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thatoneraven · 4 years ago

Text

Negative Reinforcement

Dom!Amanda Young x Fem!Reader

SMUT

Summary: After accidentally throwing a pebble in the Pig’s eye, you find yourself in her grasp as the last survivor of the trial. She fully intends to punish you for your actions.

Contains: degradation, humiliation, spanking, face sitting, dubcon

Warning: The requester specifically asked that Amanda be mean, so she is MEAN in this fic.

You wince as a solid boot grinds a bruise into the soft flesh of your thigh. The seething figure above you cuts an imposing shadow under the harsh lighting of the concrete room. Eyes sparkling with rage glare down at you from beneath the face of a pig. The boot digs into you further, making you clench your jaw and furrow your brows. “You were being a major bitch today.” The pig hisses at you, lifting her boot and bringing it down onto your tender flesh, causing you to cry out. She leans down and grips you by the collar of your shirt to lift you up nose to nose with her mask. “Any chance you had at surviving went out the window when you pulled that little stunt earlier.” Your shoulders tense as you remember how you had accidentally tossed a pebble into her eye while trying to get her to drop Kate. Said eye still looks a bit irritated. You can’t help the airy chuckle that leaves your lungs at the memory of the cute squeal she had let out as she frantically scrambled to soothe her eye. You immediately realize your mistake as her fist tightens in your shirt. Her eyes narrow, furious points of ice digging into you. “Do you think that was funny?” She roughly shakes you, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking. You squeak and claw at her wrist, trying to alleviate the burning needle points in your scalp. “You little fucking whore. Did you seriously think you could get away with that?” You grit your teeth and look up at her with teary eyes as you grip her wrist. “No! No, it was an accident! I swear!” Even though you can’t see her face, you can practically feel the sneer that twists her lips. “Yeah fucking right.” She drops your head to the floor and stands up to roll her shoulders out. “Accident or not, you deserve to be punished.” Her hands tug the pig head off, allowing her natural hair to fall over her sweaty visage. You freeze, mouth slightly agape as you take in the sight of the previously faceless killer. She stares down at you, pale face chiseled like cold stone, and red lips pulled into a snarl. Her hazelnut eyes bare down on you from under an unruly mess of black hair. A flush creeps up your cheeks at the realization of how disgustingly cute she is under the mask. She sneers at you and kicks your leg, jolting you out of your observations. “Pathetic bitch, didn’t your mommy teach you it’s rude to stare?” She drops down, digging her knee into the still tender flesh of your thigh. You hiss and scrape your nails over the concrete, tugging your gaze away from her. “Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought. Here’s how this is gonna go. You’re gonna lay over that chair over there-“ She motions to the rickety chair off to the side of the room. “And I’m going to teach you a lesson. Got it?” You clench your jaw, pointedly refusing to look at her as you mull over your escape options. She digs her knee in harder, causing you to shout as a sharp wave of pain courses through you. “And don’t even think of trying to get out of this. The more you misbehave, the more I’m going to punish you.” Your body sags against the floor in defeat, watery eyes reluctantly wandering over to her face. She raises an expectant brow, coldly regarding your fallen face. “Okay. Fine. Make it quick.” She chuckles darkly and pats your cheek like you’re nothing more than a dog. “Good girl. Get over there.” You grit your teeth and glare daggers at her, body tightening in hatred at the way those words send butterflies through your gut. With heavy feet, you get up and move to stand by the chair, eyes flickering between it and her pointed eyes. She waves her hand in its direction, giving you a toothy grin with zero mirth in it. With an irritated sigh, you drape your body over the chair and raise a brow at her. Her heavy boots mark a rhythm against the hard floor as she slowly walks over to you. You squeeze your eyes shut as you wait for the sharp sting of her knife in your flesh. The silence is deafening as she stands still, watching you. The shuffle of fabric causes you to flinch, hands tensing against the floor. You expect her to stab your vulnerable back, but instead yelp in surprise as your shorts and panties are ripped down your legs, allowing the faint cold to ripple over your bare skin. Your head whips back to look at her, body rolling to hide yourself from her. “Hey! What the fuck? Why did you do that?” She looks at you with enough rage that you shrivel up on yourself, body shrinking back into the chair. “Are you really so fucking dense that you can’t figure out what I mean by punishment? I suggest you flip back over onto your belly before I decide on something more cruel than treating you like a bad schoolgirl. I have a few new traps that you’d look awful pretty in.” You stare up at her with wide eyes, face slowly burning up as you realize what she has in mind for you. The butterflies return to your gut, making the starting sparks of arousal harder to ignore. “You’re going to spank me? Are you serious? You’re not my-“ She roughly grabs you by the hair and twists you painfully to look directly up at her. “I’m not your mommy, but I sure as fuck am now your master. You are beneath me, and you will take whatever form of punishment I see fit. I could just as easily carve you up. Understand?” You whimper and tense up, a single tear rolling down your cheek. “Yes! I understand.” She snarls and drops your head, allowing you to roll back onto your stomach and hunch over in defeat. “Good girl.” She hisses, making you wince as your body lights up at the words. Cold fingers trace over the curve of your ass, causing the skin to tighten into goosebumps. Without warning, the hand rises up and comes back down on your ass with a harsh clap. You tense up, muscles clenching at the unexpected sting. You have little time to prepare before the hand returns again with more force. You clench your jaw, trying to prevent your traitorous throat from letting out any sounds. You don’t want to give her the satisfaction. Though, you don’t have much of a choice, as two sharp hits to your rear cause a whine to build in the back of your throat. More tears spill from your eyes as you feel arousal swirl deep in your gut at the harsh treatment. Your breath comes in short pants as she continues to abuse your ass, sending fire laced waves of pleasure up your spine. You barely manage to keep track of how many hits she’s landed on your burning backside. 10,12,15 with no breaks, no mercy. Her now heated palm traces over your surely marked ass, marveling her work before harshly whipping over the sore flesh. Between the fog in your head, and the sound of skin hitting skin, you’re dizzy and barely able to keep up. You can feel a drop of slick dripping down your lips, trailing down your thigh. 20,22,25 and the hand finally pulls away, satisfied with the way your skin has raised in the shape of her hand. You sob, body sagging against the chair as the overwhelming sensations finally stop. The pig chuckles, watching your body shake as you cry. She observes your ass with half-lidded eyes, blown pupils sparking with interest as she notices the way the light reflects off your inner thigh. You don’t have it in you to protest as she moves to pull your ass and thighs apart to look at the source of the wetness. “Oh my god, are you seriously getting off to this? Look at how fucking wet you are! You really are a whore!” She laughs and walks around to your front, roughly lifting you by the hair to look at her. She regards your tear stained visage with a venomous smirk. “You’re the real pig here. Little piggy cunt.” She hisses, thumbing your nose up and laughing viciously as you whimper, face burning with arousal and embarrassment. You try to twist away, but she harshly yanks your head back to stare at her. “Now that you’ve learned your lesson, I think it’s time for an apology, yeah?” You’re too far gone to resist anymore, so you weakly nod your head, a faint spark of hope lighting up inside you. Maybe she’ll take care of the fierce ache between your legs? She drops your head, moving back to shuffle out of her own pants. An eager whine rips from your throat, desperate eyes taking in the sight of her similarly soaked pussy. You don’t get long to look at it, as she drops to her knees to be on eye level with you. She gives you a sickly sweet smile, dangerous eyes piercing through the fog in your mind. “You’re gonna get down on the floor and say sorry with your mouth. Maybe, if you do good enough, I’ll let you escape.” You immediately scramble off the chair, whimpering as she guides you onto your back. She places her knees to the sides of your head, looking down at you with a sinister grin as you drool at the sight of her dripping cunt over your face. You eagerly lean up and swipe your tongue over her lips, moaning at the taste of her. She sucks in a breath, hands wandering to tangle in your hair. With a growl, she pulls your face into her cunt, chuckling as you rush to push your tongue into her hole. You waste no time in gathering all her essence with your tongue, savoring the smooth tang of her arousal. She forcefully grinds herself against your mouth, groaning as you flick your tongue over her clit. Her thighs squeeze around you as she drops her hips, causing your head to smack against the ground. You don’t even get time to fight through the fog in your head before her hips are forcefully rocking against you. With a hazy moan, you stick your tongue out so that she can fuck herself against it. “That’s it baby. Submit to me. Take it like the bitch pig you are.” Your tongue roughly flicks up against her clit, causing her to let out a delighted moan. She stops fucking your face for a moment, allowing you to wrap your lips around her clit and suckle. Her nails dig into your scalp as she growls at the intense stimulation. “God you were made to be stuffed between my thighs. Filthy fucking whore.” She ruts her hips against your lips, and you let your tongue come out to drag from hole to clit. Her pussy is clenching and pulsing against your tongue, more slick coating your tastebuds as she works closer. She begins to fuck your face again, causing your head to rock with the force of her hips pushing against your mouth. Your breaths are coming in labored gasps, breathing difficult with the way she’s smothering you. Your mind is cloudy from the lack of oxygen and the all-consuming arousal in your head. You manage to look up at her with hazy eyes, watching as her lips twist into a vicious snarl at the way your tongue pushes inside her. Her eyes meet yours, the bright ring of hazel almost blotted out by her pupils. She reminds you of a predator, with the hungry way she’s staring at you. Her thighs clench hard around you as her head tosses back, a shrill whine erupting from her throat. “Fuck! I’m gonna cum. You gonna take it like a good girl? You want me to cum all over your face?” You nod eagerly, tongue working faster to please her. Black spots dance at the edge of your vision as she continues to smother you, but you ignore it in favor of stuffing your face further into her pussy. Her slick drips down your chin as you stuff your tongue in as far as it will go, eyes rolling back as she clenches around you. Your tongue drags roughly up to her clit, circling around it and causing her to let out a shrill moan. Her thighs tense around your head as she cums, hips jolting against you. A new wave of cum coats your tongue, making you moan breathlessly at the taste. As she comes down, her hips lazily rock against you, thighs loosening their hold on your head. With a sated sigh, she lifts her hips from your face, allowing you to take in a large gulp of air. With shaky legs, she scoots back to look down at you. You surely look like a wreck: face covered in cum, eyes hazy, hair all mussed up. You mindlessly gaze at her, brain still recovering from the lack of air and being face-fucked stupid. She chuckles and tugs your face up to her, planting a rough kiss to your lips. You barely have it in you to respond to the kiss, tongue swiping against her own. She pulls away with a wet pop, tongue swiping her own cum off her bottom lip. “That’s the most fun I’ve had in ages. Should’ve cornered you sooner.” You give her a lazy smile, and she returns it with a flash of white teeth. “And now, for the cherry on top.” You look up at her in confusion, freezing as a sharp pain blossoms across your neck. Your vision blurs as you look up at her, words attempting to bubble up around the blood pouring from your mouth. “Did you seriously think I would let you go? Oh babe, you’re so naive.” Her words are muffled to your ears, your head slumping back to hit the floor as she releases you. “You’re my new favorite now. You don’t even want to know all the things I’m going to do to you the next time I see you.” You let out a pathetic gurgle, eyes rolling back into your head as your consciousness fades. Her last words barely reach you through the fog in your head. “I’m fucking obsessed with you now.” You awake at the campfire with a jolt, wide eyes taking in the night sky. Your body feels fresh, free of the wounds from the previous trial, but your mind is twisted like an animal in pain. The memories rest heavy in your head, the taste of her still faint on your tongue, and your arousal still sharp in your gut. With an irritated groan, you roll to sit up. Meg casts you a worried glance. “You good? Did she give you shit?” You simply nod, choosing to not look at her as you mull over your thoughts. You’re so fucked.

#Not sfw #DBD #Dead by Daylight #DBD Pig #Amanda Young #Smut #DBD smut

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

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11. Centaur Indruck (maybe specifically Duck) rating up to you

Here you go! I went with SFW, and a western theme just for fun.

It’s only May, but the desert air is hot and dry, will only get more so as the summer spreads across the mountains. The sun drives Duck to the stream running down the hill, it’s banks shaded by cottonwoods. Pa Newton sent him in search of flowers for the table; it’s Ma Newton’s birthday, and her husband is determined to make it perfect.

“I only get so much time away from the mines, best make the most of it.”

Duck knows just what to pick. Lupines and Daisies will make the perfect bouquet. He spies a clump of daisies, lowers himself to the ground, taking care not to crush too many as he sits. There’s a scuff of rock as grey-brown dust lands on his shoulder. He looks up, expecting a jackrabbit or maybe even a deer, and finds a human staring down at him.

The boy must be about his age, his pale hair falling about a face that’s as skinny as the rest of him. His clothes look fancy, which is at odds with the tear in the knee and smudges on his cheeks. Brown eyes are watery as they stare back at Duck, and he suspects his hands are over his mouth because he was crying and didn’t want Duck to hear him.

“Uh, howdy.” He waves. Instead of waving back, the boy seems more alarmed.

Maybe he’s never seen a centaur before?

Duck tries again, “You lost? I’m goin back up to town real soon, and if I can’t help you, my folks can.”

The boy sniffs, “I’m not lost. I’m hiding.”

“From what?” Duck gathers up his daisies, spots lupine near the rock where the boy is perching.

“Other boys in town. I hate it here, hate how hard it is to breathe, hate the dust, hate how there’s odd things like centaurs and cactus cats out here-”

“Hey!”

The boy winces so intensely Duck regrets yelling, “Apologies. I just, I wish we’d never left the city.”

That explains the clothes. Duck, at eleven years old, knows very little about the town economy. But he knows that while the silver is found in the mines around his home, the money runs down hill to Carson City.

“How come you did?”

“Father got a new job at the bank. Why are you here?” He cocks his head.

“‘Cause my family’s lived in these parts for six generations.”

“No, I meant by the water.”

“Oh. Uh, pickin flowers for my mama.”

“Don’t let the other boys see you. If they broke my glasses for drawing flowers, I don’t think they’ll be too kind to you.”

Duck shrugs, “I ain’t scared of them. And there ain’t nothin wrong with drawin flowers.” Bouquet finished, he stands, the boy’s eyes widening as he registers the differences in their shapes.

“You wanna walk up the hill with me?”

“Yes, please.”

As the trek back to the dusty streets of Virginia City, he learns the human is called Indrid, and that he’s much more talkative than his initial reticence implied. They’re mid discussion of the caterpillars Indrid is raising when they reach a fine, three story house. Indrid bids Duck good afternoon. Duck asks him to wait, takes a lupine from the bouquet, and tucks it safely into the buttonhole on his jacket.

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

“Want some?” Duck holds out a biscuit from his lunch pail. Indrid takes it, scarfing it down in one go.

“Hungry?” Duck teases, sipping from his canteen.

“Enough to eat a horse.” Indrid grins as his friend clutches his sides, laughing. He’d used the turn of phrase accidentally two weeks ago, then tried to cover it with a joke about only if the horse was willing, which only made his friend guffaw and wheeze harder. Now, whenever one of them needs to crack the other up, they mention eating horses.

They’re fourteen, and have spent the better part of the summer working on the Newton Ranch. Duck’s father, after a very close call in the silver mines, decided to extend his time above ground by running an egg and dairy supply for the town. Indrid convinced his father that it was good for a young man to earn a living with his hands during his youth, as it would make him strong and healthy. Mr. Cold, with a little assurance from Mrs. Newton that she would make sure the boys didn’t loaf about, agreed.Mrs. Newton is a woman of her word. Here he is wind-burnt and tan, sweat running down his back and callouses forming on his hands.

He’d do double the work if it meant staying near Duck. Duck’s parents seem to suspect this, and some combination of them wanting their son to be happy and wanting to earn the good graces of a wealthy family leads them to give the boys time to rest or wander about the farm after dinner before sending Indrid on his way.

It’s during one such evening circuit, on the far edge of the property, that Indrid finds a chipmunk burrow with his foot. The pain in his ankle sends him to the ground.

“Ow.”

“Shit. Can you stand at all?”

Indrid tries it and sits right back down, “No. I guess we’ll have to go very, very slow on the way back so I can hobble, and pray another hole doesn’t take out my left foot as well.”

Duck flicks his tail, “I mean, if you wanna take all night, sure. But, uh, what if I give you a ride?”

Indrid blinks at him in the twilight. Riding a centaur is Not Done; the centaurs find it insulting, and humans view it as scandalous.

“You won’t get in trouble, I promise, and I’ll go slow.”

He nods and the centaur kneels, the human clambering awkwardly onto his back.

“Duck? Where do I put my hands?”

“Huh. Around my shoulders, maybe? Yeah, that don’t mess up my balance none.”

Indrid presses himself to Duck’s back, marveling at the strength in the muscles moving beneath him.

“You know” he murmurs into Duck’s hair, “I’m awfully tempted to say giddyup or some such nonsense.”

“You do and I’ll buck you off and leave you for the coyotes.”

“You can buck me anytime.”

Duck calls his bluff by giving the world’s smallest buck. Indrid yelps, then cackles into his shoulders as Duck trots forward, the two of them laughing into the desert night.

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“Blasted mosquitos” Indrid waves his sketchbook in the summer air. At sixteen, he’s taken to wearing red spectacles and black clothing. This style, combined with the sharp angles of his face, leads more than a few people in town to say he looks sinister.

Duck thinks he’s dashing. Not that he spends much time looking, not at all. Indrid is such a constant in his life that he hardly notices the changes as they age. Except when Indrid smiles at him in a secretive way or when, as he did yesterday, he strips down to nothing for a swim in the river.

“Maybe they’re mad you ain’t drawin them.” Duck reaches into the cool water, picking up several stones just right for skipping.

“But I have. I used my magnifying glass to make a detailed sketch of one last week.”

“Jesus, ‘Drid, is there anythin you ain’t drawn at this point?” The stone skips five times

“Well….I haven’t drawn you.”

“You’ve drawn me plenty.” Six skips this time, not bad.

“I mean in the, ah, traditional sense.”

Ker-plunk

The stone sinks in one as Duck looks over at his friend.

“You already have your shirt off. Even with the wrap gone, I, ah, I couldn’t see, that is, only if you want to.” He sighs, “I’m not expressing this well. What I mean is that you have the finest form of any human or centaur I know. I would like to capture it, try to do it justice. If, if you’ll let me?”

Duck stands, grabs the strap of the wrap covering his lower, “You’re hard to say no to, ‘Drid.”

“You can if you...need...to.” Indrid follows the fabrics path to the ground, then fixes his eyes on Duck as he lowers himself into a comfortable position.

“This good?”

“Extremely.” The human’s gaze fights to stay clinical as it scans him, rough outlines of his body forming on the paper. Soon, Indrid is engrossed in the illustration, though whenever they lock eyes or he glances at Duck’s chest or hindquarters, he goes pink.

Duck whistles, tracks the songbirds hopping from tree to tree. His friend doffs his jacket, rolls the sleeves of his white shirt up as sunbeams scatter through the trees.

“You really are handsome.” Indrid murmurs, “you know that, right?”

“Heard as much from folks now and then. But you sayin’ it is a, uh, interestin development. Almost like you’re tryin to tell me somethin.” His voice catches between teasing and earnest, afraid moving too far one way or the other will scare his friend away.

“I...I need to get closer, to capture some details.” He slides off the rock to sit on his knees near Duck’s chest. The half-finished drawing peeks out from the paper, it’s perspective too far away for Indrid’s current examination to be of any use to it.

“What details are you hopin’ to capture?” Duck pushes pale hair out of Indrid’s eyes.

“I, ah, the dapples just here, and this line, oh to hell with it.” He lunges into a kiss, so eager he nearly knocks Duck sideways. The centaur snickers, cups his face as ink-stained fingers thread into his hair. Indrid licks into his mouth, messy and unpracticed. Duck holds him there tames the frantic exploration down to something more refined but no less hungry. By the time they separate, Indrid’s face is bright red and Duck’s lips are sore.

“‘Drid?” He brushes their noses together, runs his palms soothingly up and down a rumpled white shirt.

“I’ve wanted that for so long.” Indrid sighs, curling closer in spite of the heat. Holding him like this, able to inhale his sweat and aftershave and feel his heartbeat, Duck understands there’s no going back. There is no pretending not to know, not to see the way Indrid looks at him. Which is fine by Duck; he loves Indrid Cold, and he doesn’t plan on stopping any time soon.

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Duck is twenty years old when he learns that joy and heartbreak can exist in one body without ripping it apart. This is a pity, since he’d prefer bifurcation to the sorrow on Indrid’s face.

“I’m sorry, Duck. I have to stay here and take over the bank, even though following you west is all I want to do.”

Two months ago, a friendly man stopped while Duck was tending the garden outside city hall and chatted with him for the better part of an hour as the centaur worked. The man turned out to be a millionaire with a massive estate mid-way up the California coast, including parts of a forest he wished to maintain but keep wild. He offered Duck the role of head gardener and arborist, and the contract was signed a week ago. The centaur assumed, from his active encouragement and celebration, that Indrid was coming with him on this once-in-a-lifetime chance.

“I’ll send a wire, tell ‘em I gotta back out.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“Seems to me you don’t get a say in that.”

“Duck, please” Indrid sets his left hand on his shoulder, right clenched at his side, “please do not cast your future aside on my account. Just because I have to stay here doesn’t mean you do.”

“Why do you have to stay at all?”

“I’ve been groomed to take my fathers’ place for years. I’m not sure there’s a way out of that, not one that I can see. Sometimes, fate is not in our favor.”

“Fuck fate.” He stops his front hoof.

“Here, you might need this out in California” Indrid lifts his fist, intending to give what it contains back to Duck, as the centaur placed the item there not even five minutes ago.

Duck stops his hand, wraps his own around it, “No. I know the man for me is right here.”

“As do I” Indrids voice is tight. When his face drops against Duck’s chest, it’s damp with tears.

“Then he better write to me to let me know how he’s gettin on. And if he” Duck swallows around the painful possibility in his throat, “if he ever changes his mind, all he’s gotta do is send it back to me in a letter.”

Indrid slips his hand into his pants pocket, “Understood.”

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“Duck!” Leo, one of Mr. Greenbanks two bodyguards, hails Duck from the mansions’ patio, “come on in a second, someone Mr. G wants you to meet.”

The centaur wipes his hands and trots briskly up the path to the house, droplets of fog strung through his hair. Most days he likes the peace and quiet of his work, but today he’s not in a contemplative mood; Indrid’s last letter was two weeks ago, when they usually come once a week if not more. Illness doesn’t stop him, he simply asks a friend in town to take down and post the letters.

Once he’s certain he won’t track mud into the house, Duck makes his way towards the voices in the parlor. He must be more heartsick than usual today, because that voice sounds like-

“Ah, Duck, here you are. This is Mr. Indrid Cold, a talented young artist who will be illustrating my various scientific writings. And,” Mr. Greenbank winks, “will have the honor of being in charge of any artistic endeavors at the Academy of Sciences.”

Indrid extends his hand. Duck kisses it out of habit, notes his employers' perplexed expression an instant too late.

“It’s a, uh, an old, uh, centaur custom--no, fuck, it’s-”

“We are well known to each other.” Indrid smiles his most genteel smile.

“Splendid! I’m hoping to draw up extensive records of my arboretum, so it’s good you two get along.”

“Indeed.” Indrid tips his head, then turns his attention away from Duck, “where would you like me to unpack my things?”

Duck leaves them to their logistics, stunned. Indrid not only being here, but acting distant after six months apart raises so many questions that he wants to lay down in the flowerbeds and holler until someone answers them.

He busies himself among forest wildflowers instead, wondering why Indrid never mentioned he was applying for that position.

“I hope this explains the gap in my communication.” Indrid, shivering near a tree-trunk, pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his glasses, “I didn’t want to tell you my plans for fear they’d fall through and make you all the more disappointed. Also, the journey here was rather chaotic due to an attempted train robbery. All that is to say I’m sorry if I caused you any distress.”

“Yeah, you did” Duck sets down his tools, “but it was so fuckin worth it.” He yanks the human into an embrace, kisses him until his glasses are all askew. Indrid moans, slipping his fingers under the hem of his work shirt to stroke the band where skin meets fur.

“What happened to fate?” Duck nips his jaw.

“As someone I know so eloquently put it: fuck fate.”

“Smart fella.”

“He is.” Indrid pulls back, mapping Ducks’ body with his hands, “And I also have something for him.” The human tucks a sprig of Lupines-- weighed down with a silver engagement ring--into Duck’s shirt pocket.

“You said sending it with a letter meant the end of things. By that same token, delivering it in person signals their beginning, yes?”

“Yeah.” Duck kisses him, soft as the lifting fog, “guess we better tell Mr. Greenbank he can just let you stay in my cottage.”

“Indeed. May I, ah, see this lovely abode?”

“Right this way. You want me to give you a ride.”

Indrid shakes his head, simply takes Duck’s hand and falls into step beside him, “No. I suspect there will be plenty of opportunities for, ah, riding later. After all, I’m here to stay.

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #monster march #centaur boyfriend #reader request

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peakyblinderswhore · 5 years ago

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req: where a girl runs away from ireland, pregnant and scared and rents a cottage in small heath before accidentally becoming good friends with ada. one day they go to john’s estate and find it in chaos, you go to save michael as he’s still breathing. later on, polly wants to meet me and thank me for everything and this is where they find out about me being pregnant and alone.

a/n: this was initially supposed to be a wattpad exclusive since i was asked on wattpad for this but man, i wrote so much that i think it deserves to be seen on here too. anyway, i hope you enjoy! ps: between me and you, i flaked our at the end and went cliché as per my usual writing.

w/c: 2.8k

warnings: mild abuse (skip past the “keep reading” line and you won’t have to read it)

Somehow, I had managed to catch a boat from Dublin to England. I wasn’t entirely sure where it was headed specifically, I had been much more worried about getting out of here. I’d seen a woman Tuesday evening, she had confirmed my suspicions — I was pregnant.

I carried life and I was overjoyed, until I went home to my husband, bouncing on my toes, waiting to tell him the good news. Initially, I had been ecstatic; that was my first mistake. The second had been talking and the third was for being a whore.

In those moments, my heart shattered. He went out drinking and told me to be gone before he came home. I’m sure he just meant out of the house, to sleep at a friends house for a small amount of time, or something along those lines, but we’d been down this road before. The last time, he had beaten the child out of me. He didn’t know it and it broke my heart even just thinking about the potential it could’ve had.

Of course, I chose the only thing that could guarantee a good life for my child, I fled. First I pulled the house apart looking for every penny in every corner and crevice of the house, then I packed my bag and walked in the shadows to the docks. It was daylight and I hadn’t wanted anyone to see me this way. Upon reaching the boat, it took me all of my grovelling to make it onto the ship. I don’t know if they felt guilty or just wanted me to shut up but they let me on the boat under the promise that I would get off wherever they docked next.

When we docked, I kept my promise, glad to be away from what I called my husband.

“Where are we, please?” I asked a younger sailor.

“Birmingham, Ma’am. Small Heath, specifically, I believe.”

Nodding at him in thanks, I made my way off, following the small crowd that had emerged from within the ship with me. I had almost no idea where I needed to go. Of course, I had to figure out where I was going to sleep.

Once a week or so had passed, I had found a place to rent with the money I had fled with. I think I must’ve drawn some attention as a woman called Ada took a very quick liking to me. She was present, wherever I went and I was worried at first, possibly paranoid that my husband had sent someone to fetch me or do something about me, but I quickly found out that she had absolutely no idea where I’d washed up from.

She was one of the few things that kept me sane over the coming days. My life was a small mess but she helped me set everything in order again.

“Why?” I muttered to her one day, fed up with everything that I was dealing with that day.

“Because once, I was like you. Pregnant and alone; trust me, it’s not fun nor is it good for the baby, whether it’s been born yet or not,” she diligently replied, walking past me into the cottage I was renting.

For a second, I blubbed like a fish, wondering how she had guessed my pregnancy without me giving her any clues.

She must’ve sensed my confused face staring into her back as she set down some food she had brought over from the market because she carried on, “I know because I’ve been there. It’s the small things that give it away the most because you don’t try to hide them as much — you simply think others won’t notice if you pretend that you don’t either.”

She’d managed to hit the nail on the head, shocking me mostly but also making me think about some of my choices, my presumptions about her and what her family was like or what they thought of her.

“Karl and I,” she began, “well, Tommy wasn’t Karl’s Dad’s biggest fan. I was pregnant before we got married and then when we were married, it didn’t last for long. Freddie… he died. Pestilence got him in the end. All of that fighting for a disease to end it.”

I didn’t quite get what she was talking about for the most part, I’d known her long enough to have met Karl but apart from that I was clueless.

“Ada —”

“Don’t pity me, it was a long time ago.”

I clasped my lips together and abruptly nodded my head as I changed the direction of the conversation, “Shall we go out today?”

“Actually,” Ada said as she stepped away from putting the food away, “I was going to take Karl to visit my brother and his kids. Wouldn’t be bad for the boy to get some fresh air and to see his cousins. I’m sure they’ve been driving John doo-wally.”

Giggling, I say, “Doo-wally?”

Ada rolls her eyes, “Get ready, we’ll be off soon.”

Within the hour, you had set off in a car that Ada borrowed from one of her brothers and I had arrived at John’s estate. Karl had gotten out of the vehicle, eager to be greeted by his cousin's big smiles and playing around with them.

“He seems excited, how long has it been since you last visited?”

“Oh gosh, I don’t think I’ve been since they first…”

Ada’s voice trailed away as we turned a corner, revealing the pools of blood covering the expanse of the patio. Who I assumed to be John’s wife was screaming and crying, barey taking a moment to breathe as tears streamed down her face and blood seeped into her dress, staining it dark.

“Oh fuck,” Ada muttered, still in shock before commanding her body to move towards John, “Esme. Esme, is he alive?”

Ada turns to face me as Esme ignores Ada to continue weeping, “Go to Michael, his chest is still moving!”

I fell to the ground once you reached Michael. Without acknowledging the blood that was dying my skirts and now smudged all over my hands, up to my elbows.

I held his head, “Where? Where does it hurt? There’s blood everywhere; I can’t see where you were shot.”

He weakly pats his abdomen, to which I quickly rip open his suit, popping a few buttons from his shirt when I managed to pull it apart and apply pressure to where it became evident of the hole in his skin. Wincing, he groans and I hurriedly say, “I know, love, this is gonna hurt so much, but I have to stop it from bleeding.”

“I’m calling an ambulance!”

I nod, not even turning my head to watch Ada, “Karl go inside,” Michael muttered.

I lift my head, having not noticed the boy standing, lifelessly as he watched me and his mother frantically try to fix things.

“Karl, honey,” I whispered, “follow your Mum. Go inside; don’t come back out until after we come and get you together,” he nodded his head silently and walked inside, as if he had been sleep-deprived and stumbled up the steps.

Michael’s head was lolling about, barely conscious at this point. Focusing my attention back on him, I noticed his eyes rolling into the back of his head, “Hey,” I grab his head, pulling it to face me, his eyes were still rolling so I shook his shoulder a little, “don’t go anywhere. They’re so close to being here, don’t make their journey not worth it.”

He manages to avert his attention and put all of his might into focusing on me, “Wow,” he hastily breathes out, “I made it to Heaven, who would’ve thought? Ha, fucking Tommy, eh...”

“Nu-uh,” I slapped his face before forcing him to look at you and sternly said, “Don’t go anywhere.”

He seems rather amused and continues his rambling, “That felt pretty real to me, you Irish angel.”

Stopping for a moment, I was connecting the dots between what he said earlier and what he was muttering now. My face flushed and he whispered, “Wow, all the way to your ears? That’s adorable.”

Suddenly, I was acutely aware of my hands and how bloodied they were, drawing my attention away from his lazy grin. Deciding in my head quickly, I tore off a strip of my skirts to help prevent any more blood loss from his bullet wound when I applied pressure. I wrapped it around my hand twice and let the rest bundle on top of his wound before pressing down to the point where he winced.

“Sorry,” I murmured, “I can’t have it leaking before they get here.”

At that moment, Ada rushes out of the double french doors, “They’re almost here, I’ve been consoling the kids, as Esme gathers herself.”

Slowly I lift my head to see a quivering Esme, looking longingly at John’s body. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what must be going through her head.

“I’ve got Michael for the moment, not much more blood loss and he’s holding up a conversation for the moment,” I glanced over to a scared Karl behind Ada, clutching onto her skirts, “go back inside with the kids; get Esme cleaned up.”

Ada simply nods, suddenly needing someone else to give the orders, she was in shock from the scene we had stumbled upon this afternoon. It would be hard on anyone but it’s more shattering when it’s your brother. Her hair bounces a little, the only movement that suggests she was still breathing, even if she was shaking — scared hadn’t been a look I’d seen on Ada before and you weren’t sure if I ever wanted to see it again.

Until the ambulance arrived, I had continued talking to Michael, keeping him there and making sure he didn’t lose consciousness at any point.

Eventually, they came and took Michael, keeping him alive better than what I could, I hoped. It had taken every last bit of my energy to drag Ada away once Tommy had arrived to sort the rest out. It had felt like he’d surely taken his sweet time turning up; I had no idea who was more distraught, Esme or Ada; it definitely wasn’t Tommy.

I managed to pull Ada and Karl into the car they had borrowed and drove them back to the outskirts of Small Heath, stopping right outside my small cottage, where the fields met the streets. Neither had argued when I woke them up, their tear stained cheeks and bloody clothes sticking to the seats. Despite Ada’s wishes, I pushed them into my bed and took the sofa for the night, acknowledging the fact that they probably needed a better night’s sleep than I did tonight, after everything that had happened.

. . .

Weeks later, everyone had been to John’s burial. It was strange, Ada had insisted that I was to be there as she didn’t want to go alone but I said otherwise.

“It’ll be harder for you if I’m there. I was there that day too, you don’t need another face to remind you of what happened; neither does Esme, the woman has already been through far to much for me to even get into right now,”

Ada’s face had gotten swollen over the days, mostly from crying over and over again, never getting the chance to get it all out before Karl interrupted. I had often tried to distract the boy but on days when I went out to the market to buy food it was hard to control what he did. He didn’t want to go out, sometimes I had successfully managed to drag him away but I couldn’t blame him for wanting to be with his mother so much.

“Karl, is she home?” Ada called, one morning after I’d been out and bought some flowers to liven up the atmosphere a little.

“Yes, she’s home. She’s got pink flowers too.”

Surprised at Ada’s voice, I walk through, “Awake, love? I got some freesias to lighten the room a little.”

Ada smiled, “Polly wants to meet you. And Michael, properly. They want to thank you for that day, for saving Michael… and for trying to save John,” she sniffed, forcing her smile to stay on her face, “Pol’s invited us to afternoon tea today. I was just trying to convince Karl to go with you to the market to buy something nicer to wear.”

“I might have something that I can adjust for him.”

“So you’ll come,” she says, turning her head away from the newspaper that she was reading, “to Polly’s this afternoon?”

Wincing, I reply, “I suppose so. I think it might be good if I got to see Michael the way he is conscious.”

After fussing about for a few hours over sorting something for Karl to wear and making sure you wore something that was fresh, yourself, you had made it to Polly’s townhouse. It was grand, especially compared to the cottage you were renting out. The front garden was neat and had colour coordinated flower beds and a neatly trimmed border that accentuated the pathway that led to the wooden front door.

Upon knocking, Ada had pushed me in front of her so that when the door opened a beautiful, classical lady answered. Instantly her face lit up, she held out her arms, “You, my darling, must be the one who saved my boy’s life,” she pulled me into a hug and engulfed me into her embrace, tightening her grip so as to not let go and whispered, “thank you so much. I only wish we could’ve helped John.”

Carefully, I wrapped my arms around her, and breathed in her homely scent, “Of course, Polly. My deepest regards, I wish I could’ve done more too.”

She pats my back twice and pulls away, holding me at an arm's length, “Pregnant, pretty and a lifesaver. I’m not sure what else we could’ve asked for. Come in, I have some tea ready,” she beckoned us in, stepping aside to allow us to walk into her home.”

She led us through to the sitting room, offered me a seat next to Michael and walked off to fetch a teapot and some cups and saucers for us all.

“Wow, this is she?”

I turn to face him, blushing profusely, “It is she. How are you Michael?”

“Much better thanks to you. Mum says she doesn’t think I would’ve made it without you.”

“I’m sure you would’ve…”

Ada pipes up, “Michael was in a pretty bad state. Polly spoke to the doctors and they said he’d been stabilised at the scene; that was you, love.”

I sat, bewildered by the thought that I had literally stopped someone from dying. Before, it had only been talk and I had let them while they were mourning but now — it was real.

We sat in silence for a moment as Polly walked back in, now carrying a tray full of tea for us all.

“You know,” Michael began, “you’re beautiful. Your baby is going to be so well-looked after and is going to be just as smart and beautiful as you are… I bet your husband is thrilled to have someone like you.”

I let my head fall slightly and ignore as Polly hums in agreeance with her son and I stare at my hands as I fiddle with the sleeve of my dress.

Ada notices the tension I was radiating and quietly states, “She ran away from home because her husband doesn’t want anything to do with her and her to-be baby.”

Polly halts in her position, currently pouring tea into a cup and turns to face us properly, “Excuse me?”

Michael stands from his seat, “What? What kind of idiot doesn’t want something to do with their wife and kid?”

His face slowly distorts and his cheeks redden as the anger boils inside of him, “You saved my life and fucking goddamnit if I let you and your child grow up without a father figure. You saved mine and I want the chance to repay you.”

“Michael —”

“No, love, he’s right. You’re so strong and you’ve made it this far, but we want to help. Nothing will ever repay the fact that you saved Michael’s life but let us try,” Polly says, resting a hand on my shoulder affectionately, her voice running through the room like silk as she softens.

“That’s right. Marry me.”

My eyes widen, “Ah, Michael, I’m not sure that’s necessary.”

“You’ll be shamed if your baby doesn’t have a father,” Polly soothes, “It’s different if you’re a widow but if word gets out, we can’t fight every single fucker who natters on about your personal life.”

“Marry me; I’ll be the father figure for your baby. It’s the least I can do.”

tags: @saintd0lce lmk if you want to be tagged! :)

#peaky #littlemissshelby #littlemissshelbyreplies #John Shelby #Esme Shelby #michael gray #Michael Shelby #aunt polly #polly gray #polly shelby #Ada Shelby #ada thorne #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders season 4 #birmingham #1920s #luca changretta #shelby

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dontlikedarkness · 5 years ago

Text

The Good Side

Courtney hated a lot of things - losing, cowards, overthinking - but there was little she hated more than break-ups. They were messy, and she didn’t do messy. There was the trouble of deciding who got what, which pictures to burn and which to tuck away in a little drawer for when things didn’t hurt so much; how to cut someone loose who had been a part of her life for so long. There was no clean way to go about it. She couldn’t just block him, not when they’d met each other’s parents, not when her favorite tee was still somewhere on his bedroom floor and her closet was littered with his lighters and his knives and probably his jeans. She didn’t want to see him while she was still hurting, but she wanted his stuff gone, and she knew he’d throw a fit should she dump all his paraphernalia on her doorstep for him to pick up.

She’d tried to think about it logically, to alienate herself from the situation and use that lawyer brain of hers to find a solution. She’d made list after list, pros and cons, venn diagrams, even a detailed, step-by-step plan of action so that neither of them would have to come into contact with the other. They were all scattered in crumpled little wads of ink and paper beneath her desk, the waste basket overflowing with them.

A part of her wished he were here. He would call her princess, kiss away her tears, and take the paper into the kitchen to burn over the stove. Out of sight, out of mind, he’d tell her, a shit-eating grin on his face when she tried to tell him off. He’d hold the flaming paper over his head while she jumped to grab it, and she’d get all huffy about the ash in her hair and on her counters and nice hardwood floors. He’d ruffle his hair to make it worse and flash her that wicked smile and say Look babe, you’re distracted. It worked. And she’d scoff all she wanted, but there’d be no hiding the tiny smile that bloomed on her face. Everything would be okay.

Except it wasn’t. He was gone, even if his presence lingered. She moved her hand to brush a stray hair from her face, grimacing at the cigarette burn it had been covering. She’d bought him an ashtray to keep at her place, but he’d insisted the burns would give her desk character. A reminder of his chaos, to comfort her when he couldn’t.

She sighed, moving to her bed in an attempt to escape him. She tucked her arm under the pillow and rolled to face her window, a violent sob wrenching itself free when she realized that her sheets still smelled of him. Musky and sweet, like aftershave with a hint of her own perfume. It followed him everywhere, he used to complain. Like she was haunting him, so he wouldn’t forget his person. And he wouldn’t, he’d assured her.

They’d been sprawled on his roof, her head on his chest while they watched the stars. She pointed out her favorite constellations, and he called her a know-it-all, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing along her hip bone. He’d flipped her over so he could look at her and he’d smiled that secret, shy smile reserved for only his most tender moments. It was rare, and it showed a vulnerable side to him that she cherished deeply, knowing she was the luckiest girl in the world to get to see it. It’s you and me, Courtney, he’d told her, sliding a large, warm hand into her back pocket. It’s us against the world, forever and always. I’ll never let you go.

And she’d let herself believe those words, let herself believe his promise, because it was something she so desperately wanted. He’d known that. He’d used it against her, in the end.

You expect too much from me, he’d snarled, his tone cold and his eyes colder. You want to settle down. You’ve convinced yourself I’m a better person than I am, that I’m somehow worthy of you and your goals. I’m not that kinda person, princess. I don’t do long-term and houses and talks of marriage or kids. I’m not meant to be tied down. And then he’d left, the door slamming behind him with enough force to knock one of her pictures off the walls. He’d left her there, eyes watering, speechless, without another word. There had never been an official end to things - that wasn’t his style. He’d walked out on her, and that was that. He was gone.

She clenched her fists at her side, angry tears threatening to spill over. She sat up and chucked a pillow at the wall, a small glimmer of satisfaction rising in her when it hit a picture frame, dropping it to the floor with enough force that the glass shattered.

***

A month had passed, and she still couldn’t shake him from her mind. Her sheets had been washed more than once, his various possessions shoved into a box in the back of her closet, the cigarette burns and crude carving of their initials on her desk covered with a fresh coat of wood stain and a pencil holder, to hide the carving. Still his presence seemed to haunt her, as though it was imbued into the very foundation of her apartment. Everywhere she looked sparked some unwanted memory. Her stove-top brought about their one year anniversary, when she’d come home early from work to find him cooking for her, and she’d stood on her tippy-toes to wrap her arms around his neck and plant a kiss there. Her couch had a wine stain from New Year’s Eve, when they’d each been too wrapped up in the other to notice her drink slipping. All the pictures of him were gone from the walls, but she could still tell you which ones went where and exactly what they’d been doing when the picture had been taken. Even the door brought about a sense of hurt, like a splinter in a raw wound - an all too painful reminder that he had walked out on her, just like that. Without a second glance.

It didn’t take long for her to wind up on the floor of her closet, sobbing into an old shirt of his, the box of his things opened at her side. She couldn’t go on like this. Not surrounded by him.

She needed to put her energy into something else - so she did the only thing she could think of, and pulled up her lease agreement. She needed out, and chances were, it was a shoddy contract. Her landlord had never been the most competent man, so it wasn’t a stretch to assume that there would be a loophole. It was only a matter of time before she located it.

***

Boxes were scattered all across the apartment, some only partially filled, most with hastily scrawled labels to describe the contents. Usually she was more organized than this, but she had to move fast - the keys to her new place were coming in just a few days, and her landlord would have potential tenants coming in the moment she vacated the property.

There were a couple of boxes situated on her coffee table that she’d hoped to have out of the way by now, but she hadn’t been able to muster the courage to reach out until a few moments ago. She’d waited with bated breath for Duncan’s response, and when it had come, she’d shoved her phone away as though contact with it was toxic. It had taken her a great deal of breathing exercises and careful affirmations for her to finally read it. It’d been quite underwhelming, all in all. A simple “I’ll be there in thirty”. She’d expected some angry “why can’t you just drop it off” or something along those lines - she certainly hadn’t expected him to be willing to work with her.

Regardless, Courtney found herself perched near the doorway, drumming her fingers anxiously against one thigh. She was under no false pretense that they would just kiss and make up, but… it might be nice to see him. Just for some closure. Even if that “closure” resulted in the pair being at each other’s throats, anything would be better than the complete radio silence from his end. Anything. Or so she thought.

When the knock came, her heart caught in her throat. She had to be strong, she reminded herself, willing a steely resolve over her features. She took her time in opening the door, apparently long enough that Duncan had grown impatient and deemed it appropriate to ring the doorbell.

Upon opening the door, she became painfully aware of just how much of a mess she looked. Her hair had been hastily tied up so that she could clean, and her overalls were streaked with dust and white paint, from where she’d had to cover up the holes in the walls from their pictures. Normally she wouldn’t have cared, especially not for Duncan, but the girl standing there beside him was the picture of put-together. Not in an obvious way, but in a very ‘I just threw these on and accidentally looked good’ sort of way. Not like she’d made an effort when she’d tugged on her ripped jeans and her slouchy death metal tee, but like she just naturally fit them. She looked like she belonged next to Duncan, with her blue hair and her dark makeup and her piercings.

How had he moved on so fast? She couldn’t understand it, especially as she was still hurting. They’d spent two long years together, and here he was, hardly a month later with his arm around another woman’s waist. A part of her wondered if he’d been seeing her before they ever split - maybe he’d left because she wasn’t good enough; because he had someone better. It was a scary thought, but there was some merit behind it. How else could he have moved on that quickly? It didn’t make sense.

She shot a withering glare at the girl, and luckily she got the hint, disentangling herself from Duncan’s grasp and going to stand to the side. The girl offered Courtney a sad smile, and her heart broke all over again.

“Couldn’t wait to get away from me, huh princess?” He barked a laugh, taking in the apartment’s state of disarray.

It was all she could do to keep from slamming the door behind Duncan as he moved to grab his things from the coffee table. “Glad to see you’re doing so well,” she hissed, her words laced with venom. “Are you really that full of yourself? You just couldn’t wait to show her off to me. Well I get it, Duncan. Message received. Just grab your shit and go.”

His eyes narrowed to slits, and he dropped the larger of the two boxes back on the coffee table, turning to fix her with a piercing glare. “Don’t flatter yourself, princess. We were already out running errands when you texted, and I’m a gentleman. Didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

Suddenly she was all up in his personal space, one finger stabbing into his chest. The scathing look on her face didn’t go unnoticed. “You do not get to call me that anymore. I am not your anything, and I am certainly not your princess.” She took a deep breath then, her tone growing colder and colder until it seemed only ice and steel glittered back at him from within those ebony eyes of hers. “You fancy yourself a gentleman? Tell that to the next girl you walk out on without a word, only to turn up at her doorstep with another woman. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel, to see you there with someone else, so soon? No, that’s a stupid question. I should know by now that you, of all people, can’t feel so much as a shred of empathy.” Angry tears threatened to spill over, and she took a step back, crossing her arms as she did so. “God, Duncan, for all I know, you cheated on me with that girl.”

She turned and stalked towards the door, leaving him to collect his things before he could even finish processing what she’d said. She pulled the door shut behind her, heaving out a dejected sigh once she heard the tell-tale click that meant it was fully closed.

“Did you hear any of that?” She asked, slumping with relief when the girl shook her head to signify that no, she hadn’t heard anything. She offered her hand, returning that same sad smile she’d been given upon their arrival. “I’m Courtney. Despite what Duncan’s probably told you, I’m not a total psychopath.”

The girl accepted the handshake with a soft chuckle. “Gwen. And he hasn’t said much, honestly. Today’s the first I’ve heard of you.”

“Really?” Courtney cocked an eyebrow. If she hadn’t been certain before, she was now - those two years spent together had meant jack shit to Duncan.

She slumped against the door, waving away Gwen’s concerned glance. “Asshole walked out on me after two years, can you believe that? And he has the nerve to show up here, with you, and still act surprised that I’m moving. As if he doesn’t know why.

“I’m sorry, I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to me moan about your boyfriend.”

Gwen shook her head, moving to seat herself next to Courtney. The two gazed out across the balcony for a while, comfortable in the silence, if a bit sad. “If anything, I’m the one who should be sorry,” Gwen offered, after a few moments. “I know how this has to look to you. If I’d known…” she sighed. “I would’ve made him drop me off at home, y’know? Maybe you guys could’ve talked things over.”

It was Courtney’s turn to laugh at that. “Oh no, we still would’ve had a screaming match. Honestly, it’d probably have been worse than this. Maybe I should thank you for sparing me the trouble.”

The two shared a tentative smile, helping each other to their feet as Duncan emerged carrying a stack of boxes. “Princess -” he called, but she had already turned around and stalked inside. Gwen waved through the window, and she smiled, shutting the yet-to-be-packed curtains before she could make the mistake of watching them leave.

She couldn’t wait to be out of this place.

#duncney #total drama #total drama courtney #total drama duncan #total drama gwen #gwuncan #dontlikedarkness #drabble

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imaginesmai · 5 years ago

Text

Steve Rogers-Photograph

For this fic, Steve doesn’t fall to the ice, neither Bucky is dead.

This is just, beautiful. And sad. And beautiful. Really, really beautiful

Inspired by the song Photograph, Ed Sheeran

Loving can hurt, loving can hurt sometimes

The wind was making the last leaves of the autumn move around, and with it came the harsh cold that made him shiver. He had never liked the cold; but that winter, without any doubt, was the coldest one he had yet to live. Steve Rogers sat in the swinging lounge that hung on the front porch of his small cottage, still wearing the black tuxedo and war medals that he was adorned with. Bucky had to put them on his suit that morning, because he hadn’t found the strength to do so.

But it’s the only thing I know

Steve Rogers still remembered being carried into the medical tent, a bullet lodged in his chest, blood seeping into his shirt and eventually into the shirt of Bucky, who was carrying him. His eyes clenched shut from the white hot pain searing through his veins, eventually passing out.

He woke up to a pale yellow light seeping through the small plastic window in the medical tent, and a young nurse peering down at his chest. A sharp pain hit his body, and he made a small noise that sounded too much like a whine.

“Ah, you’re awake” a lithe British accent graced his ears.

You were beautiful, and with that simple look, between the smell of disinfectant, cheap alcohol and the sound of moaning and being, Steve Rogers created his first memory with you.

He soon learned that your name was Y/N, but while he was recovering from the bullet hole, he insisted that you had to be called, Miss Y/L/N; it had been a lame strategy to find out if you were married or not, but it stuck.

For days on end, Steve and you would talk about the war and about life back home. He learned that you were a studying nurse living with your cousin who was also studying the same field. You learnt that he was part of a big project who intended to end with the war, and laughed when he told you he used to be skinny and small.

“What?” he asked, laughing along with you. “Miss Y/L/N, are you making fun of me?”

You looked down at Steve between giggles, and tried to calm your breathing. The head nursing called your name, and you quickly moved from where you were sitting beside him.

“Of course not, Mr Rogers. I would never”

You checked his bandages quickly before excusing yourself to go and ten to the other patients. As usually, he recieved the special treatment he had become used to love. A quick kiss to the cheek and his arm wrapped around your waist, pretending there wasn’t bombs going off out there.

The friendship grew stronger and stronger every day, just as Steve was growing healthier and healthier.

When it gets hard

You were brought in a patient that had stepped on a landmine, separating his leg from the rest of his body. The man was delusional as he had lost a lot of blood and was in and out of consciousness due to the severe pain he was in.

So you didn’t notice the shy solider who, with a small frown and tight lips, hid the bouquet of flowers behind his back and stepped out of the tent. You were too busy getting a hot iron from the camp fire.

Keeping the men away while you cauterized the wound, you felt a piercing stare on your back, and you turned around to see the blonde soldier smiling at you. Just a short smile, and you were back on your business.

You tied strops of sheeting just above the knee where the leg had been blown off before giving the patient two strips of bedding in his mouth to bite down. The man groaned loudly in pain before screaming in pure agony as the glowing iron was placed against the bloody flesh, sealing it shut quickly. After the third press of the iron, the man passed out, not before being sick all over himself.

You know it gets hard sometimes

Nothing was the same after that man died two days after the incident, and not even the handsome soldier following you could cheer you.

“Will that be all for today?” you said, as a routine. Each time Steve tried to talk to you, you listened until he nodded confused at your question, and left.

“Please, talk to me” he begged one day, and reached to take your hands in his. “What’s the matter? I’m here, you can count on me”

It was then when you broke down to tears. Steve gently sat up, wincing slightly at the still sensitive wound. You sat on the other side of him and rested your head on his shoulder.

“I had my first death the other day. I did – I did everything right, everything as the book says, and he still died” you sobbed, as if he had just opened the deepest door in your soul. “I have his blood on my hands and I can’t stand it”

Your tears left dark watermarks on his bandages and bed sheets, but also on his heart, as hearing you cry was worse that having a thousand bullets shot at him. Probably, he should have been planning the new attack to the Hydra camp next to Bucky, a few tents away. Probably, he shouldn’t be getting so involved when he knew that his line of life could meant not getting to say goodbye.

Steve Rogers held your chin up so that you were looking into each other’s eyes, and whispered comforting words.

It is the only thing that makes us feel alive

“You saved me though, and I will forever be in your debt” Steve said so quietly that you thought that you had misheard him; but when his lips touched yours in a sweet kiss, you knew that you were home, and that no matter what the war brought, you were safe.

You felt at home in that warzone

We keep this love photograph

We made these memories for ourselves

Steve let out a sight as he pulled out the picture of you and him at the returning soldier’s ball; Bucky at the background doing silly faces.

You were dressed in the most beautiful pale blue collared dress, which had short sleeves and a small bow that sat just above your belly button the same shade of blue; and when you spun around, the dress flared up into a neat circle.

He remembered as your crisp white heels clicked against the hardwood floor, and the way it hurt when they accidentally hit his feet. The night, pain apart, had been wonderful; you had laughed, he had almost drooled at the sound. Steve knew then what the meaning of true happiness was, and for the first time in forever, he even thought about leaving the war.

About starting something new, with a house and a mutual plan to build. His dream of dying for America became blurry when he was with you.

When he finally slowed down the spinning and dancing, and pulled you closer to him, you couldn’t break eye contact. The world disappeared, the sounds minimalized and all you could see was each other.

You kissed right there, in the middle of the dance floor, without a care in the world to who was watching and between some cheers from Steve’s friends. You pulled away from the kiss, and looked deep into Steve’s eyes. There was no one else around you at that point in time, just the two spinning in a slow circle, dancing to your own song.

It was as if time had stopped, allowing you to cherish that moment shared between two young people in love.

So you can keep me

Steve remembered your face when you saw the photographer in the corner of the room taking photos for a dollar. You said something about never having one taken, and he couldn’t just say no to your excited face.

You practically glowed as you pulled him over and presented the kind man with a clean and shiny one dollar coin out of your purse, which matched your dress. Bucky whispered something to him about being whipped, he didn’t care.

Inside the pocket of your ripped jeans

Your smile made the world smile. You were the prettiest woman there, and you were with him.

He remembered a bright flash of white light and then a squeal. You ran over to the man to look at the photo and waited for it to develop almost bouncing on the balls of your feet with excitement and impatience.

Once the photo had developed, the smiling man handed the small slip of paper over to you. You giggled your appreciation and ran back to him, to show him the result.

Steve kissed you on the cheek, sliding the photo into his soldier’s jacket breast pocket, and thanked the man with another gold coin before returning to the dance floor.

Holding me closer till our eyes meet

You rocked back and forth slowly, your head resting on his shoulder and your hands wrapped around his back. Bucky had left a while ago, with some blonde girl who had talked his ear off all night.

Years ago, he had been jealous of not having as much as feminine attention. Years ago, he would have gone back to his apartment alone.

You closed your eyes and slipped into a peaceful mindset where everything was perfect, and now was could touch you from there, no one could take you away from each other.

Truth was, not everything was perfect, and Steve learnt the cruel reality that waited for him maybe a little too soon. You had barely time to see each other, and between rushed hugs and quick kisses you built a love together that he was sure nothing could break.

He heard them talking; the soldiers, the other nurses, his family, his friends. All of them tried to make him see what a madness it was to fall in love with someone between bullets, death and horror. But he didn’t mind, just squeezed you tighter those nights he had to leave.

He remembered; not only the good, but the bad too. There was once, when he was missing for a month. A mission gone wrong, that got him stuck in an Hydra base for 29 days and 28 nights. They wanted nothing but to experiment with him, to create another super soldier; and it scared Steve, what the world would do with more like him. Too busy with their meds, they didn’t take Steve’s uniform away. So Steve Rogers kissed your face in the photo, then stained with dark blood, every night before he went to sleep.

You won’t ever be alone

Against everything, Steve did get his happy ending. The war ended, the soldiers went back to their houses and he felt the luckiest man because he had you hanging from his arm, as he carried both of your bags to your new aparment. The sun shone bright, people laughed. Steve couldn’t stop smiling, and he pulled you closer when the train finally stopped.

Steve did get his happy ending, just not the typical one.

He remembered, what his neighbour said the first time she saw him with his new ‘body’.

“You’re a curse! Nothing that comes out of science can be good! Monster! Abomination!”

He didn’t listen, but sometimes he thought it was true.

Because Steve Rogers got his happy ended. He walked through the park with you, he made you laugh until you cried, and had two beautiful sons that managed to make him even happier.

But he never aged, and you did. He watched your hair turn grey, while his was neat and blonde. He watched you moan about back and knees pain, and had to help you get up when you could stand on your own. He held your wrinkled hand and kissed your cheeks until you closed your eyes, and then he cried.

Wait for me to come home

As Steve sat on the porch, remembering that night at the ball, he let tears escape and roll down his cheeks, remembering the words whispered to him when you fell sick.

That he would never be alone.

That you would always belong to each other, and will always have a place on his heart.

He swore, on his heart, that he would never forget you, too. That you were more than a photograph, inside the pocket of his ripped jeans.

#steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers x reader #capitan america imagine #capitan america x reader #capitan america #capitan america one shot #avengers #avengers one shot #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #chris evans #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #song fic #photograph ed sheeran #imaginemai

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stanskzseungmin · 5 years ago

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SCB ~ Words From the Heart Often Cuts Deep

NonIdol! + Soulmate! AU

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 2906

Prompt: Write something on your own skin, appears on the other’s skin as well

A/N: TW! Descriptions of self-harm are depicted in this

A/N 2: I’m not too proud of this... like at all, but screw it lmao. Also not proofread so we dying like MEN x2!

Everyone at birth is assigned a soulmate. It’s quite a beautiful story. The universe likes to give back to the world in the form of hope: hope that everyone is promised eternal happiness with a singular person that was decided on by fate. Everyone had their own method of contacting their soulmate or a radar or counter of sorts.

Changbin didn’t know what his was in particular. He didn’t even know whether or not his gift was communication or a radar. His good friend Felix had a wattle counter. His hyung, Chan, had a counter that showed how long he’s been in the immediate vicinity of his soulmate. His dongsaeng, Jisung, also had a counter that will start the countdown once he’s interacted with his soulmate. Unfortunately for the three, all their counters are all stuck at a fat 0.

“Hey, this probably could mean that you’ve probably interacted with them before?” Jisung suggested, bringing his hands up.

Changbin mumbled into his palm, propping up his elbow on the table. Felix was casually rubbing at Changbin’s exposed forearm.

“Maybe it isn’t a counter at all?” Felix wondered out loud rubbing circles on Changbin’s flesh.

“How about you all get to work before I beat all your asses?” Chan grumbled slouched over his laptop.

“He’s just salty because his timer is stuck at zero,” Jisung whispered with his hand held up to his mouth.

“Your counter is also stuck at zero,” Chan groaned out rubbing his temples.

Felix giggled, still trying to examine Changbin’s forearm. His eyes furrowed in confusion as you spotted the word ‘useless’ forming on his flesh. Changbin ripped his arm away from the younger’s grasp.

“Can you stop molesting me now, Lix?”

Like Chan, Changbin didn’t necessarily obsess over his soulmate. If the stars had aligned to assign Changbin a soulmate, then he should allow fate to run its course to allow he and his soulmate to meet one day. Despite this, Changbin has always been a little self conscious about his arms. However, it was certainly not by how lanky it is, his arms could classify as weapons by how thicc they were, but the fact that it’s bare unlike the people around him having some sort of mark intricately tattooed on their skin by fate made him feel like a bit of an outcast. Changbin rolled down his sleeves until it reached past his wrists.

Changbin slumped down in slight defeat letting out a breathy sigh. He shook his head and straightened up, smoothing away the wrinkles on his shirt and readjusting his black snapback on his head. Changbin winced a bit when he felt a fleeting pain his torso. Changbin tried to straighten up when the passersby eyed him warily. It lingered a bit for a few seconds, but it was almost painful. Changbin let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding as he hurried back to his apartment.

Slamming the door shut behind him, he tossed aside his backpack. The sack slumped down the wall to the floor landing with a light thud. Changbin quickly lifted up his shirt to examine his torso.

“What…?” Changbin whispered, running his finger over the red spot. Changbin winced a bit from the burning on contact, but there on his side just underneath his ribs were two oddly indented crescents that formed on his skin.

“Strange,” Changbin waved it off as he headed straight to the shower. It was a slow day-- one of those where time seemed to crawl at a snail’s pace. Changbin just wanted to have a nice cool shower, curl up under his sheets and sleep to recharge and start anew the next day and feel refreshed.

It was a fairly stuffy day. Sweat covered his body in a light sheen as his clothes seemed to stick to him uncomfortably like an itchy second skin. After shedding his long layers and discarding the fabric on the cool white tile of his bathroom floor, he started the shower, sticking his hand under the cascading drops of water checking the temperature. Satisfied, he went in. Exhaling in bliss as the cool water rolled down his tense muscles, Changbin closed his eyes taking in the refreshing feel. Changbin relished in the cool feeling as suddenly his skin began to crawl. His flesh quickly became red and raw as Changbin suddenly feel...hot. Too hot. Changbin let out pained screams. His excruciating voice echoed throughout the walls of the small room. His body was literally burning up as if boiling water suddenly surrounded him. His hand flew up as his hand flew up desperately grabbing at the nozzle and bumping up the cold water. The freezing cold water had a sharp contrast to his burning skin. It lessened the pain a bit, the cold water help sooth the red flesh. Changbin gasped and panted as light steam came from his body as a result of the cold water hitting his burning skin.

“What the fuck?” Changbin groaned. “Fucking STOP!”

As if on cue, the searing hot skin subsided a bit. The water is doing wonders to his skin. Bracing himself on the tiled wall with both hands, Changbin panted as his skin tingled painfully. Pulling back the curtain, he stumbles out as his leg gives out under him. He made his way towards his phone without bothering for a towel as he left trails of water behind him.

"Hyung? Hyung pick up," Changbin begged while listening to the ringing. After what felt like an eternity, Chan finally answered.

"Changbin? You alright?" Chan asked with worry in his voice.

"We got a problem," Changbin sighed explaining the pinching pain he experienced earlier as well as his scorching hot shower.

"Are you sure you didn't accidentally bump up the hot water?"

"No," Changbin spat. "I'm not an idiot"

"Alright, alright," Chan surrendered. "It probably has something to do with your soulmate? It obviously isn't a radar or a counter… maybe it's a shared state?

"Who the fuck likes boiling hot showers?"

"I dunno. Some people do. Perhaps your soulmate is having a nice hot shower."

"Nice hot shower, my ass, I'm red all over and my skin feels so raw and sore that the air fucking hurts."

Chan sighs. "Just rub some cream on it and try not to irritate it too much."

Changbin grumbled. "Ok. Thanks, hyung."

Doing as he's told, Changbin eventually goes to bed, only sliding on a pair of boxers. Changbin changed the sheets to a thinner more lightweight one so it feels cool to the touch against his burning skin. Not that long after jumping in bed, he passed out stomach side down relishing on the cool sheets on his sensitive skin.

It was a peaceful slumber for what it's worth. Eventually he wakes up with a searing pain on his arms. Changbin woke up thrashing and hissing in pain. Changbin shoots up seeing his sheets stained red as several slashes ran across across his wrists. The slashes were irregular: some deep, some light scratches as red oozes out in droplets.

"What the fuck? What the fuck?" Changbin growled out the final word as he rushes to run it under cold water. Changbin gasped in agony as the cool water made it sting profusely. Grabbing a clean rag, he applied pressure to the wound.

Perhaps that was his link to his soulmate, a shared state? A sinking feeling washed over Changbin. Was his soulmate...hurting themselves? The scalding hot showers...the slashes on his wrist.

In curiosity, Changbin scribbles on his arm with a pen. ‘Why would you do this to yourself?’

You sobbed to yourself sitting in your tub still fully clothed. Your clothes were drenched as the water overfilled past the rim.

It hurt. Everything hurt. Life seemed to be so very cruel. Everything seemed to border "not good enough." No matter how hard you tried, you can never crawl out of your hole. Not only that, it seemed likely that the hope of a soulmate that would share an eternity with you for better or for worse never appeared. Chuckling darkly to yourself that even at birth the universe decided you were not good enough for a soulmate. Unlike everyone you're surrounded by, your skin remained naked and bare since the day you were born.

As morbid as it is, you held an exacto knife within your hand and you began carving brilliant strokes watching the red flow out. Despite the stinging and searing pain, it felt blissful. The weights of the world and failure seemed to apply pressure to your wounded heart. Each cut seemed to alleviate the pressure and it was addicting. Dipping your arm back into the water with the intention of adding the pained words that describe your being, you brought the blade to your flesh.

Ugly. Useless. Disappointed.

You paused as your breath hitched. You gasped out seeing intricate black ink started penning onto your arm just above the cut.

‘Why would you do this to yourself?’

You froze. Your eyes widened as you felt your heart sank down to your stomach. You swallowed the lump in your throat.

Did you… did you really have a soulmate? Was this him?

Tears welled up in your eyes upon realization that you indeed had a soulmate and that you were hurting him as well. You quickly scrambled out of the tub, the water sloshing loudly as it splashed onto the tile floor. You reached for your bag that you left on the closed lid of the porcelain toilet, rummaging through its content searching for a pen.

'I-it wasn’t… I didn’t mean to!' you scribbled onto your flesh.

“You didn’t ‘mean to’ but it just happens right?"

You broke into sobs. Not only you burdened everyone surrounding you, but you also burdened the one you were fated to be with. You haven't met the man or know the tone of his voice, but you can practically hear the condescending tone and imagine his annoyed and disappointed look.

Changbin sighed to himself, running his hand through his dark locks. He didn't mean to come off as a douchebag. He was just so overwhelmed with emotion, his fated to be was hurting themselves. A million thoughts was running through his mind. Who were you? What has pushed you to the point of self harm? How could he help? Could he even help? He felt a pang of pain in his heart, but he didn’t even know you so how could he feel so...heartbroken as if he had known you for years.

‘Take care of yourself, ok?’ Changbin scribbled before heading back to bed.

“What happened to you?!” Felix’s voice squeaked out examining Changbin’s forearms and prodding at the slashes.

“Ow! Lix!”

“ARE YOU DEPRESSED CHANGBIN?” Jisung boomed. “That is a big no no, come here so I can hug your depression away.”

“Jeez, can you be any louder?” Changbin shushed looking around. “I’m not depressed, ok!”

“You could’ve at least bandaged it,” Felix grumbled as he began disinfecting the wound.

“So it’s your soulmate?” Chan whispered.

“Jesus, Chan. You look like death!” Changbin exclaimed. Chan’s brown hair was heavily disheveled as his prominent dark bags decorated his pale skin.

“Sorry,” Chan shrugged. “I was trying to figure out your soulmate problem. I think your gift is communication.”

“Yea, I know,” Changbin folded up his sleeves, revealing the text he left.

“You should talk to them,” Jisung looked at Changbin with hopeful eyes. “Maybe they just need someone to talk to.”

“It isn’t my business though,” Changbin mumbled.

“They’re your soulmate, it IS your business,” Felix exclaimed.

“Just start it slow, don’t overwhelm them,” Chan suggested.

Changbin’s shoulders slumped. “What do I even say?”

“I know!” Jisung beamed, raising a hand up.

“Oh no,” three boys’ voices rang out in unison.

‘Have a good day, ok? :)’ Jisung smiled proudly after scribbling the message.

“That’s...actually pretty tame,” Chan merely stated returning to his seat.

“What do you mean ‘tame’? What were you expecting?!” Jisung stammered at the eldest.

“The worst.”

“Felix!” Jisung whined.

‘Have a good day, ok? :)’

You chuckled softly at the words that appeared on your skin. Your heart completed leaps in your chest as butterflies erupted within you. You wiped away your tears as you saw a sight of that glimmer of hope: the hope of a soulmate.

‘Thank you. I hope you do, too :)’

Changbin and his soulmate has spent day to day leaving small remarks and comments onto their skin. Changbin’s heart swelled with joy knowing that he’s making a difference in his soulmate’s life. There were no more self degrading comments, scorching showers or deep slashes to the skin. There was the occasional deep chill, but you insisted that it was cold where you were. Changbin didn’t want to invade on your personal space so he never asked where you lived. Changbin was soon caught up in midterms as his workload stacked up so he never really had the time to write you small messages. It had been two weeks since Changbin scribbled onto his arm.

But not all good things seemed to last. Changbin was working on some music with his two buddies, Chan and Jisung. The three of them enjoyed writing music as music production majors. Changbin had earbuds in as he’s nodding his head listening to the sample Chan came up with.

“I dunno,” Chan started. “Could use a little more bass, don’t you think?”

Changbin nodded hesitantly. “Yeah, you could try-- Aah!”

“Changbin!” the two boys shot up from their seats to run to Changbin’s side. Changbin doubled over in pain as his thighs began to throb horrible and excruciating pain tore through the flesh. With shaky hands, he pulled back the thin fabric of his shorts revealing rather deep cuts and slashes that ran down his inner thighs.

“Oh my god, Changbin,” Chan gasped out. “Jisung get the first aid kit!”

The youngest jumped and scrambled out of the room, banging his hip ungracefully on the door frame.

“Changbin, are you alright?!” Chan tried to comfort the younger.

”Y-yea, but my soulmate-” Changbin gasped.

Frantically, Chan reached for a pen that Jisung was previously fiddling with as he scribbled something on Changbin’s thighs. The slashes kept appearing and Changbin choked out a sob with every single one. Soon markings of a word began to form.

D I S A P O I N

‘Please stop, you’re hurting him and yourself!’

The slashes stopped momentarily as Changbin now had a moment to breathe.

‘I’m sorry. I thought it was ok to do it in a less obvious spot...’

‘In what world, did you think it was ok?!’

“Hyung, stop,” Changbin pushed his hyung off.

“Changbin! Every struggle is two ways, you’re hurting, too” Chan lectured.

“I’m here! I’m here!” Jisung barreled in with a red box. Chan immediately went to work disinfecting and bandaging the wounds.

“Hand me the pen,” Changbin commanded as he winced at the stinging paint of the alcohol.

‘Why are you doing this? Stop.’ Changbin wrote on his forearm.

‘I deserve this pain.’

‘Why are you saying this?’ Changbin’s heart broke at your last statement.

‘It just hurts so much. Living day by day in failure and never being good enough. No one cares about me. I thought you did. I thought you CARED!’

‘I did, but apparently, it wasn’t enough.’

‘You left me alone for two weeks, when I needed you the most.’

‘Well, I’m sorry. I have a life too.’ Changbin didn’t necessarily meant\ to sound harsh or snappy, but sometimes life gets in the way

‘I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore. I hope you’re happy.’

Changbin’s heart has dropped to his stomach. Changbin visibly stiffened up as he began to tremble. His breathing accelerated as he heard his heart thumping loudly in his ears as fear wracked his body.

“Changbin? What happened?” Chan asked warily reaching out to his arm.

“Hyung?” Jisung spoke out in a small voice, reading the text in his arm. “What does that mean?”

Confused, Chan stood up to stand by Changbin’s side to read the writing there. Gasping, Chan wrested the writing utensil from Changbin’s stiff grip.

‘Please stop. Don’t do what we’re thinking. Please, where are you?’

The atmosphere was tense and heavy. The only sound that permeated throughout the room was Changbin’s heavy breathing.

‘Please,’ Chan scribbled once more. With shaky hands, the words came out similar to chicken scratch.

Changbin erupted in a fit of coughs as he stumbled out of his chair.

“Changbin!” “Hyung!” Chan and Jisung called bending down to his level and rubbing his back.

Changbin fell to his knees as he doubled over gasping and wheezing. His hands flew to his neck as fingers frantically rubbed and scratched at the flesh. Chan and Jisung in a panic grabbed at Changbin’s arms to prevent him from injuring his neck.

“Oh my god,” Chan gasped out in horror.

On Changbin’s neck were rope burns. The flesh was raw and red and slowly turning purple from the bruising. Changbin kept gasping for air feeling like he couldn’t breathe, but in reality he was breathing just fine. Black spots dotted Changbin’s vision as the world began to spin. Changbin collapsed into Chan’s arms unconscious as his breathing slowly steadies out.

Meanwhile, your world turned to black as you swung softly back and forth as you took your final breath.

#stray kids #skz #stray kids angst #stray kids changbin #skz changbin #seo changbin #stray kids imagine

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audiopilot · 5 years ago

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Snippet: Remanence Chapter 4

Sneak peak of the next part since it’s taking me so long. I’m in the process of moving so it is unfortunately taking me a while to write and edit. I hope to have the full chapter posted this month. 😙

Jake shrank back against the hill as Myers advanced. Even the smallest movement was torture. He wanted the earth at his back to open up and swallow him to get away from the dark, foul smell radiating off Myers. Yet there was no avoiding him as the hatch door snapped closed and the last traces of dark smoke fanned out in fast-disappearing wisps.

Whatever ran through Myers' head was a mystery as he considered where Jake lay helpless at his feet. Would he leave him here to die or hasten it with his knife? Not that he wanted to be stabbed again, but hr wanted this entire mess to be over.

Every moment he grew weaker. He didn't bother to try and put any pressure on the stab wound splitting open his abdomen. He was going to die anyway— better to bleed out. His vision went blurry; the red and blue of Myers' stained coverall melted together into a dripping haze. Like the hatch's smoke it drifted upwards in tendrils that curled in on themselves. Trying to track their sinuous movement left his head spinning. When he blearily focused back on Myers' mask, the dark holes of his eyes began to grow. Yawning wide, they stretched beyond the mask's limits and, like black mouths, hungrily ate all color away.

Big hands pulled at his body. Jake flopped back onto the ground with a cry as his numb legs refused to support his own weight. Myers's arms slipped under his back and legs to lift him into the air.

"No," Jake groaned, too boneless to fight it as he was arranged. Instead of tossing him over his shoulder, Myers carried him like a child, held against his chest. The rigid length of the knife pressed along the outside of his thigh. The fetid, coppery scent of blood was overpowering.

Jake was empty, drained of both strength and emotion. He felt cold.

The coverall, wet and rough, rubbed against his cheekbone where his head dropped against Myers' shoulder.

Each step jostled his whole body and triggered sharp resonations of pain, but being carried triggered the entity-caused limbo state that kept him conscious. Usually it had a re-energizing effect that allowed survivors to wriggle free if the killer wasn't quick enough to hook them. Jake had no desire to fight his way out, resigned to whatever Myers had in store for him. Even if he did struggle out of his hold, he could follow Jake through the bond's connection no matter how far he ran.

A particularly rough step startled him from his morose thoughts. Before his eyes shone the pale slip of skin at the bottom of Myers' mask. It was the only thing untouched by carnage. He followed the edge of the disguise up, slightly nervous to see the holes of the mask, but it looked normal again if slightly odd from the severe angle. The flared collar of Myers' coverall unstuck from his face when he lifted his head.

Laurie was still out there. Jake clenched a useless fist on his pant leg. She would attempt a rescue. Despite her own admonishment about being stupid, that she still lingered spoke loudly of her intentions.

They were back at the buses, their yellow color muted and blurred as his vision still hadn't recovered. Past the gate, unopened and all three lights dead, Myers halted by the bus window he had dragged Jake through earlier. The arms around him shifted and, afraid of being thrown to the ground, Jake automatically clung on with both hands.

"Wait, before you—ah!" Jake's voice broke into the startled sound when Myers' fingers curled in where they cradled his side. It was the same tender spot Myers had grabbed during his heat and the reminder made his mouth go dry.

Myers inhaled deeply before bending while the arm under Jake's knees withdrew. The one around his back kept him steady as Jake lowered his legs one at a time. Gritting his teeth, Jake kept a tight grip on Myers as he awkwardly regained his footing.

It still hurt. Sweat prickled at his hairline as the unavoidable stretch of his abdomen tugged at every damaged nerve.

The entire time, Myers' body slid against his own. It was disgusting, the mess he was covered in coating Jake's side with a slick sound. Yet he couldn't help but notice the feel of Myers' chest, stomach, and hips as they dragged against him. Even through his clothes, the touch left him far too aware of his own body.

Feeling a flush spread from the back of his neck, Jake quickly let go of Myers only to accidentally kick something by his foot. It was a medical kit, laying sideways with its white cross warped by a large dent. Jake stared at it, then back up at Myers, motionless and watching.

"You want me to use this?" Jake wasn't able to hide his disbelief.

Myers' head went up and then back down in such a minute move that Jake would have thought he had imagined it. In all their interactions, Myers had never communicated back in a clear way despite obviously understanding what he said. Sure, he reacted to what Jake said or did. But not with any words, implied or not. To see him respond now with a 'yes' shocked the pervasive pain out his head. A phantom touch tugged his hand down in the kit's direction to further emphasize Myers' intent.

"O-okay."

Rather than reach down, Jake leaned against the bus to carefully sit. He popped open the kit and found a bottle of styptic and an abdominal dressing.

A chill flashed through him: it was just what he needed.

Jake sent a cautious glance at Myers, whose attention had drifted to the fog-filled yard, before setting it beside his leg. In fits and starts he pulled open his jacket, pausing whenever the pain of his abdominal muscles moving spiked too high. He lifted his shirt and went lightheaded as it peeled away and revealed the puncture wound, edges torn to display the cut layers of yellow fat and red muscle underneath. A fresh surge of blood escaped as what little had congealed ripped off with the fabric.

At least everything was still inside.

Jake traced the skin just above the edge of the cut, mentally mapping the length of it to the size of the bandage. It was close, but it should cover the wound just fine. First he had to use the styptic, which would stop the bleeding. It sucked to use but was effective.

His fingertip dropped too low and Jake choked out a low moan at the painful jolt even that slight touch caused.

An intense prickling all over his body alerted him to the return of Myers' attention.

He bit down on the edge of his shirt both to keep it out of the way and because he knew the next step would go beyond agony. After a quick inhale through his nose, he dumped the styptic powder over his stomach.

Squeezing the bottle so hard the plastic cracked, Jake groaned and chewed on the shirt in his mouth, eyes watering. His entire abdomen burned like he'd poured acid over himself. He slammed his free hand on the ground, fingers tearing into the dirt as he tried to focus on anything else beyond the pain. When his world widened beyond the screaming of his own nerves, Jake blinked away the tears threatening to fall only to freeze as the blurry outline before him solidified. Myers had practically teleported on top of him, far too close. Even down on one knee, his massive size eclipsed Jake.

Myers watched him closely as Jake shifted, the phantom touch returning to fall across him like a heavy blanket.

"I can't finish this way," Jake pointed out, waving at the open kit beside him. "Do you want me to heal or not?"

Myers didn't move an inch.

Jake pressed his lips together to prevent sighing out loud. He glanced down at his stomach, a dark scab already sealing the cut closed.

At the surface, his nerve endings went numb as the styptic spread to the deeper ache inside his abdomen. The entity's twisting of the human body's limitations meant they could suffer wounds that should have killed them. The medical kits went beyond their benign appearance to work like magic. Even the smaller cut on his face and bump on his head that he'd mostly forgotten about disappeared.

Just visible behind the slope of Myers' shoulder, a crow fluttered down onto a nearby rock with its dark eyes trained on them. Would the entity even allow this? There were times when the killers didn't seem to try so hard to kill the survivors, but helping them to heal and escape was another thing entirely. Even if it was a means to catch Laurie, Jake felt more nervous at its possible intervention than Myers hovering over him. The crow cocked its head from side to side as if examining them but otherwise was still. The entity wouldn't dissolve the trial early, too curious and hungry. The entity's interest was oppressive, too much like the first time Jake and Myers— he dropped that train of thought.

The sudden movement of Myers' shoulder broke his staring contest with the bird. Myers reached for his neck and Jake braced for a choke-hold. Instead, Myers' fingertips ran over the bandage hiding his mark. Jake stayed still as he pulled it away. It fluttered down in the scant space between Jake's spread thighs and where Myers' knee was planted.

Cold air trickled across the newly exposed skin. It didn't hurt and who knew what it looked like now. Myers examined it closely, leaning even further into Jake's space. This close he could smell Myers' skin underneath all the blood.

Then Myers pressed his thumb directly on top of the mark.

This time there was no vision of himself.

He couldn't see anything at all. The whispers climbed out of the darkness, guttural voices scrambling over each other to rise into hoarse, distorted screams. They pressed on the inside of his skull like the Entity's claws, their pointed edges scratching and clawing. The wordless demands for violence accompanied the stabbing pain and Jake blindly flailed. The building pressure in his head abruptly eased and he was back in his own body.

The whispers withdrew under his own distant, distraught gasps. Wetness drained from his ear, above the mark, just like in the woods. This time it was worse as Jake knew from the tinny, ringing echo in his ear that something had ruptured. Jake winced as he rubbed at it. If the bond allowed him to see from Myers' eyes, did that mean those terrible sounds were what Myers heard all the time?

Undeterred, Myers pulled up his mask and leaned closer.

"No way," Jake said, bringing his arms between them. He brought his chin down in an attempt to hide the mark. "I don't want to hear that again."

#fic #ferromagnetism series #dead by daylight #jake park #Michael Myers #jayers

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novantinuum · 7 years ago

Text

Breaking Point (2/2)

Part of the “Smaller Than He Seems” AU, in which Ford was accidentally de-aged into a kid during his multiverse adventures, while retaining all his memories. He appears about 12 at this point.

Last one shot here.

AO3

Rating: T (for some language)

Word count: ~5000

Summary: In which an apology is given. Stan gains a bit of insight into his brother's time apart from him. Ford allows himself to be honest for once.

“Sweet Moses, stop actin’ like a damn child and just pick a pair!”

…

“Ford.”

No response.

“Ford, talk to me, please!”

He could see his brother’s small body curled up against the door in the rearview mirror. His face entirely blank, his eyes trained on some landmark of interest outside the window but bleary, unfocused. His jaw clenched.

“Ford. Sixer. Come on, listen ta’ me, please! I said I was sorry…”

The moment Stanley Pines set his car into park alongside the Shack, he heard the rear passenger door swing open and little feet storm up the steps of the gift shop into obscurity. He didn’t even have to see his brother’s no-doubt tear stained eyes to gain explicit confirmation of what he already knew. After all— while his grasp of some of the more unique quirks and intricacies about his twin had faded over forty plus years of estrangement— the one detail he knew he’d never forget was the sound of Ford crying.

Notably, the few times Stan witnessed him cry when they were kids, he actively avoided making a spectacle of his emotions. (Men like me sure as hell don’t cry, his pa had constantly chided them.) Unlike other children in their age group, Ford’s sobs always remained strained and purposefully held back, as if he were ashamed at himself for crying in the first place. From the sound of it Ford’s anger and hurt still materialized precisely the same way now. It was almost as if the clock had reversed and suddenly Stan too was twelve again, watching his twin run away in muffled tears after getting his face busted up by one of their childhood bullies.

Almost…

After all, this time it wasn't the bully Ford was running from.

“You an’ yer stupid mouth sure messed up this time,” he muttered bitterly, yanking his keys out of the ignition.

He unbuckled his seatbelt, a gnawing hollowness settling in his soul. Cloud cover smothered the sun. A hopelessly stubborn part of him wanted nothing more than to immediately chase after his brother and console him as he always did in their youth, but that desire was quickly overrun by whatever sense of reason he still possessed. He’d only make things worse if he followed now. He always did make things worse.

Guilt raged within his mind like a hurricane, uprooting insecurities and blowing old emotional wounds to the forefront of his consciousness with terrifying force. He did this to Ford. He made him cry. In his utter carelessness he jabbed at what he imagined was one of his greatest insecurities: that ultimately— even in mind and spirit— he was nothing more than the childlike appearance chance forced upon him. That all his years of experience were for naught, that somehow he’d... regressed. Stanley wrung his hands together so tightly he nearly popped his joints out of place, his mind cycling between tides of self-hatred and incomprehensible shame at the memory of watching the light of his brother’s soul eclipsed by his thoughtless comment.

Old bones creaking with trepidation, he exited the car and began to make his way towards the Shack. A few stray raindrops splattered atop his head in the seconds before he reached the covered porch. He strode into the gift shop, in search of any physical sign of his brother. However, the vending machine door was closed. Same with the entry to the house. Stan halted for a moment and listened, dimly wondering if he could pick up auditory clues as to where his brother went. As much as he’d love to avoid confronting his guilt for as long as possible, deep down he knew that this would threaten to completely overturn what little camaraderie they had left. (Because at present, the sad reality was that their relationship was riding on a thin wire no more dependable than a pathological liar in an interrogation room.) He doubted he’d forgive himself if he lost Ford all over again merely a day after getting him back.

His eyes slid with disinterest over the shelves of useless overpriced wares, focusing momentarily on the rain— now falling steadily outside— and then the keypad of the vending machine. Mind now firmly set on finding his brother, he strode towards the hidden passageway and entered the code. Miraculously, Ford hadn’t changed it.

At least, not yet.

Stan crept down the steep staircase, gently running his hand over the faint six-fingered handprint immortalized in glowing ink on the cracked stone. Despite not understanding his reasons for it, his twin was obviously drawn to this place in some manner. Yesterday evening, he had to fight to convince him to sleep anywhere except the thin cot he’d shoved in the corner of the basement lab. And early this morning Ford exiled himself downstairs long before anyone else woke up, only venturing to the main floor at, presumably, the insistence of his growling stomach. He’d bet his first dollar in sales that Ford holed away to his ‘lair’ in this instance, too.

The closer the elevator dropped to the basement however, the more tongue-tied he felt. What was one supposed to say in situations like these? Had he already made a fatal mistake, stalling for as long as he did? Or were the wounds still too fresh? How did he know that he wouldn’t bungle everything up all over again like he always seemed to do whenever he interacted with him, or that Ford would even be receptive to an apology? How long would he have to tip-toe around him, interact as if he were only fragile glass?

By the time he reached the lab, his skin felt clammy to the touch and his nerves were twisted into a steel ball. A sum of him just wanted to get this over with, like ripping the soiled dressing off of an infected wound, and yet he couldn’t deny that insidious voice within his core that desired nothing more than to run away. When had he ever improved the quality of his life by bending on his knees and groveling for forgiveness anyways? In his experience, ‘sorry’ hadn’t driven him any further than the Stanmobile running on two flats and fumes.

Besides a few computer backlights that were active and a few dull red lamps fixed around the perimeter, the lab was dark. Stanley felt the hairs on his neck prickle as he inhaled the stale air. Euugh. Despite spending years of solid time down here, he’d never gotten used to just how damn creepyFord’s sci-fi mystery basement felt. It didn’t take a genius to figure out his brother hadn’t hidden down here, however. Rather, the lab was empty and near-silent, except for the faint whir coming from one of the old IMB computer’s fans. He peaked into the portal room out of curiosity, finding much the same. Though interestingly, it appeared someone had begun to dismantle the machine.

The twisted metal frame was detached from its girders and wires, with a choice few parts cannibalized and scattered across the bedrock. So thismust have been what kept Ford so busy early this morning. Stan didn’t understand how his brother managed to disassemble this much that quickly considering his size, but leave it to him to figure out a workaround, he supposed. He couldn’t help but sulk at the sight of thirty years of his work lying in ruins, even though he knew he’d succeeded in the end.

As he turned to leave, a glint of reflected light coming from Ford’s bundled up overcoat on the desk caught his interest. Tentatively, he approached the small mangled coat. Whatever caused the light to bounce astray, it appeared metallic. Intrigue brewed within him as he captured the edge of the object with his index finger and thumb.

“Let’s see what you are,” he murmured, pulling it into the rosy glow of the safety lamp that was mounted over the entrance to the portal room. The object was a nondescript metal tin the length of his hand, with a clasp on one side. He unlatched it gently.

Inside were… photographs, mainly. A few scraps of paper with windswept notes or sketches on them. The photos were mostly polaroids, but a couple were fashioned out of a holographic material that projected the images into the air. Stan filtered through the contents, his gaze lingering with awe on a rather impressive photograph that depicted— he assumed— the night sky on an alien world. A lot of the objects inside the tin were similar, each acting as a small window into Ford’s travels: images of exotic, almost unearthly landscapes, rough sketches of creatures even stranger than those contained in his journals, a thin strip of blue dyed cloth, an elongated, pointed tooth. His hands brushed against a slip of paper covered in tallies. Written below those lines were a series of numbers ranging anywhere from fifty-five to sixty-four that had long since been scribbled out and replaced with a question mark.

The edge of Stan’s lips slumped downwards the longer he thought about what that hesitant question mark really meant. He set this piece of parchment aside to look at the next object in the tin.

To his surprise, Ford was actually pictured in the next photo— an adult Ford like he remembered, but appearing far older than he'd last seen him in 1982. In the photograph, his brother stood with his arm slung around another man’s shoulder, a wide smile on his face. His tousled hair had gone almost completely grey— peppered with silver around his ears— and deep creases lined the corners of his eyes and the contour of his cheeks. The wrinkles suited him, honestly. Made him look distinguished. Nonetheless, Stan’s heart dropped in his chest at the sight. He held the thick paper with white knuckles as the significance of this hit him. This was close to how Ford would have appeared if he hadn't been reverted into a child. Now obviously, Stan only needed to glance into the mirror to imagine what his brother would have roughly looked like at sixty two, but actually seeingthe way age settled on his face- even merely memorialized as a polaroid- was its own shock to the system.

Stanley stared at the photo for a long while, committing the image to memory. He flipped to the next photo.

His eyes blew wide. His wrists trembled as he held the last object in the tin with nothing less than reverence, than proof that perhaps he and Ford might still see eye to eye more than he initially realized. That maybe, they still had a chance to truly be brothers again.

“Oh Sixer, you old sap…” he said in a half-laugh, trying to blink away his tears.

In the tattered, faded image he held, two young boys stood proudly on a wrecked sailboat at the edge of the sea, shirtless and sunburnt.

The rain still pummeled away at the roof and walls of the Shack by the time Stan returned to the main floor. He frowned for a moment, distantly wondering if Dipper and Mabel brought anything to keep them dry while they tromped through the woods, but these fears quickly faded. They were resourceful kids. He knew they’d fare fine. He couldn’t say the same for Stanford, who hadn’t uttered a peep for the past goodness-knows-how-long.

As he quietly made his way through the hall, his eye lingered on the door of the spare room his brother slept in last night. The door was shut, but he could swear he heard something rustling inside. A hunch brewing in his gut, Stan knocked on the ornately carved wood.

“Hey, Ford?” he called softly. “You in here, buddy?”

As expected, no response.

He bit at his lip, considering his options: steel his nerves and face him while the wound was still fresh, or bide his time and risk destabilizing what little of a relationship he had with his brother all together. Inhaling steadily, he placed a solid hand on the door and pushed.

“Ford?”

He found the man in question huddling on his side against the couch cushions, his face hidden away and his legs curled tight to his chest. Both pairs of boots- shoplifted and his original- sat together on the floor, lined up perfectly side by side. Stan almost hated himself for letting his mind linger on such thoughts after what he’d said earlier, but... when juxtaposed by the size of the couch, Ford looked every bit of his apparent age. Slight. Defenseless. Perfectly childlike, like he were peering through a looking glass into the shadow of their glory days.

And yet there was a clear dissonance between the brother he remembered then and the person who wore his face now.

“I’m not in the mood for your excuses,” his brother muttered bitterly, burying his head further into the cushion.

“I- uh, I mean I’ll leave if ya’ really want me to,” he replied, scratching at the nape of his neck. “But just for the record, I didn’t come in here to make excuses, I came to—” Stanley swallowed his pride— “to apologize.”

At those words, his twin turned to glance at him with a dry, withering expression, mouth slackened and eyes hooded with distrust. “All right, cut to the chase. Which fey kingdom do you originate from and why did you replace my brother?”

The doubt of his sincerity sent a spike into his chest. “Come on,” he insisted, opening his hands. “It’s me, I swear.”

“The Stanley I know doesn’t apologize for anything,” Ford said bluntly, further narrowing his eyes.

Both brothers fell silent at this statement. Truthfully, Stan couldn’t argue with its accuracy. He took the occasion to drink in the sight of the brother’s face- to truly see him as he was in this moment- Ford’s seemingly youthful yet haunted gaze caught in Stan’s own. He tried to ignore the recognizable trail of dried tears that crossed his cheeks, or the lingering dampness of his eyes. They were messed up, the pair of them… old men with a lifetime of troubles to sort through and now on top of that, appearing generations apart. But Stan desperately wanted to make it up to him. His heart sank at the idea of his twin truly believing that his rare, vulnerable word- his apology- wasn’t sincere.

“Listen,” he began, slowly sinking to rest on the couch, adjacent to Ford. “The last thing I ever want ta’ do is hurt you. But I have ,” he said, voice wavering slightly. “And I hate seeing you like this, especially when- uh, w-when I know it’s ‘cause of me. I know it may not be worth nothin’ to you after everything I’ve done to ya’ over the years, but... I am sorry. You deserve better. I’ll try better.”

He took a breath, and he could swear the rainstorm outside paused alongside him within the span of that inhale. None of the oscillating emotions expressed in his brother’s features were anything he could easily recognize. The quirk of his lip or the incline of his brow possessed no meaning, for at this precise instant in time, Stanley simply couldn’t determine whether Ford intended to throw him out of the room, break into tears, or envelop him in a hug tighter than a person his size had any right of giving.

Instead, Ford sighed deeply, hunching over on the couch and cupping his cheeks into his hands. “I really appreciate that,” he said quietly. Then, his words bleeding into one another: “Of course, it’s not fair to say this was entirely your fault. I could have at least attempted to communicate my needs beforehand, o-or not have reacted so strongly, o-”

“Ford. Ford. Who’s sayin’ sorry here? Stop hijacking my apology, you nerd.”

This made his brother laugh a little, softly, but an unmistakable laugh. The sound of it touched Stan’s heart in a way he couldn’t quantify in words. Dimly, he came to the realization that this was the first laugh he’d heard out of him in over forty years. But same as the seasons changed, same as all the days Stanley’s bombastic, dramatized work persona slipped away past closing to be replaced with a long withered melancholy, so too did Ford’s brief moment of peace pass. A shadow passed over his countenance.

“I only wish I could find my place in all this,” he said in a broken whisper, pointedly avoiding eye contact.

Stan frowned, feeling the creases in his face deepen. “W- whatdya mean?”

His brother shrank into himself, pulling his knees to his chest.

“All that happened earlier only served to prove in my mind that everything’s just… wrong . It feels wrong. Changed. Put simply, I- I guess the world’s moved on without me.” Confession released to the world around him, he buried his head from sight once more, and took a deep, shaky breath to- Stan assumed- calm himself down from a cliff’s edge of emotional release.

“Oh, Sixer…” He attempted to lay a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder, but to his disappointment Ford shrugged away from the affection entirely. “Come on, there’s gotta be some way we can fix this, right?”

“There’s no way to reverse this,” he said, voice cracking with emotion. “Trust me, I’ve tried nearly everything, but I’ve still been like this for three goddamn years."

“Three years?” Stan exclaimed, face painted with a polarized mixture of horror and remorse. “And this was when you were alone in that space sci-fi dimension?? Threatened by enough danger ‘round the clock that you were forced ta’ keep a damn gun at your hip at all times?”

Ford nodded slowly, eyes meeting his for an instant before flitting away.

He pressed his face into his calloused hands, roughly rubbing at his temples. “Sweet Moses. How the hell did you stay alive?”

“Honestly? I can’t rightly say.”

The two sat in relative silence for a while after that, allowing each other’s mere presence fill the gap their lack of words left. Outside, the storm continued- rain pouring in rivulets down the glass pane of the window. At some point, Ford had let his legs back down, allowing them to lightly swing over the side of the couch. Stan sat hunched forward, leaning on his elbows. He couldn't say for certain at this point what Ford’s opinion of him was, but in all honesty he supposed this was the vital difference between the predictable, amicable brother who existed for thirty years in his daydreams and the real item. Perhaps it was better not knowing.

Whatever the thoughts the man held towards him however, he was fairly confident that hatred was not one of them.

“Stan,” the man in question said eventually, wringing his hands together. “Can I tell you something?”

Hearing his name pass through his twin’s lips, he instantly perked up. “Yeah? What's on your mind?”

“Despite what I said yesterday, despite the anger I held towards you then, I'm really, really glad you rescued me…”

As he spoke his voice faded into obscurity, masked by a crushing sense of fear that no person bearing the childlike appearance he possessed had any right of knowing. He crossed his arms tight around himself, chin sinking into the folds of the dark maroon scarf he hadn't taken off since his return home. Fledgling tears dotted the corners of his eyes. Before those could gain any traction, he blotted them away with tightened fists. Watching this, Stan froze, worried that even the slightest movement or uttered syllable might be enough to burst the emotional dam Ford evidently wanted to remain closed.

Luckily, Ford himself chose to orient the direction of their talk once more, taking the conversational anxiety off Stan’s shoulders completely.

“It comes to my attention that I haven’t been forthright with you yet,” he said, staring at the wooden floor slats- and knowing him, likely analyzing the patterns formed by the grain to keep his mind stimulated. “About- well, about how all this came to be.” He gestured broadly at himself, at his gangly twelve year old body.

“Now, I don’t wanna force ya’ to talk about somethin’ that obviously bothers yo-”

“No. No, it’s okay... I want you to know. You deserve as much.”

“You sure?” Stan confirmed.

His twin nodded resolutely, and curled up on the couch so that he was facing him, legs crossed one over the other. His eyes peered as far up as they could reach, a clear signal that he was searching through his memories, beginning to piece together his past from the scattered recollections those neurons held.

“Not to complicate the story with superfluous detail,” Ford began, nervously clasping his hands together, “the events that lead me to this point started with… well, with the desire to construct a weapon powerful enough to eradicate an enemy who was hunting me down throughout dimensions.”

“And this enemy was, what, strong enough that your normal weapons wouldn’t do the trick?”

He gave a short, staccato nod. “Correct. Essentially, to destroy them, I needed to find a way to destabilize their very molecular makeup at a quantum level. I knew how to build it, but one of the required components could only be found in a single dimension, colloquially known by its inhabitants as the ‘Do-Over’ Dimension. And yes- where you think this is going is probably right” he said, jabbing his finger at him, and Stan knew at that moment that his attempts to conceal the fledgling dread he felt was all for naught.

Ford began gesturing with his hands as needed as he continued to explain his experiences. “You see, the problem with this dimension is that their time stream was fragmented. The very nature of time was in constant flux. Here, time could move forwards or backwards in any sequence without pattern or warning. Inhabitants might experience hours, weeks, or even entire years of their lives completely over again, all while still retaining full memory of every cycle. Even visitors to this world weren’t absolved from its effects”

“And you willingly stepped into a place like this?” Stan asked his twin quietly, brow furrowed.

“I had no choice. Like I said, this dimension was the only place I could find the specific isomer of a rare element stable enough to use in my weapon. I knew the dangers of entering far in advance… and yet I went anyways.”

“So, you made a gamble.”

“Put bluntly, yes. It was a gamble against the universe that the time stream would remain relatively stable during my visit. One that, ultimately, blew up in my face. Ironically however,” Ford continued, his eyes narrowing with deep irritance, “the Do Over Dimension hadn’t experienced a Great Rewind for centuries until the one I was caught amid.”

Stanley watched as his brother limply fell backwards, meeting the rear cushion of the couch. Frustration and bitter anger painted his face when simply recalling his story; as such, Stan couldn’t begin to imagine what it must have been like to live through such a traumatic experience. Slowly- so as to not spook him with unexpected movement- he slung his arm over the couch back.

From outside, a distant roll of thunder sounded alongside the July rainstorm.

“And I was so close to completing my mission!” he growled, shaking a tight fist that likely had little half-moon indentations in his palm where his nails were. “I had the element in hand, I was only hours away from exiting the dimension… when without any warning, time slipped about fifty years into the past, and I found myself physically reverted to the size of a eight or nine year old kid. What’s scary is that despite my misfortune, I still got lucky. For any visitors to the dimension who weren’t over fifty years of age, they would have simply perished. Ceased to exist.”

“Well damn,” Stan muttered, right hand pressed to mouth and left still lightly slung around his brother’s shoulder, resting on the seat cushion.

“Damn is right. I had a hard enough time traversing the multiverse as an adult, so to add this as a hinderance?” Ford looked up, meeting his gaze. “It was hell. Most days I barely managed to get the nutrients I needed to remain healthy in this growing body. I’m sure I’ve fallen close to malnourishment more than once. Adding onto that, physically defending myself the way I used to became a near impossibility. And thanks to the constant threat of… of the interdimensional child slave trades, I feel like I can’t trust anyone in a crowd anymore.”

Fresh teardrops prickled at the corners of his eyes as he spoke, glistening in the dim lighting of the parlor. Ambient light from outside shone through the blue and green stained glass window. It cut a clear path through the shadows cast by the rest of the room, illuminating one side of each of the brother’s faces. With a soft, sympathetic sigh, Stan let his hand drop onto Ford’s shoulder. Letting him know he was there beside him as he blinked through the tears.

“I’m sorry you had ta’ go through this.”

“It’s not your fault,” Ford said with a shrug, voice thick in that way it gets when one’s deliberately trying to hold back the full brunt of their emotions. “It’s not anyone’s fault. It’s just… time, really.”

It’s not your fault, his mind echoed his words. And inwardly, he’d love to believe that were true. He’d love to delude himself that he were entirely blameless. But as much as he wanted to take Ford’s statement to heart, all he could see was the memory that had replayed in both his nightmares and in every waking moment he spent fixing the portal, flickering through his subconscious with a frightening vivacity. The force of his hands against Ford’s chest. His terrified screams, “Stanley! Stanley please,” shredding his vocal cords in unbridled desperation. The almost sickeningly blue glow of the portal swallowing his brother whole while he, in his worthless, wounded body couldn’t do anything more than gape in abject horror.

Frankly, everything that happened to the guy on the other side was his fault, far as he was concerned. But fat luck trying to convince Ford of this. Ford, whose abject blame of the universe only served as deflection from the blame he truly placed on his own actions. Stan wasn’t an idiot. He recognized what guilt spiraling looked like.

He glanced towards his twin from the corner of his eyes, and gave his shoulder a pat. “Well I’m sorry for ya’ anyway.” Another relevant thought from earlier today entered his mind then, and he turned towards him inquisitively. “Hey, so don’t feel like ya’ gotta answer this if it’s anythin’ too uncomfy, alright? But... why were you so adamant on the townsfolk not thinkin’ I was your pa, or grandpa, or whatever?”

While it was subtle, he could visibly see the muscles in Ford’s shoulders flinch at the movement of their conversation to this topic.

“Okay, we uh, w-we can talk about something else then,” he said hastily, pulling his arm back to allow him some space. Or perhaps it was time to leave him alone entirely. “Guess I shouldn’t ‘ave brought it u-”

“It’s because you’re my last connection to the past,” Ford blurted out suddenly. “Of who I really am. I don’t- I didn’t want that perverted by having to spend every day in public living a lie. Not now. Not when I’m like this,” he said, gesturing broadly down at himself.

Stan frowned at the unclear wording in his statement. “What do you mean, ‘perverted?’”

He stared down at his six fingers, wringing them together. “Well, I uh- sometimes, these past three years… I often found myself in a place where it felt like my memory almost- I guess, like my mind wanted to forget. Over time, it became hard to remember that I’d ever had any other childhood. And now,” he said more quietly, looking for all the world as if he wanted to slip through the floorboards and away to his basement, “faced with the reality of having to grow up all over again, I- that still scares me.”

Stan nodded slowly, thinking he understood the scenario from his perspective a little more. He placed his hands firmly on either side of his twin’s shoulders, looking at him earnestly.

“Ford, no matter what we tell those townsfolk, you’re my brother. First off. You better believe I’ll remind ya’ every day for the rest of my life, if I have to. And that’s never gonna change, y’hear? It doesn’t matter to me if ya’ look like a kid, ‘cause far as I’m concerned, you’re still you. Still as nerdy and annoying of a twin bro as I remember, anyways! Hah!” he exclaimed, and gave Ford’s head a noogie, fist ruffling through his untamed brown locks.

His brother let out a giggle, pushing his hands away in protest, and for the first time the smile on his lips truly reached his eyes.

“But hey,” Stan continued, expression growing genuine again. “From now on, whatever explanation we give ta’ other people about ‘who you are?’ We’ll figure that out on your terms. I won’t force ya’ to behave a certain way in public or in private because of some perceived ‘relation.’ That fair?”

“Yeah.” Ford nodded slowly. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Good. You… d’ya want a hug?”

He held his arms open. To his delight Ford accepted the offer of affection without hesitation. He wrapped his smaller arms as tight around his middle as possible, and buried his face into his shoulder.

“Stanley?” he whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Beyond the walls of the Shack, the rain stopped.

#my writing stuff #gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #stan and ford #gravity falls fanfiction #smaller than he seems au #THERE we go #there's the tumblr text version #its by habit that i always like posting it in full text form here too

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swankymikehanlon-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Sanity (Stanlon)

Mike Hanlon was drunk. He was borderline wasted. It didn’t help that bottles kept piling on the ground around him and more were being presented to his face. He felt the music vibrate through his alcohol infused chest. The strobe lights above him blinded him with bright blues, reds, yellows and greens.

He was at another high school party thrown by some popular person he had apparently known. Some of his classmates were moving blobs to him and that’s when he felt the rumble of his gut. He was used to the feeling. So he made his usual route to the bathroom of the party. And threw up for the third time tonight.

Stan Uris was bored to utter death. He didn’t drink from the red solo cup that was in his hand. The unknown liquid swirling in his cup. He leaned up against one of the many walls of the house as people danced and basically grinned against each other. He wasn’t here for himself. He never was. He was watching Mike. His ex. Just to make sure he didn’t die of alcohol poisoning. And not because he was in love with him. Totally not because of that.

Stan smiled at Richie and Eddie, two of his closest friends, make out against the door of the upstairs bathroom. He looked back to his cup and scrunched his face. As some random person came walking down the hall he handed the cup to them and they gladly accepted. Stan watched the random stranger walk off with amusement and let his had fall against the wall, eyes closed.

Mike looked in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot red. Maybe because of drinking so much. And the hangovers. Or maybe it’s due to the fact that he doesn’t sleep. And his finger always hesitates over Stan’s number precisely at 3:00 a.m.

He turned on the faucet and let the water run over his right hand for little bit. He played with the temperature of the water before splashing some of it on his face. Just then two boys, faces fused together by the lips, came stumbling in, not realizing Mike stood there, water still dripping from his face.

“Oh Shit, We’re sor-oh hey Mike!” Richie adjusted himself as Eddie showed a look of shock on his face. Mike sighed and just smiled at the two.

“Hi Mike. We h-we haven’t seen you in forever.” Eddie crossed his arms over one another, trying to diffuse the awkward situation at hand. After Stan and Mike broke up, well, so did his bond with everyone else. Mike still ‘talked’ to everyone. But he wouldn’t hang around. Because hanging out with everyone else, meant hanging out with Stan.

“Hey.” Eddie’s arm-crossover didn’t help. The awkward tension remained in the air. But the sexual tension between Richie and Eddie was far too dominant for Mike Hanlon to handle.

“It’s good to see you guys, um, bye now.” Mike hurried out of the bathroom, closing it behind him. He was now less drunk than before. And the early signs of a bad hangover assaulted his head. He walked down the crowded hallway, deciding to take another person’s drink and chugging it in one go.

“I’m sorry, I-” Mike ran into someone and grabbed their elbow, to keep them from falling. But the material in his hand felt oddly familiar. It was rough, holes of fabric cut out in some places. He realized it was a denim jacket. His denim Jacket?

“Mike?” He couldn’t lift up his head. He refused too. He just began to walk down the stairs, eye sight getting blurry. It wasn’t because of the drinking this time. It was because of Stan, who still wore the Denim Jacket that Mike gave to him on their anniversary.

Mike didn’t waste another second standing in the presence of Stan and started walking down the stairs.

“Wait, Mike, wait.” Halfway down the stairs, Stan caught Mike’s shoulder and stopped him. He found the courage to look into those eyes that he used to love.

“Let me drive you home. You’re still drunk.” Stan said as he began to walk to the bottom of the stairs. Mike agreed, only because he wasn’t willing to drive drunk. They reached outside and felt the cold air of November nip their cheeks and noses. Stan had stopped at the porch and waited for Mike to join him. Mike didn’t wait, and continued walking to the car that held so many memories.

They reached the car, bumper still covered in Richie’s questionable yellow smiley face stickers. The dent from a near car crash(Eddie accidentally ran into them when they tried to have a double date) remained in the left back seat door. Stan managed to get in front of Mike before he could open the passenger door and opened it for him.

Mike just stared at the door, hands sweaty with dread. He looked once more to Stan who was already staring at him with a half,sad, smile and a curl blocking his left eye. Mike’s knees almost buckled at the sight. He almost wanted to move the curl out of his face an kiss him right on the spot. But he restrained himself and shuffled into the car.

The smell of pine needles filled Mikes nose and memories of late night rides and shy kisses came flooding into his head. ‘M + S’ was still carved into the headboard of Stan’s car. He remembered that day like yesterday. They had just started dating. They were still shy. But on one of their many first dates they had decided to carve their first name initial into Stan’s headboard to signify an everlasting relationship.

A bunch of bullshit.

Stan got to the outside of Mike’s house, the lights had been turned off meaning everyone was already sleeping. The drive only took ten minutes but Mike felt like it took forever and a year. His head rolled on the headrest with exhaustion and slight dizziness.

“So, this is how you cope?”

Mike stopped. Everything in his bodily system managed to stop functioning. The small drunk haze seemed to enhance and all he could do was laugh.

“Of course this is how I fucking cope. I drink my sorrows away.” Mike waved his hand to nothing in particular. Stan just stared at him, hands still braced on the wheel.

“I fuck other people. I fuck so many people, I don’t-I don’t even know who I-I...am anymore.” Mike began to slur his words. The nights intake of liquid started to get to him.

“But. How...how, how do you cope Stan?” Mike pointed to Stan directly in his chest. He watched his finger prick the cotton of his shirt and looked up Stan who’s eyes seemed to get wetter by the moment.

“Let me tell you. You watch me stumble on the edge of my. Fucking. Sanity.” Mike pulled back his hand and pointed to his head. A tear rolled down his cheek and Stan’s heart broke even more.

“That’s how you cope. So before you question my way of coping, Stan. Question. Yours.” His voice cracked at the last part and he coughed, trying to disguise it.

“Mike, you’re scaring me.” Stan’s delicate voice ricocheted through his throat. Mike just started laughing. Like an insane man. The laughs seemed forced, and they were, anything to keep him from crying.

“Ha! Oh that’s...that’s really fucking funny. You-You wanna, uh, know something. That’s...the exact same-that’s the exact same thing I said the night you broke my heart.” Mike continued laughing and Stan looked at him with wet eyes. Mike looked like a mess. Clothes wrinkled, stains here and there, hands covering his face. Stan did know. He remembered.

Oh how he remembered.

“Hi babe!” Mike opened the door to his boyfriend, who wore a sly fake smile. Stan walked in the room, hands knotted together, and his brows flurried in frustration. Mike hadn’t taken notice of Stan’s state and hugged him from behind.

“What movie do you want to watch tonight?” Mike had led Stan to his bed and was about to drop both of them on it when Stan gently pulled away.

“I don’t think there’s going to be a movie tonight.” Stan had completely stepped out of Mike’s embrace with reluctancy. Mike’s smile had faltered a little bit and he clasped his hands behind his back. Something he tended to do when he got nervous or serious.

“Oh, uh, do you have to go somewhere later?” Mike asked Stan and waited for a response. When the response never came he noticed the guilty expression plastered on Stan’s face.

“Stan, you’re scaring me, what’s wrong.” Mike went to touch Stan again but he flinched and all Mike felt was a sudden rush of despair. Stan was crying, sniffles erupting from his nose and Mike just stood still.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” Those words. Those word had broke Mike that night. Ruined him. He yelled that night. He was yelled at. Some things were said that would never be forgotten.

And Mike said ‘I love you’ for the first time. He was answered by the closing of his bedroom door.

“Well. Thanks for the ride buddy, I’ll see you around.” Mike got out of the car, feet planted on the concrete and hands holding onto the car door. He was swaying when he started to walk to his house but then he felt an arm wrap around his waist. Stan helped him to his front door and up to his room.

The door, still decorated in 90′s r&b artist and golden star lights brought a smile to Stan’s face. When he opened the door, Mike’s room look the same. Bed tucked neatly into the corner and a old, vintage, desk right beside it. The curtains were closed and school work was piled neatly on the ground next to his backpack.

“I fucking hate you.” Mike repeated as Stan helped him into his bed. He took off his shoes and placed them to the edge of the bed. Stan stood above Mike as he rolled over, facing the wall on purpose.

“I’m sorry.” Stan’s voice was soft. Fragile. Like Mike’s heart was. Before it was ripped out of his chest.

“I love you. I always will. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that before.” Stan stroked the back of Mike’s head with adoration. Mike felt the tears rush down his face but he didn’t want Stan to see. So when the door to his bedroom closed, he got a severe case of Deja Vu. And a severe case of heart break. All. Over. Again.

Okay jesus, this was bad and short, and simple, Damn I can do better, I promise. But hey I wrote a Stanlon fic and I’m pretty fucking proud of myself. I have so many Mike Hanlon x all the losers characters stuff in my drafts lmaooo. Mike H. just deserves so much love. Also the characters in this story are aged up like around 16? 17? Just because I implied some slightly heavy make-out Reddie vibes, but that’s it. (I also didn’t really edit this so some things might not make sense, but I’m trying sksksk)

#mike hanlon #stan uris #stanley uris #stanlon #stike #stan x mike #richie tozier #eddie kasparak #it 2017

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clown-bait · 7 years ago

Text

29 Neibolt ST (Monster Roommate AU) CH 15

OH BOY time to update! So we last left off Pennywise accidentally said “I love you” and Leech ate someone all by herself. She’s a big girl now! This chapter is action packed and has some fun horror in it!

CHAPTER 15

Whoops

“So um you want to-”

“It just. It slipped out ok”

“Pen”

Suddenly he was gone and Leech fell back against the cold sewer wall. “Could you at least get me some clothes?!” she called out. “Asshole.”

The vampire stood up on shaky legs shivering a bit in the sewer air. She felt pretty weak deciding to quickly eat some of her leftovers before putting her wig back on and attempting to warm herself in the remains of her dress.

“Penny if you’re listening send me a jacket and some pants or something, I’m freezing my ass off here.” still no response “…..Pennywise?”

Leech sighed tying the remains of her dress around her waist before huddling into a tight ball for warmth. Pennywise was watching her from the shadows of his sewer unsure if he should answer her. He was too embarrassed to talk about this but he felt a strong urge to protect his mate from the biting cold. Leech heard a soft jingle and looked up to see her jacket laying halfway in a puddle of blood on the ground.

“REALLY??” Leech yelled. She was pissed at him now, demonic inter-dimensional entity be damned she deserved better than this.

“L-LUCY?!!” came a scream from down the sewer tunnel.

Shit.

“LUCY IS THAT YOU? OH GOD YOU’RE ALIVE!”

“You fucking idiot, you didn’t even take care of the other human?”she hissed knowing the clown was listening.

Maddie came in from around the corner and let out a primal scream of horror and disgust. Leech’s arms and face were stained red with blood and her exposed skin had a collection of various hickeys, scratches and bite marks. Behind her were the gory remains of her midnight snack. Maddie sobbed and cried over her deceased friend she was shaking uncontrollably. The appropriate thing to do would be to finish her off but Leech stood tall and glared at the darkest part of the tunnel where she knew he was watching from. Oh you’re going to come talk to me fucko. She walked over to Maddie pulling her up. “Come on we need to get out of here” she said cooly still staring angrily at the darkness. Two faint yellow eyes lit up at her glaring back in warning. “T-they’re d-d-dead. Both of t-them”

“Yeah and you will be too if you don’t start moving honey.” Leech knew this was making Pennywise furious. She was helping his meal escape and he could either come out and stop her or pout in the darkness.

Pennywise growled and bared his fangs eyes red rimmed and burning. That stupid bloodsucker. Stupid, stupid, STUPID!! She was going to get herself in deep trouble possibly killed for letting a human get away. Monsters don’t take kindly to traitors. He had to stop her, he- cared- too much now. Stupid emotion. Stupid Leech. Pennywise then got an idea, his evil smile widened as he watched her. If a hunt is what his precious mate wanted then a hunt is what she will get. He’ll teach her a lesson and keep her safe, give the leech a reminder of who she was dealing with.

———

Leech led Maddie to the Well house exit. It was deeper in and it gave Penny more time to react to her act of rebellion. She wanted the clown to feel as frustrated as she was. The deeper she went the more she felt him near she knew he was stalking them at this point. “whu-what happened to you L-Lucy” Maddie finally stuttered out.

“the monster clown and I had a little…… incident” Leech sneered bitterly.

“And H-H-Harry? How did he?”

Leech felt a little bad about Harry, he was only trying to help despite being annoying as hell. And the way she killed him….. Overkill was a bit of an understatement.

“Monster ate him.” at this point Leech wanted this human to shut up already so she wouldn’t have to think about this any more.

“T-the c-c-clown got Dan. H-he had just p-proposed…Oh god D-Dan I l-love you so much….” Maddie started to sob again. Leech rolled her eyes in annoyance.

“At least someone is willing to fucking admit it.” she whispered under her breath

“W-what?”

“Nothing Maddie, just keep crying.”

“Leech” came a whisper from deep in the tunnel ahead.

“There you fucking are” Leech muttered snapping her ears forward.

“Joooiinnn us Leech just like they did!”

“Get your ruffled ass out here right now Penny.”

“P-penny? You’re still looking for her?!” Maddie tugged on Leech’s sleeve.

“Yeah were having a bit of a lovers tiff right now.” Leech sneered not caring about her lie any more.

“L-lovers?”

“You’ll get an explanation eventually.”

“We have them, the ones you slew. They trusted you Leech and you led them to their death. We have them now and soon well have yooouuu.”

“I’m not in the mood Penny.”

“You’re looking for him aren’t you? Would you like to see him? We’ll take him too. He’s weak now weak because of you.”

“H-him? I thought Penny was a girl?” Maddie asked

“Yeah Maddie, nows not the time to be questioning my shitty story.”

Two figures wandered out from the dark they were shambling and stumbling like classic zombies.

“Seriously? This is the best you can do right now?”

The corpses came into view they were both dan and harry but put back together in a grotesque way. Their eyes were white and their skin was decayed Harry had a giant hole through the middle of him and a few missing appendages. The vampire didn’t leave much to put back together.

“JOIN US GIRLS AND WE’LL SWALLOW YOUR SOULS!” The deadites screamed. Maddie wailed loudly trying to wrench her arm from Leech’s vice grip. The vampire held her ground not wanting the clown to get the better of her.

“You’re really going to try to use my guilt? This is fucking low Penny.”

“HOW ARE YOU NOT TERRIFIED.” shrieked the human.

“The thing were dealing with uses illusions to scare you. This isn’t real.”

Harry smiled and ran at the two girls. He had a piece of rebar in his remaining hand and swung Maddie pulled Leech out of the way as the metal splashed into the water where the vampire was once standing.

“What the fuck Penny you could have killed me!!” Leech shouted. The deadite swung again this time landing a hit hard into her ribs. Leech sputtered on the ground coughing up blood. Shit this isn’t Penny.

“WE NEED TO RUN NOW” she yelled at the human who was being backed into a wall by her dead chewed on fiancé. Leech pulled out a clawed hand and slashed the corpses throat so deep the head flopped backwards staring at her and laughing.

“What’s so funny? You’re the one without a head bitch.” She spat. Suddenly, the vampire felt shooting pain in her torso she looked down at the shard of glass poking out of her stomach that Harry had reached around and stabbed her with. Shit it was in there deep. She coughed up more blood. Fuck we need to get out of here. She quickly grabbed Maddie with her clawed hand holding her bleeding and broken torso and began to sprint. The deadites laughed in the dark “SEE YOU SOON BLOODSUCKER!” they cackled.

Tears stung the vampires face as she dragged the human with her. She had to find Pennywise, if she died without being condemned she would not rise back up from the grave. Leech turned a corner finding a single red balloon floating in the center. “THANK GOD” she thought to herself. She’d rather deal with the devil she knew and loved than whatever the fuck that was back there. The balloon popped, blood splattering the both of them causing Maddie to shriek. Out of the dark a giant spider like horror charged at them howling a terrible noise. Maddie was screaming and crying while Leech simply fell onto her knees panting and coughing, giving up completely as the monster opened its jaws and roared into her face. “I smell your fear Leech!!” it said in a horrific demonic voice thinking that it had won this little game.

The vampire looked deep into the creatures many eyes the human behind her watched in disbelief this girl knew this monster, she knew it very well.

“Help me.”was all she said. Leech finally allowed herself to silently cry removing her hand from the shard still wedged in her gut. The spider froze when it saw the injury he quickly transformed charged forward. He took it too far, he hurt her somehow, he’s killed her. Pennywise’s mind was racing as he grabbed the vampire in his arms.

“Y-YOURE THE CLOWN AND AND YOU! YOURE FRIENDS WITH IT???” Pennywise snapped his head up at the human and roared at her to shut up. He gently reached out to Leech tipping her chin up so he could look at her “…..did I?”

“No” she said weakly “you need to help me get it out though.”

Maddie suddenly put two and two together. “HES….HES PENNY? YOU BITCH YOU TRICKED US YOU’RE NOT EVEN HUMAN”

Leech winced in pain. “give the fucking girl a prize.” she groaned turning back to Pennywise. “know anything about treating injuries?”

The clown shook his head before kissing hers gently.

“I’m sorry” he said feeling guilty over letting this happen.

“Still mad at you for earlier, but you can make it up to me if I survive.” Leech managed to smile.

“WAIT ARE YOU FUCKING THE EVIL CLOWN??” Maddie interrupted.

They both looked over at the human this time, unamused and blushing “Human if you don’t shut up in the next five seconds so help me I will-“

Leech paused mid sentence letting out a gasp in terror when the two deadites rounded the corner. “Shit!”

Pennywise growled furiously in their direction. “YOU!” He roared. How dare they think they could invade his domain and try to kill his girl. These lesser demons are going to pay, they’re going to pay dearly.

“Human. Get her to the door just down the way.”

“WHY THE FUCK SHOULD I HELP EITHER OF YOU MONSTERS.” screamed Maddie who was trying to stand.

“If she dies not only will I rip the skin from your body inch by inch, but every human in the entire town above us will suffer. You will condemn hundreds of innocents to the most painful deaths imaginable.” Pennywise stood up protectively growling at the approaching deadites.

“…aww Pen *cough* you do love me” Leech wheezed.

“Your ribs are broken stop talking.”

“You big softie”

“Leech!” the clown glared at her and she tried to laugh back causing her to whimper and cough from the pain.

“Go. Now.”

———-

Maddie slammed the door behind them turning to the vampire now who was trying to remove the glass from her body.

“EXPLAIN RIGHT NOW.” the human screamed.

“There is a giant ass piece of glass in my stomach. Can I at least pull this shit out first.”

“YOU KILLED THEM YOU AND THAT THING!! HOW COULD YOU!!!”

“Look you loved your fiancé right?”

“YES AND NOW HES DEAD THANKS TO YOU”

“I really don’t have time to deal with this right now…… but that clown out there is all I got in this world. He’s an asshole, he drives me insane 90% of the time, he eats the flesh of mostly children and then gets his leftovers all over my clean bed sheets. But you know what? You know fucking what? I just might be madly in love with that awful creature. Thats right I said it. I love the flesh eating clown! Are you happy now?! I finally fucking admitted it! He fucking needed me and I did what I had to do. Those demons out there are ten times worse than Penny and I and I’m pretty sure my clown needs my help right now. If you want humanity to survive you’re going to have to fight fire with fire here or this whole town is fucked. So will you kindly shut the fuck up and help me get this glass out of my stomach so I can go out there and help get us out of this shitty situation.”

The human and the vampire looked at each other, both waiting for someone to make a move.

“How are you even going to be of any help?” Maddie finally said.

“Oh right that detail. See I didn’t want to tell you because well, you’re not going to like this…. I need your blood sweetheart. All of it.”

“M-my what?”

Leech yanked the glass from her stomach her own blood pouring from the wound. She shrieked an inhuman sound and looked up at the girl panting.

“W-what the hell are you?!” Maddie screamed.

Leech rose to her feet inhaling deeply a deranged grin grew on her face as she fully embraced what she was.

“I’m a fucking monster”

—————

Penny crashed into the grey murky sewer water the two deadites proving to be a bit more of a handful than he thought. He was an ambush predator one on one was more his thing. Just as he thought he was being forced to retreat the door he’d been protecting smashed open smacking him hard on the head.

Maddie screamed sprinting out of the room as claws clacked against the ground hot on her trail “WHERE DO YOU THINK YOURE GOING MY DELICIOUS TREAT COME BACK HERE LEECHIE NEEDS ANOTHER TASTE.”

The vampire exploded out the door after the human smacking Penny in the face again. She was still badly injured but hungry, running on pure adrenaline. She grabbed the girl by the head pulling her back.

“LEECH!” the clown roared

Leech turned around and smiled all teeth and large moonlit eyes. “not the fucking time for this!” Pennywise demanded backing up to her as the deadites approached. Leech obeyed tossing Maddie to the side. “Pen I’m still weak just let me finish draining her.”

“We both are” the clown growled

At that moment Leech screamed again, this time something had ripped into her leg. Maddie rose from the grey water as one of the deadites. “WHY AM I EVERYONE’S FUCKING PUNCHING BAG TODAY” Leech roared in pain and frustration. Penny scooped her up noticing the angry gash in her leg. He will be back for these lesser demons, their screams will echo through every drain in town.

—————

Penny carried Leech up the stairs of the basement at the Neibolt house. The adrenaline was wearing off and everything was starting to hurt. They both looked like hell rips and tears everywhere, starving and worst of all angry.

The gang was all in the living room discussing something when they walked in everyone fell silent at the sight of them. Freddy was the first to speak up.

“WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU GUYS BEEN”

—————-

Leechie keeps getting the shit kicked out of her I feel bad lol. But we finally got some deadites being deadites so thats fun. Stay tuned for more shenanigans friends this rides far from over!

#pennywise #pennywise the dancing clown #pennywise fanfiction #pennywise x oc #pennywise x reader #it fanfiction #monster roommate au

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