a piece of her unborn child...

All Great Ones lose their children and long for a surrogate. The thought was predominant in Maria's head. Did they really lose their children or did humans take them? A question that she would never get an answer too...

She didn't even know why she had come here. To make up for her crimes? To get answers? That was something she could never make up for. Maybe she had simply come to apologize.

So, Maria kneeled down in front of Kos and folded her hands in prayer, when something stirred inside the dead body.

Maria was on her feet immediately, her Rakuyo on the ready, her eyes fixated on Kos' stomach.

Something... crawled out of Kos, no... it looked... looked like she gave birth. But that couldn't be. She knew that the child had been dead. She had been a part of killing it. Maria gasped as the creature was completely “born” and slowly got up. That wasn't... that surely didn't look like a child. It was large, with grey skin, managed to step up on two feet and... actually still was connected to the placenta of its mother.

It looked like the most nightmarish thing she had seen and she was currently stuck in a nightmare.

Still, the way it stood there, the way it seemed to wail, that was nothing but a lost, confused and scared child.

Maria lowered her Rakuyo and took a step closer.

“Hey.”, she said. “I am not here to-”

Before she could even finish her sentence the child approached her with a blood-curdling scream. Maria gasped in shock and surprise and stepped out of the way, to not be crushed by this giant placenta, that the creature used like a mace.

“I am not here to fight!”, she screamed, trying to drown out their screams. “I want to talk!”

She didn't have any luck. The creature continued to attack her and with Maria refusing to fight back, she quickly became overwhelmed and felt how her body got crushed under the “club” of the creature.

When she awoke, she was back in the Astral Clocktower. She let out a deep sigh, of course she wouldn't be able to escape this nightmare by dying in it. She was forced to come back again and again, just like the hunters and the beasts.

She very well remembered what had happened. The creature... the child... They had attacked her. Did they think she was responsible for the death of their mother? While Maria wasn't responsible for Kos' death, the Great One had been dead when they found her, she was responsible for the death of the child.

The child couldn't know that. It got born, saw a dead mother and attacked the first person they thought responsible. In their sense, they were an orphan and upset about it. There were so many things Maria didn't know about the Great Ones, but she was sure that they wouldn't differ in wanting to have the comfort of their parents.

Maria decided to meet the orphan another time and see if she could help. They didn't want to listen to her. They probably weren't aware of them being in a nightmare and Maria just wanted to help.

So she went to the shore another time. The Orphan of Kos, Maria had decided to call them like that, was still there. As soon as she approached them, they were back at attacking her.

“Stop it!”, Maria screamed. “I know you have every right to hate me, but it won't do anything good! We are both stuck in a nightmare!”

Again, Maria was struck down and woke up at the Astral Clocktower. Again, Maria went back to meet the Orphan of Kos.

This time she fought back. If the Orphan didn't want to listen, she would make it listen and if that meant to beat some sense into it, so that it would finally stop attacking her.

Maria had to learn the hard way that the Orphan only got stronger the more it got cornered. She still felt the aftershock of its electric attack when she woke up in her chair again.

Their encounters continued like that. Maria knew that she would be able to just strike the Orphan down if she would get all out, but she despised using her blood powers and she didn't want to strike them down, she wanted to talk. She only fought because the Orphan didn't want to listen.

So they fought each time they met and slowly, Maria mentioned to gain the upper hand, finally having figured out how to best avoid the Orphan's attacks and striking their weak points to make them yield. During this time, she actually cherished not being able to die anymore, that surely gave her infinite tries. Being dead had its merits after all.

Finally, Maria managed to overpower the Orphan, her sword at their throat and her foot on their chest, as they trashed and flailed beneath her.

“Finally.”, Maria said. “Will you finally listen? I only wanted to talk. About all this here. The nightmare around us. The fact that it seems to be a cruel warp of the reality I tried to escape. That the Fishing Hamlet is here. Why you stayed in your mother's belly for so many years. I just want to try and help.” Or did she? Had she really come here just to help? Wasn't she here to find some answers about her suffering...?

There wasn't an answer, just more thrashing and flailing. Maria had to give her best to not be knocked off. “I just want some answers!”, she suddenly cried out, tears welling up in her eyes. Who had decided for her that she should keep living in this nightmare? Who had cursed her for all eternity? Why did she have to relive the things she wanted to forget over and over again.

“Tell me! You are the source of this nightmare, are you not?!”

Maria startled at the sound of her own voice. That wasn't like her. She had always been kind and compassionate, not furious, holding a sword at the throat of what was classified as a toddler.

Wiping the tears out of her eyes, she took a deep breath and looked the Orphan in the eyes... and that is when she noticed it.

“You don't even have a mind...”, she said. “You weren't even allowed to be born. This, all of this, it's just a manifestation of my own guilt and shame.”

Maria removed her Rakuyo from the Orphan's throat and the next thing she knew was that she was back in the Astral Clocktower.

With a sigh, she sat down on the sole chair there, picking up a photograph to look at. “We should have never come to the Hamlet.”, she murmured. “If we had just left Kos alone, nothing of this would have ever happened.”

Maria put the photograph to the side and sank down into her chair. There was no escape out of this nightmare, but she knew what her task in it was. Whoever would make it into it from the waking world, she would step up and prevent them from going further. She would keep the secret of the Hamlet, even in her own death.

Because a corpse should be well left alone. (Author's note: I am not super satisfied with this one, but I hope you enjoy it regardless. Like I said, it was a difficult prompt with a difficult character. Sadly we don't have much lore about Kos and the Orphan of Kos and the Fishing Hamlet is one of the biggest lore messes in the whole world of Bloodborne.)

#bloodborne #fanfiction #lady maria of the astral clocktower #orphan of kos #request fill #march of the whumps #ask answered #thx for the ask #littlewritesstuff #Anonymous

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whereismymindnow · 4 years ago

Text

Shark (Troy Otto x OC)

I’ve really enjoyed rewatching FTWD lately, particularly S3 since Troy was such an interesting character that had so many complicated layers and I thought his relationship with Nick could have been explored so much more.

Anyway, this may not go anywhere, but here’s a one-shot or chapter one of a short fic for anyone that may be interested. I've not posted any fanfiction on Tumblr before so I'm fully prepared for it to flop haha! I do post on AO3 under the name Mikki19. :)

Song inspiration for the story: Plastic Heart by Ciscandra Nostalghia

This fic (if I expand on it on here) will have many dark elements due to Troy's mindset. Consider that your warning.

---

This wasn’t how it was meant to happen.

All of this trouble over some half-rotten fucking apples.

She’d been minding her own business, her hunger leading her to not take full account of her surroundings as she came across the nearly dead fruit tree. Flies buzzed around the apples that had dropped to the floor long ago, but she noticed 3 overly ripened orbs clinging for life on one of the higher branches. Given how she’d been unable to forage much lately, she was willing to try and take whatever bits of the apples were left.

Her nearly empty bag dropped to the ground as she carefully put one foot in a groove of the tree and hoisted herself up. Her vision was blurry and her head ached, but getting the browning fruits above remained her goal. With shaky limbs she scaled the tree until she could stretch up and touch the apples with her fingertips. She let out a groan of pain as she gave one last stretch and grabbed the branch that held her prize; a small shake had the little round globes dropping to the ground with a squelch making her grimace. Beggars can’t be choosers, she reminded herself.

She hadn’t been expecting to hear the rumble of an engine or the large soldiers that slowly sauntered out of the truck. She’d frozen like a cat being caught climbing something they shouldn’t have as one stepped forward. His brown curls and bright eyes gave the impression of innocence, but the shadow of calculation overcoming his face made her realise how fucked she was.

Harper unsteadily slid down the tree and noticed how her bag – that had very little inside it apart from an empty bottle, a Swiss Army knife, a torn and distressed picture of her brother, and the collar of her dog that had defended her until the end – was closer to the man than to her. With a sharklike smile he picked up the bag and threw it behind him for one of his friends to rifle through and cocked his head to the side in wonder as to what her next move would be.

She heard him laugh as she dived behind the tree and ran as fast as she could to the building nearby. A loud scream left her as a corpse immediately launched itself at her as she burst through the door; its teeth were so close to her that she could feel a few strands of hair be ripped from her scalp as it snapped its jaws. She kept an arm pushing across its chest as she frantically ripped her pocketknife from her boot, flipped it open and sent the blade through the walker’s skull. The body dropped to the filthy floor, sending a cloud of grey dust into the air that made her choke. Harper turned her head and saw the soldier slowly making his way to the building she’d just entered.

So, here she was. Trapped like a mouse as the cat prowled around looking for its next meal. She slowed her breathing as much as she could and huddled under the abandoned desk; her hand held a strong grip on the knife but she could already feel her body shaking in exhaustion. She hadn’t eaten properly or slept more than a few hours for days since her camp got overrun by a hoard of the dead. She wasn’t ready for a fight. She knew that this was only going to go one way judging by the firepower that these men had and how clean and well-fed they looked. With any luck she could lose or injure the guy in the building and run out through a back exit.

“You know, I don’t want to hurt you. People always look at me like a monster, but I’m not. If you come out, there doesn’t have to be a struggle.” Harper could hear him in the corridor outside of the abandoned office she’d dived into. The way he sounded so chilled, almost bored or uninterested, made her want to deliver a swift kick to his smug face.

She’d always been a fighter. When the kid in 9th grade pushed her to the floor and laughed, she’d got up just as quick and head-butted him without a thought. When Sophia had looked at her brown curls with a sneer, she’d quickly pulled on the blonde locks until the girl begged for mercy. Of course, her spitfire nature came with consequences. She’d found that out pretty quick when her father started to use a firmer, more brutal hand in order to get her to comply, and her mother had pulled her out of school and begun to slip light sedatives in her food. They were afraid of her, she knew that. They were afraid she’d inherited that rage that had sent her grandmother into a mental hospital at the age of 39 until she died in a medication induced coma at 46. It wasn’t until her brother died when she was 18 that things began to change. Her fire had been reduced to nothing and she walked around the house like one of the dead even before they’d started to rise. Malachi had been her rock. He’d been the only one to believe in her and used that anger that burned within her belly to train her how to wrestle. She soon grew hungry for the sport and had aspired to join the independent wrestling scene as soon as she could break away from her parents. Malachi’s death had changed all of that though. The once bright-eyed girl had been reduced to a withered husk. The fire within had been extinguished and the thought of fighting made her feel nauseous. Her parents had been quite relieved; they’d have rather have her broken than be the monster they were sure she’d have turned into. From then on she’d been a shadow of her former self; she spent most of her days sleeping or pretending to listen to her mother prattle on about one thing or another whilst her father went to work.

She could feel that familiar ache in her chest. She wanted to get up and fight, but her legs felt like jelly and her head was about ready to explode. So, she waited. Her eyes clenched shut as the door to the office slowly closed. She heard the thud of a gun being put on the table near the door and the heavy footsteps of army boots make their way across the room.

“I know you’re under there.” A squeak left her mouth as two large hands slammed down on top of the desk. “Won’t you come out? You don’t even know what I have to offer to you. Those apples you were so desperately reaching for? I can give you a whole basket full… if you just come out.” He made it sound so goddamn easy and simple. “I said: come out!” The sudden anger in his voice made her gulp and slowly stand. Her green eyes met his; despite the anger that had been in his voice, his face was blank as he drank the sight of her in.

Her cropped top was torn and covered in blood, her shorts were dirty and her boots were worn. She was clinging to life by a thread and they both knew it. Her 5’7” stature was dwarfed by his large 6’1” body. He could tell she had been quite fit and muscular before all of this, but poor nutrition had left her looking withered and underdeveloped. He could easily see her ribs and hipbones from where she stood. She was completely filthy and he noted bruises and scratches on her legs from where she had been running wild for who knows how long. It was her eyes that got him the most; he’d seen those eyes before, he saw that same determination and anger every time he looked at his own reflection. She didn’t want to give up, but she was so tired. Her body wobbled in place and she sucked her chapped bottom lip between her teeth in an attempt to keep the sob that was building at bay.

“Come here.” When she made no effort to move Troy quickly reached forwards, grabbed her by the neck and lifted her over the desk so that she was in front of him. He laughed as his free hand quickly caught her wrist as she sluggishly tried to get him with her knife. “Drop it.” Troy murmured softly.

“No.” Her voice cracked from lack of use. “No.” A heavy sigh left his mouth before he tightened his grip until he could feel her ligaments and bones creak under his grasp. “Agh!” Her other hand came to claw at his fingers desperately as she felt like her wrist would break.

“Drop. It.” He hissed with no intention of loosening his hold until she complied like a good girl. The knife fell with a clatter as she swallowed down her pride and submitted. Immediately his once vicelike grip turned into a soft hold and he allowed his thumb to carefully rub the already bruising skin. “Do you see what you made me do?” He spoke like he was talking to a child. “I’m not a bad person. You just need to listen to me.” Troy watched as her face crumpled and she stared at her feet. He was so used to looking at people like an experiment that he was shocked to find his mind wasn’t trying to work out how long it would take this weakened girl to turn. He looked at her in wonder instead. He could tell that she was broken inside. It was easy to see as the swell of defiance was in her gaze but it was overpowered by the lost look. She needed someone to lead her. She needed direction… purpose… He’d give it to her. He could see her at the ranch with him. She’d be in the living area waiting for him to return from a hunt with a smile on her face and no shoes on her feet. She wouldn’t need shoes; shoes were only necessary for people going outside. He was all she would need. She would be his.

Harper carefully looked up at the soldier and blinked as she saw the concentration in them. “Who are you?”

“My name is Troy. Yours?”

“H-Harper.”

“Where are you from?”

“England… originally. We moved to the States after my brother died… too many memories at home.”

“How’d your brother die? Was he sick?” His head snapped to the side as her hand came up and connected with his cheek. Harper was breathless from the exertion but the carelessness in which he talked about her brother made her blood boil. Malachi was a subject not meant to be touched. “Hm… wrong move.” Troy’s grip tightened once again on her wrist as he spun her around, pushed her front onto the desk and pulled her limb until an aching pain grew in her shoulder from the angle. He used his own body to hover over her so that she couldn’t straighten up. “Apologise.” He wedged his legs between hers as she started to flail and kick out in order to avoid the low blow that she was aiming to deliver; his hips stayed firm against the back of her thighs despite the movements she was making. A deep groan left his mouth as her actions awakened the primal urge within him that told him to claim her. Harper suddenly stilled as she felt a heavy, hard length begin to grow against her ass. “Apologise.” He simply repeated, suddenly breathless as his body buzzed from the stimulation. He wasn’t used to this reaction. Sure, he could see pretty girls from those that would probably be a last pick, but he’d never felt this need to claim before. He’d had sex before, meaningless and ultimately disappointing sex with girls that had wanted to get closer to his perfect brother or had wanted a better standing within the ranch and chosen the somewhat vulnerable youngest Otto to try and make that happen, but this felt like more than just an urge to find his way into the warmth between her legs. This felt like something he needed; like the blood in his veins and the air that he breathed. She felt like a piece of the puzzle that would fit perfectly into place and make him feel that little bit more whole.

Harper could feel his hot breath shakily release against the back of her head and shuddered. “I- I am sorry.” She whispered gently in an attempt to appease the unpredictable man behind her. She felt him slowly release her wrist but he made no motion to move away from her. Her back tensed as his hands slowly went to her sides and gripped her hips. He stayed still for a moment, almost as though he was using his hold on her body to ground himself, before stepping back with a low chuckle.

“Good girl. You’re learning already.” Troy leant down and grabbed her knife, a knowing look in his eye as he pocketed it for himself before pulling something else out of his jacket. A thin strip of plastic was in his grasp. “Put your wrists out and together.” Harper exhaled as she looked at the cable tie. Exhaustion was defeating her and he’d taken what little energy she had left. Her body was propped up by the table behind her and she knew if she stepped away then her legs were likely to collapse.

“Where are you going to take me?” She asked softly understanding that she had no way out of this in her current state.

“Back to base. It’s safe there.” Troy stated proudly as though he was saving her and not taking her against her will. “Do you understand? I’m going to keep you safe. I’ll feed you and get you clean so I can see exactly what is under all of this filth.” Harper’s mouth watered at the thought of food and a shower. Her basic human needs screamed at her to obey as she shakily held out her hands to him. He carefully looped the plastic around her wrists and tightened it until she winced; only stopping when her eyes looked into his pleading for some form of mercy. “Are you thankful?” Harper gave a shaky nod under his intense stare that seemed to strip her naked and glare into her soul. “Use your words.”

Harper swallowed down her bile as he raised his brow expectantly. “Yes… thank you, Troy.” His grin was the last thing she saw before her body finally gave up and she dropped to the cold ground unconscious.

---

You look for me Inside the dark I am the ocean You are the shark You hunt me like Your last goodbye Oh fallen angel Of the night

---Plastic Heart by Ciscandra Nostalghia---

#fanfiction #ao3 fanfiction #troyotto #troy otto #ocs #original female character #troy otto x oc #fear the walking dead #ftwd

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echoes-of-the-clockwork · 4 years ago

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Book Three: Pestilence (Ignis x Reader) Chapter Twenty-Six

A/n: I want to apologize if this chapter feels like it ends abruptly. This is the last chapter for Pestilence and hopefully I didn't make it too bad. Love you all!!! ••••••••••••••••••••

"Iggy, get some rest," Gladio said. "I'll keep watch."

The strategist shook his head. "Morosely, I cannot seek slumber as the situation stands." He sat on a chair by the bed (Y/n) currently lied on. With his good eye, he examined her still lifeless, dull (e/c) eyes. Her body was freezing and there was no sign of a pulse. Her chest didn't rise and fall, signaling she wasn't breathing. Every now and then, he would lean forward and place his gloved hand against her cheek. His fingers caressed her deathly pale cheeks before trailing down to her neck to check for a pulse. The blood that tainted his gloves dried a little while ago.

The shield stood from his seat, passing by Noctis and Prompto, who were fast asleep. He placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. "I'll watch over her while you get some rest. You think she would let you lose sleep over her?"

Ignis sighed. "Yes, you're right." He stood up, feeling the exhaustion he'd been keeping at bay consume his entire being. "Awake me the moment she regains consciousness."

"Will do."

The tactician dragged his body over to one of the vacant beds and made himself comfortable. It only took him a few minutes to fall asleep.

Gladio returned to his seat once seeing Ignis was fast asleep. He crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the chair as his eyes were trained on the door. He tuned in to any little sound, wondering if it was an approaching enemy or something not worth his attention. He was just exhausted as the others, but he knew they needed to rest.

After an hour, Gladio felt his exhaustion catching up to him. It was becoming difficult for him to keep his eyes open. His eyelids were drooping, but he shook his head to stave off the temptation to fall asleep. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to stay up for much longer. His eyes slowly closed, but they shot open when he heard coughing. Looking over at the culprit, he stood up from his seat and approached them.

(Y/n), who hung off the side of the bed as she expelled the water trapped in her lungs, heard Gladio's footfalls and looked up at him. When she tried to speak to him, she broke out into another coughing fit. She placed a hand over her chest and noticed the dry blood on her clothes. "What...?"

The brute sat down in the chair by the bed. "Wanna hear the short or long version?"

"Short, please," she whispered with a raspy tone.

Gladio told her about War and what she'd done to free her from the dark entity. He disregarded the smaller details and only covered the major ones. He stared at her face and waited for a reaction, but he was flabbergasted when he didn't receive one. "You're taking this pretty well."

"Yes, well..." She glanced down at her blood-covered chest. "80 years of being a Horseman has numbed some of my emotions."

"Guess I should wake Iggy and tell him the good news." Gladio stood up and began walking toward the sleeping strategist.

(Y/n) stopped him before he could disturb Ignis. "Let him rest, Gladio." She pushed herself off the bed, her stride weak and delayed as she made her way across the room. "You also should get some rest."

"I'm not the one who had my chest ripped open," He retorts. "I'll be fine."

"You say that now, but this decision will come back to haunt you the moment we're forced into battle." She looked over her shoulder at him. "Must I induce a sleeping spell or are you willingly going to rest?"

Gladio was too exhausted to argue and sighed, holding his hands up in surrender. "Fine. You win."

"Good," she smiled feebly. She turned her gaze to the door, listening to the brute as he climbed into one of beds to rest. Once he had fallen asleep, she turned around and wandered over toward Ignis. Carefully, she reached out toward his face and caressed her fingers across the remains of the scar tainting the left side of his face. She could tell the remedy had worked, but it wasn't enough for it to completely heal.

Curious, (Y/n) used her healing ability to see if she could heal the remaining scar. As her hand was consumed by a pale green essence, she could feel the remedy's presence still lingering inside his body. She prayed to the Astrals that her magic would be enough to activate the residual particles and help heal him. She cleared her mind and focused on the scar, but it only took a few seconds for her magic to cease and her a wave of nausea to wash over her. Her healing incantation ceased as she pressed a hand against her aching head, closing her eyes. Just a small healing spell was enough to wear her out.

Pestilence opened her eyes and looked down at the scar. She sighed in frustration when seeing it only receded a couple inches. A frown found its way upon her face, walking away from Ignis and toward the mechanical door. It made a low 'hiss' as it opened. The Horseman glanced back at the four slumbering boys before exiting the room.

<----------<<<<<

Ignis was the first to awaken. When his eyes opened, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. His vision was clear as crystal. He could see everything. Lifting his hand to his face, he traced his fingers around his eyes. The scars were still there around his left eye, but they were slowly receding. He continued to look around, overjoyed his eyesight had returned to both eyes. However, he soon realized one person was missing from their party-(Y/n).

Pushing himself out of bed, Ignis got to his feet and scanned the room a second time for the Horseman. As he tried to think of where she could've gone, Noctis, Gladio, and Prompto woke up. The three noticed how the advisor was standing in the middle of the room with no cane in his grasp.

Prompto was the first to question him. "Iggy, can you...see?"

"As clear as day," he replied.

"Guess (Y/n)'s remedy really did work," Gladio commented. "Speaking of her, where the hell is she?"

Noctis glances over at the bed the Horseman once laid upon. Prompto did the same and asked, "Shouldn't we go look for her?"

Just as the question rolled off his tongue, the door slid open. Pestilence sauntered in with a heavy sigh. She froze when lifting her head and seeing all eyes were on her. "You all seem somewhat well-rested. Are you ready to venture forth in search of the Crystal?"

"Y'know, for someone who was dead earlier, you're pretty calm," Noctis said.

"Yes, well, it's not the first nor the last time it will happen."

"Where did you go?" Prompto wondered.

"I wandered a ways down the corridor in search of my staff. Morosely, I have yet to locate it," she answered.

"About that..." Noctis held out his hand and summoned the girl's staff. "I found it on the train." He gave it to her without hesitation.

(Y/n) took her staff from him. "Thank you, Noctis." She tapped the end of the staff against the floor, a ring of pale green light pulsating from it. The boys felt their injuries and weariness vanish after the ring dissipated. "Shall we proceed forth?"

"Let's get this over with," Noctis stated.

The five left the dormitory and continued their perilous search for the Crystal. As they fought against magiteks and daemons, Pestilence couldn't help but notice Ignis' movements were smooth and precise.

After their skirmish with enemies, she approached him. "Ignis, your eye sight... Has it returned in full?"

"It has," he responded, dispelling his daggers.

She sighed in relief with a smile. "Thank the Astrals..."

"This was no miracle from the Astrals but a marvel of your own doing, my dear. It is by your benevolent hands I am once again able to see."

"I am relieved the remedy worked in its entirety." She reaches up and traces the scars that remained around his left eye. "The scars will still need more time to heal. I could try a fourth treatment if you'd like once there's time."

Before Ignis could reply, a familiar sensation of dread washed over the Horseman. She stepped away from the strategist and placed a protective barrier around everyone. As the barrier was erected, the draugr she'd been hunting manifested from an inky puddle on the floor. Her eyes widen in horror when seeing it had mutated. It now had three heads and its body towered over them. An assortment of weapons protruded from its body and it was no longer limited to just swords. The stench of its rotten flesh caused her stomach to churn slightly.

Pestilence transformed her staff into a set of chakrams as she stepped out of the barrier. Facing the draugr, she watched as it yanked an axe and broadsword from its decaying flesh. Before it could swing its weapons, she tossed one of her chakrams and sliced off its hands. "You four must locate the Crystal. I shall deal with this monstrosity and rejoin you soon."

"You're really gonna fight that thing on your own?" Prompto asked, eyes glued to the monstrous corpse.

"Yes." She caught her chakram just as the draugr's hands regenerated and picked up its weapons. "There is no need to worry. I can handle this on my lonesome."

"Don't keep us waiting too long," Noctis said before he, Prompto, Gladio, and Ignis took off.

Pestilence kept her attention focused on the draugr. She watched its movements closely, dodging its attacks and searching for an opening in order to strike. Using her surroundings as an advantage, she managed to lure the draugr toward one of the thick metal walls. At the last second, she dodged the corpse's attack and looked back to see its weapons were lodged into the metal wall. She smirked once seeing her plan worked. Tossing both chakrams, she sliced off the draugr's arms and legs.

Acting quickly, Pestilence caught the chakrams and switched to her staff. She casted an ice spell and froze the draugr's appendages to prevent them from regenerating. The three-headed corpse cried out as its body fell to the floor.

Switching back to chakrams, (Y/n) leapt onto the draugr's body. She raised both crescent-shaped blades and focused her sight on its chest. As she went to slice into its flesh, a third arm sprouted from its side and grabbed her by the throat. She choked at the sudden pressure around her neck, her body being lifted up into the air.

Pestilence used her chakrams to slice off the draugr's arm. She fell to the floor and pried the hand off her neck. She tossed the appendage aside, hopping to her feet in order to attack the monster again. However, she became petrified when more arms and legs sprouted from its body. A black, tar-like substance dripped from its six eyes as it screeched out, yanking more weapons from its body to arm itself.

The draugr lunges forward and swung all its weapons at the Horseman. She managed to dodge all the weapons except for the javelin. It pierced her shoulder and pinned her to the floor, causing her to drop her chakrams in the process. She gritted her teeth and attempted to dislodge the javelin from her shoulder. Unfortunately, she wasn't able to due to the position she was in.

(Y/n), in haste, summoned her chakrams and sliced through the shaft of the javelin. Now sliced in half, she could easily remove the portion that was still embedded in her shoulder. She removed it just in time to dodge the draugr. Unbeknownst to the Horseman, she didn't realize the damage done to the floor from its previous attack.

When the draugr's second attack clashed against the floor because Pestilence dodged, it shattered. The floor disappeared from underneath both of them, causing them to fall.

(Y/n)'s eyes widen as she and her enemy fell. She felt as if her body was suspended in air due to how far they were falling. Wondering what she could do, she looked around desperately. Only one idea came to mind when her eyes landed on the draugr. She released one of her chakrams and latched onto its body, climbing towards its chest. It tried to grab her, but she ducked and quickly jammed her other chakram into its chest. It wailed out in pain, the curved blade slicing deeply.

Before Pestilence could destroy the draugr's heart, she and it slammed against the floor. She quickly regained her bearings and focused on its heart while it was stunned from the impact. Using both chakrams, she sliced deeper and deeper into its flesh in order to reach its heart. Once she did, she dealt the killing blow by slicing its heart in two. Her eyes never left the draugr's body as she listened to its dying wails and watched its form melt into a black puddle. She dispelled her chakrams with an exhausted sigh.

(Y/n) glances at her injured shoulder, watching it slowly mend. She rolled her shoulder once it was healed. Looking around the area, she saw nothing familiar and wasn't sure where she currently was inside Zegnautus Keep.

Before the Horseman could contemplate on her next move, she felt a familiar tug on her body. Seeing as the draugr was annihilated, she heeded the call of the summoning orb and teleported.

Arriving at where the others were inside Zegnautus Keep, Pestilence looked around and saw the devastated faces of Prompto, Gladio, and Ignis. Confused, she asked, "What happened?"

The advisor was seemingly the calmest out of the three and told her what happened with the Crystal, Noctis, and Ardyn. She listened closely when he mentioned how Noctis was absorbed into the Crystal and the disturbing nature Ardyn showed.

Once he finished explaining, she casted her gaze downward. She wasn't sure what to do or say to help them. She knew just how much Noctis meant to each and every one of them. Crossing her arms, she sighed, "We should leave. It's not safe here."

Ignis nodded in agreement. "A prompt exit should be our next maneuver."

"Let's get the hell outta here," Gladio said.

Prompto remained silent as he and the others searched for a way out of Zegnautus Keep. When they managed to do just that, they wondered how they'd escape the empire and head back to Lucis.

After hours of wondering how'd they get back to Lucis, they were approached by a familiar figure who landed in an imperial drop ship nearby. It was Aranea. With her help, they were able to fly back to Lucis.

Landing near Lestallum, (Y/n) watched the three boys walk away from each other. In their stead, she thanked the ex-mercenary. Once the drop ship was gone, her gaze fell upon the city. With a disheartened sigh, she casted her melancholic gaze toward the ground. "Darkness has attained victory this day, but it will not win the war."

<-----------<<<<<

Four years passed by. Darkness reigned over Eos and daemons ran rampant. The Four Horseman found themselves busy protecting the daemon king himself from his subordinates.

(Y/n), along with War, Death, Famine, and King Aeshema, was currently held up inside the castle within the Inner Sanctum. The daemon king's own castle was unsafe and the horsemen decided to bring him to their abode in the Inner Sanctum.

Finally having a peaceful moment, Death pulled Pestilence aside. The sable-haired girl eyed her sister with a questioning glance. "You should head back to Eos."

(Y/n) blinked in bewilderment. "What is the meaning of this, Death?"

"It's been four year since darkness consumed all and the daemons broke free from Hell to terrorize Eos. During those four years, you haven't once visited Ignis. Right now would be the perfect moment to see him. War, Famine, and I will keep a watch on His Majesty while you're gone. The three of us can handle protection duty for a while."

"It has been quite a while, hasn't it?" Pestilence murmured. "It would be nice to see him again."

"Then what're you waiting for?" Death smiled. "Go on! Even King Aeshema has given you permission to leave."

"I will be back soon."

With King Aeshema's blessing, (Y/n) returned to Eos. She arrived in Hammerhead and saw the large fence surrounding it. The bright lights kept the daemons at bay, allowing people to enter and leave Hammerhead as they pleased without the fear of being attacked.

She had no issues walking through the entrance that was guarded by hunters. Immediately, she searched for Ignis. When she couldn't find him, she asked one of the hunters and learned he'd be back shortly. To pass the time, she found herself prowling the perimeter of the fence. Eventually, she stopped as her eyes focused on the large daemons in the distance.

Pestilence's attention was drawn away from the daemons when hearing her name being called. Turning around, she smiled at the person who called out to her. "It has been quite some time, Ignis. You seem to be doing well." She analyzed his appearance and noted the many changes he's made in the past few years. "I've heard you've been rather busy during your time as a hunter. The daemons have proven to be a nuisance."

"They have, indeed," Ignis said. "Do pray tell what has had your attention these past few years, (Y/n)."

"Protection detail. The daemon king has been taken into the horsemen's custody for protection against his subordinates. He and my sisters await in the Inner Sanctum. It is the safest place for His Majesty at the moment." She placed a hand on her hip. "Pushing duties aside, I see the scars have healed well."

"Only because of your remedy." Ignis reaches out and took her hand in his. "I will never be able to express how grateful I am for what you've done, darling."

"Please, Ignis, you've thanked me enough." (Y/n) gazed into his emerald eyes and could see how exhausted he was. "You need to rest. Hunting daemons is an exhausting job."

The strategist released her hand and moved his own to her cheek. He gazed into her (e/c) eyes, reluctant to leave in fear she'd disappear if he were to sleep. "I desire to spend more time in your company."

She laughed after seeing the tint of worry in his eyes. Placing her hand over the one he had on her cheek, she offered him a gentle smile. "There's no need to be concerned. I shall be here when you wake."

"I shall hold you to your word."

The couple exchanged a sweet, loving kiss before parting ways. (Y/n) watched the door of the caravan close behind Ignis with a smile. "Sleep well, my love."

•••••••••••END••••••••••••

#ffxv x reader #ffxv #final fantasy xv x reader #final fantasy xv #ignis x reader #ignis scientia #prompto argentum #gladiolus amicitia #Noctis Lucis Caelum

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just-general-stuff · 4 years ago

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Back To Where We Started

So this is it huh? He knew it was bound to happen regardless.

Red painted the white blanket that he laid upon as pain flared from his side. Yet, he didn’t take heed of it. Merely, he gave a sigh of resignation as he felt his body grow colder with each passing second. It wasn’t a question if he would die in the fight against bio-terrorism. It was only a matter of when.

He could have retired, could have just settled down and lived to a ripe old age. Perhaps, he could have watched his dear sister get married and watch her start her own family.

But he didn’t retire. Instead, he chose to honor Piers by continuing to fight in the war against bio-terrorism. But no matter how hard he fought, the war only grew worse. No matter how many bioterrorist organizations he would destroy, many more would rise from its ashes.

But what was worse was that the governments around the world, the very same governments whom swore to work alongside the B.S.A.A. to help them stop all bio-terrorism, would help the very same organizations that threaten to destroy the world.

So long as it benefited them, they could care less. And then when the dealings would come to light, they would pretend and say they have no idea of such dealings.

The same old story told time again and again.

And then Claire died. Killed during an outbreak that occurred in the city she was visiting for a holiday.

She had always come out of those outbreaks alive. She had survived Raccoon City for crying out loud. But he had forgotten that she was only human.

And humans bleed and they die.

In the end, everyone that he loved had all died and left him.

In time, he started to realize that his former Captain was right.

The world was rotten to the core. There was living proof. Those folks he worked with, those whom would smile and promise aid, those were their masks. At the end of the day, they would choose to destroy themselves rather than stop this madness. They would willingly let themselves fall over the cliff all for a small measure of victory against their foes not caring of the consequences of their actions.

The dwindling hope he had was completely extinguished until all that was left of him was a hollow shell of the man that he once was. A jaded man whom hated this very world. But even as he hated the world, he still chose to fight. He didn’t know what else he could do now. He had spent decades of his life in a war that he barely knew what he could do if he chose to stop fighting.

So he left the B.S.A.A to join Blue Umbrella. His reason? Throw himself into the war deeper and make sure to wipe out every single one of them without a damn care of his own life.

Jill had tried to persuade him to stop this crazy mission but he remained adamant on his decision. He even cut all ties he had with Jill, Barry and the B.S.A.A. He didn’t need loose ends in his new life.

He fell deeper and deeper into the darkness where the lines were blurred and where everything was no longer black and white.

He had shot Mia because she was infected. Harsh but it was the only way to stop further infection and spreading of the damn virus even though it broke Ethan.

He didn’t blame the man for shooting him. Hell, he would have shot anyone whom had hurt his sister.

So now here he was. Sprawled on the cold snow inches away from death.

The crack of ice and snow suddenly got his attention and he slowly turned his head to see a person in familiar black clothing walking towards him. The stranger continued to approach him stopping only a few inches away from his side.

“Who…?”

Blinking, his vision slightly clears and much to the brunette’s shock, there looking down at him was Albert Wesker.

“You’re… You’re dead.” Was the Albert Wesker he was seeing right now simply a hallucination that his slowly oxygen-deprived brain cooked up?

“How astute of you to notice that, Chris. But you’ll soon die as well. Mr. Winters got a pretty good hit on you.” The man spoke with a calm tone not once betraying his underlying emotions.

Why does this man, his former Captain, and the one whom he fell for years ago still haunt him? Why couldn’t he just disappear and leave him be? He would have preferred seeing Claire or Piers again.

He probably figured that Wesker was here to gloat of his victory as he bled out in the snow.

“You’ve come to gloat then? Laugh it up then Wesker! Shout out your triumph over me dying at your feet!” Chris yells out, making him cough harshly coating his lips with spatters of blood.

Lowering down onto his haunches, Wesker takes his shades off. Instead of the blazing red eyes that continue to haunt him in his nightmares, Chris was met with the cool blue that he had always found endearing much to his utter shock.

“No. I’m not here to gloat.” The blonde spoke softly.

This confused Chris. “Then… Then why are you here?”

“I figured that you don’t deserve to die alone out here Chris. Not after all that you’ve done. I may hate you for stopping my plans but even I never wished of you falling deeper into the darkness that I was in when I was still alive. And… I hated watching you spiral out of control more and more.”

“I was supposed to be the one that people fear in the dark. The monster that people would speak of in whispers. You were the hero that everyone looks up to. You’re the one that was supposed to save the goddamn world not let it pull you into its depravity.” Wesker grits out.

“I knew deep down it was only a matter of time before you see the truth. That the world truly is rotten to the core. But did I take pleasure in it? No. No I did not.” The blonde says, reaching a hand out and grasping Chris’s hand tight.

Much to the brunette’s shock, Wesker’s hand was warm. He hadn’t realized how much missed Wesker’s touch but now feeling his hand around his, it brought all the old deep feelings he had for the man to the forefront. Even as the years passed and he still hated the man for what he did, a part of him still loved and missed his former Captain.

Call him an idiot but he wasn’t a liar. Even if he tried to deny it vehemently to himself at first.

“I… I was a fucking fool. I should have known.” Chris whispers.

“Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault. You didn’t know how depraved the world could truly be as much as I do. After all, I grew up in it. I was raised by such depraved people.”

“So now what? I’m going to die, Wesker.”

“…I guess we go back to the beginning.”

“…Back before this whole shitshow?”

“Yes. Perhaps in the afterlife we could have that chance. Or if we are reborn, I would not know. I am a man of science not faith.”

“You believe in such things?” Chris asks, astonished that Wesker would speak of such things. Wesker never struck him as a man who believed in an afterlife let alone reincarnation.

“If this encounter is anything but possible, perhaps it has changed my beliefs slightly.” Wesker says with a soft smile.

‘God, that smile. That damn smile.’ Chris thought as his throat tightened with emotion. He hadn’t realized how much he missed that smile that was only reserved for him back in S.T.A.R.S. until he saw it once more. “I would like that again, Wesker. I just… I just want to live a normal life for the both of us.”

Leaning in, Wesker plants a soft kiss on Chris’s forehead. “I’m glad to hear that.”

The pain by now was long gone and it was getting harder to keep his eyes open. He just wanted to close them and finally sleep. He was tired of fighting, tired of it all.

“I’m so tired, Albert.” Chris murmurs tiredly.

“Just sleep, Christopher. When you wake up, I’ll still be here. Just sleep.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

And with that Chris was able to relax and let Death claim him.

As he watches the brunette close his eyes and breathe out his last, Wesker gently tugs on Chris’s limp hand and from the cooling corpse emerged Christopher. But it wasn’t the haggard, jaded brunette that Wesker watched die before him. No, it was the young, hopeful man that Chris once was.

No longer was there pain in his eyes nor cold steeliness. No longer did darkness swirl in those brown orbs but instead his eyes twinkled with joy, hope and an innocence that once was lost.

“Back to where we started?” Chris asks returning Wesker’s smile with his own.

“Yes. Back to where we started.” He replies and the two head off, slowly disappearing into the snowy night together hand in hand.

#based off from rumors and speculation that i've heard #also if this isn't obvious yes i watched the re8 trailer #chrisker #chris redfield #albert wesker #wesker x chris #albert wesker x chris redfield #resident evil #resident evil fanfic

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nukyster-blog · 4 years ago

Text

Changing course Chapter 13) Nail to the Cross

.-.-.

The Giant revealed himself to be a very faithful man. As a true Christian, he cherished the evangelical and found it necessary to spread the word of his God. The devotee put all his subjects through the torture of the Sunday services. Every soul living in and near the Castle de Haar was packed into the Gothic splendor of the chapel, built safely within the stone walls of the fortress. Heavy iron bound doors welcomed all attendees, even the forced ones.

Ivar and Piglet were stored away in the back of the chapel, far away from the altar and crucifix. While the slave maiden used her precious free time to close her eyes and doze off, Ivar used his for observation.

It surprised him that the Giant wasn’t the master of the castle. The colossal being sat on the second row and made a cross to the statue of the supposed virgin and child. The first row was still empty and remained empty until the very last moment. The ecclesiastical tones and whispers hushed simultaneously as a couple strolled in. Every single soul inside the chapel stood up, all except Ivar of course, who did his best to peek alongside elbows and hips to glaze at the pompous couple. The woman, draped from head to toe in silk with jewelries to match the expensive material, appeared bored out of her mind. Her second chin wiggled with every step she took. Her husband’s belly was as bloated as his ego and was held in place by a leather belt engraved with gold and rubies.

Ivar’s face fell as he realised that those two spineless, overindulged royalties were his rulers. Of course he’d rather get the plague than bow to the Giant, but at least the man had an imposing build and a personality to match. These two obese creatures matched in size with the pigs he took care of.

Piglet awoke from Ivar’s squirming to see passed all the bystanders and noticed his focus on the couple.

“Lambertus de Haar,” she whispered near Ivar’s ear, “ Haedwien de Haar,” she carefully gestured towards the woman before rigorously spitting on the floor. Piglet’s hostile reaction pleased Ivar, as he was forced to participate in a Christian ritual, it was nice to at least sit with a kindred spirit.

The service was endless, the priest mustered up words in such a dreadfully toneless voice Ivar had to pinch himself to stay away. By the time the man slapped the musty old prayer book shut, Ivar had counted all of the sixty two candle holders twenty seven times. But that was not the end, not by far and Ivar feared he was going to lose his mind underneath the eyes of the apostles printed into the stained glass of the high arched windows.

As a coin box passed between the rows, Ivar was plaguing his brain; the chapel had a few define scents, most he could place. Incense, flowers, musty stench of human sweat. But all weren’t strong enough to mask the rotting scent of flesh in an advanced state of decay.

Piglet’s eyes reopened and captured Ivar’s scrunched up nose. Yawning, she patted her bare foot on the marble flooring. Ivar drew his gaze down and noticed the imprinted handwriting in the stones. Although he could not read the words, he did notice similarity in the lines and numbers.

Piglet noticed his struggle to put two and two together. She clutched her own throat and let her eyes roll back, then tapped her foot back down on the floor and waved her hand near her nose.

Ivar’s eyes enlarged in disgust, were they sitting on top of rotting corpses? Did these people not give their dead a proper burial or burn their bodies? Why keep their corpses so close to their holy house?

Biting his lip, Ivar tried to will the stench away, but it was all consuming now that he knew the origin of it. Subconsciously, his fingers started to drum on the wooden pew. When he received angered glares from the peasants left from him, he let his fingers slide underneath the seat and clutched at the wood. Puffing his cheeks, Ivar wondered how long he still had to suffer through this Christian nonsense.

The people around him rose on their feet singing hymns for their one God. Ivar rolled his eyes while his fingers continued their drumming. Until a pinprick in his index finger paused his frustrated fidgeting.

There was a nail sticking out, right underneath his seat. Ivar inched forward and twined the nail between his thumb and index fingers, giving it a proper tug. The nail moved underneath his fingers and for the remaining time Ivar stretched the nail around and around.

As the churchgoers stood up for the last time, the nail finally gave in and quickly Ivar clasped his hands together, the rusty weapon-to-be safely hidden inside his palms.

Piglet brow rose up by his sudden devotion and snorted, probably seeing his act as a betrayal to their shared hatred towards the Christians.

“Amen,” the slave maiden hissed through her teeth with enough disgust it could have been poison.

The service ended and slowly the rulers of the castle rose and exited the chapel. Common folk followed like meek sheep. Piglet and Ivar were one of the last ones inside and Ivar took his time ‘getting up’ before sliding down onto the marble floor. With all the ogling eyes of the Churchgoers still fresh in his mind, he tried to silently leave the house of the false God. Piglet loyally walked by him and hissed cattishly to a few scampering kids who were about to throw pebbles at the two of them.

It was degrading to have a thrall fighting his battles, but Ivar endured the shame in silence since he needed both hands to drag his lower half across. Due to the wounds on his knees, he had to slide on his side and it took the pair forever to get back to the pigsty.

“Ya Hamar...” Piglet’s voice was filled with compassion as she noticed how his trousers were giving up completely and lay torn and ragged over his scraped thigh.

Ivar eyes scolded at her and briefly flickered passed her as he noticed the form of the Giant approaching. Alarmed, Piglet turned around, saw her abuser and rapidly scattered off to her duties. Ivar wasn’t so lucky, he had no time to escape. At a snail’s pace, he tried to reach the pigsty, but the Giant caught up with him. Ivar’s arms were being kicked from under him and his chin hit the cobblestone floor.

His blood hummed in his veins as he overheard the Giant’s amused laughter. Cocking his head up, Ivar was just fast enough to raise his elbows in front of his face as the Giant’s leather boot aimed for his cheekbone. Determination and anger took over as the Giant drew his boot back and stomped it into Ivar’s stomach. His guts smashed together, bruises formed. But he was not going to make a sound. No, he was going to suffer in silence and take the beating like a man. The battering did not continue for long as Ivar played dead, the Giant quickly lost interest.

Hands the size of shovels dragged him on his feet with ease. Ivar was shoved over the wooden fence of the pigsty and submerged into the gritty muck.

Feeling water and pig’s urine seep through his haphazard clothing, he allowed his chest to gently rise and sink with every shallow breath he drew in. Laughing cackled over the muddy field and if Ivar had any say, he’d allow the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

That man standing behind him was a monster and besides despising the Giant, Ivar envied him. Once, he’d been standing on that other side of the fence, being the one torturing his thralls and peasants. As Ivar’s face lifted from the mud, it was like looking into a mirror.

Glee, satisfaction, it all radiated from the Giant’s smoldering eyes. An Alpha, a dominator of the weaklings, the unworthy.

Ivar was staring up at a monster, so close to his own image. Yet, so far away from what he’d become. Because he was the underdog now, the pariah and the victim.

His fists punched the murky floor as he was left to fulfill his duty; taking care of the pigs. Within his right fist the nail dug deep into his flesh and he made himself a sincere promise; this was the first of many he’d be using to nail that bastard to his holy cross.

.-.-.

A/N: Yes, so I’d like to point out another ‘fact’, in Holland we have a saying ‘rijke stinkerds’ which roughly translates into ‘filthy rich’. Which is the fact of this chapter, the rich used to be buried inside the church, but lacking proper air conditioning...the place at times could stink due to all the rotten bodies (badly) buried underneath the marble. Hope you’ve enjoyed the chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The tagged ones:

@youbloodymadgenius

@xbellaxcarolinax

@saldelys

@shannygoatgruff

@pieces-by-me

@apenas-mais-uma-pessoa

@readsalot73

@lauraan182

If you’d liked to be tagged, please let me know:)

Xoxox Nukyster

#vikings #vikings fandom #vikings fanfiction #ivar lothbrok #ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless fanfiction

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linkspooky · 5 years ago

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mysophobia for chisaki kai the image of uncleanliness is other people. /@villainmonth/ by @inumaqi @linkspooky

Dirty, dirty, dirty,

Filthy. Sickening. Hurting him. Everything was…

♚

The place he was abandoned smelled awful. He found the source of the smell, another human being. The corpse of someone caught in between the teeth of two birds who were fighting over it. The chewed up meat looked exactly like the texture of sludge as they had spit it up all over. They were fighting over the man’s intestines like it was a rope to play with. Internal organs bloomed from his stomach in a macabre idea of a field of flowers. And in that moment Chisaki realized that man was dead. There was nothing beautiful about that body, it was ugly, it was abandoned, forgotten. Rotten. Most of all it was dirty. And he thought to himself. “Well, how about me? Can I continue to live?” He could not help but picture his own image, murdered by crows, as they fought over who got to devour what was left of him. He never realized humans had such filthy organs inside of them, until he saw them all spilling out. Not just him, everybody had intestines crawling around in them like snakes. Underneath the corpse’s skin, there were maggots writhing around. Chew chew. Munch munch. Rip rip. Tear tear. It was hard to believe something so hideous had ever been alive, but Chisaki realized everyone was like that. They were all hiding something hideous inside of them. After all when his parents saw what he could do with his quirk, they chose to abandon the child they could no longer look at without thinking how hideous he was. Grotesque. His fingers curled into shapes that no longer looked human, more like the talons of a crow, the air was thick with the scent of rotting, and his own insides were beginning to melt. Blood, bile, organs, meat, he was stuffed full with so many disgusting things. He wanted to get rid of all of it, he wanted to be empty.

Painfully, his whole body wretched and he fell over vomiting as if he wanted to pull his stomach and intestines out through his throat. He was just a dirty child. He lived in filth, his parents abandoned him in this filthy place, and he was going to die covered in its filth. At that moment a material like putrid slime sunk deep into Chisaki’s skin, all the way down into his bones, and became a permanent part of him, as vital as his heart, or his lungs. The urge to live, to climb to the top of this trash pile, no matter what he had to step on in order to do so. So one day he could escape the filth. So one day he could be clean, and those parents would be wrong. He stepped over the corpse he found, breaking the bone of its arm. If he had not chosen to keep walking forward at that moment he would not have met him. A large man whose face he could barely make out. Chisaki wished he had cleaned his mouth, because blood was now dripping from his lips and he had made a mess of the lower half of his face. Got no place to call home, kid? What’s your name? Can you speak? The name his parents gave him. The name he wanted to forget. “Chisaki. Chisaki Kai.” Chi in Chisaki as in to treat. It was the worst possible family name for a diseased child to have. The man offered his hand to him.

But Chisaki could not take it. Because the hand looked dirty. He remembered the rotting away fingers of the corpse, and was overcome again with nausea.

♚

Chisaki Kai, no longer a child but also not a man either wore a black mask to cover the entire lower half of his face. The reason for this was simple, he hated breathing other people’s air.

His boss told him he was a fussy child, but thought he would grow out of this germaphobia of his as he got older. It was a part of growing up the old man told him. But, Chisaki Kai never grew up.

He lived in a small room as sterile as a hospital room. No one else was allowed to enter. There he always had two air purifiers running, and the room itself smelled of rubbing alcohol. It had a sterile, hollow scent. Every single wall was white because Chisaki wanted to notice every stain immediately as it happened. The shelves were lined with disposable latex gloves, and surgical masks. He ran up the bill when they were already hard pressed for money because he could not touch his own dirty clothes, but he needed to wash them the moment after he finished wearing them and paid someone else to do it. He was often buying new clothes as well and throwing out old ones after wearing them only a few times. His hands were incredibly rough. He washed them more times than necessary and even wore leather gloves over each of his fingers at all times. He pulled on his gloves to make sure they were secured tight, a nervous tick he had developed over the years. He never once let his hair grow long, because he knew filth could accumulate, oils, dirt, mites in longer hair so he cut it himself.

Chisaki did not consider himself a clean freak though. In fact he was fine if the entire rest of the base was in shambles, even if it did hurt his pride a little. He did not mind if someone left their shirts on the floor, or if the entire room was torn apart like a hurricane hit it. What he despised was other people. Other people. They all carried a sickness. Every one. They were just petri dishes for generating bacteria. He wore gloves because he did not want to touch their skin. Just one contact was all it needed for contamination to spread. Most of all he did not want to touch a human hand. He did not want to be touched by them. He did not want to feel their hand in his. He did not want to feel their warmths mixing. Because all he thought about in his stomach, mixing and churning was cross contamination. He was scared of their hands. And their horrifying insides. Perhaps that was why he fought the way he did. He did not even have human hands. These were claws. The talons that belonged to overhaul. The raven that tore out the eyes of the dead, and crushed their organs between his beak, because the old man ordered him to, because the yakuza needed it to protect their honor.

Chisaki hated touching people in any way, and he hated any kind of contact. But that was the quickest way to fight. When the boss told him to kill, he put his hand on them, and their entire body became nothing more than a smear of blood. When he was covered in someone else’s blood, Chisaki wanted to roll around and scratch until he had scratched off all of his skin from his body. But he had to suppress that urge. He lived by swallowing his own vomit so the boss would not look bad. Now that he thought about it, maybe he was a little bit fussy when he was young but it wasn’t this bad. He started wearing a mask everywhere the first time the boss ordered to kill someone. No, he didn’t care about killing at all, he just hated the mess. It was disgusting being painted in someone else’s organs. He wished the boss would give him a different job though, killing was grunt work, that was not the job of family.

The old man had no children. He had a daughter but she fled from this life. One day he would die and pass it on to his most loyal man instead, and that would be Chisaki. He could protect everybody much better as a leader, than he could with this quirk. To be honest despite the tremendous strength of his quirk he hated it. Guns could make people’s insides explodes just as well, it was pointless. But. This quirk was the only reason the old man needed him around. Chisaki has switched his mask recently. A black mask was not enough, he was still too filthy. Plague masks worn by doctors had that long crooked beak to keep impurities out of the air. That was all he ever wanted, to just feel a little bit clean, pure, even though he was standing in a pool of blood he made from the people the old man told him to kill. “And if we do that the yakuza and eight precepts can emerge from the darkness and-” He thought if he explained it right, if he made the boss understand then the boss would let him protect everybody. That was what he said once. So you got into a fight because they called our family villain bastards? Thank you… for trying to protect our honor. He was living to repay him. Nothing Chisaki did was ever for himself. He knew he was not a human. He was a crow that flew in that man’s shadow. He was not human. He was not human. He was doing his best to be the boss’s tool to be used so why. Why was the boss looking at him that way? Why did he never thank him again after that?

“I already told you no. To do that to the girl… What are humans to you?”

Humans. Other people. Diseased. “If you’re going to disobey our way of thinking, then you should just leave.” No, no, no, You can’t throw out family. That was why he took care of that girl after her mother through her away. He remembered why. Why the old man was suddenly so concerned about human life. That girl was his own flesh and blood. She belonged to him body and soul. And Chisaki a diseased child. Who belonged to no one. His gloved fingers curled, and he dug hisnails in hard enough to draw blood even though the sight of his own blood disgusted him. “No… All I want to do is repay you for taking me in. Enough is enough. Just shut up and watch.”

He raised his fingers, all five of them and placed them on the boss’s head. Human brains are so fragile. They cannot survive the shock of being scrambled once, even if they are immediately put back together. The old man. The old man. The old man was sick. And from then on out, he needed to live a hospital room with four white walls just like the one Chisaki lived in.

♚ “…Filthy.” Overhaul wheezes. He is covered in blood once more, its seeped into the fabric of his jacket. He knew he was going to throw this jacket away after the meeting was over. He is glad his mask sometimes is suffocating to breathe in, or else he might start to hyperventilate. He was in a life or death fight and all he could think about was how he had to touch that person with his bare hands to get his quirk to work. He shivered. Even if they were gone now, the remnant of their touch, the bacteria still remained. He could scrub, scrub, and scrub until his hands were raw. It would not wash away. It would just not wash away. His hands were covered in blood, and it had soaked somewhere underneath his skin and become a part of him.

Itchy. Itchy. Irritating him. Irritating his eyes. Eyesore. He’s allergic. He can’t stand it. He finally gives in to his ruge, and starts to scratch at the base of the birdlike mask that hands around the front of his face. He continues to scratch, but just touching his gloved hand to his skin irritates him even further. Bacteria can spread and multiply on the surfaces of clothes too. Once you see it, once you realize that they are everywhere and invisible, it becomes impossible to escape from. You see bacteria everywhere. You see traces of sickness in everything. And at that point there’s nothing you can do about it, you have no choice left but to go insane. Everywhere he looked, he saw it. People who were sick just like the old man on his white sheets. He was just lying there on his sick bed and Chisaki… Chisaki was the one who…. It felt like his whole body was screaming at him. Someone like him really was not suited to being alive, as if living was just another symptom of sickness. His flesh raw. His eyes bloodshot. “You guys have an illness. Illnesses must be cured.” He starts to walk away because he does not want the ash of the fire to hang onto his lungs. Once it’s stuck it’s never going to get out. Once something is dirty it can never be cleaned. “I took the money. Let’s get out of here before some heroes arrive, overhaul.” Nobody calls him Chisaki anymore and that’s fine. Because that kid died of illness a long time ago. “It’s all sick people, everywhere I look. Every last one of them.” After this he decided to meet with the league of villains, people who were just sick in the head.

#chisaki kai #kai chisaki #eight precepts of death #villainmonth #villainmonth2019 #overhaul #my hero academia #my hero academia fic #zeldi drabbles tag

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ifandomalot · 5 years ago

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Can you do a blurb with curtis everett being shy around you???

This takes place right after the derailing of the snowpiercer 😁

Curtis's eyes wouldn't dare meet her gaze, to be honest the strength and bravery that radiated from her person was scary. Beautiful, soft features that any man would claim beauty, she stands tall, her strength and power shown by the way she holds her head up high, shoulder straight.

The Snowpiercer was derailed, fire from the explosing burning the sacred engine. Curtis stomach flips underneath his skin, he feels digusted, mostly with himself. This rebellion was to free his people, not kill them. Throat burned, threatening to empty the contents of his stomach but he swollowed it down hard.

His body ached, the crash throwing him around, blood from his crushed arm leaking throw the thick fleece of the warn out black jacket and a small trailing running down the length of his arm, down his hands into the bright snow.

"Are you okay?" Her words are soft but he is in too deep of a thought to hear. The smelling of cooking corpses a little to familiar, a remembrance of the worst time in his life.

"Hello?" Ocean eyes slowly switch from her face to the evidence that he had killed the human race. "Are you okay Mr?"

Clearly a front ender, despite the fact that the train was up in flames, she was still clean, hair brushed beautifully across shoulders, a big coat covering her, but he had to bet her body beautiful as well. She was different, stood differently, didn't seem bothered by the fact that he was a tail sectioner, a woman who knew how to protect herself.

A large, light fur covered jacket is placed over his shoulders, and her fingers running the largest column of his neck made him snap out of the self pitty trance as he moves from her touch.

"Hello? Can you hear me?"

Throat felt swollen shut - he answers with a loud growl that comes from deep inside his chest.

"You're bleeding can I look at it?"

He pulls from her touch once again, it hurt - really fucking hurt but would reveal who he really was, the impressions of gears showing he was the one to stop the sacred engine, he killed all these people.

"You look like you're going to pass out. You're body will go into shock, just let me see it." Her hands are covered in blood themselves, from pulling him out of the burning cart, his eyes widden in realization now that he was finally thinking straight. "Was there a boy and woman in there?"

The beautiful woman shakes her head, "only you and a dead man. He took most of the blast."

Silence fills the air again, "what's your name? I'm Y/N."

"Curtis."

She kneels against the snow, sinking down to his size, knees pulled close to his chest. Small distance between them but enough for she can meet his eyes, "We have to get out of here, the smoke isn't good."

Curtis shakes his head, "there has to be survivors, we can't just leave them."

"You're not going to be able to do much when you pass out from loss of blood." There was a certain truthfulness in her tone, she somehow seemed to always have the answer, it was a little annoying.

"Curtis, I'll help you." He doesn't argue, allows her to wrap her small hands around the bicep of the good arm, usuing the strength of his legs to lift himself but noticeably, allowing her to believe she did it on her own.

After what seemed like hours of walking, well at least it was when he was deep in his head turned out to be only minutes but a small cave opening offered protection from the smoke and safety of any unwanting guests.

"Curtis." Her hand dig inside the large pockets of her jacket pulling out various papers and wrapping. "I went back and raided the first aid when I pulled you out and saw the blood."

His heart pounding in his chest. Despite the throbbing pain of open cuts and soaking of blood he didn't want her help. He was afraid, mostly because he didn't want to be alone. No matter what anyone would say about the tail end, it was dirty, it was absolutely disgusting, some people rotten to the core, but never lonely. He didn't want to be left alone.

"Its okay." He believes the sweet words she coos, voice acting as a warm blanket wrapping him in a false sense of security. Fingers running over his clothed collarbones, softly pushing the jacket she put on him, and then the blood soaked one he had worn for years, he gasped. It's been so long since he's been touched in a gentle way - especially a female. Cheeks heat up immediately as he's feels himself pushing against her more, wanting to feel the warmth of her.

"I, ugh. I'm - sorry." It's one big word, as he gasps for air, face red, all flustered. Touched starved, a simple way to put it.

"You don't have to be shy." Her smile is kind, makes him feel safe. "I understand Curtis."

Curtis's heart thumps hard. He swore she would be able to feel it, but didn't back away. The heat of her skin skimming the hem of his shift, made him shift uncomfortably. Squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment at how close she was to his most intimate part. This is not the time, this is not the time.

As if was hard enough, she gently lifts the shift, smooth fingers running the hardness of his stomach.

"This going to hurt Curtis, we have to get your arm out of the sleeve." He nods, shifting uncomfortably on his bottom. Even if it did hurt, she wouldn't have known by the way he stares with no intrest in the snow. Only is wounded arm revealed and half of his stomach as the hem of his shirt was held on his shoulder.

"Oh curtis, how did this happen?" The cuts wide, pulsing with blood that oozed from the scattered wounds.

"Must have happened in the explosion." The lie felt bitter against his tongue, he didn't want her to hate him.

"I'll make you better." It was a promise as her eyes shifted to him with a sweet smile. Why was she being so nice to him? He didn't understand, nothing about him was nice.

Y/N felt bad form him, she said a few nice words to him, touched him in comfort and he looked like he was going to fall apart any second. He didn't dare look at her, but would steal tiny glances. Hand claming, he was nervous at her close proximity.

"Are you the curtis?" Obviously the news of the great Curtis Rebellion was gossip of the train.

He doesn't answer only looks further. "I thought I told you to stop being so shy?"

Eyes meet his, tongue sticking out to moisten is cracked lips. "I um. I guess."

"You guess or know?"

"Know." Short and simple, obviously wasn't much of a talker.

"We were told you lived just like us. They lied to us, I'm sorry you went though this. I don't care if it makes me sound horrible, but I'm glad you killed them." Curtis's heart which bearly survived the last time she touched him was sky rocketing as her finger tips run over the bone of his jaw, the hairs of his beard rough against them. She didnt have an interior motive, she didn't want anything form him. She was a good person, who felt bad with the way he was treated, and touches him because she wants to, believes he deserves it after all the time he went without it.

Her long arms wrapping around his back, slipping under his underarms, pressing herself into his chest. Sensing what he carried on his back, she knew he stopped the engine, knew that he killed most of her friends and that he had done some bad things but no words anyone could say would do anything, especially with the way he was destorying himself inside. Her body warm, the feeling of another human lovingly embracing him made warmness coat his body. He couldn't fing himself to complete the hug but did rest his forehead against her shoulder as tears slide past eyelashes soaking her coat.

#curtis everett #curtis everett imagine #snowpiercer #chris evans imagine #c #chris evans

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