#moments before he sticks the tip into your shoulder socket and pries it off | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mowulf · 4 years

Text

How to Train Your Downer CH2

Previous | Next

TRIGGER WARNING! Near the end of the chapter, Arthur gets a pretty hefty beating. The actions described may be triggering, but I'm more worried about the fact that Dr Green says some things that I know can be triggering for anyone who's gone through heavy abuse. It starts when he says, "Why can't you behave?" and goes through to the end of the chapter. Also, swearing.

If you feel there is a warning that I'm missing, PLEASE tell me! I want to make sure that no one is caught off guard by anything!

Arthur woke up to strong hands hauling him upright. It was the worst possible way to wake up and Arthur yelped as pain shot through every bruise and broken bone in his body. He jerked himself forward, which seemed to catch the hands off guard because they let go and he slammed his head into something hard which pulled away with a sharp, “Aaah FUCK!”

“Language!” another voice snapped.

“He headbutted me!”

There was a laugh from behind and Arthur growled as he was grabbed again and pulled back. “Pretty impressive if you ask me.” Was that… admiration? Or were they just impressed?

“Well I’m not asking.” There was a huff before the man in front leaned close enough that Arthur was able to recognize him as the doctor from the previous night. “Now look here,” doctor Green said, grabbing Arthur’s chin in a tight grip, “you’re going to relax and let us take care of you and that will be that.”

“You’re living with us now,” the constable - they were far too tall to be anyone else - said cheerfully, “so don’t bother complaining about it. Besides, the sooner you let it happen, the faster you’ll heal up and the sooner the good doctor can start working with you.”

Arthur didn’t even bother thinking the offer over. He spat on the doctor’s face and snarled, “Make me!”

The look he got was thoroughly unimpressed. The doctor gave Arthur’s head a hard shake and then let go. “Make sure you hold him securely, Davies,” he said as he grabbed the medicine bottle off the bedside table. Arthur blinked in surprise. When had that gotten there? He didn’t get to think about for long, though. The constable pulled him closer and wrapped one hand around his chest while the other tilted his head back and pried his mouth open.

Oh no. No no, not this again. No way was Arthur letting that sludge back in his mouth. He didn’t care how much he hurt, he would rather take the pain than taste that hellish concoction again! He squirmed, kicked, yelled, and tried desperately to close his mouth until he’d thoroughly chewed up the insides of his cheeks. Davies clicked his tongue to catch the doctor’s attention, who turned around, gave Arthur a quick once-over, and shook his head.

“Honestly, Arthur,” he set the bottle down and placed a hand on Arthur’s knee. Perhaps it was supposed to be comforting but Arthur only shuddered and pressed himself as far back into the constable as he could as the doctor leaned in close.

The spoon didn’t scrape against his teeth this time, but Davies didn’t close his mouth in time, either. The hand clamped over his mouth just in time for Arthur to spit, resulting in a slimy coating between his face and the officer’s hand and an exasperated “Oh good lord!”

As soon as the bobby pulled away, Arthur let out a triumphant laugh and immediately regretted his decision when the spoon was jammed back into his mouth. Only this time the doctor didn’t pull it out, but pushed further and dumped. It was far enough back that Arthur choked and swallowed without thinking and the doctor smirked.

“There we go. Much better than last time,” The doctor said cheerfully as he set the bottle and spoon to the side. He gave Arthur a friendly pat on the cheek and then set about cleaning up the mess. Arthur snapped at the doctor’s fingers only to have his head grabbed forcefully and given another hard shake. “Bad! We do not bite!” Arthur snarled but was unable to move until the doctor finished wiping his face and finally let go.

Once finished, the officer took some time to get Arthur carefully settled back on the bed while the doctor rubbed his face. “He’s fine, Davies. Give him some space before he takes your fingers off. Maybe he won’t fight back as hard tomorrow.”

Arthur growled at them until he heard the door shut. Only when he was absolutely certain that they weren’t immediately coming back did he finally relax into the bed and close his eyes. The medicine was drugged to make him sleep, he was certain. Still, better to sleep with the knowledge that he wasn’t in any immediate danger.

---ᕕ( ᐕ )ᕗ---

Keeping Arthur perpetually drugged was a fantastic idea on paper. In practice it was… Hm. Medicating him during the day was easy. He was already drugged out of his mind and too tired or medically high to do much beyond ramble at the two men. Mornings, however, were a fight from start to finish. Arthur had gotten very clever as spitting and biting and already constable Davies was beginning to collect a rather impressive collection of bite scars on his hands. Even so, neither men were willing to stay up all night to make sure that the medication never wore off.

Worse still, Arthur was beginning to have unpleasant side effects. Every dose came with an ever increasing risk of him throwing up, and the doctor found himself spending more and more time making sure that Arthur was still breathing. He’d developed a nasty habit of rolling onto his stomach and almost smothering himself in his pillow, whenever he didn’t just stop breathing spontaneously.

A month and a half and both men were thoroughly done with having to keep 24/7 watch.

“I think it’s time we cut back,” Davies said.

“What?”

“Arthur.” He opened the fridge, considered, and then closed it again and instead sat at the table. “This isn’t working and I vaguely remember Verloc saying he wanted Arthur alive. You know, breathing and such.”

The doctor nodded with a sigh. “How long until he starts fighting again? A week?”

“I give it three days.”

It did not take three days, or even a week. It took three weeks of twice a day dosings before Arthur finally started fighting back properly again.

This particular morning was no different. Arthur spat and screamed while Constable Davies tried to hold him still and Doctor Green did his best to get Arthur to actually swallow for a change instead of making a mess over himself and the bed. In a fit of frustration, Green had stormed out of the room and returned with a syringe without a needle.

“Since you insist on being difficult, let’s try something different,” he snapped. Arthur yelped as as the syringe was jammed into his mouth and he bit down hard. “Don’t bother,” the doctor said, his frustration already beginning to ease off. Now that Arthur had something else to chew on, he didn’t have to worry as much about risking his own fingers to get the job done. “Now, let’s just get this over with-”

Green didn’t get to finish. Arthur gave a sharp jerk of his head and snapped his jaws open and shut. There was a sharp crack and suddenly Arthur was yelling in surprise as he spat out a mixture of medicine, glass, and blood.

Green was stunned. The glass of the syringe was thick. It took effort and determination to break one of those and he’d never run across someone who could consciously break one. Then again, this was Arthur, rather famous among the doctors for his willingness to do anything necessary to escape.

Even so…

“Oh for the love of- Davies, hold his mouth open!” The doctor jerked a pair of long-nose pliers out of his jacket pocket and silently praised himself for accidentally sticking them there. A part of him felt bad for Arthur, who now clawed desperately at the bobby’s hands which held his mouth open uncomfortably wide. The rest of him was beyond done with the whole mess.

Thankfully, there wasn’t much left to pick out. A few pieces of glass had managed to lodge themselves into Arthur��s gums and Green took pleasure in each yelp and whimper as he jerked them out. Once he finished, he pushed himself up and sighed. “You really aren’t going to behave, are you?”

Davies’ brows shot up at the doctor’s tone and even Arthur stilled in confusion. “Sir?”

The doctor shut him down with a quick wave of his hand and said, “Shouldn’t you be leaving for patrol? Wouldn’t want to be late. Again.”

Davies considered for a moment before nodding and letting Arthur go. “Well, if you’ve got everything under control-”

“I always do.”

“-Then I suppose there’s nothing more for me to do here.” He tipped his head as he stood up and left the room.

The doctor waited until he heard the front door shut before he rounded on Arthur with a snarl. “Why can’t you behave?” He roared, grabbing Arthur’s shirt and yanking him forward. Arthur yelped in protest and was about to retort when the doctor shoved him on to his back. “All you had to do,” the doctor continued, Grabbing Arthur’s hips and digging his fingers into the joints as hard as he could, “was listen to me!”

Arthur howled as white spots danced across his vision. He’d forgotten just how bad his hip hurt and having someone actively trying to hurt him only made the pain worse. As the doctor refused to let up, he twisted sharply to free himself and flopped onto his stomach with a wheeze. He didn’t get a chance to recover as the doctor yanked him back and climbed into the bed.

“You brought this on yourself!” The doctor spat, grabbing Arthur’s left arm and pulling it back sharply. Arthur shrieked as his shoulder threatened to pop out of its socket again and did his best to angle his shoulders to ease the pain. The doctor only followed the motion with a snarl. After a moment of twisting, he finally eased Arthur’s arm back to the bed.

Arthur gasped into the mattress as the pressure from his arm finally let up. Once the doctor let go, he started to crawl forward only to have his hair yanked back. Green leaned down and asked, “Are you ready to behave?”

He really should have agreed. Instead, the adrenaline rush and panic mixed together in a seething mess of fear and rage and Arthur spat, “Make me!” He recognized his mistake the second the words left his mouth, but it didn’t really sink in until the doctor sat back with a deep sigh.

“If you insist.”

Arthur squeaked in fear as his left arm was grabbed again and lifted slowly. His shoulder protested as it rotated and he couldn’t decide which was worse: having his arm yanked back and up suddenly or twisted slowly so that he could feel the pain growing with each second. Just when the pain was getting bad enough to make him whimper, the doctor stopped twisting and leaned down.

“You were assigned to me. Do you know what that means?” Arthur angled his head to look as far over his shoulder as he could and gave a small shake. “It means…” There was a sharp twist and Arthur shrieked as his shoulder popped, “I can do whatever I want provided you don’t actually die.” Green let go and watched passively as Arthur’s arm flopped onto the bed. For a moment he listened to Arthur scream before he finally slid off the bed with a sigh.

“Shut.” He flipped Arthur over easily and yanked him down until hips were only barely on the bed. “Up.” He pressed his right hand over Arthur’s mouth to muffle the noise. Arthur didn’t stop, but the noise level was bearable now. “You’re in my house now. When I say ‘jump’ you say ‘how high’.” Arthur shook his head and clawed at the hand that blocked his airways. “And when I tell you take your medicine, you take you’re goddamn medicine.” He emphasized each word with a hard shake before he finally pulled his hand away.

Arthur gasped and wheezed for a moment before he started to squirm away. Once again, he didn’t get far before the doctor pulled back and slammed a fist down on Arthur’s chest. He exhaled sharply at the contact only to have the doctor grab his throat and press, preventing him from inhaling.

For a moment he was too stunned to do anything. Was this really happening? Was this how he died? No! He wasn’t ready to go yet! He gurgled and clawed desperately at the doctor’s sleeves as his feet sought traction against anything. Suddenly, the doctor let go and he inhaled as hard as he could, triggering a coughing fit.

“Let’s try this again,” the doctor said calmly as he tilted Arthur chin down to make eye contact. “Are you ready to behave?” Arthur did his best to nod in the iron grip and the doctor smiled. “There we go, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I knew you’d come around.” He patted Arthur on the cheek before he stepped away and left the room.

Arthur slid down to the floor and leaned against the bed until the door clicked shut. Safe at last, he leaned over until gravity took over and he fell onto the carpet. He had to move slowly and stop repeatedly to catch his breath, but he managed to worm his way under the bed. With a small sob, he curled into a protective ball. He cradled his dislocated arm against his chest while his right muffled his sobs for fear that the doctor might hear and come back angrier than before.

He couldn’t breathe, everything hurt, and the new pain stacked onto the old with nothing to even dilute it. All in all, Arthur decided that this ranked as, quite possibly, the worst day of his life. Even worse, there was no telling when the doctor would decide to come back and finish the job. With that thought, he sobbed and wheezed until the adrenaline crash pulled him into a fitful sleep.

#we happy few #whf #fanfiction #how to train your downer #arthur hastings #arthur #bobby #joy doctor #purely self indulgent #trigger warning

12 notes · View notes

dr-gloom · 5 years

Text

The Makings of Greatness: Chapter 13

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairing: platonic logince, platonic moxiety, platonic anxeit, familial ThVi

Tags/Warnings (for this chapter): pattons so cute lol, injury, conspiring, suspense, attempted murder, death mention

Ko-fi

AO3

Masterlist

Prologue Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9 Ch 10 Ch 11 Ch 12 Ch 13 Ch 14 Ch 15 Ch 16 Ch 17

Virgil doesn’t exactly know what’s going on with Roman, but it doesn’t look good. As the sun sets and night crawls in, turning their environment an inky black, Logan and Virgil sit by Roman’s side, Patton sitting at the entrance to play lookout in case the “carbon-based lifeforms” fall asleep. Logan hasn’t left Roman’s side once since he brought him inside their hideaway, and Virgil finds it strange.

Well, he thinks to himself, death brings people closer.

He shakes his head. He can’t think like that, not when they still had to stop the pirates and get off the planet. For all he knew Roman wasn’t even mortally injured.

“Gentleman,” Roman’s voice pulls Virgil from his thoughts and he looks down at the captain, who’s starting to look a little pale. “We must… stay together and… and…” Roman grimaces in pain and closes his eyes, apparently having used what little energy he had as he relaxes back against the hatch.

Logan leans over Roman worriedly. “Captain, please open your eyes. I implore you to finish your sentence. What must we do? Captain?”

Virgil thinks this is the most emotional he’s ever seen Logan. He wonders if Logan has ever seen anyone die.

Roman opens his eyes with a smile. “Doctor, you have… wonderful eyes.”

Logan sits back, running a hand through his hair. “He’s delirious.”

“You gotta help him.” Virgil pleads. He knows it’s stupid, but he feels like this is his fault. If he hadn’t helped that stupid salamander, Roman would be fine and Emile would be alive.

Stop it, that’s not helping.

Logan gives a frustrated sigh. “I’m an astronomer, not a doctor. Well, I am a doctor, but not… that kind of doctor. I have a doctorate, it’s not the same thing. I’m… useless.”

Virgil frowns and puts a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “It’s… it’s okay, Logan. Just… It’s alright.” He steps away from Logan and turns to walk away as Patton rushes over to placate the stressed astrophysicist.

“Yeah, Doc! Virge knows just what to do to get us out of this mess! It’s just- like- Virge just knows things…” He walks backwards over to Virgil, grinning at Logan as he leans in and whispers, “Any ideas?”

Virgil looks out over the planet, his eyes wandering up into the sky and spotting the I.M.G. Nation. “If we don’t get the map, we’re dead.” His eyes drop back to the scenery outside, spotting the small fire where the pirates are no doubt camped out. “If we try to leave, we’re dead.” He turns away from the opening. “If we stay here-“

Morph flies in front of him, smiling. “We’re dead! We’re dead we’re dead we’re dead!”

Virgil sighs, and Morph frowns, tittering worriedly. Patton glances from Virgil to Morph, whispering none too quietly to the blob, “Well… I think Virge needs some quiet time, so I’m just gonna… go out the back door.” He heads back towards the mess in the back of the room, and Virgil perks up as he hears the creak of a hinge.

“Back door?”

Patton pushes a large spherical hatch until a manhole-sized opening faces upwards, letting in a soft beam of light. “Oh, yeah! I like it ‘cause I get a nice little breeze…” He rolls onto his back, leaning against the sphere. “You know, ventilation – among friends –“

Virgil runs over and leans in, peering through the opening. Far below him, running down for miles and miles beyond sight, is a scattering of pipes, catwalks, wires, and other things, almost resembling the innards of their ship. “Whoa… What is all this?”

Patton perks up, his head sticking out over the hole to catch the slight breeze that rustles his loose wires. “Oh! You mean the miles and miles of machinery that run through the whole planet? I dunno!”

Virgil starts, glancing at Patton dubiously. He shakes himself out of it, calling over to Logan. “Hey, doc, I think I found a way out!” He climbs up onto the orb, positioning himself so both feet are on either side of the hole and holding him over it, the breeze rustling his hair. Seeing the nearly fathomless depths has his stomach fluttering, but…

But it was better than dying by pirates.

“No, Virgil, wait.”

Virgil looks over at Logan and Roman, who seems to be unconscious again. “The captain ordered us to stay tog-“

“I’ll be back.” Virgil pulls his legs together, falling through the hole. Patton dives after him with an excited cry of, “Canonball~!” and Morph flits after them.

Logan sighs. No one ever listens to him.

Virgil opens the hatch slowly, peeking out at his surroundings. It seems the back door lead them under Patton’s place to just beyond where the pirates were camped out; about the same distance Virgil had been when he’d met Patton. He studies the sleeping pirates for a moment, silent as he lifts the hatch more to stand up straight.

“So what’s the plan?” Patton asks cheerfully, jumping up and pushing the hatch back all the way.

Virgil rounds on Patton, shushing him and clamping his mouth shut. He casts a furtive glance at the pirates, but luck seems to be in his favor; they’re still asleep. He looks back over to Patton, whispering, “Okay, so. We sneak back to the ‘Nation, disable the canons, and bring back the map.” Patton nods along, speaking quietly around Virgil’s hand.

“That’s a good plan! I like that plan. One thing; how do we get there?”

Virgil grins, gesturing over to the skiff the pirates had taken. “On that.”

Once they reach The I.M.G. Nation, they peer over the trim to see if anyone’s on deck. Deciding that the remaining crew must be asleep, Patton and Virgil hop up onto the trim and back onto the deck, Patton tripping as he lands and crashing onto the deck with a loud metallic clang. Virgil shoots him a glare and Patton stands up, dusting himself off and grinning sheepishly. “Sorry, sorry!” He whispers. Virgil rolls his eyes and gestures for Patton to follow.

The two creep across the deck and down the stairs into the ship’s interior, stopping just at the bottom of the stairs. Virgil peeks around the corner, making sure the ship’s empty as he whispers to Patton. “I’ll go grab the map, you stay here.”

Patton stands up straight and gives a salute. “Got it. I’ll disable the canons, sir!”

“No- wait, Patton!” But Patton is already making his way down the catwalks, turning a corner and singing to himself happily under his breath. Virgil sighs.

“Disable the light canons. Right! That shouldn’t be so hard! I just gotta find that one wire, right?” He opens the control panel, his jaw going slack at the sheer number of red, yellow and blue wires crisscrossing the metal surface. Okay, so it was kind of hard. No biggie, though! He could do this.

Virgil walked silently into the skiff storage space, looking around to make sure no one was already there. He spots the coil of rope sitting in the middle of the catwalk, just like he’d left it, and he rushes over to it. Shifting the rope aside from where it’d fallen into itself, he sighs in relief once he uncovers the map, Morph making a happy noise at his shoulder. Virgil picks it up, relief flooding his veins.

“Yes.”

Then an alarm goes off.

Patton winces, having just pulled a red wire out of its socket. “Bad Patton, bad! Wrong wire!” He rushes to put it back, and the alarm stops.

Virgil runs through the interior, rushing for the stairs. “Shit, I knew this was a bad idea. That stupid robot’s gonna get us killed-“ His voice dies in his throat when he finally reaches the stairs, only to find Remy standing above them on deck. He smirks.

“Cabin boy.”

Virgil’s heart jumps into his throat and he runs, tipping over barrels, boxes, and anything else he can get his hands on. Remy’s long legs carry him over the upturned supplies with ease, barely slowing him down. He runs along the walls, up onto the ceiling, getting closer and closer to Virgil. He sneers as he approaches, practically breathing down the human’s neck. Virgil doesn’t dare look back; he knows if he does, he’s definitely done for.

Morph sees Remy and lets out a surprised cry, turning into a pie and throwing himself at Remy’s face. Under any other circumstances Virgil would have found it hilarious, but in the moment he’s just silently thankful the blob is on his side as he keeps running, gaining valuable distance between himself and the crustacean alien. Remy growls in annoyance and pries Morph off of his face, forcing him to return to his normal form, and throws him. He lands in the opening of a pipe, screaming as he gets sucked in and carried away. Virgil ducks behind a corner, trying to catch his breath. He turns the safety off on his solar gun, taking a quick moment before he’s spinning around and raising his gun. He comes face to face with Remy, who stares at the gun with surprise and a little fear.

Then the lights go out.

“Whoops! That wasn’t right either…” Patton’s green eyes glow, the only light in the entire room (and probably the entire ship) as they look over the control panel.

The emergency generator kicks on, bathing the interior of the ship in soft red light. Virgil gasps when his sight is finally returned to him, the hairs on the back of his neck raising when he realizes Remy isn’t there. He looks around frantically, gun raised and ready to shoot anything that moves. He turns around, checking to make sure Remy wasn’t behind him.

Maybe he ran? Maybe he left to get in contact with Declan and tell him what was happening?

Morph pops out of the pipe behind Virgil and screams when he sees Remy, who was lowering himself to strike right behind Virgil. Morph turns into a hand, poking Remy in the eyes. Remy lets out an annoyed and pained cry, covering his eyes. Virgil spins around, eyes wide, and Remy smacks him across the face, sending him sprawled out on his back, the solar gun clattering down the catwalk a few feet away. Virgil reaches for it just as Remy lands in a crouch right on top of him, effectively trapping him in place with his legs.

Remy’s claw clamps around Virgil’s throat. He’s choking Virgil, who’s kicking uselessly and scratching at Remy’s claw as he gasps for air that isn’t coming. His heart hammers in his chest. He thinks I’m going to die.

“Maybe this is it!” Patton pulls a wire out of its socket, and almost immediately everything that wasn’t tied down begins to float into the air, including Patton, who stares at the wire with a hand to his chin. “Maybe not…”

Remy and Virgil begin ascending through the air. Virgil sees the wood hatched window above them leading directly up on deck and kicks Remy in the chest with all his might, sending the alien crashing into the window. The wood splinters and breaks, sending Remy up up up into the air above deck. Virgil tries to maneuver himself desperately to grab for the splintered remains of the hatching, fingers clawing at the rough wood, trying to get a decent grip, but it slips through his fingers as he keeps rising.

Remy grabs a nearby rope and pulls himself to the mast, smirking as he watches Virgil flounder in midair, unable to grab anything and rising higher and higher by the minute. He tries to snap at the human’s leg, but Virgil manages to spin himself just enough to avoid getting caught. His back smacks into the crow’s nest and he cried out, the breath getting knocked out of him. He’s spinning, unable to tell which way is up and unable to find anything to grab. Then he sees it. The flag.

In a last-ditch effort to avoid flying off into deep space, his fingers scrabble desperately for the black fabric, his heart beating a mile a minute, wishing he could slow his ascent for just five seconds. He finally gains purchase, gripping the flag for all he’s worth.

Remy climbs the mast with expert ease, grinning as he watches Virgil’s eyes widen in fear, then try desperately to grab for his solar gun as it floats by. His hand taps the handle once, twice, three times.

“Come on, come on!”

The gun spins away, flying into space.

“No!”

Remy laughs, reaching to cut the rope tying the flag to the mast. “Oh, yes. I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time, kid. Say hello to Mr. Picani for me.” He looks up, scowling when he sees Virgil pulling himself closer to the mast by the flag and leaping for it, gripping the wood surface tightly. Remy climbs up the mast, prepared to grab for Virgil, when Virgil kicks him in the chest, sending him flying up into the flag.

“Tell him yourself!”

It would have been a good comeback, if he hadn’t sounded so scared.

The rope snaps, loosing the flag and sending it – along with Remy, who was tangled in it – floating off into space. He screams, and Virgil watches with a cold numbness until he can’t see the alien anymore.

“Back you go you naughty plug!” Patton cries, kicking the air like he’s swimming and using the momentum to plug the wire back in. A blue light expands from the control panel outward across the whole ship, and the artificial gravity turns back on. Patton lands on his face with a soft grunt.

Virgil sits in the crow’s nest, disoriented and still scared, trying to get his heart to calm down. Morph shoots out of the pipe used as a communication tube, coughing up soot. Virgil stares at him blankly for a moment, his mind fighting through the fog of holy shit I just killed someone to process what he was seeing. “Morph…?”

“Laser canons disconnected, Captain Virge, Sir!” Patton salutes from the stairs, covered in various sparking disconnected wires. Virgil stands slowly and peeks over the edge down at the robot. “That wasn’t so hard!” Patton smiles up at him.

Virgil takes the map out of his pocket, looking at it for a moment. After this was over, he was going to take the longest nap of his life.

Taglist: @the5thcoy @dailysandersidesaudoodles @hungry-red-panda @neonb-fly @chemically-imbalanced-romance@punsterterry @dead4sevenyears @metaphoricalpluto2@tanyatoloni1334

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #patton sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #deceit sanders #treasure planet au

2 notes · View notes

dragonfics · 6 years

Text

Poker with a twist

So, I’ve been playing around a bit with a hurt/comfort idea in regards to Tale-verse monsters helping Fell-verse monsters deal with the strain of their harsh lives. I have this headcanon that the Fell-verse monsters enjoy being around Tale-verse monsters because of the complete lack of hostility in their demeanours and magical auras. It’s almost like... a pleasant balm for the Fells’ LV-ridden souls.

I wrote this Papcest OT5 thing (it’s a bit rushed, so please forgive any mistakes), focusing on the relationship between Twist (Twistfell Papyrus) and Rus (Underswap Papyrus).

Twist is a very damaged boy. (He belongs to @itsladykit. Did we really expect anything less?) He needs some love. And Rus is here to give it to him.

Mild warning for mentioned character death (unnamed character) and symptoms of anxiety.

~Below the cut~

“Oh hell bridge? The fuck kind a’ Tale-verse bullshit is that?”

Rus levelled Twist with a glare as he shuffled the deck of cards on the kitchen table. “too sophisticated for you?” he asked, mouth twitching into a smirk.

Twist stifled a snort, brow bone lifting as he shot Cash a knowing glance across the table. “I say we jus’ stick with the original plan an’ play poker. Y’know? A game with actual stakes?”

Rus rolled his eye-lights, but Edge cut in. “Absolutely not. Poker is off limits with the two of you here.” He held Twist and Cash with a pointed stare.

Twist rolled his shoulders, trying to relieve the stiff tension in his neck. “Yer just takin’ his side ‘cause he lets ya do stuff ta him in public,” he commented. He caught Cash’s eye with a wink as Edge flushed hotly. Cash lifted a brow bone with a shake of his head, but remained silent.

“He—he does not!” Edge spluttered, cheekbones bright red.

Twist considered for a moment, then shook his head, laughing. The noise sounded a little strange. A little wrong. “Wait. Yer right. It’s me ya do dirty stuff ta.”

“I don’t!” Edge protested, indignant. “I—I don’t do that!”

Twist paused again, then turned to his left, where Slim was sitting quietly in observation. Leaning in, Twist whispered, “Was it you who felt me up behind Grillby’s that time? I forget.” He cracked his knuckles, grinning at Slim. His face felt a little numb.

Slim shook his head wordlessly, clearly struggling to hide his smile. He glanced up at Cash, then looked back at Twist, lifting a brow bone. “Ah,” Twist said plainly, nodding. “’Course it was.” He turned to Cash. “Ya free after this, sweetheart?”

Cash merely rolled his eye, clearly not amused by Twist’s suggestion. Most likely because he probably knew that Twist was completely serious. God, Twist could really do with a good fuck. Maybe it would help get rid of this hot, static feeling in his magic. “if ya win this hell bridge game, i’ll consider it,” Cash said, blandly.

“so, it’s settled? we’re playing oh hell bridge?” Rus was grinning triumphantly, and Twist conceded, tipping his head back with a put-upon sigh.

“I guess.” He glanced at Cash. “Ya’d better pay up, love.”

Cash scoffed. “yer implyin’ that i’m goin’ ta lose.”

Edge sighed heavily, pinching his nasal bone. “Rus. Give me the cards. You’re dealing too slowly.”

Rus wasn’t dealing at all in fact, his mouth pressed into his elbow as he tried to stifle his laughter. As Edge pried the cards from his hands, Rus glanced up at Twist, smiling. For the briefest of moments, warmth flickered in Twist’s chest, and his bones seemed to stop twitching. But the feeling died as he tore his gaze away, turning instead to Edge. “Ya’d better not be dealin’ with greasy fingers there, Edgy,” he said, cocking a brow bone.

“You’re projecting,” Edge remarked, dryly. Twist shrugged in concession, leaning back in his chair. Out of the corner of left socket, he could see Slim observing him. Twist winked at him, but Slim’s expression was one of concern, rather than amusement. He said nothing, but Twist could feel the weight of his worry, and quickly turned away, rapping his fingers on the surface of the wooden table. He focused on the steady thrumming until it drowned out the sound of the thoughts in his head.

As it turned out, Rus’s ‘Oh hell bridge’ was a lot more brutal than any form of poker Twist had ever played. Well. Physical brutality excluded. He could recall a few poker games that had earned him a scar or two. Had he ever gained any EXP over poker? Probably.

But Twist soon began to wonder if this game was heading down the path to animosity. It was apparent that Cash was fighting his frustration, teeth clenched as he glared across the table at Twist. “two,” he said stiffly, placing two chips in front of himself. “i bet two.”

Rus shot Twist a grin, before glancing at Cash. “two? you sure about that? we’re down to three cards each. seems a bit overambitious if you ask me.”

“well, i didn’t ask ya,” Cash snapped, his visible socket flaring dangerously. Magic prickled at Twist’s fingertips.

Cash’s fury only seemed to amuse Rus further however, and he opened his mouth (no doubt to make another quip at Cash’s expense), when Edge cut in. “Undoubtedly ambitious,” he said quickly, eyes darting to Twist. “I’ll go with two as well.” His gaze lingered on Twist, but his expression was even and unreadable.

Rus, on the other hand, looked purely delighted, his eyes sparkling almost maliciously as Edge placed down two chips. “well. this is going to be a complete bloodbath. you both understand how this game works, don’t you?”

Edge shrugged, his face a mask of control. “We each have three cards this turn. I predict that two out of three of my cards are better than the rest of yours combined.”

Rus scrunched his face up as if in thought, humming. “eh… not quite how the game works, but you’re not losing, so i’ll give you that.” He turned to Cash, grinning. “you on the other hand—”

“i’m only two points behind the twisted asshole,” Cash muttered, staring at Twist coldly.

“one point,” Slim corrected, quietly. Twist caught him shooting an anxious glance in his direction, as if afraid the correction might upset him. “it’s… you didn’t do so well last round,” he told Twist.

An invisible itch crawled beneath Twist’s bones as Slim watched him. He ignored it, looking at the scorecard with a chuckle. “An’ the pup’s winnin’,” he remarked, running his knuckles over the top of Slim’s skull. “Guess yer more suited fer this Tale-verse stuff than the rest of us.”

Rus looked dubious, scowling at Twist. “really? you still consider this a tale-verse game? after how ruthless you were last round?”

Twist shrugged, throwing an arm over Slim’s shoulders. “Nothin’ wrong with bein’ Tale-verse, sweetheart. In fact—” He touched his teeth to the crown of Slim’s skull, a blush spreading across Slim’s cheekbones, “—consider it a compliment.” Releasing Slim, he looked back up at Rus, grinning. Dropping a chip onto the table, he added, “Oh, an’ I’ll bet one. Playin’ it safe this round.” He glanced at his cards. Considering his hand, one was probably a little overzealous. He scratched at the back of his skull, turning his head until the bones of his neck clicked. They still itched.

“well. zero for me,” Rus said. “it sounds like you all have really great hands.”

Twist snickered, glancing at Cash. “If I win this, maybe Patches’ll tell ya just how great my hands are.”

As it turned out, Cash’s ambition paid off, putting him ahead of Twist. And when the game finally came to a sticky end, Twist was sorely behind everyone else. The anxious scrutiny of Edge and Slim was almost tangible on his bones, but he did his best to ignore it. Rus was watching him with poorly veiled amusement. “seems you aren’t very good at this ‘tale-verse bullshit’,” he said, giving Twist a mock-sympathetic smile.

Twist chuckled, waving him off. “Give me more time ta practice, an’ I’ll own every one of yer asses.”

“but, as it stands, i own yer ass,” Cash pointed out, the corner of his mouth turning up.

Twist lifted a brow bone. “Didn’t realise that was part a’ the deal—but I’m game.”

Cash seemed disappointed at Twist’s lacklustre reaction, his grin slipping. “don’t go thinkin’ i’m gonna give ya the satisfaction of a good fuckin’ tonight, darlin’,” Cash said, his eye flashing deviously.

Twist caught a glimpse of Edge and Slim exchanging a deliberate look, before Edge quickly cleared his throat, speaking up. “Well, technically—Slim won. So, he should be the one deciding what happens to Twist, shouldn’t he?” Edge met Cash’s gaze, narrowing his sockets. Slim glanced between Twist and Cash uncertainly, tugging his sleeves over his hands.

“eh, do what ya want ta the twisted bitch, slim,” Cash said, conceding with a nonchalant flick of his wrist. “i’m gonna head home. have fun cleanin’ up, assholes.” He watched Twist for a moment, a frown creeping across his features, before rising from his chair and teleporting from the room.

Edge regarded the spot he’d been standing in with a scowl. “Remind me why we keep him around?” he asked vaguely, standing and collecting the scattered cards and chips.

Twist shrugged, smirking at Edge. “He’s good in bed.” When Edge rolled his eyes, Twist turned to Slim. “Speakin’ of—what do ya want from me tonight, precious?” The blush that spread across Slim’s cheekbones excited the already frantic magic buzzing through Twist, and he had to clasp his hands together to prevent himself from doing something inappropriate.

“i—well…” Slim looked to Edge for support, seeming a little panicked. Edge only levelled his gaze with a small, but deliberate nod. Slim turned back to Twist, quickly smiling. “i though maybe you could… s-stay here.”

Twist blinked in surprise, lifting a brow bone. “Here? Uh, not so sure Rus would approve of us stealin’ his bed fer the night, but if that’s what ya really want…”

But Slim was shaking his head. Avoiding Twist’s gaze, he said, “no, i mean—i won’t be here. j-just… you and rus.”

Twist glanced at Rus, but he was looking just as taken aback as Twist felt. “i don’t recall agreeing to this,” Rus said, though he didn’t seem entirely averse to the idea, shooting Twist a grin.

“Well,” Edge said, clearing his throat with a frown, “the two of you have been eyeing each other for a fair portion of the evening….” Again, Edge’s eyes travelled to Slim, something unspoken passing between them. Twist smirked a little; subtlety never had been their strong suit. Though, he was almost inclined to thank them. Almost. Though spending time with Rus didn’t sound entirely unappealing, he didn’t like being manipulated.

The magic fluttering through him settled a little as he met Rus’s gaze across the table. His smile was soft—something so Tale-verse emanating from him. He probably wasn’t even aware of it. “I’m down if you are, sweetheart,” Twist said, shooting Rus a wink. “Though, I should warn ya, I’m feelin’ a little… handsy.” He flexed his wrists, as if to emphasize the point. In truth, keeping his joints moving helped prevent his unstable magic from congesting and building up. Too much concentrated magic was the perfect recipe for an outburst. And those seldom ended without a kill count.

“nothing i’ve ever been one to complain about,” Rus said, releasing a small laugh. He looked up at Edge, suspicion briefly colouring his expression. But Edge avoided his gaze, quickly turning to the sink and running water over the dirty dishes. Rus glanced back at Twist with lifted brow bones, but Twist only shook his head, rising from the table and walking to stand beside Edge.

Picking up a dishcloth, he said, “Here, Edgy. I’ll help ya.” Edge swallowed, glancing up at him. Twist’s fingers curled around the cloth a little too tightly, but he forced a grin. “It ain’t any trouble.” He turned to look at Slim. “Rus can walk ya home, puppy.”

Slim cast Edge an anxious glance, but Edge only gave him a stiff nod. Dipping his head, Slim shoved his hands in his pockets and headed for the door. Rus seemed a little perplexed, shooting Twist a strange look over his shoulder as he followed Slim.

Twist’s grin remained plastered across his face until they’d left. He then turned to Edge, allowing the expression to drop. “This some kinda game, Edgy?” he asked, pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth. His magic seemed to burn within his bones, and he tipped his head back, vertebrae clicking.

Edge shook his head, giving a laboured sigh. His fingers scraped over the dish he was holding, and he dropped it into the sink before he spoke. “You’re not exactly good at hiding it, Twist.”

Twist snorted at the sheer irony of the comment. “An’ you an’ the pup are? What’re ya tryin’ ta do here, exactly?”

Edge held Twist’s gaze firmly, something frustrated burning beneath his expression. He closed his sockets for a moment, seeming to compose himself. “You reek of dust.” The comment spoke for itself, and Twist looked away, a hoarse chuckle leaving his throat.

His fingers itched and his spine tingled, his magic still rampant and uncontrolled. His soul seemed to weigh just a little too much in his chest; he felt hot. Tapping his knuckles against the countertop, he shrugged. “What’s yer point? Ain’t like it doesn’t happen every other week.”

Edge was silent for a beat, his eyes steady as he observed Twist. “Who was it?” he asked, eventually, his voice quiet.

Twist waved him off, turning to cross the room. “Someone in the wrong place at the wrong time. Ain’t it always?” He grinned at Edge over his shoulder, but Edge didn’t reciprocate.

He slowly approached Twist, his touch gentle as he rested a hand on Twist’s shoulder. “He helps, Twist. You know he does.”

“He does,” Twist admitted, thinking of the way Rus’s smile alone had been enough to temper the erratic magic inside of him. “Tale-verse bastard,” he muttered, with a dry laugh. His grip was tight on the countertop, and it took him a moment to realise he’d created dents in the wood. Pulling his hands away, he looked at Edge, exhaling heavily. “An’ if I snap? Doubt his HP’d be able ta take a hit.”

Edge nodded, grimacing. “I… I know.” He sighed wearily and pinched his nasal bridge. “I don’t like—I can’t be around him when I’ve—” The unspoken thought burned inside Twist’s skull. “But…” Edge looked up at Twist, a little more conviction in his eyes. “You just—you just need to let him in.”

Twist flexed his fingers, the joints clicking satisfyingly. Tipping his head back, he breathed deeply for a moment, closing his eyes. He could feel Edge watching him, but he focused on his breathing instead. He inhaled slowly, allowing the air to flow through his chest, his soul soaking in the oxygen. It marginally alleviated the tingle of the fresh EXP, the rattling of his raw nerves settling—just slightly.

“am i… interrupting something?”

Twist’s sockets snapped open, and he spun to see Rus standing in the kitchen doorway. He was smirking, amusement dancing in his eyes—completely oblivious to the true weight of the atmosphere. Edge looked anxious, a frown creasing his features. He opened his mouth to speak, but Twist cut him off. “Nah, the Edgelord was just tellin’ me the best way ta get ya ta moan fer me.”

Edge looked indignant, but Rus only lifted a brow bone, his smile widening. “thought you already knew how to do that?”

Twist shrugged. “Never hurts ta improve.” He turned to grin at Edge, but the remnants of their conversation lingered in Edge’s eyes. He watched Twist for a moment, calculating. Glancing quickly at Rus, Twist said, “Well, you goin’ ta give Rus an’ I some privacy, Edgelord?”

Edge frowned, scanning Twist’s features. He looked at Rus, who offered him nothing more than a shrug, his smile unwavering. “Yer welcome ta join us, if ya like,” Twist offered, grinning at Edge.

But Edge shook his head, pulling his shoulders up and making for the door. “That’s kind of you, but I’ll pass. I have things to take care of.” He hesitated at the door, looking between Twist and Rus, something uncertain in his expression.

Sensing Edge’s reluctance to leave him alone, Twist strode over to Rus, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and tucking him against his side. “Well, I have somethin’ I need ta take care of myself.” He pressed his teeth to the crown of Rus’s skull. Warmth, affection, and trust flowed from Rus immediately, and Twist’s chest seemed to unknot. He looked up at Edge, lifting a brow bone, as if to say ‘See? You have nothing to worry about.’

Edge was still frowning, but Twist could tell that some of the tension had left him. “Good,” he said, nodding. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” Before turning, he watched Rus for a moment, unmarred fondness in his expression. Twist squeezed Rus’s shoulder slightly, pulling him closer. Edge’s expression alone told Twist that he understood—he knew how good Rus could be in a situation like this. How much of a balm his mere presence could be to an LV-afflicted soul. How—despite how much of an asshole he could be—he was just so Tale-verse. Right now, Twist needed something a little Tale-verse. Something to keep him from plummeting into the abyss of his LOVE.

When Twist climbed into bed beside Rus, his magic had settled considerably. The electric buzz of EXP still hummed in his soul, but it wasn’t as static and untethered. He felt… a little more in control.

Rus was dozing, but cracked open his sockets as Twist nuzzled against his neck. He laughed sleepily, looping an arm around Twist’s spine. “heya, twisted.”

“Honey,” Twist mumbled, inhaling Rus’s scent. Rus laughed softly, kissing Twist’s fingertips. Twist pressed himself against Rus’s back, his ribs flush with Rus’s spine. He rested his chin on Rus’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around Rus’s torso to ensure there was no distance between them. He hummed in appreciation as Rus began to purr softly, his aura warm and gentle.

Twist’s fingers hooked between Rus’s ribs as he soaked in the projections. Rus released a soft, breathy laugh, tilting his head to meet Twist’s eye. “we fucking?” he asked, smirking.

“Heh, I’m tempted, but… nah.” Twist nestled closer, until Rus was completely enveloped in his arms, their limbs tangled together. “I just wanna… stay like this.” He sighed as Rus melted against him, his projections amplifying and bathing Twist in tranquillity. “Yer so… so fuckin’ good, Tale-verse,” he breathed against Rus’s neck. “Yer so damn good.”

Twist appreciated having Edge—and Slim, and Cash. They understood. They knew what living in that near-constant state of fear felt like. They wore their threats like a protective blanket—it soaked their auras in spite and hatred. They kept their love and compassion locked inside their souls—not there for everyone to see and feel. Buried beneath layers upon layers of hostility. It was necessary. And it was lonely.

But Rus lacked that veil of animosity. Being around him felt like being bathed in care, and affection, and love, and peace—everything good. And when Twist felt like he was teetering just a little too close to the edge—it was the perfect remedy to keep him from falling off it entirely. He needed this. He needed Rus.

#my writing #twistedhoney #*sigh* here we go:#twistedexpensivespicyhoneydog #I love these boys so much #But DAMN they're annoying to write #(all at once anyway)#twistfell #underswap #underfell #swapfell #fellswap #I wasn't completely happy with this #But I liked the idea and I wanted to post it #Rus/Twist <3 I really like them #Also Kit I'm blaming you for this even though you didn't actually force me to write it this time #It's just.....#You and your TWIST PAPYRUS #-___-

66 notes · View notes

whyareyoureyesblack · 7 years

Text

All His Boyfriends are Dead pt5

The quiet walk down the hill, filled with the sound of both shoes and Edd’s bare feet making solid movement on the grass, was short lived once they reached the actual grave.

Tom only tried to break the silence once, and it was to ask how Matt had died. Uncomfortable, Todd shifted his hands under Tom to push him higher on his back as a sort of something to do, like clearing his throat.

Tord seemed to be so startled that he stumbled, and Edd grabbed his arm to steady him. Tord apologized and laughed a bit forcefully, saying that he had been spacing for a moment. Tom repeated his question, dull as if he didn’t trust Tord’s words, his gray rotted chin perched on Todd’s shoulder.

“He burned alive in his car the day after you died. The doctors said that it was likely he passed from breathing the fumes first.”

“Wait, the next day? You’re stupid curse didn’t even let you mourn me before it took Matt too-? I thought you had at least like an extra week or something.” Tom’s expression turned blank, as if he wasn’t sure how he felt. Tord just shrugged sadly, and gestured towards a line of graves.

“My curse doesn’t allow for time, Tom… Matt’s just over here. Watch your step, there’s a few rocks around here to prevent scavengers from making burrows.”

Tom didn’t miss how Edd stuck close to Tord, and pressed his bandanna covered mouth to Tord’s cheek, before letting Tord set up at the grave.

As Tord started digging, Todd carefully put Tom down on a flat raised headstone and Tom almost didn’t sound sarcastic when he thanked Todd for carrying him.

The digging of Matt’s grave was filled with the sound of an argument, starting practically the second Tord had the outline traced with the sharp spade of his shovel.

“Alright, boyfriend #3. I’ll be your surgeon for the night,” Edd announced casually as he stepped up to where Tom was sitting. He had a white first aid kit in one skeleton hand and Tom’s severed leg thrown over his shoulder at the knee. Compared to his own bare legs, Tom’s was more intact, not much of the flesh entirely rotten through to bone just yet.

Tom stared at him with dull, unamused black eye sockets for almost a full minute before stating, “Like fuck you are.”

Edd seemed calm, like he expected this response, though it was hard to tell with the cloth over the utterly rotten half of his face.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m more of a backwater apocalypse nanny; I should be sewing up toys, but instead I gotta stitch your leg back on. So roll up your pants.”

“No.” Tom scowled, his still attached leg lightly tapping.

“Well, alright, but your leg’s gonna look funny if I stitch it onto your pants.”

“That’s not a problem considering you aren’t stitching shit. I don’t want you even getting close to me with a needle.”

Edd tilted his head back a bit, as if he was confused, but something about his putrid black leaking eye sockets almost came off as challenging. Or maybe that was just Tom’s imagination.

“Why not?”

Maybe not.

“Because I’m not trusting a dead guy to actually know how to sew right.”

Todd looked over his shoulder from where he stood next to the grave. He called out helpfully, “He doesn’t do too bad. He sewed my head back on.”

“That’s exactly why,” Tom said in a pointed, short tone, “I don’t want to end up looking like your neck.”

Todd made a grunting noise, his hands flying up to touch his stitched throat that was still mangled and held with dark thread. His expression was offended. Tord paused as he stomped his shovel back into the turned dirt, and threw a look at Tom.

“Tom. Be nice.”

“What? I’m not wrong. His neck looks like ground beef stuck together with some edgy Goth choker trying to look like barbed wire. I don’t want such a shitty stitch job on my leg.”

While Edd scoffed in offense, Tord leaned over his shovel to Todd and smiled kindly.

“He’s just a bit grumpy, it really doesn’t look that bad,” Tord soothed, but Todd looked uncertain, so Tord continued with, “Besides, weren’t you a secret Goth anyway?”

That got Todd laughing, mostly in surprise, his dead hands slipping from his stitched throat. “I was not! I owned one black trench coat and heavy boots for rain!”

“You were very Goth.” Tord teased, returning to his digging as Todd playfully argued back.

“How dare you! You’re a necromancer! You are more Goth than I’ll ever be!”

“I have a curse on my family. It’s my birthright to act Goth.”

“More like your birthright to act like a dweeb.”

As they spoke and Tord scooped heavy dirt out of the hole, Edd and Tom’s argument was slightly less fond.

“The stitch job isn’t supposed to be perfect, it’s just supposed to be enough to keep you from breaking your stupid leg off again,” Edd’s tone was sharp as he explained dryly, “It’s not my fault you were running around before you drank the potion.”

“I wasn’t running around! Even if I was, since when does my leg breaking off call for you to fuck it up even more by trying to stitch it back like you did with that guy’s head?” Tom snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. Edd groaned in annoyance.

“Just let me sew your leg back on. I’m trying to be nice.”

“Really? I thought you were trying to scar me.”

“Your flesh is already dead, I can’t scar you.”

Tom made a disbelieving noise, “Pft- With your stitch work you can. You’re going to make me look like a goddamn voodoo doll.”

“You already look like a voodoo doll.”

“At least I don’t have the stitches like one.”

“Oh my fuck- Tord,” Edd called, voice incredibly impatient and irritated, throwing an incredulous stare at the grave.

Tord had switched digging somewhere during their argument, so Todd was busy working on the hole while Tord sat fiddling with the clothe ties on his fingers. They were stained red from blood and muddy with dirt, changing the original multi colored ties into the same dirty black red color.

“What?”

“Tell your stupid dead boyfriend to let me sew back on his leg!”

Tord snorted, and when he looked at them it was clear even in the dim light that he was trying not to laugh.

“Tom, just let him stitch you together again. Trust me, we’re not going to be running into anyone who can do better than Edd tonight,” Tord’s voice was fond and amused.

“Fuck that. He can’t stitch worth shit.”

“I can’t?! Really? Do you even know how to sew?”

“I’d rather duct tape my leg back on than let you try it,” Tom sneered, avoiding the question.

Tord laughed helplessly, “Please, don’t tape your leg back on.”

“You should probably hide the duct tape,” Todd commented with a snicker, hurling more dirt out of the grave.

“Better yet,” Edd offered sharply, ignoring Tord and Todd’s distant laughter, “Let me get you a stick instead, yeah? Then you can have a peg leg. Would that be better than my fucking stitch job?!”

“You bet your rotting ass it would be!”

“I swear to- Just let me sew back on your leg.”

“No!”

“You’re acting like a baby. A baby without a leg.”

“And you can’t sew!”

“You look like a stupid zombie flamingo!”

“Fuck off!”

“You don’t even have a good argument!”

“It still holds better than your fucking stitching! A preschooler could do a better job!”

“YOU CAN’T STITCH WORTH SHIT EITHER, PEGGY THE PIRATE!”

“I CAN KICK YOUR ASS!”

“WITH WHAT, TOM, I’VE GOT YOUR FUCKING LEG-”

Just then Tord interrupted their argument with a breathless cry of, “Both of you quit it before I cough up a lung! Ha-We reached Matt’s coffin!”

Todd made sure that he was out of the grave before Tord opened the coffin this time, practically sneaking behind where Edd stood scowling. He could have also been trying to put himself between Edd and Tom, but it was obvious by his expression that he wasn’t excited to see another dead body before it’s been reanimated.

When Tord pried the lid off, he let out a soft hiss of pain as his stinging hands complained about the pressure and the lifting. He ignored it and turned his eyes on Matt.

A portion of Matt’s flesh was thin rotted black, splitting like crevices in magma to show white bone instead of muscle or nerves, his burned skin having long decayed and peeled. His suit was flat and clung to his body in a way that made it seem like it was stuck there with sweat. The rest of his skin, which included a majority of his face, seemed to rot slower, with a pale color similar to gray bled together with yellow. His lips only partially remained, much of it chipped down with rot. Head rolled back, Tord could see how the black burns from years ago had molted the skin from his throat and thin collar. His hair was a darker version of the gleaming copper it used to be, long on one side but short on the other where his family had told the coroner to shave off the burned bits. Cracked ashy skin inched up along the shaved part of his head, like a morbid vine.

Burns were never something Tord could handle.

Tord hurriedly called for the items, which Edd, after sighing and shoving the first aid kit into Todd’s hands, calmly dug out of the bag. He kept Tom’s leg casually on his shoulder as he handed Tord first the jar, and then the bottle. The water made the molting skin seem even darker as it soaked in the liquid.

Tord finished cutting open another finger and wrapping it up, thus making his entire right hand tipped in bloody cloths, save his thumb. When he tried to get up, Edd first offered Tom’s severed leg for him to grab, which Tord scolded.

“If you’re not going to sew it on, at least give it back to him.”

Stubbornly, Edd lobbed Tom’s leg back onto his shoulder, and reached his hand down for Tord. “No. He’s rude.”

“He’s just jealous my legs are in better shape than his,” Tom called, smug, and Edd stood up straight, tugging Tord up with him.

“At least my legs are attached to me.”

“Alright, you two can keep bickering once I wake Matt up, but I need silence while I do this next part.” Tord laughed with a roll of his eyes, leading Edd away from the grave by the hand as Tom sneered. Before Tord sat down, he gave Edd a quick kiss on the bandanna covered cheek, and ordered nicely, “Be nice.”

Edd let out a tired noise, but nodded. He then stuck his bone exposed hands into his hoodie pocket and strode over to stand next to Todd and Tom, who only glared at him. Tord pulled out the book, and set up his candles. His hands felt like they were humming.

The back of his hands were hot, then burning straight through his skin to his bones. His finger tips, both sliced and intact, stung like something being twisted inside the slits of flesh. His eyes watered and hurt under unblinking lids, his vision telling him nothing but colors. When he finished the chant, his tongue felt raw and his jaw ached.

Tord was dizzy, but he could hear Tom’s voice in the dulled air, “Are his eyes supposed to glow like that?”

There was a sharp breath, followed by more gasping and a voice that was high and broken as it cried, “Tord?!”

Tord jumped, forgetting about the candles in his shock, and narrowly missed slamming his hands into the flames. He scrambled over the grass, until he was leaning over the lip of the grave.

Matt was stilling laying in his coffin, but his hands and legs were jerked up, pressing against the close walls of his box. His eyes were pits, much like the other three, but they seemed more red in the shadows of his grave. He was looking directly at Tord, his mouth gaping in heavy pants.

“Hey, Matt.” Tord offered a lopsided smile, unsure.

Matt blinked, his dead red hair dripping like strings into his eyes.

Then he was suddenly bolting up, out of his coffin. His skin made a cracking noise, but he was already at the edge of the grave, hands reaching up and touching Tord’s cheeks. One of his hands was rough with rotted skin, while the other just felt cold and thin and dry, like a glove.

“Tord,” Matt spoke, sounding shocked and in awe, then he was repeating the name in a more elated voice that broke from his dry throat, “Tord! Tordy- My darling! Thank god!”

Tord felt himself blush, but he was suddenly being tugged down by Matt’s hands grabbing his arms.

“Well, I guess one of us was bound to eat him,” Edd calmly stated upon watching Tord’s legs disappear into the grave. Todd made a concerned sounding noise, but Tom snorted.

“Serves him right,” Tom muttered, but didn’t take his eye sockets off the grave.

Todd frowned at them, scolding, “Guys…”

Almost with ease, Matt dragged Tord against him. Tord let out a laugh of surprise as his face became mushed against Matt’s hard cold chest, and Matt’s legs nearly tripped, but the tall dead man clung to Tord. How cold, ice cold, the body was against Tord’s chest and how incredibly, impossibly thin the waist felt, was what should have crossed Tord’s mind as Matt curled around him. But all Tord could think was that this was Matt.

Tord was able to ignore the reek of rot and the sinking under his arms at Matt’s waist, just holding. He felt Matt’s dry dead hands smooth down his back and touch his hair. The kisses on his head were gentle and felt a bit odd, more like nuzzles of a cheek rather than of lips.

Not moving his head from Matt’s chest, Tord asked in a subdued slow voice, “Matt. Do you remember what happened?”

“Yes,” Matt answered instantly, voice raw and sad, “But, give me a minute before we have the whole ‘we’re dead’ talk. I’m just so happy to see you again, I thought I never would. Your curse is a lot crueler than I thought it would be.”

Tord made a soft noise, like a sad hum, and he pulled back, only to push up on his toes to kiss Matt’s cold lips. Part of Matt’s lips chipped with the pressure, but neither noticed. Icy, solid like stone just lightly covered in thin cobweb like skin.

“Tord, you better not be making out with a corpse down there,” Edd’s voice rang out, followed by some quick footsteps as Todd approached the grave. Todd stopped and made a face.

“He is- Tord, oh my god, really? He hasn’t even drank the potion yet, he’s technically still dead. What if his head snaps off or something,” Todd spoke, sounding mainly concerned and scolding, and Tord and Matt both looked up at him.

Tord noticed the bottle in Todd’s hand, and let out a huff that just barely counted as a laugh. He pulled back from Matt, just enough that he could reach up towards Todd.

“Right, you’re right. Sorry. Matt was always able to bring out my more cuddly side.”

“Oh, so he’s the one that made you all sweet,” Todd mused curiously, giving Tord the bottle. Matt was staring at him, clearly focusing on Todd’s mangled throat and the holes in his cheek and his pit eyes.

“I told you. You all have had a hand in that.”

“What- Who is that?” Matt questioned in a hoarse voice, hands still on Tord’s waist. He sounded afraid.

Tord busied himself with unscrewing the bottle top, but spoke casually, “That’s Todd. The man before you and Tom. I told you two about him. He was very kind and smart, and he and I used to study in parks because Todd hated me being inside all the time.”

“Todd?” Matt repeated, confused, and Tord held the bottle out to him. He stared at it for a moment before taking it, and slowly bringing it to his mouth. Trusting enough to drink it without prompting. Just as the pink liquid seeped into his molten skin and dripped down the rot of his throat, Matt jumped and coughed, expression startled. He burst out with a higher, more stable voice, “WAIt- The Todd that used to take you for picnics, and bribed you outside with coffee, and walked home with you- your ‘second love’ Todd? That Todd?!”

Tord jolted a bit as liquid and Matt’s shout touched his cheeks and shirt.

A bit shyly, Tord nodded. “Yes. That Todd.”

“B-but. Why does he look like that? I thought he would look like you. I mean, you still look like you’re alive.”

Todd and Tord stared at him for a moment, confused. Matt just looked at Tord, his expression tight.

Then, Tord understood. Tord gently reached out to touch Matt’s peeled cheek, where the rot tattooed down to his bone up the side of his head.

“Matt, I am still alive,” Tord said carefully, “You and Todd are dead, you both died. I brought you back so you’ll still look like you’re dead until I can figure out a better solution. It’s all superficial… Did you think that we were angels? Ghosts?”

“I… yeah. I mean, it made sense. I thought- You’re here. The only reasons you could be here would be that either I was alive- which is impossible because I remember dying, with all that fire and smoke and the locked door- or that you had died too and we… But, you said you brought me back? Like a zombie?”

“Technically, yes. It’s been a few years, but I finally found someway to stop this curse, or at least reverse it? In a way. So that I can at least have those I’ve already loved back.”

Matt didn’t move for a long minute, just staring at Tord with wide dark sockets. His hand, gnarled rot over his fingers, came up to touch Tord’s hair, and it was obvious that he was finally looking at his own skin. He let out a sigh as his hand slipped into Tord’s messy locks, as if he just gave up on wishing the flesh to be alive.

“How bad do I look?” Matt’s voice sounded strained, just a bit, but he had a sort of awkward half smile, like he was joking.

“I think you look drop dead gorgeous,” Edd’s voice announced calmly before Tord could speak, and both Tord and Matt looked up in surprise at the new voice.

“Edd,” Tord started, but Matt let out a light laugh.

“Puns and charm,” Matt stood up straight, distractedly smoothing some of Tord’s locks through his dead fingers, “You must be Edd. You’re the only other boyfriend I know about.”

“Well, dead boyfriend #4 just won me over. You’re much nicer than the last one. Welcome to the club,” Edd leaned down and held out a hand, giving Matt full view of his leaking eyes and the severed leg still perched on his shoulder.

Tord gave Matt an encouraging one armed hug as he also reminded Edd to be careful.

Matt and Tord climbed from the grave with the help from Edd and Todd, Matt only slightly hesitating before taking Todd’s rawboned hands.

Once up, Matt didn’t see Tom for maybe a handful of seconds, but it seemed almost instantly that Matt’s gaze locked on the zombie, sitting on a gravestone like it was couch.

With a whispered, breathless, “Tom” Matt was running. He sprinted and threw himself at Tom, knocking both of them nearly off the headstone. Tom let out a shout of surprise, but it ended in a laugh that was lighter than anything he had let slip since waking. The two corpses hugged, ignoring the way their skin pulled and their bones let out soft pops. There was kissing, which Tom seemed calm in returning even when hardly covered teeth clicked between breaks in their thin skins. The pure joy between them was almost enough to ignore the exposed bones and rotten muscles decaying like oil down their necks.

Tord stared at them, seemingly caught in the awe of their reunion, and something about his expression made it clear that he was happy to see them together again. Like he missed them being together as much as they did. Todd led Tord from the edge of the grave, and towards the other two, with his cool hand in Tord’s.

Tom ended up making a comment about Matt’s half cut look, which led to Matt frantically feeling his hair in a panic. He was already whining lowly by the time Tord and Todd approached. Tord explained that Matt’s parents had decided on cutting off the burnt parts of his hair, and Matt scowled. Tord was able to calm him down a bit when he offered Matt a purple beanie, which was able to hide much of his rotted part of his skull and uneven cut of his hair. Along with the beanie, Matt also happily exchanged his dead suit with a loose overcoat which he buttoned and zipped closed over his exposed ribs and spotted rot flesh.

As he threw on an extra scarf, Matt asked about Tom’s missing leg.

“He has it,” Tom pointed at Edd, who looked back at him.

“I’ve been trying to sew it back on ever since we got here, but he won’t let me near him because he’s a damn cry baby.” Edd stated sharply.

“It would hold better with fucking duct tape.”

“I’m hiding the duct tape,” Todd called casually, stuffing the bag.

“Thank you, Todd,” Tord said as Tom scowled.

“I’m going to nail it back on, then.”

Todd hummed in response, “Hiding the nails too.”

“I’m going to hit you with your own leg,” Edd snapped at Tom and Matt surprisingly snorted. When he gained several sets of stares, Matt smiled.

“You lot act like you’ve know each other all your lives. It’s… really nice.”

Tord agreed, but Tom, Edd, and Todd all stayed purposely quiet as they readied to leave for the next trip. Instead of Todd, Matt pulled Tom into his arms to carry. Todd didn’t complain, and neither did Tom, although Edd muttered about Tom really being a baby now. Which earned a snarl from the man as he hugged Matt’s shoulders.

Tord hurried so that he could walk close enough to Matt and Tom to tell them stories of things that happened after their deaths, with Todd and Edd close behind. Despite, or maybe because of, the light bickering between Edd and Tom, the five of them chatted as they left one graveyard for another.

—

ahahhhhH!!! This is my favourite part so far!! ;v;

#submission #goresworld #polyworld #fanfic #zombies meow #aubergine-jeans #all his boyfriends are dead

50 notes · View notes